Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher (39 page)

‘Yes,’ said Jane, much relieved, and followed Phryne into the house, where luncheon was on the table.

CHAPTER SIX

‘I’m quite content to stay here—only I am so hot and thirsty!’

Lewis Carroll
Alice Through the Looking Glass

Three o’clock was approaching, and the house was tense. The only one who seemed unaffected by it was Jane, who spent the afternoon consoling Ember after his bath, which he had not enjoyed at all, and endeavouring to persuade him to accept the collar as a mark of respect, instead of the instrument of feline torture, which was his first impression. She was not succeeding very well, to judge by the number of times Phryne heard her say, ‘Now you have put all your paws into it again, you bad cat!’ There would be a pause while she disentangled the kitten, an interlude while they played paperchase or had one of the light meals which Mrs Butler served to him, and then the litany would begin again. When Phryne looked in at three, both Jane and Ember had fallen asleep on Jane’s bed. Phryne threw the quilt over the two of them and closed the door.

Mrs Butler was worrying about the milk, which might be on the turn, and the dairy had not come today. Dot was worried about the laundry, which had unaccountably lost three socks and one of Phryne’s cherished moss-green pillow cases. Phryne was tense on behalf of Miss Henderson, and Eunice, having surveyed her damaged face in a mirror for the first time, had burst into tears and taken to her bed, refusing to come out from under the covers until Dr MacMillan had threatened that she should not see her young man at all.

This was enough to drag Eunice out from under the sheets, and when she had been anointed and dressed and veiled, she really was stunning. Phryne hoped that this young man was worth all this trouble, while reflecting cynically that no young man ever was.

The doorbell rang. Mr Butler announced ‘Mr Thompson and Mr Herbert’. Aha! Perhaps the young man was as nervous about this visit as Eunice had been. If so, it showed a nice spirit. It would be up to her to entertain the friend, and Phryne sighed. She had sometimes questioned the ways of the All Wise Providence in His construction of young men. She would, however, entertain the companion, however taciturn or even spotty, with as good a grace as she could muster. After all, this was a murder inquiry, and she had deliberately chosen this profession. ‘I could have stayed in Father’s house and arranged flowers for the county,’ she reminded herself, and swept forward to greet the visitors.

To her surprise and delight, they were very good looking. Both young men of medium height, with blond hair in an Eton crop, blue eyes, the fashionable flannel bags and the anyone-for-tennis blazer, the loose white ‘artistic’ shirts and the innovative new wristwatches. Phryne had not seen one of these before. Both of them were as athletic and as sleek as otters. The lithe lines of the shoulder and hip spoke of smooth muscle and hidden power; these were not rowdies, but they were sportsmen of some sort.

They were dressed rather casually for a visit to a lady’s house and the first young man eagerly explained.

‘Miss Fisher? An honour to meet such a famous Sherlock. I’m Lindsay Herbert and this is Alastair Thompson. We apologise for our attire but we were training and the coach just wouldn’t let us off, even though we explained about Miss Henderson.’

‘Quite all right, gentlemen—do come in. Training for what?’ asked Phryne casually, leading the way into her parlour and indicating seats before the fire. Lindsay sat down, but Alastair hovered.

‘Dot, could you take Mr Thompson to Miss Henderson, please? Just a moment, Mr Thompson. Miss Henderson has gone through a terrible experience. You must be gentle with her and not ask her a lot of questions. She can’t talk easily because of the burns, but she will not be scarred. Do you understand?’

The young man drew himself up haughtily. ‘I am a medical student, Miss Fisher, and I know how to talk to the sick. You have no need to be concerned.’

He followed Dot, and Lindsay laid a hand on Phryne’s arm.

‘Don’t be angry, Miss Fisher, he doesn’t mean to be so rude. He’s been worried sick about Miss Henderson.’

‘Yes, a terrible thing,’ agreed Phryne. The hand on her arm was long and strong, and warm, even though it was sleeting again outside. She smiled at Lindsay, and patted the hand.

‘Will she really be all right? And is she badly hurt?’

‘The burns are not too bad, but the doctor is afraid of damage to the liver. Are you a medical student, too?’

‘Lord, no, I’m a humble lawyer. Got to pass this year, you know, or the Pater will cut off supplies. I’ve been up at the Shop for five years, and this is the sixth.’

‘Oh?’ asked Phryne, scanning the perfect muscular curve of shoulder and throat. The firelight became him.

