Kerry Greenwood - Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

‘That’s what I want you to find,’ said Miss Henderson firmly. ‘I know that Mother was a nuisance. I have quite often felt like killing her myself, God forgive me, but that does not mean that I did it or contrived it. Murder is such a monstrous thing. And why? Why? The person she injured most was me — hounding me, nagging me, day after day, hour after hour, until I thought I’d go mad! If anyone had reason to kill Mother, it was me, but I didn’t. And now I don’t know what to do or where to turn.’

She sobbed for a few minutes, then took control of herself again, putting down the handkerchief.

‘So I want to hire you, Miss Fisher, to find whoever killed my mother. Find out the truth.’

‘All right,’ agreed Phryne, sitting down on the end of the bed. ‘On condition that you drink the rest of that tea and don’t get up until the doctor has seen you.’

‘I’ll be good. Miss Fisher, tell me — did she suffer?’

‘No,’ said Phryne, thinking of the great blow the old woman had taken to the head — surely no awareness could survive that. ‘No, I’m sure she did not suffer.’

‘How did she. . die?’

‘She was hit on the head very hard,’ said Phryne. ‘One heavy blow. But her body was much damaged after she was dead — the fall from the train, possibly.’

‘Can I see her?’

‘No, the body has gone to Melbourne for post-mortem. You can see her later. She looks fine. Her face is quite untouched. She will not shock you.’

‘She shocked me enough when she was alive,’ commented Miss Henderson wryly. ‘I doubt that she’ll shock me that much now that she is dead.’

Phryne left Eunice Henderson to her tea and found Dot, who had Jane’s clothes over her arm.

‘Well, any name tags or laundry marks, Dot?’

‘Nothing at all, Miss. I tell you one thing, she’s a cleanly little madam, but she ain’t used to a bath. She’s been cat-washing since she was a baby, I reckon.’

Phryne recalled cat-washes, because she had taken them herself until the death of some young men had dragged her upwards into the world of running water and bathrooms. One obtained a bowl of hot water and, standing on a mat and removing one article of clothing at a time, one washed first face and hands, then the upper body, removing the shirt, then the lower body, removing and replacing the skirt, until finally one stood both feet in the basin (assuming that they would fit) having washed the whole person in about two pints of hot water, or one kettle-full. It was satisfying in an economical sort of way, but was nothing like the joyful sensation of sinking into a hot, scented bath. Phryne almost envied Jane the pleasure which she must be experiencing.

‘What about the clothes themselves?’

‘Hand-me-downs,’ said Dot without hesitation. ‘See — hem’s been let down twice, and the colour’s faded with a lot of washing. Homemade,’ she added, exhibiting the inside collar where no label had ever been attached. ‘And not very well, either. Her singlet and bloomers are wool, but old and scratchy, and thin enough to put your fingers through.’

‘Well, she can’t put those back on,’ commented Phryne. ‘Can you find something of mine that will fit?’

‘No, Miss, I’ll go out directly and buy her some suitable clothes,’ said Dot, shocked that this waif should be clothed in Phryne’s silk underwear. ‘That would be better, Miss.’ Phryne gave Dot enough money to purchase clothes to last Jane until she got back to Phryne’s own house, and dragged herself away to find the sergeant yet again. He was still standing in the yard, gloomily smoking a cigarette and communing with the crows who were gathered on the milking shed fence.

‘Well, I’ve told Miss Henderson, and it’s time for you to keep your part of the bargain,’ she said brightly. The crows, alarmed by the extreme redness of her coat, rose flapping in a body, making raucous comments.

‘Very well, Miss Fisher, I’ve got a car, come along. It’s not far,’ added the depressed sergeant. ‘And blessed if I can see how she was got out. I’ve walked every inch of the line, both with a lantern and in daylight,’ he said, helping Miss Fisher into the battered Model T and cranking the engine into a sputtering semblance of life. ‘And there isn’t a footprint or a mark of where she fell.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘So young a child,’ said the gentleman sitting opposite to her (he was dressed in white paper), ‘ought to know which way she’s going, even if she doesn’t know her own name!’

Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass

‘That’s where they found the body,’ said the sergeant as they stood beside the track. ‘A good ten yards. She can’t have fallen that far, and there is not a mark, Miss Fisher. . look for yourself.’

Phryne stepped away from the track and surveyed the ground. The water tower with its wooden scaffolding stood about fifteen feet high, with the cloth funnel that fed the train hanging down. The ground was firm but moist red clay, the consistency of an ice-cream brick, and certainly there was no sign of anyone walking on it. Further away, along the path, were the multiple tracks of the searchers, the clay reproducing their bootmarks and even the round indentation where someone had set down a lantern, and the cup-shaped prints of knees next to the body. There were multiple marks there, but the ground was all cut up, churned and confused by the searchers so no individual print could be discerned.

‘She was trodden into the mud,’ said the sergeant. ‘They near had to dig her out. Over there, Miss Fisher, you can see.’

‘Yes, what a mess! No chance of finding anything there. Have you walked along a bit further?’

‘Yes, Miss, a good half-mile, but this is where she landed, however she got out. A bit further back I found the glass where you broke your window, and that must mark the beginning of the whole thing. Before that, Mrs Henderson was alive.’

‘Hmm, yes. Has anyone climbed the water tower?’

‘Yes, Miss, I thought of that, but the canvas funnel isn’t long enough to catch, and the train-men were using it to refill the boiler. There’s nothing unusual up there, Miss.’

‘It was just a thought. Well, we might go back to Ballan, then, Sergeant, and have a look at the first-class carriage.’

‘All right, Miss. Er. . how did Miss Henderson take the news of her mother’s death?’

‘She was very distressed. Not that I think that she liked her mother at all; indeed, the old lady was fretting the life out of her. But she has hired me to find out who killed her, and I don’t think that she did it, I really don’t.’

‘Hired you, Miss? Will you take the assignment?’

‘Oh, yes, I think so. I want to find the murderer too. I don’t like having my journeys interrupted by chloroform.’

The Model T made the short journey to the rail siding without shedding any of the more essential of its parts, and they shuddered to a halt. A very large constable was on guard next to the train. He stood up hurriedly when he saw the sergeant and endeavoured to hide his doorstep cheese sandwich behind his back.

‘Anyone been about, Jones?’ asked the sergeant, elaborately not noticing the sandwich. ‘All quiet?’

‘Sir, that Mrs Lilley came and collected some of the children’s clothes, but I made sure that she only went into her compartment, sir.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All right. You can go and get some breakfast — take half an hour, you must be hungry.’ The sergeant smiled laconically, and allowed Phryne to precede him onto the train.

‘The smell’s almost gone,’ she commented. ‘Thank good- ness. Here’s where I was sitting, and Dot. Nothing there. Here is the lair of those awful children. Mr and Mrs Cotton were here. . tell me, has anything been touched?’