"I'm your wife, Lucien," she gasped, "wives don't get paid."
"But secretaries and receptionists do," he hummed, "and as you are that to both me and father, we have decided that we will pay you for the two posts, in other words, we've doubled your salary. It's nothing to do with you being my wife."
"I never thought …" she sat on the opposite side of the desk, "Christopher just gave me housekeeping …" she didn't add that it didn't cover the household expenses and she had to skimp on the food she bought. In many ways it was just as well they ran a farm, at least she could grow a lot of the vegetables and some of the fruit.
"That is going to come out of the household account, now," he tapped his pen on the desk.
"Oh," she frowned.
"Father and I have been thinking. This is a business, a good business. If we have a separate household account for the grocery bills and the rates etc, then we know where we are, financially. We can top up the account if we need to, or adjust the payments, but essentially the surgery pays for itself, and we do have the added fees for my police surgeon duties."
"Did you pay Alice? Only if she was working here …"
"By the hour, it's what she asked for, and she took over as police surgeon so she got the fees from that."
"Oh, good, because I'd hate to think you took advantage of her – as a doctor, that is."
"I doubt Matthew would have let me."
"No."
"We'll review at the end of the year and see how it's going."
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It went very well. In fact life went from strength to strength. Lucien would sometimes become very involved in the cases he autopsied, his enthusiasm for a puzzle would frustrate Matthew, but as it usually resulted in an arrest he would forgive him over dinner with the family, and after Alice had soothed him in the only way she could.
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Eighteen months into their marriage, Jean gave birth to a son, Peter Lucien, after a trouble free pregnancy. Lucien was delighted, Thomas grinned from ear to ear and Genevieve painted all their portraits. Li was so entranced by her baby brother she spent much time singing to him and offering to change him for Jean. Jean muttered it was a good job she was feeding the baby herself or she would never get to hold him.
"I'm glad, though," she murmured to Lucien one evening, "she could have been very jealous."
"It might be because we have made her a godmother, with Vivi."
Jean laughed, Vivi's reaction to being asked to be a godmother had been one of shock and disbelief.
"Me?!" she swallowed the whisky in her glass when Lucien phoned her to inform her of his son's birth, "what makes you think I'll be any good as a god mother?"
"All you have to do is be there," he shrugged, laughing, "we don't expect you to change nappies."
"Well, thanks, I think." She put the phone down and went to wet the baby's head, properly.
Matthew was one of the godfathers and as Lucien did not have a wide circle of friends they decided to ask Geoffrey Nicholson as a sort of thank you for all his help when Thomas was poisoned.
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The woman had come to Vivi at her flat.
"I need a good lawyer," she twisted her handkerchief as she stood on the doorstep.
Vivi didn't know how she had found out her address, which was unnerving, but asked her to meet her at her office to discuss the problem.
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"I want a divorce." She hadn't even introduced herself, just sat down and faced Vivi over the desk.
She was of average height, in her late thirties or early forties, brown hair neatly styled, her clothes were conservative but of good quality.
"I'm not a divorce lawyer," Vivi frowned, "but I can put you in touch with one."
"No, it has to be you – because of the reason I need this."
"Oh, well can we start with your name?"
"Mrs Constance Fletcher."
"Well, Mrs Fletcher," Vivi pulled out a notebook and prepared to make notes, "why do you want a divorce?"
Mrs Fletcher stood up and removed her jacket, then her blouse …
Vivi gasped; there were healed cuts, what appeared to be cigarette burns, bruises, all below the line of her collar, all where they wouldn't be seen.
"This is why," she said simply, "there are more, but I would have to …" she indicated her slip and bra. "My husband is a brute, Miss Blake. My parents arranged the marriage ten years ago, they sold me off to pay their depts. I am no longer prepared to put up with the pain he inflicts on me, almost daily, if his dinner is late or not what he feels like eating, or not cooked to his liking, if I refuse him in bed – well there's no point, he forces himself on me anyway. We have no children, my fault, apparently, but then he had no children with his first wife, either …"
"And what happened to her?"
