Death Before Wicket: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries 10 (29 page)

His mates sloped away, coins jingling in their pockets.

Tillie Devine knew a lot about men. They were, after all, her business.

When Dot and Joan arrived at the little house, the tea was on the table, somewhat stewed, and there was fresh milk in a jug, a packet (unimaginable extravagance!) of bought biscuits and the good cups. Both children had been collected from Mrs Ryan’s. They flung themselves towards their mother and grabbed her by the knees.

‘Mummy!’

‘Darlings,’ said Joan. Jim Thompson grinned at Dot. It would be nice to have Joan home again. Mrs Ryan would stop looking at him with that Irish compassion which he found irritating. The place was a shambles without Joan. He couldn’t cook. The kids had cried for her every night. Half the crockery had smashed itself in the washing bowl by some porcelain perversity and he had no clean shirts. He had missed her. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with teaching dancing, was there? Whoever you taught it to.

Fifteen

Greatress of Green Things, Lady of Bread, Lady of Flame, Mistress of the House of Morning, Lady of Abundance, Mother of Corn, Queen of the Wheat Field, Lady of Storms, Star of the Sea, Slaughterer of the Fiends of Evening, Mother of Horus the Revenger, Wife of Osiris, She Who Weeps, Great Queen of the Gods
.

James Frazer, ‘Titles of Isis’ from
The Golden Bough

P
hryne had time for a refreshing nap with Professor Brazell, though actual sleep was not part of it. She had refused to answer any questions, and after awhile Professor Brazell had stopped asking them.

Around six, Phryne heard the door open and called, ‘Dot?’

‘Yes, Miss? I’ve just taken my sister home, and they made me stay for tea. I reckon Joanie’ll be all right now. And I’m going back to the University to see how that poor boy is getting on, if you don’t want me for anything.’

‘Joss? How is he?’

‘I reckon he’s about the same,’ said Dot. ‘Not dead, at any rate. But you don’t know about what Mrs Hart said to Mr Hart…’

Swiftly, Dot gathered and folded Phryne’s discarded clothes while she told her the tale of Vivian Hart, Joss Hart and Dolly Hart.

‘Gosh,’ said Phryne’s voice. ‘I’ve got a visitor with me, Dot. This is Professor Brazell. Dorothy Williams, my companion.’

Dot smiled at the gentleman. Nice looking man, like one of them old Roman emperors, thought Dot. Her opinion was confirmed when she heard his voice.

‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Williams. Your mistress must be a s-sad trial.’

Dot loved the small catch in his assured voice.

‘She’s found me sister,’ said Dot stoutly. ‘The cops couldn’t do that. I read your note, Miss. You got out of it all right, then?’

‘Yes, with the assistance of Professor Brazell. Never underestimate the value of inflammable underwear and a strong pair of shoulders, Dot dear, when thrown into a pit. Now we need to find Adam Harcourt. Was he with Joss when you left, Dot?’

‘No, but he was coming back. That friend of his, Clarence, took him away to get some sleep in a spare bed in the infirmary. Unless the poor boy’s passed on, he should still be there.’

‘Good. Now, I need to get dressed for a magical working, so I need the Isis costume and…What’s wrong?’

‘Miss, what are you intending? Something blasphemous?’

‘No, something which may clear up the whole mystery of the burglary. The only magic in it will be mesmerism.’

‘Like that bloke at the Tiv who made a man think he was a chicken?’ asked Dot, her frown clearing.

‘Somewhat like that. Did I bring another blouse?’

Dot cast a despairing glance at Professor Brazell, who shrugged.

‘But if you think my immortal soul is in peril, Dot, you can pray for me. If you would like to go back and sit with Joss, you can come with us. We’re due at the faculty office at seven and we’d better get a wriggle on.’

The faculty office contained a full complement of professors, including Bisset, who had come in response to a cryptic note; Harcourt and Clarence had been dragged away from Joss, the Dean Mr Gorman was in a flaming bad temper, Professor Kirkpatrick was in defiance of Sabbath and Sykes in defiance of couchgrass. Bretherton was leaning against a bookcase, smoking a cigar. Juvenal would have enjoyed this gathering, he thought. And what had Miss Fisher and Brazell—the lucky dog—been doing? They looked altogether sated and very happy.

