The Lady with the Gun Asks the Questions by Kerry Greenwood

Author:Kerry Greenwood [Greenwood, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2021-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Jeoffrey Bisset translated the couplet, which she had copied into her notebook, at dinner that night in the Café Royale.

‘“Time that is fallen is flying, we are deceived by the passing hours”—it’s a medieval Latin song, from one of the vagantes, I think, the wandering scholars. Such good verse. Do you think that you can solve this, Phryne?’

‘I don’t know. But it’s a game, and I love games. Have some more wine and tell me what you do at the university.’

‘I’m an Associate Professor of English Literature and a tutor in Classics. Latin, you know, and Greek.’

‘Oh. Do you like it?’

‘Well, yes, it gives me time to work on my book. I’m studying the poems of Alcuin. I don’t think that they are sufficiently appreciated.’

‘Indeed, I’ve never heard of him.’

‘In translation they lose their magic. I am preparing new translations, attempting to keep the freshness of the verse … the dawn light now upon the sea … Such good poems—perhaps you might like to see some of them?’

‘I would,’ agreed Phryne. This was a very attractive man indeed, now that his enthusiasm was aroused. His blue eyes shone and his pale cheeks pinkened and his beautiful hands made broad gestures.

‘I saw one of the original manuscripts, you know, in the Bodders. They say that there is a manuscript in Tours, but it belongs to a local family and they will not let it be studied.’ His face was now flushed with rage. Phryne was fascinated.

‘Well, it is their manuscript, you know. I suppose that they can keep it secret as long as they don’t harm it.’

‘Knowledge should be free!’ exclaimed Jeoffrey. ‘There is no excuse for keeping a work of art locked up, hidden, just for the private satisfaction of one person. It’s … it’s … immoral!’

‘And that’s what will happen to the Hours of Juana, you know, if it is sold in America. Some collector will gloat over it or keep it in his safe and no one will see it, until he dies. A strange passion, collecting,’ commented Phryne. ‘Have some more osso bucco, it’s delicious.’

‘In Florence and Venice there are works by Titian and Raphael which are hidden away for hundreds of years, until some family goes broke and all their stuff is sold,’ exclaimed the young man, helping himself to more of the rich, oniony stew. ‘Dreadful! I only got into the Scuola di Farnese by bribing the doorkeeper. There were spider webs all over the face of the Raphael virgin.’

‘Appalling,’ agreed Phryne.

Jeoffrey Bisset took a huge mouthful of hot osso bucco and calmed down as he choked.

‘Who do you think stole the Book of Hours?’ asked Phryne, patting him on the back and administering water.

‘I can’t believe that it was Bradbury—but he is a gambler, and gamblers cannot be trusted. They are addicts, like alcoholics. But I can’t see him doing it; I’ve always found him a very honourable man.’

‘I will find the book, Jeoffrey,’ said Phryne idly, ‘because I will dine at the High Table.

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