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
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
‘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
‘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
