‘Keep watch for a bit longer, lad,’ said the sergeant, and looked hungrily towards the kitchen. Phryne interpreted the glance correctly.
‘Good heavens, man, have you not eaten? You can’t deduce things on an empty stomach. Mrs Johnson makes an excellent omelette,’ she added, and gave him a push.
She then walked back to her own room to see if Dot had extracted any information from the unknown girl.
She had been comprehensively washed and was enduring a punitive combing of her long hair, and bearing it pretty well, it seemed. Dot had obtained a very plain skirt and blouse in a depressing serge dyed with what appeared to be bitumen, but even in these unpromising clothes the girl was rather pretty.
As Phryne entered, the hair was at last drawn back from her face and Jane sat up and sighed with relief.
‘I always hated having my hair dressed,’ commented Phryne. ‘That’s why I cut it short as soon as I could. How do you feel, Jane?’
‘Very well, Miss,’ said Jane calmly. ‘But I still can’t remember anything. It’s like there’s a hole in my memory. As though I was just born.’
‘Hmm. There are several things about you that we know. One is that you are an Australian; the accent is unmistakable. You speak English. And there are things that you have not forgotten: how to eat with a knife and fork, how to read, how to converse. I therefore conclude that you will get your memory back in time if you don’t worry at it.’
Jane looked relieved. Phryne left her to play a quiet game of solitaire, which she also remembered, it seemed, and drew Dot aside.
‘Dot, those clothes!’
‘Yes, Miss, I know, but that’s all they had in the general store, and I had to dress her in something. You would have liked the other clothes even less than these. They don’t have no style in the outback,’ said Dot, to whom all places more than four miles from the GPO were country. Phryne smiled and forebore to comment.
‘Never mind, they will last her until we get back to the city. How does she strike you?’
‘I reckon that she is telling the truth,’ said Dot twisting her plait. ‘Every time she tries to think about who she is she starts to tremble and to sweat, and you can’t fake that. Why she can’t remember is more than I can tell. She’s healthy, though skinny, and I reckon she’s about thirteen. There’s no bruise or mark on her and I couldn’t find a lump on her head. Her eyes are clear so I don’t think that she’s been drugged.’
‘If we can rule out trauma and drugs then I think it has to be shock, and that is something that wears off, it can’t be broken through. Like Mary’s Little Lamb, we leave her alone and she’ll come home, bringing her tail behind her.
‘Meanwhile the mystery deepens. I can’t imagine how Mrs Henderson was got out of the train — at least, she was dragged out of the window, but all the signs seem to indicate that she was dragged up, and unless the murderer was on the roof of the train, I don’t know how that can be. Any ideas, Dot?’
‘No, Miss, not at the moment.’
‘Very well, let’s have a brief chat with the others who were on the train and then I think that we shall go back to Melbourne. There’s nothing more to do here, and somehow I’ve gone right off trains, and Ballarat, too.’
‘Me, too,’ agreed Dot. ‘Next time, can we take the car, Miss?’
Phryne smiled. At last, her nervous maid had been converted to the joys of motoring. But it had taken a murder to convince her.
The surviving passengers were all grouped in the pink-and-black breakfast-room. The pregnant woman looked washed-out and leaned on a husband who had lost all of his bounce. Mrs Lilley’s appalling children had been stuffed with so many sweets and cakes by a distracted mother and a sympathetic cook that they sat, bloated and queasy, quiet for the moment. Miss Henderson had risen and dressed and was the calmest of the group. The burns had blistered during the night and she was obviously in pain. Mrs Johnson had served tea and coffee, and Miss Henderson was sipping milk through a straw.
Phryne took her seat and accepted a cup of coffee from the hovering landlady.
Sergeant Wallace came in — a massive presence which seemed to fill the doorway — and everyone looked up, falling silent. He raised a hand, embarrassed.
‘Nothing new, ladies and gentlemen, but a couple more questions and then you can go on, or go back, whatever suits you. First: did anyone notice a young guard?’
Mrs Lilley looked up. ‘Yes, a blond young man, rather good looking? He passed me twice. The first time he stopped and said hello, then the next time that I saw him he seemed to be avoiding me, but I didn’t think anything of it.’
‘Why not, if he was pleasant the first time?’
‘Johnnie bit him,’ admitted Mrs Lilley shamefacedly. ‘He was being a dog and the young man wouldn’t pat him, so he bit him — I don’t know why my children aren’t like anyone else’s! — so after that, of course, I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t want to talk to us again. It would be different if my husband hadn’t died,’ said poor Mrs Lilley. ‘And he had shell-shock so he couldn’t discipline them. But oh, dear, I wish I had stayed home!’
