Note: Sorry for the long delay between updates! Christmas is derailing my life LOL. But I was determined to finish this chapter tonight, despite having to work, cook and get the house ready for guests tomorrow. Somehow I managed it! Yeesh. I love the holidays but will be a little relieved when they're over. Thanks for your patience, and for sticking with me!
"The garden party we attended at Mrs. Abbott's last week, don't you remember?" asked Dot, agitation clipping her voice. "He was accompanying the Lady...oh, blast, what was her name? That Dutch marchioness, or was she French?"
"Flemish," replied Phryne. "Lady Océane de Ligne. Yes, I remember her, Dot. But I don't remember him."
"No, you might have never saw him," said Dot. "He remained amongst the servants. But he didn't speak to anyone. He just watched his mistress intently the entire time."
"Are you sure, Dottie? Are you sure it's him?" asked Hugh, looking anxious that his beloved had been in such close proximity to their monster.
"Reasonably certain," confirmed Dot. "I don't really remember the scar on his lip, but now that I see the whole face...the resemblance is strong."
"The Lady Océane is new in town," stated Phryne, combing her memory for details. "She arrived from Brussels a little more than a month ago. If he accompanied her, it would explain why these crimes began so suddenly."
Jack looked thoughtful. "It takes a practiced killer to arrive in a new place and waste so little time before claiming lives. He is experienced. Still smelling of sea water and he's impersonating doctors and stalking little girls—"
"Killing little girls," Phryne cut in. "But how and where is he doing it? Where can he be stashing his captives? His mistress is no doubt still staying at the Windsor, I cannot imagine her patronizing a lesser establishment—"
"No," interrupted Dot, her eyes clear and alert, "I heard her telling Mrs. Abbott she had already found a suitable accommodations in South Yarra. I remember wondering if she had let one of those beautiful old mansions."
Jack held his hands up in a calming gesture. "Let's everyone just slow down for a moment. We mustn't get ahead of ourselves, at least not until we get our hands on this fellow and have Jane and Giulietta identify him. We'll need to get an address for this marchioness woman...I'm sure that's within your reach, Miss Fisher?"
"Indeed," Phryne agreed, "All it will take is one phone call to Mrs. Abbott."
And so it did. Mrs. Abbott was all too pleased to be the holder of such sacred knowledge, and gave up Lady de Ligne's address without batting an eyelash.
"We can't just go barging in there with guns blazing," said Jack, resting his elbows on his knees and balancing his chin on steepled fingers. "Miss Fisher, you and I will pay the marchioness a visit. Welcome her to the neighborhood. See if her manservant is at home. Hugh, I want you to take the police motorcar and return at once to the station. Send two constables to meet us at Lady Océane's address in case he makes a run for it, and then make sure all the girls at Warleigh Grammar are accounted for. I need to know immediately if we have more than one victim to look for."
Hugh nodded and jogged out of the room in a hurry, forgetting his hat in the foyer and having to double back.
Phryne rose with Jack, who was making his way to the front door as well. She held him with a touch. "What if I simply paid the Lady a social call? That way our suspect wouldn't know we were on to him. She and I have socialized before, it would not be suspicious. Then we could get the lay of the land, learn who he is, make it more difficult for him to slip away."
Jack looked at her for several moments, considering her words. Finally, he shook his head. "No. No, it will waste too much time. I want him apprehended right away. Before the sun is set."
Phryne accepted this easily enough. They didn't really have time to waste, with the clock ticking for Lily. "Do you think Lady Océane is in danger from him? Do you think he's keeping the girls at her house?"
"It is possible," Jack told her, donning his coat and hat. "In answer to both. Those large manor homes have numerous hiding places, as long as he is successful in keeping her quiet."
Quickly and quietly, they were out the door and into the motorcar. As the engine roared to life, Phryne spoke. "We may be able to bring Lily back to her parents tonight."
"Like I said before," said Jack, his eyes fixed on the road before of them. "We cannot get ahead of ourselves. Dot may be remembering wrong. He may not be there at all."
