‘Just a demonstration,’ said Mr Burton airily, and got out of the car and climbed the steps to Phryne’s front door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘It’s time for you to answer now,’ the Queen said looking at her watch. ‘Open your mouth a little wider when you speak. .’
Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass
‘Ah, this must be the Great Hypno!’ exclaimed Phryne, as Mr Butler conducted her guests into the parlour. ‘This is my companion Miss Williams, and we are delighted to meet you. Do sit down. Would you care for a drink?’
The Great Hypno smirked and bowed, gave his coat and hat to Mr Butler, and took a seat, accepting a whisky and soda.
‘You wanted to see me, Miss Fisher? What about, may I inquire? It must be pressing, since you had me kidnapped. I am pleased that my fame is still strong, I have been retired from the stage for five years.’
‘Yes, why did you retire? Bookings not too hot?’
The man bridled, tugging at his glossy forelock. ‘Certainly not,’ he said indignantly. ‘I found another. . er. . line of work, which was so engrossing that it required me to devote all my time to it.’
‘Yes, I have always thought that it must be a tiring profession, procuring.’
Bert, who had remained near the door, nodded as though he had had his suspicions confirmed. Cec watched the scene with a still face, but his fists clenched.
‘You take the likely ones from orphanages,’ stated Phryne. ‘And the repulsive Miss Gay adopts them. Such a charitable woman! I’ve spoken to three institutions where she is well known. A lady with a social conscience, they said, those stupid people, a lady who takes on the hard cases and bad girls, and finds them suitable employment. That is with the help of her tame mesmerist, who makes sure that the difficult ones don’t raise any dust. Eh, Mr Burton?’
‘I have never been so insulted in my life!’ huffed the stout man, fighting to get out of his armchair.
Phryne laughed. ‘Oh, come now, in all your life? You mustn’t have been listening. Don’t get up, Mr Burton,’ she added, revealing the dainty gun which she was aiming at him. Mr Burton blanched. He dropped back into the chair and extracted a silk hankie and mopped his face.
‘Come on, admit it and don’t waste my time!’ snapped Phryne. ‘Or I shall have an accident with this little gun, you see if I don’t! How many girls? Talk!’
‘It must be. . oh. . thirty-five or so. Yes, thirty-five, if you don’t count Jane.’
‘Thirty-five,’ said Phryne stonily. ‘I see. Where did you sell them?’
‘Various places. I supplied the country, mainly. They mostly came from the institutions well broken in, you know, little tarts in all but profession, and it wasn’t necessary to hypnotise many — a waste of my art, as I told Miss Gay. All it generally needed was to explain the situation, that they were going to make a lot of money, from something more pleasant than domestic labour, and most of them agreed.’
‘And then what?’
‘When the girl was in the correct frame of mind, we would arrange for her journey, wiring ahead to the buyer.’
‘How much did you ask for each girl?’
‘One hundred and fifty pounds. Good girls, most of them. Though I only got a hundred for that little bitch from the Emily MacPherson. Of course there was a certain wastage — always is in that profession — suicide, alcohol and drugs, mainly, and of course venereal disease, but all I sent were clean and relatively new, my buyers know that.’
Phryne swallowed. Dot stared, open-mouthed. Cec reached for the nearest decanter and took three deep gulps, passing it to Bert. Mr Burton, full-fed and shiny, sat back, amused by their reaction.
‘Why are you so shocked? It is your nice society which demands that there should be whores and there should be nice girls. While there are nice girls there must be whores — all that I did was supply them.’
‘Being a whore should be a matter of choice,’ said Phryne. ‘And what choice did you give them? Did you ask Gabrielle Hart if she wanted to be raped and drugged? Now, Mr Burton, I have a proposition for you.’
‘I thought that you might have,’ smiled Mr Burton.
‘You remember Jane?’
‘Yes, whining little scrap, with her books and her Ruthie and her grandma.’
‘Yes. Jane. You hypnotised her, did you not?’
‘I did. She was on the train to Ballarat to join a very exclusive house there, run by a generous friend of mine, but she never got there. I put her on the afternoon train, and she was found on the night train. She must have got off somewhere, but I can’t explain what went wrong — she had explicit post-hypnotic instructions.’
‘I want you to give her back her memory,’ said Phryne quickly.
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Then I fear. said Phryne, waving the little gun. Mr Burton observed that her attitude was negligent and her purple silk afternoon dress positively decadent, but her wrist did not droop and her finger was on the trigger.
‘Bring her in,’ he said, coughing into the handkerchief. ‘I will try. But she may not respond. I tell you, there has been another intervening event, a trauma of some sort.’
‘Did you always have sex with the girls, Mr Burton?’ asked Phryne.
He answered absently, ‘Oh, yes, Miss Fisher, it was part of the treatment, and part of the reason why I stayed in the business. There have to be some compensations for retiring from the stage. But this one, I recall, squealed, and then I recalled that the Ballarat brothel paid a fifty-pound bonus for virgins, so I relented. I didn’t like to hurt them, you know.’
Bert made a choking noise and wrung his felt hat to ruin. Phryne gave him a severe look.
‘So the trauma was some other thing, not a sexual assault?’ asked Phryne evenly.
‘Oh, yes, something quite unexpected,’ said Mr Burton, unconscious of any irony. Dot went out and fetched Jane, who came in warily, not knowing Mr Burton but not liking him, either. Phryne concealed the gun, and took the girl’s hand.
‘Jane, dear, you sit down here and look at this gentleman. You are quite safe. I am here, and I will not leave you.’
Ember stalked off Jane’s shoulder and onto Phryne’s lap, curled into a fuzzy black ball and purred. Jane relaxed. Mr Burton leaned forward, placing one thumb on her forehead.
‘You are sleepy, Jane, are you not?’ The magnificent voice was as deep as organ music. ‘Are you asleep, Jane?’
Jane’s eyes were open, but her voice was cold and characterless, like the voice of a ghost. ‘I am asleep.’
‘What were this man’s commands to you?’ asked Phryne, and Jane twitched a little at the unfamiliar voice, but answered: ‘To forget what he did to me.’
‘Jane, that command is removed,’ said Mr Burton, eyeing the pistol barrel within a foot of his face. ‘You are free and released from all commands, from me or anyone else. From the time that I count from ten you will begin to remember, and by midnight you will recall everything that has happened. Do you understand, Jane?’
‘I understand that I am free,’ repeated the mechanical voice, and even in deep trance it had a different quality. ‘I understand that I am not under your command anymore.’
‘Ten, nine, eight, stretch yourself, Jane, seven, six, five, four, blink, girl, you feel rested and refreshed, and you will recover your memory slowly until at midnight it will be complete, three, two, one, awake!’ He snapped his fingers in Jane’s face, and she blinked, focused, and drew back into Phryne’s embrace with a cry.
‘It’s him! The man who. . hurt me. He scratched at the window and made me let him in. Oh, Miss Fisher, don’t let him take me away!’
Phryne hugged Jane, and then transferred her to Dot, while Mr Burton stood up and smiled his satisfied smile. Dot clutched a frantic Jane and was scratched by a frantic Ember, who blamed her for being dislodged from Phryne’s knee.