"She died." Mrs Fletcher sighed, "I don't know why, about a year before we were married."
"Didn't waste any time, then?"
"Indecent haste, my friend said."
"Mm," Vivi agreed.
"So, what do you want out of this divorce?"
"Everything, I want him exposed for the bastard he is, I want his money, the house, all my jewellery, I want him out of my life."
"I see," Vivi sat back in her chair and observed her. It had probably taken a lot to have her come to see her, "where is your husband, now?"
"In Port Philip, he's in shipping. He's due back tonight."
"If you are to proceed with this, Mrs Fletcher, then we need grounds …"
"Isn't this enough?" she waved her hand down her body.
"But we need official grounds. Now, I need a doctor to examine you …"
"He dictates which doctor I see."
Vivi thought as much, or how would he get away with having a particularly nasty cut stitched without the hospital alerting the authorities. She picked up the phone.
"Jean! How are you?"
She listened.
"Now, darling, I need to speak to Lucien, is he there?"
Jean said he was playing the piano with Li, she would just get him.
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"What? Oh, well, yes, of course." Lucien looked puzzled then angry. "I'll drive over immediately."
"Lucien?" Jean stood with the plates in her hand, she was just about to put out lunch.
"Sorry, love," he kissed her, "I need to get over to Vivi. She has a divorce case …"
"I didn't know she did divorces …"
"Yeah, well, the woman has been repeatedly assaulted by her husband and it would seem she has had enough. I need to do a court ordered exam before he gets back from Port Philip."
"You drive carefully," she warned, "I don't want to bring up the children on my own, not again."
"I promise, Jean, that I won't do anything stupid. I'll ring when I get there, will that help?"
She tiptoed up and kissed him.
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Vivi had arranged a room at the Women's Hospital, an independent nurse would attend Mrs Fletcher during the examination both for her comfort and for the court papers.
Lucien was as gentle and thorough as he could be. On seeing the injuries he shook his head and asked if she'd mind very much if they were photographed.
"You see, Mrs Fletcher, I am sure it would add weight to your case, we shan't photograph your face, if you'd rather we not."
"Oh, er, well, how will they know it's me? I mean my husband may deny it is my body if he doesn't see my face. Take your pictures, Dr Blake, She tipped her head up, "I want him held to account."
Lucien knew there was no such crime as 'marital rape' but he thought there ought to be . He had a loving and fulfilling relationship with his wife, but if Jean did not want to make love with him on any occasion he accepted that. It didn't happen often, in fact only once or twice, so it was not something he ever considered – forcing himself upon her.
He examined and catalogued every scar, every bruise, every cigarette burn, marked it on a diagram and took a photograph. He could not believe a man could do this to his wife – what kind of debts did her parents have?
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Lucien phoned home to say he would have dinner with his sister before driving back.
"Jeez," Vivi took a mouthful of wine, "what a swine. She called him a bastard at our meeting …"
"Generous of her," he muttered.
"Hope it's over before Peter's christening," she hummed, "how is he?"
"Perfect …"
"You're his father, you're supposed to say that."
"Ok, well, he sleeps well, feeds well, is the apple of his sister's eye and is growing as he should be. You're going to love him," he smirked.
"Never seen the attraction myself," she hummed, "but I shall be his godmother, if you still want me, and his crazy aunt."
"Just what we thought." He had often wondered why Vivi hadn't married, not that it mattered, all that mattered to him was she was happy. When he had left for Edinburgh and medical school she had been fourteen, more in the habit of climbing trees and skimming stones on the lake. Their mother had often despaired of making a lady out of her – but now she was smart, elegant and, if he remembered rightly, had flirted outrageously at his wedding to Jean. She had even taken turns round the dance floor with Bill Hobart.
"Well," Lucien called for the bill, "I'd best be off. I'll get you home first and head off."
"I'll tell Jean you're on your way," she let him help her into her jacket, "thanks for dinner, Lucien," she kissed his cheek.
"My pleasure," he smiled.
