‘Miss Fisher?’ asked Jane, tugging at Phryne’s arm.
‘Mmm?’
‘Why are you doing all this for me?’
‘What? For you? Well, there are several reasons. Because that nice policeman asked me to mind you. Because I would not hand a dog over to the Welfare. Because you are a mystery and mysteries interest me. Because you are intelligent and I am interested in establishing a scholarship for intelligent girls. Because you rescue black kittens. Also,’ said Phryne, stopping and turning to face the girl, ‘because I was very poor, as poor as I think you must have been, and I was rescued, and I think that I should return the favour. Does that answer your question?’
‘Yes,’ said Jane, much relieved, and followed Phryne into the house, where luncheon was on the table.
CHAPTER SIX
Lewis Carroll
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.’
