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 Origin of Species and began to read with some fluency. Phryne was impressed. When the girl reached Alice in Wonderland, she flushed, and dropped the book.
‘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 Tractatus Philisophicus.
‘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 tolerated a fold out of place. She was correct. Everything was in order and a small but hot fire burned in the grate in the peach and green room.
The door opened, and Mr Butler entered, carrying Miss Henderson with apparent effort, and Dr MacMillan turned back the bed.
‘Find her a nightdress, Phryne, the poor woman’s worn out with shock and pain. Thank you, Mr Butler,’ she added, and that invaluable man left the room. ‘I’ve written a prescription for a cocaine ointment which should help. There’s nothing more consistently painful than a burn, and I’ve given her some chloral so she should sleep for a few hours. By then she will be feeling better, I think, but she should keep to her bed for at least a week. Are you prepared to keep her, Phryne?’
‘Certainly, poor woman, she can’t go home to a bare house and no care. We can look after her, Dot and me. What should we look out for?’
‘I’ll come each day to dress her face; we must be careful that she does not break the blisters by scratching, or she may have a scar. Otherwise she will be sleepy and sad, and will need a warm bed, plenty of liquids, and light nourishing food, which I dare say your admirable Mrs Butler can manage. There, I’ll just tuck her in, and we’ll leave her alone. Is that fire safe?’
Phryne accompanied the doctor back to the sitting-room, where Jane had mopped her tears hastily and was now studying ‘Glaister on Poisons’. Dr MacMillan observed this with pleasure.
‘You’re a keen study,’ she commented. ‘But you’d better read Alice while you have the chance.’
‘Have you read Alice in Wonderland?’ asked Jane, astonished, and Dr MacMillan laughed comfortably and took a scone.
‘Certainly I have, and recently, too. A fine book to keep your perspective,’ she bit into the scone. ‘Child, could you go into the kitchen and ask for some more tea? I’m parched with all this work.’
Jane went out, delighted to do something to help. Dr MacMillan laid an urgent hand on Phryne’s shoulder.
‘You must keep that child safe,’ she whispered, spattering Phryne with crumbs. ‘She’s been molested, and I fear that is why she lost her memory.’
‘Raped?’ asked Phryne, turning sick.
‘No. Mishandled, however, and attempted, I’d say, and not too long ago. Maybe a week.’
I’ll keep her as my own rather than let anything like that happen to the poor little thing.’
‘Good. That is what I hoped to hear.’
‘But what if she recovers her memory?’
‘You must find the man,’ said Dr MacMillan. ‘I think she may have come from an orphanage. They send their girls out when they are twelve or thirteen, and rape or worse is the fate of many of them. Perhaps she should be photographed. Someone should remember her.’
Jane came back with more tea, and they read Alice in Wonderland aloud until it was time for a brisk walk before dinner.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I was very nearly putting you out of the window into the snow! And you’d have deserved it, you little mischievous darling!. . now you can’t deny it, kitty!’
Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass
Five hours of sleep, and Miss Henderson awoke in pain and in fear, gasping for air.
‘Don’t you try and talk yet, Miss, until I can put some of this stuff on your mouth. Doctor says that it might make your face a bit numb but that’ll be an improvement, eh?’
Dot smeared the cocaine ointment freely over the burns, using the little spatula supplied for the purpose, and then helped her patient to a drink.
‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? You’re in the Hon. Phryne Fisher’s house, and I’m Dot.’
Dot wondered fleetingly if Miss Henderson, too, was losing her memory, but this did not appear to be the case. The woman swallowed the barley water and smiled crookedly.
‘Yes, of course I remember, how nice this all is! What a lovely room, and a fire and all. And that is my favourite shade of peach,’ Miss Henderson took a little more of the cooling drink. ‘I can sit up on my own, really.’
‘All right, Miss, is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry?’
‘Why,’ said Miss Henderson. ‘I believe that I am hungry. Indeed, I don’t think I have had anything to eat for ever so long. Can you fetch me something?’
‘Yes, Miss. How about a nice omelette, now? A little toast?’