The drive to Lady Océane's new South Yarra residence was a relatively short one, and before long they were rumbling down the drive of a formidable old manor home. It was not at all to Jack's taste: an overdone mishmash of Palladian and Victorian designs painted a washy pastel yellow. The builder seemed to have been unable to decide between the two architectural styles and had thus incorporated as many elements of both as he could: wide, imperious pediments topped with lofty turrets, all of it festooned with columns and dentils and filigreed porticos. It was an odd house, but in a way it commanded respect. It was not hard to picture a lost little girl being locked away in one of those towers.
They were ushered into an exquisite parlor, the interior of which was embellished to the hilt—it was clear that cost had not been a concern when decorating the room. It was still done up in an overtly Victorian style, the walls painted a deep cerulean while the paneling and swag friezes were overlaid with expensive gold leaf. Everything from the fireplace surrounds—the mantle of which was held aloft by a pair of nude marble caryatids—to the patterned golden drapes was of the highest and costliest caliber. Even Phryne was gazing around herself, unmistakably impressed.
The Lady herself was as astonishing as her parlor, and a good deal younger than Jack had pictured. He was certain she was not yet thirty. Her skin was clear and radiant, her green eyes bright and clever, her sleek, silvery blond hair coiled into a spotless coiffure . She had a lithe, trim figure which was wrapped in an elaborate costume of beaded emerald silk, an outfit which did not seem at all the sort of thing a person would simply wear around the house. The whole package was rather stunning, and Jack found himself wondering what kind of man the marquess was, allowing such a woman to voyage half way across the globe without him.
He saw Phryne watching him out of the corner of his eye and he knew he had been caught looking. But it was difficult not to look. Lady Océane de Ligne demanded to be looked at, much in the way Phryne herself did.
"This is a lovely surprise," drawled Lady Océane in accented but proficient English. Jack found her accent difficult to differentiate from a French one. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Inspector, Miss Fisher?"
"Unfortunately, we are brought here on police business," said Jack, hoping his clear, confident tone would derail any ideas the marchioness might have of using her wealth and influence to manipulate the situation. "We need you to assemble all of your male staff, as quickly as possible."
"You are looking for someone?" she asked, her eyes darting between Phryne and Jack in surprise.
Jack began to answer. "Your Grace—"
"Oh, tosh," smiled the Lady, waving an elegant hand. "We are nowhere near the Continent, Inspector. In Australia, I am Madame de Ligne and nothing more. It is refreshing, I find, to dispense with the formalities."
Somewhat gratified, Jack nodded and carried on. "Madame de Ligne, then. Please summon your male staff first, and then I will be at liberty to give you more information.
The Lady did as he asked, beckoning to her maid and giving her the instruction to summon the male staff to the ballroom.
Jack's heart pounded with the possibility that they almost had their man. "We are looking for one man in particular," he continued once the maid had left the room with the order. "The one who accompanied you to Mrs. Abbott's garden party."
This seemed to catch her by surprise. "Alfons? Yes, my bodyguard. What could you want with harmless little Alfons? Well it's no matter, you won't find him here, I'm afraid. It is his afternoon off, you see."
Jack's heart plummeted in disappointment, and he found it difficult to speak for a moment. Phryne seemed to sense this and jumped in to fill the silence.
"Your bodyguard?" she wondered incredulously. "He is a rather small man, is he not?"
"Oh, he is," chortled Océane, clearly not realizing the seriousness of the situation. "Tiny. My twit of a husband hired him for me. But Alfons is a clever one, he sees everything. He can get me out of a snag before I even know I'm in one. And anyhow, I am the lowly wife of a lesser Belgian marquess. I am not important enough to attack."
Jack found his voice again. "When will he return? Do you know where we can find him now?"
Lady Océane's answers were predictably vague. One could not expect a noblewoman to know much about the personal habits of her servants. All she knew was that Alfons was not required to return until morning, and that he could be practically anywhere. Though a pub might be a good place to start.