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Mr Fletcher was not happy about being sued for divorce. His wife had decided to remove herself from their house until it was all over, for her own safety. She had taken all her clothes and jewellery – that he had paid for – and found a discreet hotel to stay in. He had his lawyer go over the indictment and challenged all the claims, even with the photographic evidence. His lawyer told him it would be better if he agreed and gave her what she wanted.
"You don't want any of this coming out, it will ruin you." Not that he cared, as long as he was paid, Fletcher could rot in hell for what he had done to his wife.
"She's not getting a penny," he stormed around the office, "I've heard about that female lawyer ..."
"What about her?"
"Not married …"
"That isn't a crime."
"They say she has men over …"
"Are you considering blackening her name, because if you try she will run rings around you. You can't bring her private life into this case – it is between you and your wife. Now," he shuffled papers on his desk, "let's see what we can get away with, in how much you have to give her."
"Nothing, she gets nothing."
The lawyer saw that getting Mr Fletcher to see sense was not going to be easy – or even possible.
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Vivi decided to do a little digging into Mr Fletcher's shipping business so she called the port authorities.
"No ma'am," they assured her, "no Fletcher shippin' these days. Went west when the debacle in '29 occurred."
"Twenty-nine?"
"Yeah, Fletcher's shipping company were involved in white slavery, the company folded when the boss went into jail and the girls were sent to better places."
"So, who is this Fletcher chap? His wife wants a divorce and I am looking into what he has to give her – she wants the lot."
"Fletcher disappeared from the ports as far as I know, he was engaged to the Police Commissioner's daughter at the time, I think she threw him over and moved overseas."
"Did the Commissioner know?"
"Sure did, he was in on it and banged up. He died in jail about a year later, it's legend around here."
This left Vivienne with a problem, who was Mr Fletcher? From what the shipping office had told her the Fletcher involved in the '29 case would be in his fifties or early sixties by now. She needed him followed.
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Vivienne Blake knew people; she knew members of the Victorian police force, she had informants and she knew Matthew Lawson and Lucien Blake, but first she would look into the 1929 case and speak to Mrs Fletcher.
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The files for the 1929 case, that she was able to 'borrow' from the archives at City South Police Station gave her names – George Sanderson and Sydney Fletcher. They told how the white slavery was uncovered by a Detective Inspector Robinson and the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher – though why an 'Honourable' would be involved it didn't say. She thought maybe the current Inspector might know something, he was of the right age to have served as a junior officer then.
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"Remember it," Inspector Collins sat down in his chair, "I wish I didn't."
"That bad?"
"And then some. Inspector Robinson was my senior officer in those days, Miss Fisher was my wife's employer." He asked the desk constable to bring through some tea and told a tale of subterfuge, corruption and other dreadful things. Of girls sold from the Magdalen Laundry, now closed, and shipped off to heaven knew where to be used by men. The Inspector was warned off by Sanderson but he couldn't stay away, Miss Fisher was already on the ship when he went over to the docks and boarded the ship. I went with him – if he was going to be dismissed from the service I didn't want to stay – we found Miss Fisher and some girls locked up with her men, cabbies that did things for her, and it transpired that the girls were the cargo and Fletcher tried to shoot Miss Fisher but the Inspector got him first, he went into the water. Fished out and sent for trial. I don't think he got a long enough sentence, not in my view, or anyone else's to be honest. Sanderson died in jail about a year later – don't know what happened to Fletcher."
Vivi told him about the divorce case and what she had found out from the port office.
"Let me ring the jail," Collins picked up the phone.
Vivi waited while he spoke to the Warden.
"Thank you," he signed off the call and put the receiver down.
"Fletcher did five years …"
"Five years?!" Vivi almost shrieked, "Five years for selling girls?!"
Collins nodded.
"That smells of corruption, to me."
"And me." He frowned, "out in thirty-five. Never heard of again but I doubt he kept his nose clean."
"I have a nasty feeling your Fletcher and mine are one and the same."
"But … wives, two of 'em in fourteen years? What happened to the first one?"
"Died, apparently. Don't know why or how. He married Constance ten years ago, in indecent haste, she says."