Mrs Lilley burst into tears. The children, shocked, clustered around her and patted her, Johnnie delivering a fierce hack to the ankle of Sergeant Wallace, whom he perceived as a persecutor of his mother. The sergeant, to his credit, winced in silence and merely held the child in a tight but comforting grip.
‘You take a hold of yourself, young feller-me-lad,’ he admonished. ‘You be nice to your mum, now, and don’t drive her mad with all your pranks. Mrs J., perhaps you could come up with some sal volatile. Anyone else see this guard?’
Mr and Mrs Cotton shook their heads. They had been involved, it seemed, in an engrossing quarrel over whose duty it was to lock the back door, and this had kept them going until they had both fallen asleep. They had not noticed the young guard.
Mrs Johnson had produced the sal volatile and Mrs Lilley appeared to be recovering. She was, it appeared, taking her little demons to her relatives in Ballarat, and Phryne fervently hoped that they were prepared for the invasion.
‘Now, if you will all give me your names and addresses and a telephone number if you have one, you can all be on your way. I’ve hired the station taxi to take all the stuff and the Ballarat train will be through in an hour.’
‘Miss Fisher, can I ask you a question?’ asked Mr Cotton. ‘Did you see this guard? And do you think that he was the murderer?’
‘Yes, I saw him, and I think he might have been the murderer,’ answered Phryne carefully. ‘And I have a question for you. Has anyone seen this girl before?’
She nodded towards the door, where Dot was escorting Jane into the room. All the passengers looked at her narrowly, and she blushed and hung her head.
‘I call her Jane,’ said Phryne, making a broad gesture. ‘She can’t remember who she is. Can anyone help?’
The Cottons shook their heads. Mrs Lilley looked up from her sal volatile to sigh. Little Johnnie, however, gave a whoop of joy and ran forward to embrace as much of Jane as he could reach, which was about knee-level. Jane’s face lit up, and she lifted the child and embraced him.
‘Johnnie!’ she cried. ‘Your name is Johnnie!’ Then the young brow clouded, and she bent her head, as though the weight of her hair pulled it down. ‘But I don’t know any more,’ she mourned.
‘Mrs Lilley, did your children leave the first-class carriage?’ asked Phryne.
Mrs Lilley shrugged. ‘They were running around all over the place, dear, for quite a while, especially when I was changing the baby. I lost Johnnie for quite half an hour, I believe, when we got onto the train. I don’t know where he was; it was dark, and I was worried, but he turned up as good as gold, like he always does, bless him. He might have got out of the carriage. I’ll ask him.’
‘Johnnie,’ she began in a calm voice. ‘Tell Mummy where you met the girl.’
Johnnie, clinging tight to Jane, shook his head and shut his mouth tight.
�
��Johnnie, Mummy won’t be angry if you went out of the carriage. Tell me, where did you meet the girl?’
Johnnie unlocked his lips long enough to say, ‘No,’ firmly.
‘I’ll give you this cake if you tell me,’ bribed Phryne, and Johnnie repeated, ‘No,’ in a deeply regretful tone.
‘Has someone told you not to tell?’ persisted Phryne, and Johnnie nodded.
‘A man in a uniform?’ asked the sergeant, and Johnnie nodded again. ‘Well, I’m a policeman, and you always have to tell policemen the truth, you know that, don’t you?’ Johnnie nodded again.
‘Well, where did you meet the girl?’ asked Sergeant Wallace, and Johnnie said, ‘Dark,’ and grabbed for the cake.
Phryne swung it up out of grasping distance and said, ‘Dark where?’
‘Paddock,’ said Johnnie. ‘Train stop. In paddock. She put Johnnie back on train. Chuff, chuff, chuff,’ he commented. ‘Cake now.’
Phryne gave him his cake. She felt that he had earned it. But the puzzle had become worse.
‘Cryptic infant,’ she commented as Johnnie ate about half of the chocolate cake and smeared the rest evenly over his countenance. ‘What do you think he meant, Mrs Lilley?’
‘Oh dear, Miss Fisher, he’s such a clever little boy, there’s no telling what he meant — I mean, he may be telling the truth, but he does make things up, I’m afraid.’
‘What sort of things does he make up?’ asked Phryne.