"We'll need his full name, please, Madame de Ligne," Phryne requested.
"Verlinden. Alfons Verlinden."
Jack scrawled the name in his notebook with a nod. "We will wait for him here, if that is agreeable to you. My constables will be here soon. In the meantime, may I have your permission to begin searching your home?"
The Lady crossed her legs, looking skeptical. "You may search Alfons's quarters, I suppose, but I am afraid I must protect my own privacy, unless I am under legal obligation to do otherwise."
Jack could have guessed as much. In any case, he would need more bodies to search a house so large. He did not think Lily would be hidden here anyway; the Crossley-Scotts had already pasted Lily's photograph everywhere they could think of so that practically everyone in town knew her face. It would be too difficult to hide a child widely known to be kidnapped in a house with so large a staff. If Lily was even still alive, he reminded himself, a shard of despair cutting into his heart. "I understand, madam. You are not under obligation yet. Can someone direct us to his room? It is a matter of some urgency."
"Of course," said the Lady, looking worried for the first time. "Your faces are so grave...what is it you suspect him of? What do you think he has hidden in my house?"
"Unfortunately that is not information we can share," replied Jack, checking his fob watch distractedly. "The room, please?"
Another maid led them to the servants quarters in the attic and stood at the door to the Alfons Verlinden's room as Jack and Phryne walked inside.
The room was eerily immaculate. Almost like a hospital room. The white bed linens were without blemish, the pillow set atop it as if it had never once been used. A pitcher and basin sat on the nightstand. Jack threw open the wardrobe to find only a few items of clothing, hung and separated with the exact amount of space between each article.
"There is nothing here, Jack. No personal items, no letters, no clutter...if there weren't clothes in the wardrobe I would say the room was vacant."
Before answering, Jack dismissed the maid, assuring her they could find their own way back downstairs.
"Yes, vacant," he murmured, buried in thought. "But that tells us something, Phryne. This Alfons fellow is not a normal sort of person, is he? Who keeps their room so tidy? What kind of man separates his hangers as if with a ruler?"
"That, or this room has been arranged with the knowledge that it might be searched," Phryne countered as she got down on hands and knees to check under the bed. "Not even a pair of shoes," she sighed in disappointment. She rose back to her feet, dipping an arm inside the pitcher by the bed and running her fingers across the bottom. "There's dust, Jack. This hasn't been used in some time."
Jack, meanwhile, was going through the pockets of the pants inside the wardrobe. There was not even a crumb to be found. "I think you may be correct, Miss Fisher. He keeps a few items in here to fool his mistress, but I don't believe he has inhabited this room for some time."
"He has safe house somewhere. Where he's doing his dirty work."
"There is a good chance. I need to telephone Hugh. We'll need more officers here to wait for Mr. Verlinden to return. We have our man, Phryne. I can feel it my gut."
Phryne nodded at him, gently taking his hand. "I feel it too. Oh, Jack, I hope he returns soon. I cannot bear to wait, thinking of what he might be doing to that poor child."
Jack closed his eyes briefly, nodding in agreement. He tried not to think of Lily's face.
When they found their way downstairs again, he asked another maid to show them to the telephone. She led them to Lady Océane's personal sitting room, where said Lady was reclining on an ornate sapphire chaise, perusing the newspaper.
Jack caught sight of the painting that hung over the fireplace and was momentarily distracted. In the foreground a naked girl lay on her stomach on a bed, her expression sly and seductive. There was second figure seated behind the bed, painted in profile and clad in a black hood, the face arranged in an unsettling expression. He moved forward to examine it more closely and was forced to conclude that it was a genuine Gauguin. He was suddenly impressed with Lady Océane's taste. There was something beautiful yet frightening about the painting, particularly the chilling, unlidded eyes of the dark figure, fixated on the young woman who seemed oblivious to the sinister presence behind her.