On the other side of the room, perfectly composed, were Madame and Marrin. Madame was wearing her usual bright gypsy clothes. Her bangles clashed like a percussion section every time she moved. Marrin was wearing a black robe figured with occult symbols. Above his unreadable gaze was painted an Egyptian symbol, the Eye of Ra. He was carrying a short black rod. A basket of assorted candles and dishes rested at Madame’s feet.

‘Really, this is mummery,’ puffed the Dean.

‘On the contrary, this is black sorcery, satanism, and the path to hell,’ announced Kirkpatrick, glaring at Marrin, who returned no immediate response. After a minute, like a cat, he yawned.

The sight of those filed teeth appalled Kirkpatrick, but he stood his ground. Phryne, as she entered with Brazell and Ayers, was reminded of a Scotch terrier contemplating into what part of a Great Dane it is going to sink its teeth. It would probably die in the attempt, but the Great Dane would know that it had been in a fight.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Phryne, ‘we are going to solve this puzzle by means which may strike you as strange. However, I must ask you to bear with me. Once this is started, please do not interrupt or make any loud noises until it is finished. I must ask you to trust me. Besides, if it works or it doesn’t work, you’ll have a story to dine out upon for years. Professor Bretherton, are your arrangements complete?’

‘Yes, Miss Fisher,’ answered Bretherton, who had complied with a set of unusual requests to the best of his ability.

‘I don’t like this!’ protested Clarence. ‘Professor Kirkpatrick’s right. It’s sorcery!’

‘So it is, laddy, but even diabolical means can sometimes be used to reveal the truth,’ said the Scotsman, gravely.

‘Adam, let’s go back to Joss. You don’t have to do this!’ cried Clarence Ottery.

‘Put a s-sock in it, Ottery,’ advised Professor Brazell. ‘You don’t have to s-stay and watch if it offends your s-sensibilities.’

‘Professor Ayers,’ pleaded Clarence. ‘Can’t you stop this abomination?’ Ayers shook his head. Clarence grabbed Harcourt’s arm and tugged. Harcourt did not move. His eyes were full of terror, but he had something to prove and a Golden Dawn amulet around his neck.

‘Come with me, Adam, if you want to get to the bottom of this,’ said Phryne. ‘Do you?’ Adam nodded. ‘Good. Come with me. We will be back in a moment. Marrin, will you prepare?’

Phryne and Adam Harcourt vanished into the Dean’s office. Clarence subsided, muttering. The Magician laid out a series of brass dishes on the floor, filled with incense. He lit it. The smell suggested that you would not want to know what it was made of: it had an odd, organic scent.

The faculty was disturbed. Most of them were fascinated.

‘I can’t do it!’ wailed Adam Harcourt, clutching at his breast.

‘Yes, you can, because I will be here,’ said Phryne, costumed as Isis. ‘I will not let anything happen to you. I give you my word. I am a woman of power, even Marrin admits that,’ she said. Harcourt, sitting on the floor, looked up the slope of her body to the penetrating green eyes under symbols he had been taught to worship.

‘If I fall into it again,’ he whispered, clutching at her knees in the manner of a suppliant, ‘kill me. Don’t give me back to Marrin.’

‘I will not,’ said Phryne. Harcourt allowed her to assist him to his feet and unbuttoned his shirt.

‘Don’t fail me,’ he pleaded.

‘I will not fail you. I will not leave you. And by this act, I will free you,’ said Phryne, wondering if she was being dictated to again.

Adam Harcourt nodded, and continued to undress.

The lights were extinguished. Madame lit her array of candles. Into the half-dark Adam Harcourt came walking, escorted by a goddess, putting each foot before the other in a parody of a dance. He came to Marrin and extended his arm, and Marrin jabbed once with a spike which drew blood. Harcourt swayed, his eyes glazing.

A
grand guignol
scene, Phryne thought, a naked young man with just one trail of blood running down the inside of his right arm.
The Golden Bough
had a whole chapter on the use of intoxicants to induce trance.

‘You remember what I said to you before,’ she murmured to Marrin, who grinned and raised his voice.

