Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher (37 page)

‘Mrs Lilley, did your children leave the first-class carriage?’ asked Phryne.

Mrs Lilley shrugged. ‘They were running around all over the place, dear, for quite a while, especially when I was changing the baby. I lost Johnnie for quite half an hour, I believe, when we got onto the train. I don’t know where he was; it was dark, and I was worried, but he turned up as good as gold, like he always does, bless him. He might have got out of the carriage. I’ll ask him.’

‘Johnnie,’ she began in a calm voice. ‘Tell Mummy where you met the girl.’

Johnnie, clinging tight to Jane, shook his head and shut his mouth tight.

‘Johnnie, Mummy won’t be angry if you went out of the carriage. Tell me, where did you meet the girl?’

Johnnie unlocked his lips long enough to say, ‘No,’ firmly.

‘I’ll give you this cake if you tell me,’ bribed Phryne, and Johnnie repeated, ‘No,’ in a deeply regretful tone.

‘Has someone told you not to tell?’ persisted Phryne, and Johnnie nodded.

‘A man in a uniform?’ asked the sergeant, and Johnnie nodded again. ‘Well, I’m a policeman, and you always have to tell policemen the truth, you know that, don’t you?’ Johnnie nodded again.

‘Well, where did you meet the girl?’ asked Sergeant Wallace, and Johnnie said, ‘Dark,’ and grabbed for the cake.

Phryne swung it up out of grasping distance and said, ‘Dark where?’

‘Paddock,’ said Johnnie. ‘Train stop. In paddock. She put Johnnie back on train. Chuff, chuff, chuff,’ he commented. ‘Cake now.’

Phryne gave him his cake. She felt that he had earned it. But the puzzle had become worse.

‘Cryptic infant,’ she commented as Johnnie ate about half of the chocolate cake and smeared the rest evenly over his countenance. ‘What do you think he meant, Mrs Lilley?’

‘Oh dear, Miss Fisher, he’s such a clever little boy, there’s no telling what he meant—I mean, he may be telling the truth, but he does make things up, I’m afraid.’

‘What sort of things does he make up?’ asked Phryne.

Mrs Lilley blushed. ‘Well, he said that there was a bear under his bed, and there simply isn’t room,’ she added, sounding imbecilic even to her own ears. ‘And he said that his father came and tucked him in and said goodnight, when his father has been dead for eight months.’

‘Did so,’ affirmed Johnnie. ‘Daddy came. Scared away the bear. More cake?’ he asked, with an unexpectedly charming smile.

‘Well, perhaps his father did come back to the precious pet,’ commented Dot, unexpectedly maternal.

Johnnie turned his face confidingly up to Jane. ‘Girl in the dark,’ he reiterated, as this had yielded cake before. ‘In the paddock. Outside the train. Johnnie climb down. Girl lift me up. Johnnie was scared.’

‘Of the bear?’ asked the policeman, gently.

Johnnie blushed, resembling his mother for the first time. ‘Bears in the dark,’ he agreed. ‘Girl put Johnnie back in the light. No bears. Nice girl. Johnnie likes girl. Down now,’ he requested, and Jane put him on his feet. He ran to his mother and buried his face in her skirt.

‘Jane, you must have got off the train for some reason, found Johnnie there, and put him back, that’s what he means by “into the light”, I expect. Does any of that ring a bell?’

For a moment the girl’s face had an intense, concentrated look, as if she were listening to a distant sound, but it died away. She shook her head.

‘Never mind—it will come. Now, who’s coming back to Melbourne with me? Miss Henderson?’

Miss Henderson looked pained.

‘I would be grateful for the company,’ she said with difficulty. ‘Mother and I have a house, you know, but it is all shut up for the winter.’

‘Good. The Melbourne train is in half an hour. Dot will help you to pack. Is there an account to pay, Mrs Johnson?’

‘No, Miss Fisher, the Railways is taking care of all that.’

‘Good. Here is my card. If you recall anything that might help, then please call me on this telephone number.’

She distributed a number of her own cards: ‘Miss Phryne Fisher. Investigations. 221B, The Esplanade, St Kilda’.

She had reached the door and was leaving when she remembered something, and beckoned to the sergeant. He joined her.

‘Did you find the cloth?’

‘The one with the chloroform? Yes, Miss. It’s in the station. Want to walk over there with me?’

