Flying Too High (15 page)

‘Well, I don’t own a plane and neither does Henry. He has an order in for the new Avro, but it hasn’t arrived yet. I could ask Bill.’

‘Of course. Tell Bill that I need to borrow the Fokker. Tell him that I will personally guarantee that I’ll buy him another if we break it…call him now, Jack, we need the plane for tonight.’

Jack went off to telephone and Phryne opened the door into the parlour.

It bore all the signs of a day of unbearable strain. The ashtray was piled high with butts. The air was foul with smoke and fear. Molly was drinking her thirtieth cup of tea for the day and Jack was lighting yet another cigarette. A scratch meal of bacon and eggs had congealed on its plates and had not been cleared away.

‘Right, everyone pull themselves together. Buck up! You shall have Candida back by tomorrow or my name isn’t Phryne Fisher—which of course, it is. Open the window, Molly. Start a nice little fire in that grate, Henry, it’s cold. Is your cook here? I’ll go and see her. Put all that depressing food in the chook pail. Come on, up and at ’em!’

She galvanized the couple, who had not spoken since Molly had accused Henry of failing to discipline Candida and Henry had accused Molly of crushing the child’s spirit. Their voices were creaky with disuse. They stood up, flinching as muscles creaked and tendons twanged. Jack came back.

‘I can go and get the Fokker any time. Where are we taking it?’

‘Don’t know. About forty miles to Geelong and twenty more beyond that. Take a full load of fuel because I don’t know where we are going to land. Dot, can you ring Bunji Ross for me and ask her if she is free to take a little fly? Now I’m going to the kitchen. Both of you, out for a brisk walk around the block. On the double!’ Molly and Henry, dazed, obeyed. Jack Leonard smiled.

‘You are a wonderful girl, Miss Fisher.’

‘Call me Phryne, I’ve been calling you Jack for days. Don’t be insulted that I’m asking Bunji to fly the Fokker. I’m entrusting you with a much greater honour.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You are going to drive my car,’ said Phryne. ‘Help me clean up. Nothing is more depressing than a room in which three people have spent all day worrying. Get some more wood and re-light that fire, if you please. I’ll tidy…no, Dot will tidy, she’s better at it than me.’

Dot returned and reported that Bunji had professed herself delighted to assist and free for the next two days. Phryne waved a hand at the mess and Dot took off her coat and hung it on the door.

Phryne found the kitchen. The cook and the maid were sitting at the table. They had evidently been weeping for hours. The maid in particular could hardly see out of her eyes. The table was littered with the remains of lunch, or possibly breakfast, and no washing up had been done.

Phryne blew into the room like a cold South wind.

‘Come on ladies, buck up. We are going to find the child and bring her back by tomorrow. Up we get, Mabel.’ She hoisted the maid under the arms. ‘Go and wash your face in cold water and comb your hair. What would your young man think of you if he saw you like that? Come on Cook, let’s get all this cleared away and I’ll help you with the washing-up. The master and mistress will be back from their walk and then you and Mabel are going out, too. Is the stove still hot? Good. I suggest something soothing for a late lunch. What about a cheese omelette and a nice solid sweet?’

‘Apple and coconut crumble,’ said the cook, drying her eyes and stowing her handkerchief about her person. ‘We can manage that, Miss. We
have
been giving way. It’s because she’s such a lovely little girl. Not an angel, she’s a strong-minded little creature but very clever and very good hearted. When I had a headache she brought me two of her mother’s aspirin and her bear to hold.’ Cook managed not to burst into tears again. She relieved her feelings by stroking the stove until it ignited with a great roar of wind in the chimney. The kettle sang and the iron skillet, uncleaned after bacon and eggs had been cooked, sizzled. Cook carried it into the scullery. She scraped the plates which Dot had brought in. Mabel returned, mopped-up and collected, drew a bucket of hot water from the stove and began to wash up.

Jack Leonard and Dot had straightened the disordered room and the fire was burning brightly. A cold and refreshing breeze blew through the open front door.