‘That would be lovely,’ sighed Miss Henderson, relaxing into a pile of feather pillows — in all her life she had never had more than one pillow, as her mother had considered it unhealthy — and smiling a creditable smile.
Dot obtained an omelette and Mrs Butler set the tray daintily, including a napkin in a ring and a vase of flowers.
‘She’ll likely be overset, poor thing, with her mother killed and all that, not to mention being hurt,’ she fussed. ‘Don’t you drop that tray, now, Dot!’
‘I’ll be careful,’ promised Dot, and carried it steadily. She watched her patient eat, removed the plate, and brought in a small cup of custard and a pot of tea.
‘I did not mean to insult you when I said that Miss Fisher must be a trial,’ explained Miss Henderson. ‘I was very fond of my mother, and she was a trial. How old do you think I am?’ she went on, and Dot shook her head.
‘It’s hard to tell with all them burns, Miss. You sound young.’
‘So I am. I am twenty-seven. Younger, I guess, than your Miss Fisher, but Mother was convinced that I would never marry. “You’ll be with me until I die, Eunice,” she used to say — and now it’s true, poor Mother, though she never meant it like that. She was furious when Alastair came on the scene and wanted to marry me, and she did her best to get rid of him, but he proved to be of sterner stuff than the rest. She told him that she knew he was marrying me for my money, and he just smiled and agreed with her.’
‘So you’ve got money, Miss?’
‘Oh, a modest competance. It yields me three hundred a year, and the house is mine now.’
‘More tea, Miss? Do you want me to call this Alastair, then? We are on the telephone.’
‘He must be frantic,’ gasped Miss Henderson, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘And he wouldn’t know where I am! Oh, Lord, Dot, please, can you call him at his rooms, and tell him that I am quite safe and he can visit me? How could I have forgotten?’
‘It’s been a tiring day, Miss,’ said Dot, writing down the telephone number. ‘I’ll ring him, Miss, don’t you worry. You all right to be left? I’ll do it now.’
‘Yes, yes, please do it now,’ begged Miss Henderson, and Dot went out and closed the door.
Dot conveyed the message through the medium of a phone which appeared to be in a fish-and-chip shop somewhere in Lygon Street, Carlton. A young man’s voice came on the phone, breathless.
‘Hello, hello? Damn this instrument! Hello? Are you there?’
‘This is Miss Williams. I am calling for Miss Henderson,’ repeated Dot patiently for the fourth time. ‘Are you Mr Thompson?’
‘Yes, Alastair Thompson here, Miss Williams. Where is Eunice?’
‘Take down the address,’ said Dot. ‘221B, The Esplanade, St Kilda. Call tomorrow about three.’
‘Is she all right?’ bellowed the voice. Someone in the background was shrieking in Italian.
‘She’s burned her face with that chloroform and she’s upset about her mother. Come at three,’ yelled Dot and hung up.
Phryne had largely cured her of her dread of telephones, but she still thought them a clumsy means of exchanging ideas. She went back to Miss Henderson and advised that the young man would call the next day, and Miss Henderson looked even more alarmed.
‘I can’t let him see me like this!’ she wailed.
Phryne, having finished dinner, walked in at this point and heard the whole story in three minutes.
‘Simple, my dear, you shall have a veil. Perfectly proper and it will stop you from alarming your young man. What does he do, Miss Henderson?’
‘Please call me Eunice. He’s in final year Medicine, he will be on the wards next year. He’s twenty-five,’ she said simply, ‘And he wants to marry me.’
‘Very nice,’ said Phryne. ‘Here’s your medicine, Eunice. Drink it up like a good girl and I’ll see you in the morning. How do you feel?’
Eunice patted the pillow, luxuriating in more comfort than she had ever enjoyed and shocked at herself for being so pleased. ‘I feel fine,’ she sighed, swallowed her chloral hydrate (which tasted foul) and fell instantly asleep.
Dot allowed Phryne to drag her into the sitting-room.
‘Come into my parlour,’ said Phryne, grinning wolvishly, ‘and tell all. Who is this young man?’
‘He’s her intended, Miss, and her mother didn’t like him. That’s all I know about it. Give over pulling me, Miss, I didn’t get no more out of her, except that she seems to have had a fair old time with her mum. Not a nice old lady, Miss.’