Phryne laid one hand on his arm and he escorted her down the street to the small wooden building that housed the police station. It was bare but tidy, with ledger and telephone and desk. The sergeant produced a cardboard box, from which emanated a strong stench of chloroform. He held it out. Quickly, holding her breath, Phryne shook out a strip of common white pineapple towelling, such as is supplied in public toilets and at cheap hotels. It had a faint blue thread running through it that indicated that it had belonged to someone who had their laundry commercially done.

‘Cheap and nasty, and he hasn’t even used the whole towel,’ she commented, handing the rag back. ‘I think that shows a really unpleasant form of economy. Nothing there, Sergeant. Are you going to keep this case, or will it go to CID in Melbourne?’

‘Probably to CID, Miss, which is a pity. I would have looked forward to working with you,’ he said, greatly daring, and Phryne took his face between her hands and kissed him soundly.

‘I would have liked that too, my dear Sergeant Wallace, but I’m afraid that I must love you and leave you. Farewell,’ she breezed and left to catch the train to Melbourne, abandoning a deeply impressed policeman without a backward glance.

‘If she’s a flapper,’ mused the sergeant, wiping Passionate Rouge lipstick off his blameless mouth, ‘then I’m all for ’em, and I don’t care what Mum says.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘She’ll have to go back from here as luggage!’

Lewis Carroll
Alice Through the Looking Glass

Phryne caught the train with seconds to spare, as Johnnie had seriously objected to parting with Jane, and had to be placated with yet more cake. Dot, with customary efficiency, had loaded all Phryne’s belongings, Miss Henderson, Jane and herself aboard ten minutes before, and was in a fever lest Phryne should miss this train and have to wait for the next, which was a slow one, stopping at all the intervening stations. Miss Henderson smiled wryly through her blisters and remarked, ‘She must be a sore trial to you.’

Dot immediately bridled. No one criticised Phryne in front of her and got away with it.

‘She’s the dearest, sweetest, cleverest mistress any woman could get,’ she declared. ‘She’s only late because she’s stopped to soothe that crying child. She’s been very good to me and I won’t hear a word against her.’

‘My apologies,’ muttered Miss Henderson, rather taken aback. ‘I did not mean any insult.’

Before Dot could reply, Phryne herself came running, flung herself aboard the train, and sat down panting.

‘Whew!’ she fanned herself. ‘I thought I’d never bribe that small monster to silence. He’s going to be as fat as a little pig if someone doesn’t take him in hand.’

The train started with a jerk, and Phryne found the novel which she had been reading, and handed to Miss Henderson her copy of
Manon Lescaut
. She accepted the book, nodded her thanks, and opened it. The carriage was silent all the way to Melbourne.

Phryne had telephoned ahead, and Mr Butler was at the station to meet them. Phryne’s houseman was proudly at the wheel of the massive and elegant fire-engine red HispanoSuiza, Phryne’s prize possession. Even she did not like to think of what she had paid for it, but it was worth every penny. The coachwork, applied by a master, had been lovingly polished, and all the brass and chrome glittered in the still, cold air. Jane drew in an audible breath at the sight of the magnificent car.

‘Is it not lovely?’ asked Phryne dotingly, as Mr Butler climbed out to pile the luggage in the back, and to seat the ladies. Jane nodded, awed. Even Miss Henderson seemed impressed.

‘Soon be home, ladies,’ said Mr Butler bracingly. ‘Mrs Butler has a nice small luncheon on the stove and your rooms are all ready. Nice cup of tea as soon as you get in,’ he added, as he was convinced that the cure for almost all feminine woes was a nice cup of tea.

‘I’ve rung Dr MacMillan as you asked, Miss,’ he said in an undertone to Phryne, who had seated herself in the front seat, consenting to be driven for this time. ‘She’ll be along directly, she says, and she can come to lunch.’

‘Very good, Mr B., you’ve done well. Sorry to land back on your hands after promising to be away for a week,’ she said, and Mr Butler grinned as he started the big car and moved away from the kerb.

‘Oh, that’s all right, Miss. It’s too quiet without you around.’

‘You know that we have had a murder?’ she asked, and the grey head nodded, his eyes on the road.

‘Yes, Miss, them newspaper reporters were around this morning, looking for a story. I told ’em you weren’t here, and they slunk away, but they’ll be back, though perhaps not tonight. It’s in all the papers, Miss. I’ve bought ’em, as I thought you’d like to see ’em.’