"Right," Collins stood up, "this is a case, I have connections from then, I'll be in touch, Miss Blake." He held out his hand and she shook it; she liked this Inspector, he seemed to have guts.
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Collins was a good as his word; how he did it Vivi didn't think she wanted to know, or who his connections were but he found out that the first Mrs Fletcher had died very soon after she married. Apparently she fell down the stairs and broke her neck and there was no one to say otherwise, not even the autopsy could say whether she fell or was pushed. Fletcher had become a wealthy man on her death, she had been independently wealthy and had no other family.
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Vivi didn't meet Mr Fletcher until the preliminary hearing when he declared Constance would get nothing. That was all he would say.
Vivi looked at him across the courtroom and back at the old photograph she had – it was definitely him, older, grey hair at the temples, thicker, grey moustache – but it was Sydney Fletcher.
Fletcher's lawyer shook his head, if his client would only see it was in his best interests to have a quiet divorce. He had read Mrs Fletcher's petition and it would all come out in public just what a piece of dirt he was. He, himself was a little afraid of him and now vowed to resign as his legal representative and leave Melbourne. He had friends in America who were always asking him to visit, perhaps he would take a long trip.
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The divorce hearing proper, was to be heard three days after Peter's baptism so Vivi headed to Ballarat. She arrived the day before and intended to stay until she had to return to Melbourne. She would ring Mrs Fletcher to enquire after her health and assure her she was determined to get her all she deserved. Lucien would appear as a witness to her injuries so he would travel back with her.
"His lawyer has resigned and fled overseas," she mused over after dinner drinks.
"Do you think you are safe, Vivi?" Genevieve frowned.
"Inspector Collins has a copper outside my building day and night, Fletcher will not get in, and anyone not known to live there is challenged. But I'm rather glad Lucien is coming back with me."
"So'm I," Thomas huffed.
"Will the police do anything about Fletcher's other activities?" Jean chewed her lip.
"They are investigating where his ships leave from. Obviously he's wily enough not to trade under his former company name, otherwise the port office would have been able to tell me which ships were his." Vivi nodded. "I'd be very surprised if he's up to his old games it would be rather stupid. He was caught once, but it may be that he blames Sanderson for his previous capture." She sipped her drink, "of course if he is found to be trading in girls, again, then Mrs Fletcher will get her divorce and whatever else she wants. No judge would insist she stays tied to such a man."
"Are you sure she knows nothing?"
"Yes, otherwise she wouldn't have told me what he does for a living. She is aware she may come out of this with less than she hoped, as his earnings are ill gotten, but she says she can live with that; as long as she has enough to make some sort of life for herself."
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Sydney Fletcher was fuming! No lawyer would take him on as a client – word had got around. He blamed it all on Vivienne Blake and Constance. Miss Blake was a meddler and Constance should have been happy he brought her away from the life she led as a typist trying to pay off her parents considerable debts, to him.
And then the police came calling.
He was in his house, musing on his next move, when the butler brought Inspector Collins and a constable in. He vaguely recognised Collins from years ago, from the time Sanderson encouraged him to use his ships to take girls to the middle east, under the guise of shipping sugar and other such items around the world. His Ship's Captain – de Vere had escaped on another ship and fled back to Belgium, he assumed, and he had been shot and wounded before he could put a bullet in Phryne Fisher's skull – an act which would have given him supreme satisfaction.
As Collins questioned him about his ships and asked what cargoes he had these days he told him it was just silks to and from the orient, he was done with his other trade which, he claimed, was all Sanderson's idea anyway. But still he wouldn't say which were his ships and what company he used, which was even more suspicious than his denials, more so because Sanderson wasn't around to deny it.
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The docks swarmed with police. Somehow Collins had got a warrant to search every ship, boat and dinghy moored there. And while Vivi was saying she would do her best to be a good godmother to Peter Lucien, sacks, crates, boxes, brigs, bilges and cabins were being turned over and things were catalogued in minute detail.
