Urn Burial

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Darkness and light divide the course of time, and

oblivion shares with memory a great part of our

living beings; we slightly remember our felicities, and

the smartest strokes of affliction leave but short smart

upon us. Sense endureth no extremities, and sorrows

destroy us or themselves.

Urn Burial, Sir Thomas Browne, Chapter V.

IT WASN’T as bright as sunlight. Phryne hooked her fingers over an iron projection and Lin Chung was flung against her by the force of the water, almost carrying them both along with the stream. He grabbed another iron rung and Phryne spared one hand to grasp at his shoulders, bringing her feet up out of the water.

‘A life on the rolling wave,’ she commented. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Wet but undamaged. How about you?’

‘Wetter but also undamaged.’ She released her hold as the first rush of water drained away. ‘Where are we? Some sort of tunnel?’

‘Let’s find out where it leads,’ suggested Lin Chung. Phryne heard the steely control in his voice and led the way down a paved stone passage like a stormwater drain. The light was honest daylight. Twenty paces revealed that the opening was narrow, perhaps three feet wide. Phryne ducked to go under the lip and found herself in a small sandy bay, knee-deep in a fast-moving stream. She grabbed for Lin and warned, ‘Look out! This must be the river!’

He climbed carefully up the bank and lifted Phryne out of the water, setting her down beside him. She felt him draw a huge breath of relief. She groped for her cigarettes and found, to her delight, that the case was waterproof. Lin lit their last match and she inhaled gratefully. She was wet through, slimy and mouldy, but unhurt, and her Chinese companion was revealed to be a brave man. That, she thought, was worth a ducking. The sun shone weakly in a pale-blue sky and Phryne was dazzled after so long in the dark. The air smelt delightfully of wet grass and horses.

‘There’s Cave House,’ Lin said. ‘There’s the stables, and there’s Mr Reynolds.’

‘Phryne dear, what have you been doing?’ asked Tom Reynolds, reigning on his hack, apparently much astonished by their appearance.

‘I took a fancy for a little swim with all my clothes on,’ she said tartly. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To look for the Major. I’m going back along the bridle path, Tadeusz is going along the road as far as he can, Miss Fletcher is taking Brindle along the riverbank, and Willis is covering the paddocks.’

‘Fine. Go ahead.’ Phryne waved the cigarette. Tom stared, then shrugged. Phryne and Lin Chung began their walk back to Cave House. The poet passed them on a thoroughbred, riding as easily as if he was sitting in an armchair, with a stock saddle and long stirrup-leathers. Something about his seat jogged Phryne’s memory. She had seen someone riding that way before. A parade came back before her eyes. Men riding through Pall Mall, and hats loaded with waving emu feathers.

An hour later, much recovered, Phryne and Lin Chung watched Hinchcliff question the staff. The butler had been shocked by the danger into which the honoured guest had been put, and was adamant that he had not locked the door. He had checked the door on his usual rounds and, finding it locked and the keys gone, had assumed that Miss Fisher had concluded her visit and had carelessly taken his keys with her.

The combined anxiety of Dot and Li Pen had persuaded the household that something was wrong, and a search had revealed the cellar broken open and the prisoners gone. Li Pen and Dot had met the bedraggled adventurers as they dripped up the gravel path to the door.

Phryne had been bathed and scolded by Dot, Lin had been bathed and scolded by Li Pen, and both were feeling virtuous and comfortable.

‘Now, I will know the meaning of this,’ the Butler began portentously. ‘The keys are here, they were left on the kitchen table. Who locked the cellar door?’

The maids exchanged glances and shook their heads. Doreen plucked up courage and said, ‘It wasn’t me, Mr H, or Annie. We was together with Mrs Croft in the kitchen, having a cuppa. I couldn’t get into the room I was meant to be cleaning, because Miss Fisher’s had a lock put on her door, and Annie couldn’t do the billiard room while the gentlemen was playin’. So we came down here. We’ll do the rooms later.’

Mr Hinchcliff looked at his wife – the housemaids were her province – and Mrs H nodded. Mrs Croft spoke up. ‘And the skivvy was washing up the whole time – I could see her.’