‘Excellent. Quite right. But we might keep them away from Miss Henderson. It was her mother, you know.’

Mr Butler whistled. ‘They’re up in your sitting-room, Miss,’ he said. ‘Mrs B. thought as how you might be bringing the poor lady home.’

They arrived at Phryne’s bijou residence somewhat shaken and partially frozen, and did not see much of the house as they were ushered inside to a blazing log fire and the cheering scent of hot buttered muffins, cinnamon toast, and potpourri, of which Phryne was very fond. She had two big Chinese bronze bowls, encircled with dragons, and these were filled with rose leaves and petals, verbena and orris root. Beside the fireplace was a tall famille rose jar filled with wintersweet.

‘Come in, my dears, and sit down,’ said Phryne solicitiously, ushering her guests into the salon and taking their coats.

‘A bitter day for tragedy and train journeys! Mrs B. will have some tea made instantly. Sit down, Jane, warm your hands. Miss Henderson, perhaps you’d like to lie down.’

‘No, dear, I would hate to miss this fire. What a quantity of wood. And what a heat! Oh, I do love a fire. It makes even winter bearable.’

This was the first sign of enthusiasm which Phryne had seen from Miss Henderson, and it seemed genuine. Mr Butler, having helped the ailing lady into the house, went out to park the car and assist the boy in bringing in more wood for the house. Miss Fisher was not afraid of expense in a reasonable cause and she had purchased a pyramid-sized heap of dry, split wood.

The seating provided was in the form of large, overstuffed leather armchairs and a big club settee, drawn close to the fire. The overwhelming blues and greens of the room were set off by the red light. Phryne had dropped her red mantle and kicked off her shoes, flinging herself into one of the armchairs and holding out her frozen feet to the flames.

‘Gosh, I think that all my toes would have dropped off if that ride had lasted another ten minutes. Ah. Tea,’ she added with deep appreciation, as Mrs Butler brought in the trolley loaded with the big silver tea pot and further plates of goodies. A glass of brandy and milk had been provided for Miss Henderson, and she sipped it decorously through a straw.

Jane took a cup of tea, added three sugars and a lot of milk, and was given a plate and free range among the edibles. Restraining a small cry of delight, which Phryne found very touching, she took a wedge of toast and a muffin to begin with.

A ring at the doorbell announced Dr MacMillan. She bustled in, shaking water off her rough tweed coat, and was provided with tea and muffins.

‘Oh, Lord, what a nasty day!’ she exclaimed. ‘Cold as a Monday morning in Manchester, so it is.’

‘Miss Henderson, Jane, this is Dr MacMillan, an old friend of mine. I’ve asked her here to have tea, and also to take a look at you both, because I am rather worried about your condition. Miss Henderson has been chloroformed, and Jane can’t remember who she is.’

‘Well!’ The patients surveyed the doctor as she looked them up and down. Dr Macmillan was a stout, ruddy woman of fifty, vigorous and brave, with pepper-and-salt hair and a weather-ruined complexion. She was dressed in a tweed gentleman’s suit with formal white shirt, collar, tie and waistcoat, and she had large, capable hands, now cradling the teacup. She saw a thin, frightened girl with long plaits and a bluish cast to a pale countenance, and a stately and well-dressed, intelligent woman with a burned face, calmly sipping her drink. The doctor finished her tea and muffin and slapped down the cup.

‘You first, my bird,’ she said to Jane and gave her an encouraging grin. ‘Lost your memory, eh? There have been times, ay there have, when I’ve wished that I had the losing of mine. The front room, Phryne?’

‘Yes, it’s all ready,’ answered Phryne. Dr MacMillan escorted Jane out.

She was back in a quarter of an hour, and Jane was, it seemed, rather relieved than otherwise by the examination. Miss Henderson arose and crossed the room under her own power, and the doctor closed the door again.

‘More tea, Jane? What did Dr MacMillan say?’

‘She said there’s nothing wrong with me that time won’t cure, and that I should drink lots of milk and sleep and my memory will come back. Isn’t she lovely?’ asked Jane in a hero-worshipping trance. ‘Could I be a doctor, I wonder? Not a nurse, but a doctor—like Dr MacMillan?’

