Christopher?’
She collapsed in tears and burrowed into Mr Sheridan’s chest. He appeared to be shocked and levelled the second accusing finger of the morning at Miss Parkes. ‘You bitch,’ he said in a low, intense voice. ‘You stole her from me. My Christine. You stole her. You always disliked her, didn’t you?
Why were you knocking on her door? You utter bitch.’
Robinson intervened.
‘Miss Parkes, I have no alternative but to ask you to come down to the station to answer questions in relation to the murder of . . . er . . . Mr Christopher,’ began Robinson heavily. ‘You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down by this constable and may be given in evidence. Have you anything to say?’
‘I didn’t do it,’ said Miss Parkes through stiff lips. ‘I did not kill Mr Christopher.’
Doreen had ransacked the kitchen and found sufficient salad for all of them. The argument continued around the table. Phryne had opened another bottle of wine and was beginning to feel embattled.
‘Think about it,’ urged Alan Lee. ‘We need you. We’re going to be ruined if Farrell’s goes bust. There’s no circus going on the road before Christmas, and the Agricultural Show is over. We’ll be skint and starving if we can’t get out of town before the end of the month.’
‘Yes, I understand, but what do you expect me to do?’ asked Phryne.
‘Why, come with us,’ said Alan Lee. ‘Come with us and watch and you’ll be able to tell what’s going on. Then we can stop it.’
‘Oh, yes? And how do you expect to stop it?’
‘We have Samson. He can stop a train with one hand.’
Samson smiled modestly and took some more bread.
‘Please,’ urged Alan Lee.
‘No,’ said Phryne. ‘What could I do? Besides, I’d stick out in your carnival like a sore thumb.’
‘You’d be in disguise. We’d have to get you into the circus itself, not just down among the carnies. You can ride, can’t you?’ ‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Won’t take you long to pick up a few tricks. You can sell tickets and maybe do a little acrobatic riding. Anna could teach you. She did a sharp-shooting cavalry act before she got so big. Or Molly.’
‘Who’s Molly?’
‘Molly Younger. She can teach a horse to do anything but talk. Oh, Lord, Doreen, I forgot about Molly. I wonder if she knows about Chris?’
Doreen swallowed an enormous mouthful and gasped. ‘Gosh, I forgot about that! Someone ought to go and tell her, Alan. I’ll do it.’
‘What about Molly and Chris?’
‘She was . . . well, they were close. They were going to get married. Poor Molly. First Socks and then Mr Christopher. You see, Phryne? Something has got to be done. We can’t go on like this.’
‘So you want to smuggle me into the circus, where I don’t know anyone, in order to find out who is sabotaging it? It’s insane, Alan. I like you all very much but I don’t see that I can help you.’
‘Leave her alone, Alan. If you were this rich and had a lovely house like this and all that money and nothing to do, would you leave it all to go haring off on a wild-goose chase with people like us?’ Doreen’s voice was scornful. ‘You’d be mad. I could work all my life and never be as comfortable as this. Look at this house—she’s got a car and a staff of servants and everything to make her happy. Our problems ain’t her concern. We’re only carnies, you know.’
‘Don’t say that, Doreen. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. I just don’t see how I can.’ Phryne was slightly hurt. ‘I haven’t lived like this all my life. I was poor enough when I was a child.’ She began to sound self-justifying in her own ears and held her tongue.
Alan Lee took her hand and stood her up, then surveyed her. He saw a slim young woman in a skimpy cotton dress. Her black hair swung as she turned her small head to look at him. He ran hard hands down her body with the impersonal touch of a farrier.
‘You’re soft, living like this,’ he said insinuatingly. ‘Look at that thigh and the buttock. There’s been muscle there but not now. And these hands,’ he laid Phryne’s bare inner arm to his cheek, ‘smooth as silk. Never done a tap’s work in years. You’re so beautiful I almost can’t bear to look at you. You’ve got the build and the lightness and the hands to be an acrobat or a rope-walker or a rider, yet you’re wasting away in idleness. What’s more, I’d bet good money that you’re bored. Ain’t you?’ The dark eyes bored into Phryne’s green ones. ‘You are, ain’t you, Phryne? You gotta remember that I know you.’
‘And I know you,’ said Phryne, taking a handful of his hair at the back of his neck and squeezing. ‘I know you too, Alan. And you are right. I am bored. But that’s all I am—bored. I shall be amused tomorrow.’
‘Will you? As well as I can amuse you?’ His hand lingered at her waist and the touch tingled.
‘Not in the same way,’ she said lightly. ‘But amused none the less. Now, let us have some more lunch and talk about it. I’m not saying that I’ll do it. I just want to know what you’ve got in mind.’
Alan Lee sat down. Doreen, who had continued eating during the conversation, remarked, ‘He’s right. You could’ve been a ropie or even a flyer but that takes too long to learn. I reckon you’d make up good as a rider. It’s not too hard to learn. I can do it and so can Anna. Just a matter of sticking on and not panicking. There’s a finale in the horse act where they have ten girls come in, standing up in the saddle. One of ’em fell last week and broke her leg. You could take her place, after a few lessons. You’re too distinctive with that hair, though, and them green eyes. Can’t, do nothing about the eyes so you’d have to wear a wig, or a cap. Might only take a few days to put your finger on what’s crook with Farrell’s. I’ll give you a name, too. Fern. That’s close enough to Phryne.’
She pronounced the name correctly, with a long ‘e’: Fry-knee. It sounded even more Greek and alien in Doreen’s flat Australian accent.
‘Fern,’ said Phryne, tasting the name. ‘I have to think about this.’
‘Don’t think about it,’ said Samson. ‘Never does to think too much. Just do it.’
She looked at him.
‘Please,’ said Alan Lee.
Phryne wavered. She had indeed been very bored. The round of social engagements and parties stretching in front of her seemed suddenly tedious as a twice-told tale. The concerns of her own circle were narrow. Everyone she liked was busy elsewhere. Her household would get along even more smoothly without her.
‘If you can teach me to stand up on a horse,’ she said, ‘I’ll try it. But only for a while.’
Samson reached across the table and shook her hand, engulfing it to the wrist. Doreen grinned. Alan Lee swept Phryne into a close embrace.
And Ember, encountering his first snake when he sidled into the parlour in quest of more ham, shrieked and fled up the curtains, where he remained despite coaxing and bribery, hissing and clawing ferociously at every attempt to rescue him.
‘I hope that this is not an omen,’ said Phryne, wondering if she owned a stepladder. ‘I do hope that I’m not going to regret this.’
CHAPTER FOUR
The demand of the common people,
Imperial Rome
Jack Black Blake shot his immaculate cuffs and said crisply, ‘Billy, what do you hear?’ The boss of the Brunswick Boys was well dressed, dapper and good looking. He had dark hair, slicked back, and a large diamond on his hand, outside his glove. Today the gloves were lemon-yellow kid but they did not seem to be affording him any pleasure. He was smoking a fat cigar and scowling into his beer.
The Brunswick Boys, known to the police as the Brunnies, were having a council of war in the august confines