"Nothing, boss," a Senior Constable sighed, "all perfectly legal, all documents in order."
"What's that?" Collins pointed over the bay to a ship moored on its own.
"Dunno."
"Well go and see," he pushed the young officer gently off, "and see who it belongs to."
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Outwardly, this ship looked in need of a good clean and paint; but on board the officers found it to be clean and leak-proof – perfectly seaworthy. There were sacks of wool labelled 'New Zealand', bales of silk from China and locked cabins. They were not locked for long.
Though empty, the cabins showed signs of habitation, human habitation. There were small bunks with not so clean linen, buckets that had been emptied and rinsed out – other than that they were bare.
The Senior Constable who had been sent over was in the Captain's cabin and found the documentation he was looking for. The ship was registered to 'The Sydney Cargo Company', licenced to carry silks and wool – it was called 'The Rosie'. He went on deck and waved frantically.
Collins had been standing hoping he was wrong, but his gut, honed from years of working with Jack Robinson and Phryne Fisher, not to mention his wife, Dot, told him that Sydney Fletcher was up to his old games. He saw the wave and hurried over to the ship.
"Ah, right," he looked at the hull, "and red algae …"
"What?"
"Red algae, found in the Red Sea, it's how we caught him the first time. But we need proof he's carrying girls."
"How's he getting in and out, sir? Surely he needs to file papers, but this is, well it seems hidden, out of the way."
"Probably sails on the night tide," Collins hummed. "With a good crew he'd be ok, I suppose." He looked around. "I want a watch set," he pointed to places his men could hide, "armed men."
"Right," the other man scratched his head.
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"Well," Vivi sat on the couch, "I suppose that's it then, I never thought I'd be a godmother."
"I don't see why not, you're good and kind, you fight for right, you care …" Lucien grinned.
"… and you're crazy," Li laughed. "Just perfect."
"Well, thanks for that, Li," she laughed back, "and with your smarts we make a good pair, don't you think?"
"Oh yes."
Jean came through from the nursery, what had been the guest room, having fed and changed the baby. "Ah," she hummed, "here you go, godmother Vivi," and she placed Peter in her arms before she could blink. "Your turn, Li has him most of the time."
Vivi just gaped at the sleeping bundle.
"He won't break," Jean shrugged, "now, any tea going?"
"It's his baptism day, Jean, champagne," Thomas handed her a glass, "it might give him hiccups but it won't harm him."
"Well, you're the doctor," she took the glass and sipped it, "lovely."
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Vivi and Lucien arrived at her flat the day before they were due in court. She collected her post from her pigeon hole and dropped it on the kitchen table while she made tea.
"Looks like files," Lucien picked up the larger of the two envelopes.
She nodded, "I asked Collins to let me have copies of all their notes, from his investigation. If he gets difficult we can use it, or, of course, his case may take precedence over mine. Either way, Constance shall have her freedom."
He turned it over in his hands, "Go on," she smiled, "open it, I know you won't blab about the contents."
He sat reading the details of the case, the finding of 'The Rosie' and the subsequent night-time arrest of Fletcher and his Arabian ship's captain who were caught loading five young, blonde girls onto the ship. To prevent any of the girls escaping they were tied together with rope and led blindfold up the gangplank and into the cabin Collins' men had first found. The ship's crew boarded from the opposite side of the vessel and all were caught after a skirmish that had one officer with a nasty cut to his head, two others with bruises and all of the sailors handcuffed. Fletcher and the Captain were handcuffed to two officers and as Lucien was reading the files they were languishing at his Majesty's pleasure. Mrs Fletcher had been interviewed and it had been determined she had no knowledge of what her husband was doing, much like Rosie Sanderson in the original case. She said, it was reported, he could rot in hell for all she cared.
"Sounds much like the original case," Vivi set the teapot down, "from what Collins told me. Some people never learn."
She picked up the smaller letter and started to open it. The address was beautifully written, an elegant hand; she slipped a knife under the flap, there was a bang, a flash, she screamed and fell to the floor in a cloud of smoke and sparks.
