Kerry Greenwood - Urn Burial

Half an hour later, Lin Chung was grave. ‘So there was a son of the house who went to the bad. And there are the letters and the ring in the girl’s possession. But who keeps leaving urns all over the place and what is their significance? Who wrote the notes to Reynolds and who sawed through the axle and laid that trap which almost killed you? Who killed Lina and why, and where is her body? And why should anyone take it? An uncomfortable possession, I would have thought.’

‘The body was taken to conceal the death,’ said Phryne. ‘No body, no enquiries about where everyone was. I’ve just had a thought, Lin. I was told that the Major and Tom went out to fish yesterday, and we had trout last night at dinner. Oh, Lord, that dinner.’ She broke off to laugh. ‘Tom said he didn’t catch any. I wonder if he was with the Major? That’s the time we are looking at.’

‘We can ask him,’ said Lin Chung. ‘I can hear him in the stables.’

The master’s voice was indeed audible at forty paces.

‘What do you mean, you didn’t lock it?’ he was bellowing.

‘Listen, Boss,’ returned Terry Willis with spirit. ‘You never told me to lock the flamin’ doors. Oo’s gonna ’alf-inch a dray that size out ’ere? ’E’d need to steal an ’orse as well and we got the dogs. They raise the dead if so much as a fox comes past.’

‘I reckon you’re right,’ said Tom, as Lin and Phryne came into the large, hay-scented shed. ‘Shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, old man.’

‘Right then. You want the flamin’ cart repaired?’ demanded Willis, not entirely mollified.

‘Yes,’ said Tom heavily.

‘Then you get onter Paul to make us a new axle, Boss. Iron one, this time.’

‘Right,’ said Tom, and Lin Chung and Phryne accompanied him out of the stable.

‘We have a question,’ said Phryne, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Tom dear, I know you weren’t yourself last night but you said you hadn’t caught any fish. Did the Major catch any?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Reynolds, patting her hand. ‘You behaved very well at dinner, my dear Phryne, my dear Lin. I might have made a complete idiot out of myself, instead of just embarrassing Evelyn. She’s forgiven me. I owe you a debt.’

‘It’s nothing,’ murmured Lin Chung, and was overridden by Phryne, who said quickly, ‘You do owe us a debt. Pay it by giving that young man his money and let’s be rid of the whole scandal. I feel some responsibility for Megatherium, Tom. I knew the man who did it, and I didn’t hand him over to the cops. He’s in South America and I hope it chokes him and he didn’t have a bean left of all that money, but still. As a favour to me?’

‘I can’t, Phryne. I’d like to but I rashly swore I wouldn’t give him a penny. I gave my word . . . I can’t climb down.’

‘Very well. A curse on all stiff-necked men. I have another plan.’ She leaned on his arm and explained. Both Lin Chung and Tom looked utterly mystified.

‘But how will that set him up for life?’ he asked.

Phryne smiled.

‘Do you agree?’ she asked.

‘Yes, if you say so, Phryne, all right, I agree. That will be the end of the Lucas matter? Really?’ His eyes sought Lin Chung’s, as the only other responsible male present, but the Chinese shrugged in negation. He didn’t understand, either. ‘And that discharges my debt?’ Tom asked.

Phryne grinned. ‘Nobly.’

‘Shake,’ offered Tom, and Phryne shook his hand.

‘If you can get Jack to agree, that will be a weight off my mind,’ he admitted. ‘Now what was it you were asking me?’

‘Did you catch any fish?’ repeated Lin Chung, who was a logical thinker.

‘No. It started to rain and I felt a bit rheumatic so I came back and left him to it. Remarkable if he caught anything, considering the turbid state of the water.’

‘So there is no one to say where the Major was when Lina was killed.’

‘Perhaps,’ suggested Lin Chung, ‘we ought to go and ask the Major.’

CHAPTER TEN

Though earth hath ingrossed the name, yet water has

proved the smartest grave.

Urn Burial , Sir Thomas Browne, Chapter I.

THE MAJOR was not in his room. The door was open and the bed neatly made. Phryne looked around. There was a silver-framed photo on the bureau; a splendid uniform, hung with campaign medals, with a recognisable Major William inside. There was a large and muddy oil of a wobbly church on the wall and a few small pastels of flowers. She noticed that her hands were trembling slightly and wondered why. Then she tracked down the memory.

Lina’s freshly made bed, her clean room. Doreen had obviously just left.

Lin looked across at Phryne and she returned the glance with interest.

‘Tom, dear, I think we ought to find the Major,’ she said meaningly. ‘He might be . . . hurt.’ Reynolds shook his head.

‘Phryne, you’re exaggerating.’

‘Do I usually exaggerate?’ she asked tautly.

‘No,’ he decided. ‘No, you don’t. All right.’ He pressed the buzzer and Phryne filled in the interval while Hinchcliff climbed the stair by drifting around the room, picking up small things and putting them down. The usual bric-a-brac, she thought: a terracotta Infant Samuel at Prayer who clearly suffered from hydrocephaly; a blue china vase full of dried grasses; a small stained-glass box; and a tall medieval angel carved from some heavy dense wood. She picked it up. The wings met over the haloed head, the hands were pressed together in piety, but the figure was unusual. This angel neither bent his head in prayer nor stared blankly at the viewer radiating divine messages. The carved mouth was curved in a smile, the head held at a slight angle. It was a delightful work.

‘Tom, where did you get this?’ she asked.

‘Oh, do you like it, Phryne darling? It’s all yours.

Just put it out of sight, don’t let m’wife see it – the boy carved it. I thought I’d got rid of all his stuff.’

‘What boy?’

‘Her son Ronald. He had a mania for Gothic art, used to play all manner of games, knights and saracens, that sort of thing. Ah, Hinchcliff. Have you seen the Major this morning?’

‘No, Sir.’ Mr Hinchcliff seemed to convey, with perfect politeness, that this had improved his day.

‘Find out where he is, there’s a good chap. We’re a bit nervous today what with Lina and all.’

‘Certainly, Sir.’ Mr Hinchcliff left the room, bestowing on Phryne not an actual smile, but an approving look. That was a young woman with the right stuff, he seemed to be thinking, despite her eccentric choice of companions.

Lin Chung volunteered to go and check the billiard room and Phryne agreed to meet him there in an hour. Then, cradling the angel, she returned to her room to put it away, and found her door not only closed but apparently barred. She knocked.

‘It’s me, Dot.’

Something clunked, a key turned, and the door opened just enough to admit Phryne. She gave the carving to her maid who held it uncertainly.

‘Here, shove this in the baggage. Well, Dot dear, we seem to have a profusion of locks.’ Phryne looked at the doorframe, which now sported a very large and elaborate iron bolt which could have secured a crypt, and a modern box-lock which opened with a key.

‘Do you feel safer now, Dot?’ asked Phryne, concerned. Her maid looked pale and unhappy. The strong ochre of her woollen house-dress cast a yellowish light on her milky complexion and her long hair had been even more firmly braided than usual, a sure sign that Dot was perturbed.

‘Yes, Miss, and it stays locked and bolted whenever we’re inside.’ Dot pronounced firmly.

‘Fine with me,’ Phryne said gently. ‘As soon as the river goes down we can go home, Dot.’