‘That looks better,’ commented Phryne. ‘You have a natural talent for order, Dot. Ah. They are back. Go and tell Cook and the maid to take their walk. A fast walk. I want them back in ten minutes. Now, when you spoke to Bill, Jack, how did he sound?’

‘Quite chirpy, really. He has faith in your star, Phryne, as do we all. Are you really going to allow me to drive the Hispano-Suiza?’

‘Yes. If you damage it I’ll have your guts for garters. Do not let that bother you, though, just don’t drive like a demon. It won’t be too difficult. At least I hope not. Now, out you go, Jack. I want you and Bill to modify a big motorcar foglight to run off the engine of the Fokker. I want it to shine straight down.’

‘No car headlight will be strong enough to reveal much on the ground, Miss Fisher, unless you are intending to fly at twenty feet.’

‘It doesn’t have to reveal anything. It only has to be strong enough to hit the road. Off you go. Here is some money. I don’t mind how much it costs, but I must have it finished before dark. You’ll have to take the ’bus down to Geelong before anything interesting happens. Clear?’

‘Clear,’ agreed Jack. ‘I say, do you really know Bunji Ross?’

‘Yes, she’s going to fly the plane, and I want Henry to go as her observer. We are going to track the kidnappers to their lair, and we will only have one chance, so we can’t afford to mess it up. Call Bunji and ask her from me to help and advise; you’ll like her, Jack, but see if you can prevent her from fighting with Bill. Tell him that on Friday I anticipate solving the murder, and he must continue to be the Angel of the House.’

Jack left. Molly and Henry returned from their walk, feeling better, and Phryne asked them to show her around their house. It was new, and some of the chests had not been unpacked. Phryne decided that this would be a splendid occupation for a worried woman.

‘Molly, you should unpack all these boxes. I’ll send Dot to help you, she’s great at putting things away. I tend to just stuff the clothes into a wardrobe. If the door shuts, I think it’s all right, but Dot is neat. You stay up here and I’ll send her to you. It will be all right, I promise. You have my word. We shall have her back by tomorrow. It’s just a matter of getting through the time, and we can’t move until tonight. Cook will bring you a light meal and I want you to eat all of it even if you are convinced that it will choke you. I need you in good shape for tonight and you will find that you are hungry after the first three mouthfuls. What a charming room. Did you choose the wallpaper?’

Molly nodded. She had been very proud of that wallpaper. It seemed like such a long time ago now that she had moved into this house in which she had hoped to be very happy. Phryne interpreted the look.

‘You’ll be happy here again if you can regain your sense of proportion,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘When I see Candida tonight I’ll need some token that I am trust-worthy. What would convince her?’

‘Bear,’ said Molly with conviction. ‘She will be leading those kidnappers a hell of a dance because she hasn’t got him. Come this way,’ she said, and led Phryne upstairs to the nurseries. Baby Alexander had been sent on a visit to his doting grandmother. His room, decorated with bunnies all round the walls, was empty, but had a feeling of recent occupation. Candida’s room was hollow. It was clear that the child who had slept in this little blue bed and worn these pyjamas and played with these toys was missing, not just gone for the day. Molly controlled herself with a great effort and snatched Bear off the bed.

Phryne retreated from the room and shut the door. There was a limit to what a stepmother could stand. She held up Bear and looked at him. He had been a proper golden plush Pooh-bear at one stage in his life, but he had been extravagently loved for some years since then, and he was a little battered. One of his ears had been carefully re-stitched, and his joints were loose. His squeaker no longer worked and the repairs to his face after some childish accident had given him a lop-sided grin. He was a Bear of great, if raffish, charm and Phryne could understand why Candida relied on his company and counsel. This might be a Bear of very little brain, but even his furry body had been moulded, by the hugs of years, to fit Candida’s embrace. Phryne gave Bear a brief squeeze and tucked him under her arm.

‘To your boxes, woman,’ she ordered Molly. ‘Bear will be safe with me.’

She marched back into the parlour, where Henry had started pacing again.

‘Dot, can you go and help Mrs Maldon? She’s upstairs, unpacking. Talk to her about her new house, baby Alexander, and anything else that occurs to you. Don’t go into Candida’s room if you can help it.’