"Vivi!" Lucien threw the table out of the way and leapt over a chair. She was lying on the floor, leaning against the cupboard. He threw cold water onto her singed clothes and checked for a pulse and breathing. She was unconscious, but alive.
"I'm going to call an ambulance," he coughed, "you'll be alright, Vivi, I promise." He was often accused of making promises he couldn't keep but he was going to keep this one, come hell or high water.
With an ambulance on the way, he set about cutting away the burned clothing and covering her in cold, wet cloths. The burns extended up her left arm, over her shoulder and the top of her chest, up her neck and stopped just short of her chin. Her left ear-lobe was burned and a small patch of hair. He kept talking to her, reassuring her and looking about for the letter that had been sent.
There wasn't much left of it, but enough, he hoped, that he and perhaps Alice could discern where it had come from if not who sent it. It had to be something to do with the Fletcher case, it couldn't be any of the others she had recently worked on. Whoever sent this, had more than a working knowledge of explosives, it wasn't designed to kill, just to maim and frighten.
"Be difficult to get her down on a stretcher, doc," the ambo grunted after Lucien had introduced himself and given Vivi's details.
"I'll carry her," he went to lift her, gently as if she were a child, "she's my sister."
He cradled her as carefully as if she were Peter as he walked down the stairs and gently laid her on the stretcher in the ambulance. He would travel with her, he wasn't letting her out of his sight. The officer outside the building had sent for Inspector Collins and sealed off the flat. He would tell him where to find Dr Blake and Miss Blake.
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The doctor admitting Vivi looked Lucien up and down and frowned.
"Dr Lucien Blake," Lucien extended his hand, "Vivi's brother. I'm a GP and police surgeon in Ballarat – now, her injuries …"
He didn't wait for an answer, just called for all he needed and went to work as a doctor and not as a concerned and angry brother. He would ring their parents and Jean as soon as he knew what the damage was and had an idea of the long term effects. He would also ring Alice and ask her if she would very much mind hopping over and helping him go over the evidence.
He was glad she stayed unconscious as he treated and applied the dressings to her burns, she would be in dreadful pain. He had an infusion of pain relief set up and saw her settled in a room before he dared leave her with a nurse to call home.
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Genevieve went pale and had to be helped to a chair, Thomas grabbed his car keys but Jean took them off him.
"You are not driving in this state," she stared him down. "He wants Alice to go and help him examine the evidence, you can go with her." She folded her arms. "I'll pack enough for a couple of days and book you into a hotel, with Lucien."
On the other end of the line, Lucien could hear her bossing his parents around and smiled. He waited until she was ready to talk to him again.
"Thanks, Jean," he smiled for the first time since it happened, "if you could book us into a place close to the Women's I'd be grateful. Vivi will be alright, but she will have scars and I don't know how she will cope with them. She's always so smart, elegant …"
"Let's get her well, first, love," she sighed, "I suppose she will have to give up the case?"
"I don't know, Collins will deal with that, I'm sure. We need to find out who sent the letter, and why."
"You and Alice will work that out; I suppose you have the evidence in your pocket?"
"In an evidence envelope, I haven't had a good look at it, yet, I was busy."
"As you should be, doing what you should."
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Alice was a good driver, but Thomas would have driven faster, which had been Jean's worry. Genevieve twisted her handkerchief and chewed her bottom lip.
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They registered at the hotel and left their luggage in their rooms. Jean had booked them all in, and asked that they be on the same floor if at all possible due to a family emergency.
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Vivi was awake but in some pain, just about bearable she insisted.
"Oh cherie," Genevieve gasped, "we got here as fast as we could."
Vivi managed to raise an eyebrow.
"Alice drove," she continued, "your father wanted to but Jean wouldn't let him."
"Probably for the best," her daughter croaked, and looked over at Thomas who was reading her notes and talking to his son. Lucien had more experience, sadly, with burns and explosive victims and he was happy to leave the bulk of her treatment to him, though he might make a few suggestions or have a few queries on occasion.