‘Yes, I just could not get the hang of Contracts, and then I had to repeat Trusts, because I couldn’t get the hang of them, either. In any case I’ll be articled next year, and I’m most interested in crime. I shall go to the bar when the Pater can be convinced to stump up, and I shall specialise in crime. Fascinating. That’s why I asked old Alastair to bring me along. I wanted to meet you.’

‘Well, now you have met me,’ said Phryne, leaning back in the leather armchair, ‘what do you think?’

‘Well, Miss Fisher, I’d heard you were good at puzzles, and I’d got it into my head that you were an old maid with a bent for detection—I never thought that you . . . that you . . .’

‘That I?’

‘Would be beautiful,’ concluded Lindsay simply, and kissed the hand which lay along the top of the settee.

‘Thank you. I’m glad that you came even when you thought I was an old maid. That shows dedication. What do you think of our little murder, then?’

‘She was a really nasty old woman,’ said the young man slowly. ‘But it is a terrible thing to kill someone. A human, I mean, however horrible or superfluous, a breathing creature; a terrible responsibility, to take someone’s death on yourself.’

‘But that’s what most murderers are like,’ said Phryne. ‘They are always sure that they are right, and that gives them the moral force to take on that burden. Or sometimes it is simpler; this person is in my way, and therefore they must die; because they are in my way, they do not deserve to live. I’ve heard that tune often enough.’

The young man appeared disconcerted at the vehemence of Phryne’s discourse, and she changed the subject. One did not wantonly disconcert young men on whom one might be having designs in future.

And she might well have designs. A very pretty young man indeed, and predisposed by his odd interest in crime to be receptive.

‘Training, you said?’ Phryne poured the young man a drink—a weak brandy-and-water, at his request—and he took the glass and waved it enthusiastically.

‘Rowing, Miss Fisher—on the river.’

Phryne suppressed the retort that she didn’t think that it was on the land.

‘I’m in the eight which might make the university team, Miss Fisher, but we have to keep up to the mark, so we are training all through the winter. You might like to come down and watch us. Our coach is a tartar, old Ellis.’

‘Where do you train?’ asked Phryne.

‘Melbourne University boathouse, Miss, I can show you where it is, and we have some fine parties there, too.’

‘Indeed?’ Phryne was not concentrating. She was worried about Eunice, and caught herself agreeing to come and watch him training on the morrow before she realised what she had done. I really must start listening to what I am saying, she told herself firmly, but by then it was too late.

‘Have you known Mr Thompson long?’

‘Lord, yes, we were at school together—Melbourne Grammar. I was quite a new chum then, coming from London, and the other fellows would have ragged me to death had it not been for Alastair. He’s a good chap. I owe him a great deal,’ said the young man solemnly. ‘And he’s very clever. A real shark at school for all those mathematics—I couldn’t get the hang of them, either—and now they say he might win the surgery prize this year. He’ll be a good doctor—sort of trustworthy, you know. But a nasty temper when aroused. We were playing football once, just a friendly game, and one of the forwards copped him one on the nose, and he gave a roar and pounced, and it took three men to pull him off the bully. But the nicest, kindest fellow you could meet,’ he said hastily, ‘a very good friend to me. I reckon there’s nothing he couldn’t do if he set his mind to it.’

Phryne replenished the brandy-and-water and asked her guest to show her his wristwatch. He exhibited it wrist and all, forcing Phryne to take his hand.

‘It’s a good watch, the Pater sent to New York for it—they are all the rage there, I’m told—and it keeps good time.’ The hand and arm were now lying across Phryne’s breasts, and her breathing jogged her nipples. ‘I just have to be careful to keep it . . . out of . . . the water . . .’

His face was close, the mouth opening on a soft lip, his skin smelling of yellow soap and masculine sweat. Phryne abandoned herself and the arms circled her, the mouth closing on hers with emphasis and skill.

Phryne had retained her deep devotion to the male sex. She took care of her body, and her virtue took care of itself. The young man was sleek and strong, an intriguing combination, and had the promise of being a very fair lover indeed. But she did not have the time to indulge in spur-of-the-moment indiscretions on couches, and she detached herself gently, putting aside the hot mouth that kissed and clung.

‘No, no, not now. Come back some time my pretty young man, and I shall be delighted to receive you—but I’m too old to be seduced in front of a fire at four in the afternoon. Oh, you are lovely,’ she kissed him again, just below the ear, where his hair curled enchantingly. ‘Quite lovely.’

‘Oh, Miss Fisher,’ gasped Lindsay, dropping to his knees in front of her and burying his head in her shoulder, ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with you!’