"You are an admirer of Gauguin?" Lady Océane purred, and he could hear the rustle of her beaded gown as she sidled up behind him. In moments, Phryne was at his other side, possessively slipping her fingers into the crook of his elbow.
"A casual admirer, yes," admitted Jack, examining the painting with interest. "I have not seen this one before, it's lovely."
The Lady gave him an appreciative smile. "Spirit of the Dead Watching, it is called. Strange, no? Ah, but I am devoted to the strange and obscene. It excites me endlessly."
"It is fascinating," commented Phryne, seeming more curious of the way Madame de Ligne was regarding Jack than of the painting. "If a little disturbing."
"Precisely," replied Océane. "Just as art should be. This particular one is reminiscent of Memento Mori—'remember that you will die.' Our medieval ancestors were obsessed with the idea. For me, it is simply a reminder to live life to the fullest, while I am here to enjoy it."
"An amiable sentiment," Phryne affirmed, who lived life by a similar principle.
Remembering his purpose, Jack abandoned all thoughts of paintings. "If you could be so kind as to lend me your telephone, Madame, I must check in with the station."
"But of course," she replied gesturing to an ornate black porcelain device painted with Chinese cranes and flowers. Phryne was kind enough to occupy Lady Océane with conversation while he made his call.
Hugh answered after only one ring and Jack barreled forward. "Hugh, bring everyone you can find, including yourself. Our suspect can be expected to return home at any moment and I don't want him to have any avenue of escape. I want each man armed and ready for action."
"Very good, sir," replied Hugh, sounding somewhat breathless, "But I have news as well. Turns out a missing persons report was filed this morning on a girl in Jane's class. She was on our list—Rosemary Trant. Last seen by the teacher who sent her to the clinic with a headache, a day before Jane's encounter with our suspect. We have men following up with the family now. "
"So he has two of them," Jack ground out, dread gnashing at his insides. "Get here as quickly as you can, Hugh. We're going to put an end to this. Today."
"Yes, sir. Warren and Talbot are on their way to you now, should be arriving any moment. I will arrive with back up as soon as I can."
"Be sure to park the cars conspicuously, not all together in one place. I don't want him tipped off that we're here."
"Of course, sir," replied Hugh. "I'll make sure of it."
With a hurried farewell Jack hung up the telephone and glanced to Phryne, who was still chatting with Madame de Ligne and did not appear to have overheard his reaction to Hugh's news. Good. He would wait until later to tell her. She did not deserve to be tormented any further by Jane's close call with Alfons Verlinden. Hearing of Rosemary Trant's abduction would only needlessly increase her worry and guilt. It could wait until after Verlinden was captured. She would be angry at him for withholding information, but she would understand, too, and forgive him eventually.
As Hugh had promised, Warren and Talbot appeared on the doorstep not five minutes later. Jack asked Lady Océane to set them up in second floor corner rooms at opposite sides of the house, where they would have the best chance of spotting Mr. Verlinden as he approached. He and Phryne took the circular study situated at the front west corner, which was equipped with tall windows that allowed clear views of the street and servant's entry. Warren and Talbot were positioned in a guest bedroom in the back, overlooking the drive and garden.
"And now we wait," sighed Phryne, settling herself atop a plush window seat, looking out onto the immaculate lawn to the side of the house.
Jack was feeling shaky and tense, as if every muscle had turned to glass and could shatter at any moment. Now that it was quiet, he couldn't avoid his emotions, which were rolling through his body like thunder. He couldn't keep them inside any more. The images in his mind were too intense. They were too close to getting their man. He needed to tell her everything. He needed her to fully understand the horror of Verlinden's crimes before the knowledge of them smashed him into a million jagged pieces.
Phryne could tell something had changed in Jack's demeanor. He held himself stiffly, hardly moving, his eyes fixed and saturated with emotion.
"Jack?" she murmured, beginning to stand and walk over to him. "Are you all right?"
"Stay at the window," he said softly, holding out a hand to stay her. "We cannot let him slip by."
