‘Her son,’ said Tadeusz. ‘Young Ronald. He went, as they say, to the bad.’
‘Not Tom’s child, then?’
‘No. She had another husband. He died. She doted on that boy – doted on him, and that is very bad for the young.’ Phryne stared at Mrs Reynolds’ face in the fading sepia. She looked soft and happy and vulnerable, holding the hand of a tall young man with her sharp features and strong bones.
‘I believe that he stole money from Tom – Tom forgave him, but then he stole from his employer and went to prison for two years. I remember him, this Ronald. He was sure of his worth, sure that he had
‘What happened to him?’
‘He ran away to America, I believe, where he worked on a cattle ranch. He wrote, for some little time, to his mother – always asking for money. She cried lamentably over those letters. Then – nothing. I believe that he is dead, but his mother keeps hoping. Poor Evelyn. A tragedy,’ said the poet.
‘So it is,’ said Phryne, turning the pages. ‘ ‘‘She’d have been different if the boy had turned out well.’’ That’s what Tom said at dinner.’
‘So she might. I am worried about Tom Reynolds, Miss Fisher.’
‘Me, too. I’ve never seen him that drunk. Who gave him that much juice?’
‘I don’t know. It was not me. A glass of this and a glass of that, even several bottles of that and this – I will indulge, happily. But sodden drunk at my wife’s dinner party, no. I have never known him to display such bad form.’
‘He’s worried about Lina.’
‘So am I. She is a nice girl, if a little fantastical, but that is no excuse for Tom to drink himself into social disgrace.’
‘No. I do not like this house party, Tadeusz, and I wish I could get away.’
‘I do not like this party either, Phryne, and I cannot write poetry in this atmosphere.’
‘There are consolations,’ she replied, and the poet grinned wickedly.
‘There are, but mine appears to have taken up with another.’
‘Mine has developed a deep concern for my reputation,’ she confessed, and Tadeusz laughed and clasped her hand.
‘There are others,’ he chuckled, and Phryne smiled and patted his cheek.
‘Jack and Gerald have been coming here for a long time,’ she said, turning another page of the large leather- bound volume.
‘Yes. There is old Mr Lucas – Jack’s father. That falling-out – it was a pity. They were such old friends. Yet it was not really Tom’s fault. And there,’ the broad finger stabbed at the page, ‘that is the tramp, the one they are all scared of. Harry.’
‘Dingo Harry?’ Phryne peered at the picture. A stocky man in a collarless shirt and stockman’s moleskins held up a long string of what must be dingo scalps. He was wearing a shapeless hat and grinning into the camera. His face was concentrated and intelligent, as far as one could tell through the mane of uncut hair and forest of beard.
‘He is interesting; an educated man. When he wants to talk, which is seldom, he is worth the listening. I had a long conversation with him about the fall of the Paris Commune once, sitting on a rock in his little camp. Now there is a man who needs no material possessions. He is, regrettably, quite mad, but a poet should talk to the insane. Is not insanity just another way of looking at the world?’
‘I suppose it is. Is he dangerous?’
‘He has rages,’ admitted Tadeusz. ‘I have seen him seize a great branch and beat the walls of the cave with it, bellowing about the voices. Once I saw Evelyn tend him when he had beaten his head against a stone to let out the demons. But in between he is perfectly civilised.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Phryne, hoping that, if she met this character, he would be in one of his tolerant moods. ‘Where is his camp?’
‘Down by the caves. I fear, in fact, that he might be flooded out by this storm. Is it still raining?’
Phryne listened beneath the music and heard the relentless swish of falling water. She nodded.
‘Tomorrow we go to the caves; they are miraculous. Almost they could make me believe that a Divine Spirit and not chance ruled the cosmos. Almost. You are going?’
Phryne rose and smoothed down the jade velvet. ‘Yes, I think I’ll go to bed,’ she said. ‘Thank you for showing me the pictures. Good night, Tadeusz.’
He kissed her hand with a continental flourish.
Phryne found her hostess and bade her good night, waved a hand to the rest of the company and turned at the door. Lin Chung bowed a little from the chess table, where the Doctor had just made the first move. Gerald smiled at her, a breathtaking, glittering smile. The Major and Miss Medenham were still missing, presumably in the little parlour. Miss Mead smiled, a rather meaning smile.
Phryne climbed the monumental staircase, blew a kiss to the lady and the knight in the Morris windows, and came to her own room.
She tapped softly and called, ‘It’s me, Dot.’
There was a scraping as the chair was pulled away and Phryne slipped inside.
Dot had dined well, accepted one glass of light white wine, and was unaccustomedly flushed and pleased. Phryne dropped into a chair, pulled off the silver shoes and rolled down her stockings. Wiping the cold cream off her face with a cotton-wool swab, she asked, ‘What’s happened, Dot? You look excited.’
‘Miss, you remember all that paper we took out of Lina’s books? And her little box? I’ve been looking at it.’
‘Good. What have you found?’ Phryne slicked her face over with milk of roses, dried it and followed Dot into her own room, where she surveyed neat little piles laid out on the single bed.
‘These are just chocolate wrappers and bus tickets and things, Miss, nothing written on them. But I’ve found some letters and this.’
Dot showed Phryne a diamond ring. The silver mounting was discoloured from having lain in the brass box, but the stone twinkled as bright as ice.
‘That’s a good diamond – a couple of carats at least,’ commented Phryne. ‘Where would a housemaid get fifty quid’s worth of jewellery, do you think?’
‘I don’t know, Miss. And there’s a letter.’
Phryne scanned it. It was written in an educated, flowing hand, in very black ink on cream-laid vellum.
‘And this,’ Dot produced her most important find. It was a torn sheet of typing paper lettered with black capitals. LINA, COME TO OUR OLD PLACE, R.
‘Cryptic, but it might explain why she was out in the mist that night. And I’ve an idea who R is, too. Dot, well done. A pretty piece of sorting. Can you clean up that ring?’
‘What are you going to do, Miss?’ asked Dot, alarmed.
‘I’ll wear it and see who notices,’ said Phryne. ‘Tomorrow, when we go to the caves. You’re a genius, Dot. This ridiculous, horrible case is beginning to make sense, I think. File all that stuff away. Keep everything, even the bus tickets, and we might get a breakthrough. Now, I’ve got a player in this odd masque coming to see me tonight. He’ll be here soon. Lock your door and don’t come out.’
‘What if he’s dangerous?’ demanded Dot suspiciously.
‘Then I shall scream and you can bean him with the poker,’ said Phryne.
Dot did as she was bid, and Phryne put out all the lights but her reading light, stripped off the jade dress and donned her chrysanthemum robe, and sat down. There was a book on the dressing table and she opened it.