‘We ’aven’t been in the ’ouse all day,’ grumbled the gardener, and his boy muttered, ‘Too right.’

‘I was in the stables tryin’ to fix that flamin’ dray,’ said Mr Willis, ‘and me boys with me.’

‘I was in the toolshed, looking for bits and pieces to finish that model for Alfred,’ said Mr Jones. ‘He was with me.’ The boy spoke up, impelled by a poke from the toe of Mr Jones’ shoe. ‘’Sright, Boss, we was.’

All eyes turned to the only remaining member of staff.

‘It was me,’ confessed the mechanic. Phryne looked at him properly for the first time. Mr Paul Black was a strongly built, thickset man; a contrast to the tall slim Jones. His face was scarred, so liberally smeared with grease that it was hard to guess his features, and his lank black hair was apparently styled with sump oil. ‘I saw the door open and I couldn’t see anyone inside. The light wasn’t on, so I assumed that Mr H had forgotten to close it. The keys were in the lock. So I shut the door and locked it and left the keys on the table,’ he said, in a whining tone which set Phryne’s teeth on edge. She spoke coolly.

‘Mr Black, the light was on. I have since ascertained that the string for the light has been cut. You must have known we were there.’

‘I thought . . . you mighta wanted ta be alone,’ he grinned, and Phryne fought down an urge to start throwing things. There was a fine heavy skillet to hand and she thought that Mr Black’s looks could hardly be damaged further by a good solid metallic impact. And this would make Phryne feel much better.

‘Then you knew we were there and you shut the door anyway?’ asked Lin Chung relentlessly.

‘It was a joke!’ wailed Mr Black.

‘A joke?’ bellowed Mr Hinchcliff, filling up with air like a bloater fish. ‘Out you go, my lad, and that today. Get your traps.’

‘Hang on, you can’t fire me!’ protested Mr Black. ‘I demand to see the Boss!’

‘You can’t, he’s out hunting for the Major,’ said Phryne. ‘So you want to stay here, Mr Black?’

‘Yes.’ He hung his head, then knelt and pawed at Phryne’s immaculate knee. ‘Don’t let ’im fire me, lady. I’m sorry. I didn’t know the water came up that high. It was just a joke, lady. Please!’

Lin Chung removed the dirty hand and Phryne stood up.

‘We shall see, Mr Black,’ she said. ‘Turn out your pockets, please.’

‘Eh?’ He gaped at her, still on his knees.

‘Your pockets, Mr Black,’ she insisted. Li Pen held Mr Black terribly still in some oriental hold while Lin and Mr Hinchcliff searched him.

‘Interesting,’ said Phryne. There was the string from the light, neatly rolled into a little bundle. There were seven shillings and threepence, a spark plug – she had never known a mechanic who did not have at least one spark plug on his person, it was a badge of office – a clasp knife, an indelible pencil, and a bunch of keys. Mr Hinchcliff pounced on them and exclaimed, ‘Mr Reynolds’ lost keys!’

‘Let’s see, what else? A few wood shavings, a box of matches, a packet of Woodbines, nothing else of consequence. Let him go, Li Pen, if you please,’ said Phryne very politely. Li Pen was holding a man twice his own weight helpless in an effortless and efficient manner. She was always likely to respect anyone who could do that.

Li Pen released Mr Black and he scooped his belongings back into his pockets, shaking with outrage.

‘There now. You shall see the Boss when he comes back from his ride. But I’d spend the time packing and paying off any small debts, if I were you. I know that the road to Bairnsdale is cut, but you can get to the township of Buchan from here, cross country, and the walk might do you good,’ commented Phryne.

Mr Black snarled, showing broken teeth. For a moment it seemed that he might attack this smooth, insolent woman, and Phryne saw a smile of pure anticipatory happiness cross Li Pen’s bronze face.

Then Mr Black spun around and threw himself out of the kitchen. Phryne and Lin Chung withdrew, hearing Mrs Croft say savagely behind them, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish. Now, I’ll just put the kettle on, and we’ll all feel better for a nice cuppa tea.’

‘Was it a joke?’ asked Lin. ‘If so, I fear that I will never really understand Western humour.’

