Dot?’
‘Cheap,’ said Dot critically, rubbing it between finger and thumb. ‘But not real cheap. Not Woolworth’s. No lines and foolscap size. I reckon it’s typewriter paper, Miss. Same with the envelopes. Offices use long envelopes like that.’
‘Thank you, Watson, what would I do without you? Go on, Evelyn. Now, you have a suspect, don’t you?’
‘Yes, so to speak, but I . . . can’t believe it of him.’
‘Who? Dingo Harry?’ said Phryne, deliberately breaking her agreement with the stableman. This was more serious than it had first appeared.
Mrs Reynolds was taken aback. ‘How on earth did you know about Dingo Harry?’
‘I have my methods,’ said Phryne, sipping Moet. ‘You think he sent these missives?’
‘He might have. He and Tom had a terrible fight about him slipping through our fences and snaring dingoes on our grounds. I don’t know why it upset Tom so much but it did. He bellowed at Harry and Harry bellowed back and it almost came to blows.’
‘Leaving aside the unlikelihood of a swaggie getting hold of typing paper, why should he call Tom a cheat and a swindler?’
‘No reason. It’s not Dingo Harry I’m thinking of, though he seems most likely for the snare. In fact I wish it was Dingo Harry; he’s a madman and they’d just lock him up for life. He doesn’t matter. It’s Jack, you see. Jack Lucas.’ Evelyn wrung her hands.
‘The tall blond boy? Why should he call Tom a cheat?’
‘Jack Lucas’s father and Tom were partners in a business. Tom got out before old Mr Lucas put all his money into the Megatherium Trust. It crashed and Lucas was ruined – went into a decline and finally put a bullet through his head. It was terrible, such a scandal, you must remember it. His wife died of grief and everything was sold up and poor Jack, who’s been to a good school and educated to go to the university, has to get a job as an auction clerk and he’s awfully unhappy about it. And the really terrible thing about it was that he asked Tom for a loan, to put him through university and pay his fees and so on, promising faithfully to pay him back, and Tom refused. He lost his temper, poor silly man, you know how men are. He said something about like father, like son, and that he wasn’t a safe investment. Then Jack said that all Tom had done in his life was produce second-rate books and the only wisdom he’d shown was in marrying a rich wife. Oh, dear, there was a dreadful row and it took me days to talk them around. But Tom still won’t lend Jack the money.’
‘Can’t you?’ asked Phryne. ‘It’s your money, after all.’
Mrs Reynolds was so shocked that Dot had to pour her another glass of Moet.
‘Miss Fisher . . . all that I own is my husband’s. I can’t think of acting against his wishes,’ she said as stiffly as three glasses of champagne in quick succession would allow. Phryne sighed.
‘Of course, how silly of me. So. Jack Lucas might have written them. Yes. It’s possible. The spelling is too good to be really illiterate. One would think that someone who doesn’t know how to spell ‘‘bastard’’ or ‘‘deserve’’ would not know how to spell ‘‘swindler’’ or ‘‘money’’. However, what use is Tom dead to Jack Lucas?’
‘Tom’s left Jack a thousand pounds in his will. He wants to make up for the loss, you know, but he feels terribly guilty and that makes him tetchy. What’s more Jack approached him the wrong way, asking for an advance on his inheritance, and Tom called him a beggar eager to wear dead men’s shoes. Oh dear, oh dear, what am I to do?’
‘The easiest thing to do is give Jack the money. If that doesn’t suit, Tom should go to town and change his will and make sure that everyone knows that he’s changed it. Then there’ll be no reason to kill him.’
‘Oh, no, he’ll never do that. He won’t go back on his word and he told old Lucas that he’d provide for his son.’ Evelyn set down her glass unsteadily.
‘Let him provide for the boy, then,’ said Phryne in her most reasonable tone.
‘Not after that dreadful quarrel.’
‘Perhaps I could talk to him,’ Phryne continued. Mrs Reynolds put out a hand to stop her as if fearing that her excitable guest was about to leap out of bed and beard the Master of the House in his den.
‘Oh, no, he’d be terribly offended and hurt if he knew I was talking like this about him. He trusts me.’