Mrs Lilley blushed. ‘Well, he said that there was a bear under his bed, and there simply isn’t room,’ she added, sounding imbecilic even to her own ears. ‘And he said that his father came and tucked him in and said goodnight, when his father has been dead for eight months.’
‘Did so,’ affirmed Johnnie. ‘Daddy came. Scared away the bear. More cake?’ he asked, with an unexpectedly charming smile.
‘Well, perhaps his father did come back to the precious pet,’ commented Dot, unexpectedly maternal.
Johnnie turned his face confidingly up to Jane. ‘Girl in the dark,’ he reiterated, as this had yielded cake before. ‘In the paddock. Outside the train. Johnnie climb down. Girl lift me up. Johnnie was scared.’
‘Of the bear?’ asked the policeman, gently.
Johnnie blushed, resembling his mother for the first time. ‘Bears in the dark,’ he agreed. ‘Girl put Johnnie back in the light. No bears. Nice girl. Johnnie likes girl. Down now,’ he requested, and Jane put him on his feet. He ran to his mother and buried his face in her skirt.
‘Jane, you must have got off the train for some reason, found Johnnie there, and put him back, that’s what he means by “into the light”, I expect. Does any of that ring a bell?’
For a moment the girl’s face had an intense, concentrated look, as if she were listening to a distant sound, but it died away. She shook her head.
‘Never mind — it will come. Now, who’s coming back to Melbourne with me? Miss Henderson?’
Miss Henderson looked pained.
‘I would be grateful for the company,’ she said with difficulty. ‘Mother and I have a house, you know, but it is all shut up for the winter.’
‘Good. The Melbourne train is in half an hour. Dot will help you to pack. Is there an account to pay, Mrs Johnson?’
‘No, Miss Fisher, the Railways is taking care of all that.’
‘Good. Here is my card. If you recall anything that might help, then please call me on this telephone number.’
She distributed a number of her own cards: ‘Miss Phryne Fisher. Investigations. 221B, The Esplanade, St Kilda’.
She had reached the door and was leaving when she remembered something, and beckoned to the sergeant. He joined her.
‘Did you find the cloth?’
‘The one with the chloroform? Yes, Miss. It’s in the station. Want to walk over there with me?’
Phryne laid one hand on his arm and he escorted her down the street to the small wooden building that housed the police station. It was bare but tidy, with ledger and telephone and desk. The sergeant produced a cardboard box, from which emanated a strong stench of chloroform. He held it out. Quickly, holding her breath, Phryne shook out a strip of common white pineapple towelling, such as is supplied in public toilets and at cheap hotels. It had a faint blue thread running through it that indicated that it had belonged to someone who had their laundry commercially done.
‘Cheap and nasty, and he hasn’t even used the whole towel,’ she commented, handing the rag back. ‘I think that shows a really unpleasant form of economy. Nothing there, Sergeant. Are you going to keep this case, or will it go to CID in Melbourne?’
‘Probably to CID, Miss, which is a pity. I would have looked forward to working with you,’ he said, greatly daring, and Phryne took his face between her hands and kissed him soundly.
‘I would have liked that too, my dear Sergeant Wallace, but I’m afraid that I must love you and leave you. Farewell,’ she breezed and left to catch the train to Melbourne, abandoning a deeply impressed policeman without a backward glance.
‘If she’s a flapper,’ mused the sergeant, wiping Passionate Rouge lipstick off his blameless mouth, ‘then I’m all for ’em, and I don’t care what Mum says.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘She’ll have to go back from here as luggage!’
Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass
Phryne caught the train with seconds to spare, as Johnnie had seriously objected to parting with Jane, and had to be placated with yet more cake. Dot, with customary efficiency, had loaded all Phryne’s belongings, Miss Henderson, Jane and herself aboard ten minutes before, and was in a fever lest Phryne should miss this train and have to wait for the next, which was a slow one, stopping at all the intervening stations. Miss Henderson smiled wryly through her blisters and remarked, ‘She must be a sore trial to you.’
Dot immediately bridled. No one criticised Phryne in front of her and got away with it.
‘She’s the dearest, sweetest, cleverest mistress any woman could get,’ she declared. ‘She’s only late because she’s stopped to soothe that crying child. She’s been very good to me and I won’t hear a word against her.’
‘My apologies,’ muttered Miss Henderson, rather taken aback. ‘I did not mean any insult.’
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 Manon Lescaut. She accepted the book, nodded her thanks, and opened it. The carriage was silent all the way to Melbourne.
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 aft
er 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.
Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher Page 37