‘It wasn’t a joke,’ Phryne assured him soberly. ‘Now we know where the man in boots went with Lina’s body. Li Pen lost him by the riverbank. He just walked to that little bay, went in through the tunnel and laid the body in the sarcophagus. Doreen says that the bit of material is from Lina’s nightdress. Mrs Reynolds gives her old clothes to the staff, and Lina bagged a rather good pale-blue silk negligee, over Doreen’s spirited bidding, apparently, which is why the girl remembers it. The body was there.’

‘Then where is it now?’

‘Best place to put it would be the river, now it’s running so strongly.’

‘Yes, but wait a bit – why didn’t he throw the body into the river in the first instance? He had no need to go to all that trouble,’ protested Lin Chung.

‘Perhaps he wanted to keep her.’

‘What on earth for? You are chilling my blood, you know.’

‘Nonsense. Your blood doesn’t chill that easily, my dear.’ Phryne smiled up into his face. ‘Who can fathom why murderers do things? Perhaps she reminded him of his mother. Perhaps she still held some attraction for him – what a revolting thought. Come on, I’m hungry, let’s see if we can get something to eat.’

The riders returned mid-afternoon, just in time for afternoon tea. Phryne, who had not lunched and had only been able to prevail on Mrs Croft for a sandwich, was ravenous, and sat herself in front of a table laden with more sandwiches, three kinds of cake, and bread and butter. She was joined by the poet and Miss Cray, both possessed of healthy appetites.

The bread was homemade and the butter home-churned, the sandwiches well filled and the cake excellent, and it was some time before Phryne remembered her manners. Guests must carry on light conversation at afternoon tea, not sit there wolfing down the provender as though they had not eaten for months.

‘Tell me about your work, Miss Cray,’ she said, a safe gambit in ordinary circumstances. The crabbed woman swallowed a mouthful of bread and said, ‘The heathen, Miss Fisher. I am determined that they will be brought to see the light.’

‘Oh, which heathen are we talking about?’ asked Phryne, intercepting a glance from Lin Chung and suppressing a smile.

‘All of them,’ snapped the woman. Phryne leaned closer, fighting off her distaste for Miss Cray’s scent. Holy poverty, it seemed, did not allow for luxuries like clean clothes. She smelt like a ragbag which had been left out in the rain and her nails were apparently in mourning for the state of the Faith.

‘That’s a tall order, Miss Cray. What church are you working for?’

‘The Christian Church.’ Miss Cray seemed uncomfortable. ‘I can expect your donation soon?’

‘Yes, I’ll write you a cheque this very afternoon. To whom should I make it out?’ Phryne’s curiosity was piqued.

‘To me. I will distribute it where there is need. For there is great need, Miss Fisher. The people walk in darkness all over the world – in the South Sea Islands, in China, in the heart of Africa. There are millions who have never heard the Word. China particularly,’ said Miss Cray, fixing Lin Chung with a glittering eye, then remembering Phryne’s promise and restraining her missionary zeal.

‘The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light,’ murmured Miss Mead. ‘This is a great work, Miss Cray. One is reminded of the Acts of the Apostles.’

‘Indeed,’ muttered Miss Cray, putting down her plate. She seemed to have lost her appetite. She bundled her weeds together and stood up.

‘I go to pray for the world,’ she announced, and went.

For some reason, Miss Mead smothered a small smile, and a monstrous idea bloomed in Phryne’s breast. She dismissed it instantly. Impossible.

‘Tell me, Miss Mead, what do you do?’

‘Nothing much, Miss Fisher. I live in a small house in the city, and it is such a treat to be out here in the country, in such a well-run household, too.’

‘Tell me, Miss Mead, do you have a theory about the disappearances of Lina and the Major? Do you think they are connected?’

‘Oh yes, dear. Sure to be. Strange the world may be, but not, I think, so strange that first a maid and then a guest vanish independently.’

‘My feeling also,’ murmured Phryne, taking up the plate of lemon cake and offering it to Miss Mead. The old woman’s blue eyes were very sharp and perceptive, but Phryne had nothing to hide and felt no threat.

‘Do you think that the unhappy maid is dead, Miss Fisher?’