Phryne did as she was bid—it was no time to quarrel. She let the silence swell between them, knowing he was building up to something. She gave him time to work up to it, her eyes scanning the horizon while her ears listened for any sound he made.
It was several minutes before he found words. "She didn't have any blood," he said quietly. "Such a little thing, naked and cold on the grass, and such a strange color...bloodless. Lifeless."
Phryne kept her eyes forward but swallowed at his words. "Poor lamb."
"The autopsy report came in earlier this morning. It says she died before he went to work on her," Jack stated, his voice almost a gasp as he fought the emotion she could hear building up in his throat. "I thank God and all his angels for it. A tiny mercy, but a mercy all the same."
"You don't have to say any more, Jack. It's all right," she soothed.
"It's anything but all right," he protested. "I have seen death, Phryne, as you know well. All kinds of death. Fellow soldiers dead, piles and piles of them, all around me. Dead relatives who drifted away peacefully in their sleep. So many murder victims, plenty of them innocent, some of them children, even. But never have I seen a death brought about with such delight and precision. Carried out not for rage or war or personal gain, but for the sheer pleasure of it. You could see it in every cut of his knife." He swallowed hard, and Phryne's heart clenched with sympathy. "Seeing her treated that way...it could not have hurt any more if she'd been my own child." He paused again, and she waited. "I must have you beside me, when we catch him. I need you to touch me, to somehow remind me of where and who I am. I fear that I will lose my mind at the sight of him and be driven by no higher purpose than to tear him apart with my bare hands."
"Oh, Jack," whispered Phryne, swiping at a tear that had snuck from her eye. "You know you can count on me. I'll be beside you, and we'll face it together."
"Stay at the window," he commanded, as she had risen again, wanting nothing more than to go to him. To hold him through his misery until he forgot every awful thing he had ever seen. "But thank you, Phryne. I'm glad you're here with me."
"Me, too," she replied simply, clasping her hands, which still itched to hold him, in her lap.
"Why here?" asked Jack. "Why did he have to come to our neighborhood and take our girls? Of all the damn places in the world?"
"You will go mad trying to make sense of it," sighed Phryne, trying in vain to smooth out a crease in her blue linen trousers. "I used to ask the same about my sister. I never did receive a satisfactory answer, so I resolved to stop asking."
Jack nodded in agreement. "Tragedy, like Justice, is blind. And cruel. But at least in this tragedy we have someone to punish for it."
Phryne gave him a rueful smile. "Let us hope so. I am ready to close the book on this brute."
There was a knock on the door and Hugh rushed inside without waiting for an invitation, looking as though he had maintained the same accelerated speed since leaving the station, his breath coming in short gasps. "Sir! We got here as quickly as we could. I brought fifteen officers, they're all waiting in the foyer for instructions. Has there been any sign of him?"
"Nothing. Send two up here to relieve us and I will go down and distribute the rest."
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir!" agreed Hugh, and he was gone just as quickly as he had appeared.
Two officers appeared presently to relieve them and Jack and Phryne quit the room together. As he closed the door behind him, he felt her warm fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him to her before grabbing hold of him around the middle. He fold his arms around her, relishing in the moment of warmth and comfort though he knew it must be brief.
"I care about you, Jack. So much," she whispered into his chest. He could feel her hot breath, even through the wool of his waistcoat. "Thank you, for sharing that with me just now. I know it wasn't easy."
"No," admitted Jack. "But you make me want to share the things that aren't easy. Share them with you, I mean. I've never had that before, not even with Rosie. It's a lovely thing, really. Thank you."
Her chuckle vibrated from her body into his. "You're welcome, I suppose? I didn't do it on purpose, of course. But I'm glad. So glad."
They held each other for a few more stolen moments before Jack reluctantly released her, regretting the loss of her heat immediately. But Alfons Verlinden was roaming the streets of Melbourne at this very moment, and Jack sensed that it was going to be a long night indeed.