‘In the name of Osiris, in the name of Isis Mistress of Magic, her number is seven and seven candles are before her set. Her incense is burning. We prostrate ourselves before her. She puts her hand in ours. We follow where she leads.’

‘We follow where she leads,’ repeated Harcourt.

‘She orders that you repeat the movements you made in her service last Saturday night,’ said Marrin, putting a black-handled knife into the boy’s hand. ‘So mote it be.’

‘So mote it be,’ repeated Adam Harcourt.

Marrin stepped back against the wall and raised his wand. Harcourt went out of the office and shut the door. Phryne grabbed Bisset and hustled him into the wardrobe. He went, biddably. The door handle rattled.

‘He’s miming the unlocking,’ whispered Brazell. The door opened. The fascinated professors watched Harcourt as he walked into the main office, avoided a chair which was no longer there, and went into the Dean’s sanctum. They saw him kneel and remove the back of the safe with the knife, gathering an armload of things.

‘The ledgers,’ whispered Sykes.

‘The Book of Hours,’ breathed Bisset.

‘The papyrus.’ Ayers’ voice was just on the edge of hearing.

‘My hand axe,’ said Brazell.

Harcourt stood up in one fluid movement. As he passed the wardrobe in which Bisset was concealed, he looked down as if something fell from the pile. Then he passed on.

He laid his armload on the desk and sorted through it. Phryne, who could see his face, thought it as pale as marble and completely devoid of expression. Harcourt looked dead, except that he was still moving. He picked up the ledgers and pushed them into the bookcase, amongst the folios on the bottom shelf. He dropped the hand axe behind them. He added the jewel case and the petty cash tin. Then he stood up with the mock papyrus and a sheaf of typed papers in his hands and walked out of the door.

The whole faculty followed him like hounds on the scent. Marrin walked beside the acolyte, waving his wand as though he was conducting. Barefoot, Harcourt paced down the steps and out into the main building, then up another flight of steps into the Fisher Library.

He threaded through the maze of bookcases without incident. He opened a carrel and laid the sheaf of papers inside. Then he walked back, towards the door.

‘But where is the papyrus?’ asked Ayers, in agony.

‘Dad?’

‘Joss?’ Vivian Hart woke at the sound of the voice.

‘Mum?’

‘I’m here, lambkin.’

‘I thought I imagined you,’ said Joss sleepily. ‘Can I have a drink of water?’

Dolly Hart held the glass as he drank. Colour was coming back into his face. He plucked at the pressure bandage, which was uncomfortably tight, and Dolly took his hand. He tried to sit up. His father assisted him.

‘I feel so tired,’ said Joss. ‘What’s happened to me?’

‘You were bitten by a snake. But you’ll be all right now,’ said Vivian Hart. ‘I’ll go and get the quack. Just hang on for a moment, son.’ His feet made echoes as he ran from the room.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, precious?’

‘Why did you leave me?’ demanded Joss, and burst into tears. ‘If you hadn’t left I never would have got into trouble. Now I’m in big trouble. I stole something, Mum. And I let someone else be blamed. One of my friends. And I gave it to Dad and I don’t know what he’s done…’

‘Ssh, pet. Hush now, lamb. We’ll explain. Your father always was a hasty, stupid man. I’m back now, Joss, and I’m not going away again. I’ve missed you for ten years,’ said Dolly Hart, ‘and I’m not going to lose you now. Whatever you’ve done.’

She sat back, retaining her grasp on the boy’s hand. After all, she thought, I’m not in a position to cavil about wrongdoing. Dot, from her chair on the other side of the room, laughed with relief and put down her rosary.

Entranced, Adam Harcourt walked away from the library.

‘Where’s he going?’ asked Madame in Phryne’s ear. ‘He was supposed to come to the gate where we were waiting, but he never came, and this is not the way to the gate.’

‘Adam, don’t do it!’ A loud voice jolted the acolyte so that he staggered, clutching at his heart. Phryne turned and clamped a hand over Clarence’s mouth. He struggled. Marrin glared. Professor Brazell seized the young man and locked his arms behind his back.

‘I learned this hold in Broome from a pearl fisherman,’ he said gently. ‘If you make another s-sound, you’ll be really s-sorry, plus you’ll go through life being called “lefty”, do you understand, Ottery?’