‘I do, Miss Mead. Though I am not sure about the Major. In both cases there were few clues – the rooms had been cleaned.’

‘It is, as I said, a well-run house. Perhaps – I am loath to suggest something which you must have thought of yourself, Miss Fisher – but perhaps the only two people who might know where the Major was going are Miss Medenham and Mrs Luttrell.’

‘Yes, I had thought of that, and I shall get around to them in time.’

‘Of course. Have you seen many plays this year, Miss Fisher? I went to Ruddigore, and it was very charming entertainment. The singing, particularly, was very fine.’

‘Yes, very fine. Have some cake,’ said Phryne.

On the other side of the room, the poet and Tom Reynolds were discussing the search. Lin Chung drifted closer.

‘We’ve covered all the places he could have gone. It must be the caves, Tadeusz. Miss Fielding found the bay straying near the road to Buchan. The river’s cut the road to Bairnsdale and it’s the only way he could have gone.’

‘It could be the town,’ objected the poet. ‘Perhaps he’s sick of our company and wanted the bright lights.’

‘Tadeusz, you know that Buchan hasn’t got any bright lights. The Major could have dropped in at the Coffee Palace for a cuppa but that’s the extent of the place.’

‘Well, perhaps he doesn’t like your coffee. It is truly awful, you know.’

‘Don’t know, never drink the stuff. Why don’t you go and tell Mrs Croft that her coffee is terrible?’

‘Because, Tom, I have never liked being hit with pots. Listen. His wife says that he didn’t come to bed last night – not with her, anyway. So he must have been elsewhere. Willis says that the horse was missing when he got up. It must have been someone the dogs know or there would have been a noise.’

‘Tadeusz, how do’ye think I can go about asking Miss Medenham if she seduced the Major?’

‘A difficult conversation,’ agreed the poet.

‘I’m going to see Mr Patterson when we get back to town,’ Miss Judith Fletcher said to her mother in a flat, hard voice.

‘Why?’ gasped Mrs Fletcher. Her cup danced on its saucer and the spoon tinkled.

‘Because I want to buy a farm and breed horses. I’m not going to do this any more, Mother. I’m not going to marry Gerry. Why should I? He hasn’t done me any harm. I managed to convince myself that I was in love with him but I’m not. I’m not going to be carted around like a slave and sold to the highest bidder. I’m not going to wear those blasted clothes and I’m never, never going to be the girl you want me to be.’

‘Judy, you’re mad!’

‘No, Mother, I’m perfectly sane. I’m taking charge of myself. I’ve been a good girl for as long as I can remember. I’ve tried to be charming to boys I loathed and I’ve tried to be like you. But I’m not like you at all.’

‘Get me my salts,’ demanded Mrs Fletcher, falling back onto the sofa cushions. Judith took the slopping cup out of her feeble hand and applied salts ruthlessly, so that her mother choked and sat up.

‘It doesn’t matter what you say, Mother, and it doesn’t matter if you go blue and faint. I’m moving out of your room and I’m seeing Mr Patterson as soon as we get back. You can stay in the house – I don’t want it – and I’ll make you some sort of living allowance, but I shan’t be there to be humiliated any more.’

‘You . . . you unnatural daughter!’ hissed Mrs Fletcher. Judith flinched but remained adamant. Phryne, listening unashamedly, had to suppress a cheer.

‘You always wanted another husband, Mother, and someone might take you on if I’m not there.’

Miss Fletcher was clearly intent on stating everything which was on her mind, an unwise procedure at afternoon tea. Miss Mead, also eavesdropping, got up, wrapped her crochet in its silk scarf, and moved towards Mrs Fletcher, who was taking a deep breath in preparation for what would probably be a pyrotechnic display of hysterics.

‘Come along,’ murmured Miss Mead, putting a soft little hand on Mrs Fletcher’s arm. ‘I’ll take you up to your room. This way, Mrs Fletcher. Come along. These family affairs are so trying,’ she said, and somehow Mrs Fletcher found herself on her feet and out the door, cheated of her scene.

Phryne heard the shriek in the hall as Joan Fletcher realised this, and gave Miss Mead marks for social adroitness and courage.