Dot obeyed. From the kitchen came the appetizing scent of an omelette cooking, and bread toasting. Henry took Bear out of Phryne’s arms and hugged him. Phryne glanced at his face and went out. She decided that Bear should be left alone to work his magic.

She dialled her own house. Mrs Butler answered the phone.

‘Mr Butler has got the paint you ordered, Miss, and says that what you need to deliver it is the bladder from a football. He’s just gone out to buy one.’

‘Good. He is a jewel among men and I hope that you are very happy with him.’

‘And your two cabbies are here with a load of papers which they say you asked them to buy.’

‘Good again. Tell them to wait until Mr B. comes back and to bring the doings over to the Maldons’. Did they say if they found the rope?’

‘Mr Bert is here, Miss, I’ll put him on.’

Bert, who was unused to telephones, roared in Phryne’s ear.

‘Bert here, Miss. We got the rope.’

‘Good, but keep your voice down. Was it where I said it would be?’

‘Yair. Cec found it, and a pile of pitchers. We reckon they are kerbstones. We’ll go out looking for the street repairs later. The rope had blood on it all right. Reckon it was used to tie someone up. The stains are all spaced out, like. And there were all these little things under the stones.’

‘What sort of little things?’

‘Lollies, and toys, and gum cards, and lead soldiers. Someone had painted over their uniforms and given them white skirts.’

‘Ah,’ said Phryne with deep satisfaction. ‘Had they. Have I told you lately how invaluable you are, Bert?’

‘Not lately,’ said Bert, ‘but I’ll pass your recommendation on to Cec. Now about the old bloke and the girl—no wonder the poor sheila was chasing him up the path. He’d pinched her clothes. This smarmy cop thought it was real funny. Cost me ten squid to square him. Is that all right?’

‘Cheap at the price,’ said Phryne. ‘Come over here with the paint and the footy, as soon as you can. The game’s afoot, Bert, and I’m hoping to have Candida back before tomorrow night. After that we shall see. You keep looking for the local top cocky, and the street repairs, and I’ll see you soon. Bye.’

Phryne could hear Bert ask, ‘What do I do with this thing now?’ as she rang off.

Bert and Cec arrived an hour later in their new taxi. Omelettes and jam roll had been consumed, the household having run out of coconut, and Molly Maldon was so absorbed in telling Dot all about what a bargain her new carpet had been that she did not flinch when the doorbell rang. The two cabbies came in with the bladder and the paint, and an armload of illustrated papers. Phryne waved her scissors at them.

‘Come in! I’m just cutting up five thousand pounds worth of valuable newspaper. Put them down there on the sofa,’ she directed, and Bert laid down his burden. ‘This is Henry Maldon, the flier. Tell me about the funny cop.’

‘Pleased to meetcher,’ growled Bert, who did not approve of capitalists. He took a tense hand and shook it. Henry Maldon looked much better than he had two hours ago, but there was enough residual agony in his face to make Bert revise his opinion. ‘He couldn’t help winning the money,’ he told Cec later. ‘And the poor coot looked like he’d been strained through a sieve backwards. Sitting there clutching that teddy bear. Must’a belonged to the kid.’

Bert abated his gruffness instantly and strove to amuse.

He made a good story out of the cop, and coaxed a smile out of the distracted flier. Phryne bound her newspaper bundles with a real note on the top and bottom, and placed a bundle of real fivers on the top. The notes were packed into a cloth bag. There was a strained silence.

‘Come down to the pub, mate,’ offered Bert to his own astonishment. ‘Man needs a beer. Still an hour before time.’

The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece said five. Phryne refrained from hugging Bert and observed, ‘We can’t do anything until it’s dark. You go with Bert and Cec. I’ll come and get you if something happens. Which pub are you going to?’

‘The Railway,’ said Henry, and the two cabbies took him away. This was a relief to Phryne, who had not been able to find Henry an occupation. There was still a couple of hours to go before there was any point in setting out for Geelong.

Phryne heard the voice of the cook raised in comfortable converse with the butter-cream-and-egg man, who was late.

‘What are you coming here at this time of night for?’ she demanded, and Phryne heard the reply from the back yard.