"I'll change her dressings in the morning," Lucien was saying, "pump her full of morphine for the pain. There is nerve damage to the palm of her left hand, she was holding the letter in it, the burns are deepest there, but there will be scars from all the burns. I got to her as quick as I could, but she was at the other side of the table. The skin will be tight, and she will have to be careful how she dresses to prevent irritation."
Thomas looked at him, his candour was surprising in front of the patient.
"She knows," he sighed, "she asked and she knows when I'm lying, and why lie, the truth will become apparent soon enough."
"Hm," Thomas frowned.
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Vivi stayed in hospital for a week. The divorce case was held off until she could get into court, though Lucien wanted her to pass it to a junior.
"No, I'll finish what I started," she grimaced as she tried to move, "and Fletcher is not going to see me fail."
Genevieve helped her to dress and Lucien escorted her into the court.
Fletcher folded under her questioning, and even though he smirked at her injuries she didn't let him see it bothered her; in fact what he thought of her appearance didn't worry her, he was of no consequence, he was in handcuffs … when his case came to trial he would be sent to prison for the rest of his life. She would see to that, she had offered to represent the girls – free of charge.
Constance was granted the divorce and after Fletcher's trial the judge would work out what she could have of his fortune. She understood that as so much was built on crime and suffering she could not expect much.
Everybody told Vivi not to represent the girls, that she needed time to recover from the burns but she was as stubborn as Lucien and she saw the case as cut and dried, it wouldn't take long to put it together, Collins had all the evidence, he had been caught in the act; no, she would see it through.
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The envelope that had held the explosive, though elegantly written, had come from Melbourne Gaol. The explosive, Lucien surmised, was made from easily obtained, usually innocuous items that when mixed together made a frightening but not fatal substance.
"They didn't mean to kill her, then," Alice mused.
"Just to scare her."
"They don't know her, then," she raised an eyebrow.
"What doesn't break us, makes us stronger," he smiled softly.
"You and she are very alike," she observed.
"So people say."
"She will be alright, Lucien," she touched his arm, "scarred, but this is Vivi, she won't let him get the better of her."
"Trouble is, we don't know who sent it, it could have been Fletcher or even Clement, they are both in the same jail. In fact it could have been anyone she has had sent down."
"Fletcher and Clement are the most recent, though."
"True."
"Wouldn't they know if any letters had been sent, and where to. I mean letters to lawyers would stick out, wouldn't they?"
"Collins is looking into that, he's a good man, trained by the best they say, and Vivi trusts him."
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Three weeks earlier, in the exercise yard at Melbourne Gaol two inmates had got to talking. Both regarded themselves as victims of meddling by a lawyer and a doctor. As conversations will they wove through their respective troubles to the naming of the lawyer and doctor.
"She needs shaking up," one grumbled.
"She needs a warning," the other agreed.
"You're a scientist," the first noted. "Any ideas?"
"Some stuff would need smuggling in, you get visitors?"
"No, you?"
"One," he didn't say who or why, but his visitor was not a friend, an acquaintance maybe and a reluctant one at that. "Don't think he'll help."
"What're you thinking?"
"A letter, with a gift, an explosive …"
"To kill?" he gasped.
"To frighten, to scare and to remind her that meddling never pays."
"Ah," he nodded.
Somehow, they managed to get enough volatile substances by bribery, coercion, force of any nature to make a small explosive device to send to Vivienne Blake. It was small enough not to raise suspicion when it went through the mail system – which was just a prison officer taking all letters to the post office and sending them. The prisoners had a postal allowance so there was no need to check where and to whom things were being sent.
The letter had sat in Vivi's pigeon hole for a week before she picked it up, a week in which the two inmates waited for news of a lawyer being hurt in an explosion.
As the whispers went round the jail both men gave themselves away by declaring loudly that Vivienne Blake got what she deserved, she was a meddling woman who should keep herself to female occupations.