Judith plumped herself down next to Phryne and announced, ‘I told her.’

‘I heard you. Now all you’ve got to do is hang on to your resolve and you’ll be on your farm in a matter of weeks.’

‘I owe it all to you.’ Miss Fletcher seized Phryne’s hand and shook it vigorously. Phryne retrieved her hand and counted the fingers. There seemed to be the usual number.

‘My pleasure.’ She swiftly interposed a plate of cream cakes between her and another embrace from a young woman with a grip like an ape.

‘Thanks. Gosh, I can’t imagine why I didn’t do that years ago. I’m sorry about carrying on with your Mr Lin, Miss Fisher. I was only doing it to score off Gerry, and I didn’t even want Gerry all that much. Golly, now I don’t have to play at being a girlie any more. It’s such a relief.’ Her healthy complexion radiated robust gratitude.

‘It would be. You’re a good rider, Miss Fletcher. I saw you set out today, looking for the Major. Did you find any clue?’

‘I caught his horse, trailing her reins, poor thing. Been ridden hard for a long way, poor creature could scarcely raise a trot. I had to tend her hoofs and walk her home. Mr Reynolds reckons that the Major must have gone into Buchan, though why I can’t imagine. Gosh, Miss Fisher, I feel so fit. I think I’ll take the hack out again and have a scout around.’

‘Do that, but be careful. And don’t go swimming.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Her face flamed. ‘I . . . was telling you the truth, you know. It didn’t seem to matter if I lived or died.’

‘But now you know that it does. Did you notice a stone tunnel in that little sandy bay on the river?’

‘Yes, it’s a drain or something. I didn’t go near it. Gosh, is that the famous secret passage? Weren’t you scared in the dark, Miss Fisher?’

‘Not really. Now, you can get on with your life, Miss Fletcher. All you need to do is tell Gerry you won’t marry him, and ask him to come and speak to me. Then talk to some stock suppliers about your horses.’

‘I’ll do that. And I’ll send him to you.’ Miss Fletcher bolted her cake. ‘Doreen’s moved my things into a little room, that’s already done. You know, I’ve never slept alone in my whole life. First there was Nanny and then there was school and then there was Mother. It’ll be nice, being alone. I think I’ll like it.’

‘I think you will.’

Miss Medenham in an afternoon-tea gown of flaming scarlet and Mrs Luttrell in her usual mousy wool came to the table for more tea.

‘Miss Medenham, I have a question,’ said Phryne. The bold eyes lifted. Miss Medenham was amused and very pleased with herself.

‘If it is, ‘‘What did you do with the Major?’’ I can’t answer. I didn’t do anything with him.’

‘You were close to him last night,’ said Phryne delicately. ‘Did he say anything about where he might have gone?’

‘No, our conversation didn’t touch on that. I suggested the Devil, but that might be farther than he could ride in one morning.’

Phryne turned to her companion. ‘Mrs Luttrell?’ The older woman cringed a little, out of habit, then straightened.

‘He didn’t come to me all night,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t imagine where he is.’

But his absence is a great relief to you, as well it might be, Phryne thought. Something about the attitude of the two women, the way they were standing, indicated that an alliance had been forged. She occupied a few moments pleasurably, wondering what Miss Medenham had done to the Major. He seemed to have left the house under his own steam, so she hadn’t actually crowned him with the fire irons. But that still left a broad scope for a woman of strong convictions.

Miss Medenham and Mrs Luttrell passed on through the crowd towards Doctor Franklin, who was talking to Tadeusz about hysteria.

Phryne accepted another cup of tea from Mrs Reynolds, who said worriedly, ‘Two people missing and still those notes and things are unsolved. Have you got anywhere with them, Phryne?’

‘Certainly. You will not receive any more notes. They were written on your own paper, you know.

It’s the same as the paper in the office.’

‘Will you tell me who was doing all these things?’

‘Possibly. If you need to know. But the note-writer is not the murderer. And that will all be over. There is no threat to Tom, now. We just have to find Lina and the Major.’

‘If you say so, Phryne.’ The faded eyes looked into Phryne’s.

‘But you should prepare yourself for a shock,’ said Phryne.