‘Quite possibly,’ agreed Phryne briskly. ‘But it will wear off. I will come and watch you train tomorrow, as I promised when I wasn’t myself, and then we may make some arrangements. But I am not toying with your heart, Lindsay—just your body. It is useless to fall in love with me—I do not want to damage you. Do you understand?’

‘No,’ confessed Lindsay, rubbing his face against her neck. ‘But whatever you say, Miss Fisher.’

‘I think,’ conceded Phryne, ‘that you had better call me Phryne.’

Mr Herbert gulped his drink.

Eunice Henderson, safe behind her veil, surveyed her lover with doting eyes. He was not tall, just the right size, and had delightful blue eyes, which were at present clouded with worry. He was worried about
her
! The thought was intoxicating. He, in turn, was struck with how elegant his fiancée looked. The green gown revealed the long, swooping line from hip to knee, the small waist, and the light curve of her small breasts. He sat down on the chair next to her bed and took her hand. It was hot, and he wondered what her temperature was.

‘How do you feel, Eunice? I’m horrified by all this.’

‘I feel much better. Miss Fisher has been very kind to me. She is also going to find out who killed Mother.’

‘Oh. What about the burns, Eunice? I didn’t know that chloroform would burn skin like that. Poor girl! What does the doctor say?’

‘She says that it will heal without a scar if I don’t scratch, though that is very hard, for it itches like fury. However, it doesn’t hurt anymore, and it really was painful. Ally, I thought I’d never bear the train journey to Melbourne. I only managed it because I was reading
Manon
and I could hide my face. I’ve got some ointment and the doctor says I should stay in bed for a week yet. I do feel weak. Were you worried about me?’

‘My dear girl, can you doubt it? I was just about to storm Police Headquarters when the girl rang and told me where you were.’ He kissed the hand he was holding.

‘Lindsay has gone to talk to Miss Fisher, he wanted to meet her, he’s a crime buff. I bet he wouldn’t like murder so much if he ever saw a corpse. What happened on that train, Eu? I’ve only read the press reports, and they are very highly coloured.’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t wake until it was all over. Someone drugged the train, and dragged mother out of the window, no one knows how, and then she was found dead quite thirty feet from the track, and no one knows how she got there, either. It’s all a terrible mystery. If it hadn’t been for Miss Fisher the children on the train would have been dead, and the doctor still doesn’t know if I’ll have permanent liver damage. Can we talk about something else?’

‘Oh, Eu, I had no idea that it was so bad! What would you like to talk about?’

‘Us,’ whispered Eunice. ‘Now we can marry.’

‘Of course we can, as soon as you are better. Let’s put the notice in the paper tomorrow. The engagement is announced between Alastair, only son of William and Charlotte Thompson, of Right Street, Kew, and Eunice, only child of the late Walter and . . .’ He faltered, and Eunice finished the notice:

‘The late Anne Henderson of South Yarra. We can’t put that in the paper, can we, with Mother not even buried? After the funeral, when I am up and about again, then we can marry. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

‘Oh, Eunice!’ exclaimed Alastair Thompson, and embraced her with sufficient fervour to convince even the most obdurate lady that her swain had not changed his mind.

Phryne, who was not obdurate, was swapping kisses and confidences with the second pretty young man in her house. Lindsay was ardent; his breath scorched her face; his lips were demanding and could prove engrossing; but Phryne’s mind, which was seldom involved with her body at all, was ticking over nicely, and she was extracting much interesting information from Lindsay in between embraces.

‘So you live in the same house as Alastair? What a comfortable arrangement. Who does the housekeeping?’

‘Oh, a woman comes in every morning to make the beds and cook us some dinner to re-heat,’ said Lindsay, insinuating a supple hand down Phryne’s back. ‘What involved undergarments you wear!’

‘I shall teach you how to remove them,’ promised Phryne. ‘You will find that skill useful in years to come. But not now. Have you no sense of timing?’

‘That’s what the coach always says,’ chuckled Lindsay, removing his hand. ‘Very well, Miss Fisher, let us be proper. Alastair hasn’t got much cash, see, his people are poor—respectable, I mean, his father’s a doctor, but not much lettuce—so he lives with me. Pater gave me the house, and he pays for the housekeeper, and I like the company, so it all works out well. Amazing fellow, Alastair. I’m uncommonly fond of him. You know, even when he’s strapped, he’s never bitten me for a fiver till Thursday? None of the rest of my acquaintance have showed that restraint. Some of them look on me as a money tree . . . I like this fabric, it’s so smooth. What is it?’