‘No, she wasn’t. However, the plot thickens. I shall be delighted to meet this excellent young man. Care to play a game of cards, Dot? It appears that our Jane also remembers how to play chess, though she won’t beat Dr MacMillan.’
‘No, thanks, Miss, I want to have a bath and go to bed. It’s been a long day and I think I’ve a cold coming on.’
‘Poor Dot! Get Mrs B. to make you a whisky toddy, and take a really hot bath. I shall read, then — there’s a new novel I haven’t even glanced at. The bookshop really are hopeless — I don’t even recall ordering it.’
Dot climbed the stairs to her bathroom with her whisky toddy steaming in her hand. The last she saw of Phryne for the night was her concentrated, Dutch doll face bent over a book. But it was not the latest novel. It was Glaister, on poisons.
Jane slept soundly for about three hours, and then awoke to hear a small, odd sound. She lay frozen, gripped by a fear which was all the worse because she could not tell why she should be afraid. Something was scratching at the window. Jane, trembling, was in such an agony of fear that she could not bear to lie still any longer. She threw back the quilt and put her feet to the carpet, hoping that the bed would not creak. It creaked. She froze again. The room was as cold as ice. Nothing happened. Then the scratch came again, and an odd sound like an unoiled hinge. Was someone trying to open the window? That was too much. She leapt at the window and snatched back the curtain, unlocking the latch and thrusting at the frame. The window grated open with a gush of cold sleet and something small, cold and black half-fell into Jane’s lap. She shut the window again and locked it, cradling the creature in her arms. It was a kitten, perhaps six weeks old, thin as a little bag of bones and almost as cold as the weather. Jane clutched it to her bosom, shivering and laughing under her breath.
‘Oh, kitty, you gave me such a fright! You’re as cold as ice. Come on, kitty, you can come back to bed with me, and then we shall both be warm.’
Still trembling, Jane carried the icy bundle of wet fur back to her brightly patterned bed with the peach sheets, the Onkaparinga blankets and the quilt, an
d replaced herself in the small hollow in which she had formerly lain.
The kitten, warming into life, began to wash itself with precise licks, curled under the blankets, nestling under Jane’s chin. It was an unobservant animal, or it might have wondered why its rescuer cried herself to sleep.
Miss Eunice Henderson, tended by Dot, was washed and breakfasted by the time Phryne came in with a selection of veils and an armload of nightgowns.
‘That’s a perfectly sensible gown you’ve got on, Eunice, but you will need a change. Perhaps you’d like to borrow some of mine? And I’ve brought a few hats, we should be able to cobble something together.’
Eunice touched the fabrics reverently. Crêpe de Chine, silk, satin, all the luscious delicacy and flowing draperies of a whole harem-full of houris. Eunice tried to imagine herself in one of these extravagant garments and utterly failed.
‘I can’t wear any of these beautiful things, really, Phryne, I just wouldn’t look right in them.’
‘Oh, yes you would, you have a lovely figure — do you swim? — long legs and a swan neck. Something with a high neck, I think, to show off that jaw line, especially since we are going to conceal your face. What about this?’
She exhibited a satin robe and gown, cut in a rather medieval line, with high neck and flowing sleeves. They were edged in white rabbit fur, and were of a deep, mossy green.
‘They are beautiful,’ said Eunice. ‘All right, I will borrow them if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind, old dear. Now what about this hat? It matches the gown, and it has a nice long chin-veil.’
The hat was a Paris model, made by a couturière who actually liked women, and it was small and plain, but superbly made. In the gown and the hat, Eunice Henderson was astonished at how. . well. . really. . how beautiful she looked. So was Phryne, who had not expected such an excellent result.
‘You really do look smashing, Eunice. I think you should stay in bed,’ said Phryne. ‘Dr MacMillan said so, and I have a great deal of respect for her opinions. Wait until she has dressed your face, and then we shall don the glad rags for your young man. Good morning, Jane. What have you got?’ Jane entered, still clad in the bitumen serge, and carrying something small and alive. She held it out to Phryne.
Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher Page 38