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Vivi walked away from the court satisfied that justice had been done. Clement and Fletcher were sentenced to be held in solitary confinement until the day they were hanged. The judge said that ordinarily their crimes would carry a long sentence but in their case he thought they would be better off out of the way for good. Clement had been sentenced for attempted murder originally, now he was found guilty of intent to cause serious harm, who knew what else he would do. Fletcher was found guilty of being a leader in the white slave trade, for the second time, and intending to cause serious harm. He would also hang in the fullness of time. The girls that had been rescued that night were given financial recompense and found places to work, places where they would be safe.
Vivi herself was awarded damages for the pain she had suffered and the permanent scarring that would remind her of the case. As she watched the two being handed into a prison van, they glared at her and threatened her with a painful death. She tossed her head and walked over to where her family were waiting for her. Her godson, now nearly a year old, held out his arms for her, she took him with her uninjured arm from Jean and held him close.. Turning around she spoke to Clement and Fletcher for the first time that day.
"I have something you will never know, I have a family that loves me, and friends who do not care about the scars. Because of that you will never break me." She turned and looked at Jean, "if you want a godmother for the next one," she looked at her slightly thickened waist with her new pregnancy, "count me in."
"We'd be happy to do so," Jean smiled, "it surprised you, didn't it?"
"I think it showed me that I have more than those two could ever have, and it didn't cost a thing."
"No, money isn't always needed," Lucien agreed, "shall we go home?"
"I'd like that," she smiled. "I need to set up my new office, and furnish my bungalow …"
"Have a break first, cherie," Genevieve hummed, "you deserve it."
"I will," Vivi kissed her mother's cheek, "funny that I should go back to Ballarat …"
Genevieve wished she would stay at the house, but Vivi had always liked her independence and the privacy she had had in Melbourne, somethings she was not keen on giving up.
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While Jean could, she helped Vivi move into the new bungalow. It was in a cul de sac, not overlooked, very private. Comings and goings would not be observed and she had room to park her little sports car, newly acquired. This time she had two bedrooms, one was for having Li over to stay, when it was practical.
"It's lovely," Jean smiled as she put the last cushion on the couch.
"I like it," Vivi agreed, "tea?"
"Oh, yes please."
They sat and chatted about this and that, about how she would balance her work and family.
"You know, I never set much importance on family, until now. I wrote to ma and pa regularly, and as you know came over for dinner or the weekend, but this family is something more than that. Children have never been on my list of things to do – yet I find I like yours."
"You can hand ours back," Jean teased.
"True, but I still don't think motherhood is for me."
"It's not for every woman, Vivi," Jean sat back and rubbed her bump, "as long as you are happy, that's all that matters. Though your mother worries."
"She always did, and after last year it's understandable."
"Um I don't think it's that, so much," Jean cleared her throat, "it's your reputation …"
"Ah," Vivi nodded knowingly, "a single woman living alone, with visitors." She shook her head, maybe that had happened in Melbourne, but now, since the incident at her flat, the scars affected her more than her family thought. "I don't have the visitors she's thinking of, Jean, not now."
"Vivi …"
"Some things are not for viewing."
"I made you this," she pulled a packet from her basket, "I tried to think of a housewarming present but … well, seeing how you dress and the warmer weather coming in …"
Vivi opened the gift; it was a blouse, but is was specially made for her. The fabric was a fine muslin, the sleeves were full and gathered into a narrow cuff, the body was pintucked and would be loose with a soft high collar that tied at the front. The buttons were small enough to be pretty and big enough for her to manage with one hand if she had to.
"Oh, Jean," Vivi held it against herself, "it's lovely."
"I can make more, if you like, and vary the style however you want."
"You have enough to do, but thank you," she kissed her cheek.
Jean didn't mention she had cut out several more blouses already, that she would make up in her spare time. Vivi couldn't spend the summer in roll-neck sweaters.
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Vivi didn't find herself inundated with requests for her services immediately, but a few quiet words from Inspector Lawson had her in court acting for victims of the criminals he and his men arrested. She employed Elsie Mathers as her secretary, refused to act as Patrick Tyneman's company lawyer because she wasn't sure he was completely legal in his business dealings and anyway she had had to help a young woman sue the paper he owned for libel.
TBC