‘I don’t see why not, but it depends on how hard you study,’ said Phryne. ‘We’ve got it easy, compared to Dr MacMillan. She had to fight the whole medical establishment to become a doctor—in her day they wouldn’t allow women interns into the wards, in case they should see something which would shock their delicacy.’

‘I think . . . I think I’m quite good at school,’ faltered Jane.

Phryne scanned the bookshelves and gathered an armload of texts.

‘Here, take one of these in turn and read aloud,’ she instructed, and Jane opened
Origin of Species
and began to read with some fluency. Phryne was impressed. When the girl reached
Alice in Wonderland
, she flushed, and dropped the book.

‘I’ve read this before,’ she exclaimed. ‘But I can’t recall how it ends.’

‘Jane, I have a high opinion of your brains. If you never get your memory back, it does not matter. If we can’t find your family, I will send you to university if you want to become a doctor. So don’t worry. I don’t care if you never remember. Why not read the rest of Alice and see how it comes out?’ Phryne left Jane lying on the hearthrug, eating cinnamon toast and dripping happy tears onto
Tractatus Philisophicus
.

‘Dry old tome, anyway,’ muttered Phryne, and went to find Dot.

Phryne had renovated her house extensively, and one thing of which she was rather proud was the conversion of a dull sitting-room on the ground floor back into two neat little guest-rooms. Both had electric fires, and one still had the original grate. Phryne had allotted this one to Miss Henderson as soon as she had observed that lady’s love affair with fire. The rooms had been washed a pale peach, with bright curtains and bedspread in one, and furnishings of a deep and soothing green in the other. Phryne hoped that Jane, who seemed to be a studious child, would not object to the grass-green, pink and black stripes which wriggled across her bed.

She made a brief check for clean towels and new soap, although she was sure that Mrs Butler would not have tolerated a fold out of place. She was correct. Everything was in order and a small but hot fire burned in the grate in the peach and green room.

The door opened, and Mr Butler entered, carrying Miss Henderson with apparent effort, and Dr MacMillan turned back the bed.

‘Find her a nightdress, Phryne, the poor woman’s worn out with shock and pain. Thank you, Mr Butler,’ she added, and that invaluable man left the room. ‘I’ve written a prescription for a cocaine ointment which should help. There’s nothing more consistently painful than a burn, and I’ve given her some chloral so she should sleep for a few hours. By then she will be feeling better, I think, but she should keep to her bed for at least a week. Are you prepared to keep her, Phryne?’

‘Certainly, poor woman, she can’t go home to a bare house and no care. We can look after her, Dot and me. What should we look out for?’

‘I’ll come each day to dress her face; we must be careful that she does not break the blisters by scratching, or she may have a scar. Otherwise she will be sleepy and sad, and will need a warm bed, plenty of liquids, and light nourishing food, which I dare say your admirable Mrs Butler can manage. There, I’ll just tuck her in, and we’ll leave her alone. Is that fire safe?’

Phryne accompanied the doctor back to the sitting-room, where Jane had mopped her tears hastily and was now studying ‘Glaister on Poisons’. Dr MacMillan observed this with pleasure.

‘You’re a keen study,’ she commented. ‘But you’d better read
Alice
while you have the chance.’

‘Have you read
Alice in Wonderland
?’ asked Jane, astonished, and Dr MacMillan laughed comfortably and took a scone.

‘Certainly I have, and recently, too. A fine book to keep your perspective,’ she bit into the scone. ‘Child, could you go into the kitchen and ask for some more tea? I’m parched with all this work.’

Jane went out, delighted to do something to help. Dr MacMillan laid an urgent hand on Phryne’s shoulder.

‘You must keep that child safe,’ she whispered, spattering Phryne with crumbs. ‘She’s been molested, and I fear that is why she lost her memory.’

‘Raped?’ asked Phryne, turning sick.

‘No. Mishandled, however, and attempted, I’d say, and not too long ago. Maybe a week.’

I’ll keep her as my own rather than let anything like that happen to the poor little thing.’

‘Good. That is what I hoped to hear.’

‘But what if she recovers her memory?’

‘You must find the man,’ said Dr MacMillan. ‘I think she may have come from an orphanage. They send their girls out when they are twelve or thirteen, and rape or worse is the fate of many of them. Perhaps she should be photographed. Someone should remember her.’

Jane came back with more tea, and they read
Alice in Wonderland
aloud until it was time for a brisk walk before dinner.