‘Evelyn, I’ve given you my advice. It’s up to you to persuade Tom to take it. By the way, is there anyone else who has a grudge against Tom?’
‘No, not that I know of. Of course, that Fletcher woman tried very hard to snare him when he lived in town, but she’s now occupied with throwing poor Judy at Gerry Randall. I can’t imagine why she wants him, she’s as rich as Croesus already. The girl is a great catch, though I suppose that you can’t really be too rich. And I’ve often wondered why Tom invites Major Luttrell here, he doesn’t seem to like him much. But gentlemen will have their fancies, won’t they?’
‘They will,’ agreed Phryne. Her current fancy was lodged far too far away from her with only his Confucianist principles to keep him warm. Mrs Reynolds rose.
‘I really should go – Doctor Franklin is attending Lina and I really should be there.’
‘Yes. See if you can find out what she isn’t telling. She must have seen something if the man was close enough to . . .’ Phryne censored her words in deference to her hostess’s sensibilities, ‘assault her. And what was she doing out of the house, anyway? Surely your housekeeper doesn’t encourage the maids to wander.’
‘Certainly not. Mrs Hinchcliff is very strict. Even if she were not, Lina is her niece. Miss Fisher, thank you for listening to me. I must go,’ she said, drawing herself up to her full height and smoothing down her tweed costume. Dot let her out.
‘The old school trained its daughters well, Dot. There aren’t many of them left in these parlous days. Thank God,’ said Phryne, and drained her glass.
Phryne was recovered enough to come down to lunch. She endured some mild teasing from Gerald, Jack and Judy about her horsemanship, flirted mildly with the poet and Gerald and drank a little consomme.
The poet was gallant in a middle-European way. He raised his glass of hock in a toast.
‘To Miss Fisher – most beautiful of Dianas.’
‘I suppose even Diana took the occasional toss,’ giggled Judy to Gerald, who smiled, and to Jack who did not.
‘Beware lest you suffer the fate of Actaeon,’ warned Tom, which silenced Judy.
Gerald caught on instantly. ‘I’ll try not to surprise you bathing, Miss Fisher.’
‘I’m not likely to be in the position – far too cold for swimming.’
‘Letty,’ said the Major in a poisonous whisper heard perfectly by everyone at the table. ‘Stop that blubbering and sit up straight.’
Mrs Luttrell whimpered, bit her lip, and took up a spoonful of soup. Phryne was trying to be sorry for this obviously oppressed woman but couldn’t quite manage it. She had married the repellent Major, so she should find some way of dealing with him. Braining him with a handy chafing dish was Phryne’s current favourite.
‘So, you don’t go for an early morning dip, Miss Fisher?’ bellowed Major Luttrell. ‘Should try it. Tones you up. The young chaps always do. I’ve seen ’em with their towels and togs running down to the jolly old river at the crack of dawn.’
‘I’m toned enough, thank you,’ said Phryne firmly.
Miss Mead remarked, ‘I do think that the amount of physical exercise that gels do now must have something to do with their dress. So sensible! Flying planes and driving cars and climbing mountains, so difficult in long skirts and . . . er . . . garments.’
Before Judith could embarrass Miss Mead by asking her about her corsets, as Phryne could see she was preparing to do, she put in, ‘Yes, Miss May Cunliffe won the London-to-Cairo road race, and women currently hold a number of records in aviation. Are you interested in planes, Miss Fletcher?’
‘Of course not,’ snapped her mother. ‘Most unbecoming.’
Judith, who had been about to reply, shut her mouth and turned a trying shade of brick-red. Gerald said hastily, ‘Do you fly, Miss Fisher?’
‘Certainly,’ said Phryne. ‘Look me up when you’re in town and I’ll take you for a spin.’
The young man lowered lavish eyelashes and murmured, ‘Oh, thanks, that would be lovely.’
Phryne was susceptible to lavish eyelashes and modesty. She smiled on the young man. Lin Chung, declining to play the game, was nevertheless paying close attention to the conversation. Phryne hoped that his principles were taking a battering.