‘Me?’

‘Yes. I can only apologise in advance.’

Evelyn Reynolds searched Phryne’s face for a clue as to what she meant. She seemed to have found something, for she looked sad. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, nodding. Phryne held out a hand to the angelic Gerald, and Mrs Reynolds continued amongst the house party, dispensing tea.

‘Well, Gerald?’

‘Well, divine one?’ He sat down on the floor at her feet and she caressed the curly hair as though he was a puppy. Jack Lucas, across the ornate parlour, scowled.

‘So Judith won’t marry you?’

‘And that’s a relief to us all. I suppose you wouldn’t hear an honourable proposal? You should make an honest man out of me, you know.’

‘You didn’t need to sleep with me,’ she said lightly, ‘in order to enlist me. If you continue to do that every time you need a favour, then your lover is not going to be pleased.’

The whole body stiffened in shock. For a moment the brown eyes were blank with horror, then calculation took over.

‘How could I have resisted you?’ he asked, preposterously long eyelashes flicking down to the perfect cheek.

‘Quite easily,’ she said. ‘It’s all right, Gerald. I think I’ve fixed it. I have had a long talk with Tom Reynolds and although he won’t give Jack any money . . .’ the soft mouth firmed into a thin line and Phryne lay one finger to his red lips, ‘he’ll give him something else of great value, which will be worth more than cash. I can’t tell you any more until all this commotion with Lina and the Major is over, but I promise, on my honour, if Jack does not appreciate his legacy I will buy it from him and he will be able to live on the proceeds until he dies of old age.’

He scanned her face, made a decision, and said, ‘I never meant you to be hurt, divine one.’

‘I know you didn’t. But you could have killed Tom and that wouldn’t have been kind. I traced the ink and the paper on some of those notes, though not all.’

‘I wanted the money for Jack and I thought . . .’

‘I know what you thought. Unfortunately your method was appropriated by someone else. By the way, have you been leaving urns all over the place?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I think someone’s trying to help me, but so far I haven’t worked out what they’re trying to tell me. No more tricks, Gerry. I want your assurance, I want your word. It’s all getting too dangerous.’

‘I promise.’ He wet his finger and traced a cross on his blazer. ‘What . . . what do you know about me, Miss Fisher?’

‘I was in the boathouse,’ she said gently.

All the living colour ebbed from Gerald’s face, leaving him as pale as a porcelain faun. Phryne stroked his cheek. ‘I was lying in a punt with Lin. I’m telling you, Gerry, your secret is safe with me and I will fix it. Now I need you to tell me exactly which of the tricks you played.’

‘Three notes and the wire which brought Cuba down,’ he muttered.

‘Nothing more? You didn’t saw through the axle? You sent no note to Lina? You were not out in the fog on the night she was attacked?’

‘No. I was out, all right, but talking to . . . the person you know of. Phryne, that time in the boathouse, that was the first time that we . . .’

‘I know. I heard everything you said.’

The boy kneeled up, his face close to Phryne’s, and whispered, ‘It wasn’t just for a favour, Phryne. You were beautiful, you were lovely, I wanted you.’

‘I know. I wanted you, too.’

‘And you’ll fix it for Jack if I’m a good child?’

‘I will.’

Gerald smiled a breathtaking little-boy’s smile. He took up Phryne’s hand and kissed it. Rising with one smooth movement, he signalled to Jack Lucas, and they left the room through the French window. Phryne heard them laughing outside.

‘You seem to have improved their day,’ commented Lin Chung, behind Phryne.

‘I’ve saved their bacon,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a legacy for Jack and I’ve made Gerald promise that he won’t play any more little jokes on Tom. That should clarify the situation.’

‘It should?’

‘Certainly. Lord, it’s getting late. I’m going to have a nap before dinner. It’s been an interesting day.’ She smiled reminiscently.

‘Mr Reynolds says that we are all going to Buchan Caves tomorrow. The dray is repaired,’ said Lin Chung, stroking her wrist.

‘Good. See you at dinner.’

‘And after?’ he asked, sliding one finger up her sleeve along the inside of her forearm where the skin was as thin as silk.

‘And after,’ said Phryne.