THE HUNT
Disclaimer: I own nada.
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Chapter Two
. . .
"You don't have to come with me Dot," Phryne tried to assure her companion. Dot wasn't having a bar of it.
"Of course I do Miss!"
"Only if you don't mind."
"I don't mind one bit," Dot assured her.
"If you are sure."
Dot gave her a look that told her she really was sure and if Phryne did not stop asking her she might pull out Phryne's gun, hidden away in her bag, and shoot her, was she not afraid of, and entirely against, guns. Phryne responded to this look with a broad grin. She really did love Dot immensely.
Jane helped get the luggage packed in the car – why Miss Phryne needed so many clothes was beyond her, she had yet to see the allure of fashion and was unlikely to anytime in the near future – and waited for an opening to ask the question she'd been dying to ask.
Before Phryne could climb into the car she tugged lightly on her sleeve as many young children did you wanted things. She hated herself for the action immediately, but at least it had gotten Miss Phryne's attention.
"Miss?"
"Yes Jane?"
"Is there any chance you could…" her voice dwindled as she tried to work out the best way to phrase her question.
"Yes?" Phryne prompted.
"If you catch the fox, do you think you can bring it back for me? I would love to examine its anatomy."
Dot did not hide her horror. Phryne, however, considered the question. "I'm currently running on the hope that the poor creature shall get away. But if it does not, I shall try to bring it back for you to have a look at its anatomy and for me to make into a nice scarf. Deal?"
"Deal," Jane smiled wickedly. Dot was worried about that girl's interests. Jane was already making plans to go to the library at her school and getting out any books that might be relevant.
"You don't want me to drive Miss?" Mr Butler suggested.
"No Mr B," Phryne smiled, climbing into the driver's seat of her Hispano-Suiza. "You shall stay and keep my house from falling."
"Very good Miss," he said with a smile, sending Dot a look of sympathy when Phryne's face was turned. They both knew driving with Phryne behind the wheel was very similar to being on a roller coaster. Dot had never enjoyed roller coasters.
There was nothing you could do, Dot's face told him. She climbed into the passenger side with a look similar to that of Hugh's when he'd entered Jack's office.
Mr Butler and Jane waved them goodbye, seeing Dot holding into her rosary and muttering prayers. Though he did not believe in such things, Mr Butler said a prayer for her himself.
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"The gardener found him sir," Hugh explained. "A Mr…" he checked his notes "Bob Tremain."
"Where is he?"
"Over there sir," Hugh said, nodding to a man leaning against the garden shed. He was smoking a gasper and looked like he had seen a ghost. His face was completely devoid of color other than his shaggy grey beard.
Jack turned towards the man who had, upon seeing the important looking policeman approaching, stubbed out his cigarette and stood up straight. "You're the man in charge?"
"I am," Jack told him. "Mr Tremain, you found her this morning?"
"I did. She was in the back room. I don't go in there often."
"What brought you to go in today?"
"The smell," he replied, whitening again at the memory. "I noticed it a few days ago but thought nothing of it, dead animal or something, but it got too bad to be ignored. Thought I'd check it out."
"And did you recognize the woman you found?"
"Don't reckon I've ever seen 'er before," he said sadly, "but that don't mean much. I don't go near the house much. Like to keep to m'self."
Jack thanked him then made a beeline for the shed, Hugh on his heel. The gardener lit another cigarette and returned to his original position.
"Her name is Miss Amberlynn McCloud," Hugh read from his notes, not looking down at the body that lay on the wooden floor. "Twenty-year old housemaid."
"I'd place the stab wound in her throat as the cause of death," Dr Morgan said from the ground beside the body. He was dressed as one would expect a doctor to be dressed, examining the body with glove-covered hands. "But I cannot say that conclusively before I've given her an autopsy."
"I expect no less," Jack nodded. The smell really was overwhelming, but he did not allow his disgust to show. Hugh, on the other hand, was finding it difficult not to hurl.
"No Miss Fisher today?" Dr Morgan asked simply. He had not originally liked the fashionable woman with flowery perfume, but had grown accustomed to her. Jack felt similarly.
"Miss Fisher has gone on a hunting trip," Hugh said, happy to provide an answer and to be speaking of a topic over than the dead girl who was producing the awful odor as her body broke down.
Jack looked at him momentarily then back at the body. He wondered how he had known, then ascertained that Miss Williams would have likely told him.
"Her perfume would be appreciated at a time like this," Dr Morgan commented, then returned his attention to the body that lay before him.
Jack had to agree, but found if her were to think about Phryne's perfume, he began down a slippery slope which led to memories of holding her, of kissing her, and of doing other things to her which were certainly not things to be thinking about when one was in a shed that smelt of rotting flesh, standing over the dead body of a girl who would have been pretty when she was among the living. He told himself to place his attention on solving the murder.
He searched the room for anything which gave hint to the reason a housemaid was in the garden shed but found nothing other than gardening supplies. None seemed sharp enough to do the damage which was done to the girl's throat, but he instructed Collins to bag some that could have been used.
"Did she have anything on her?" Jack asked anybody in particular.
"No sir," Hugh replied. "Just a broken watch."
"Broken how?"
"The glass has been smashed sir."
"What time does it show?"
"Sir?" Hugh asked, confused.
"What time Collins?" Jack asked again, harsher this time. He hadn't time to explain.
Cringing, Hugh picked up the dead girl's wrist to check. He tried to ignore the cold, clammy feel of her skin. "Quarter past eight," Hugh answered, endeavoring not to lose his breakfast. He promptly replaced the girl's wrist.
Was that quarter past eight in the morning, or the evening? Jack asked himself.
Jack looked to Morgan who shrugged. "Sorry Detective-Inspector, I can't give you an estimation as to when she died as of yet. Even when I do, I likely won't be able to tell you whether that was morning or afternoon."
Jack sighed but accepted the information. He examined the room again then declared to Hugh that they should go interview the members of the house.
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"It's this one Miss!" Dot yelled over the roar of the Hispano-Suiza.
Phryne turned the car on a dime and was quickly spending down a long driveway towards a large manor. It was fronted by a large portico and had large wings sticking out of it for miles. This was not the estate which Phryne had expected from the prestigious Elijah Everwood, whom came from old money which had likely dwindled away over the years. Somebody, Phryne mused, had married well.
She pushed her foot down on the break and came to a halt outside the front door. Dot forced herself to resist the urge to jump from the vehicle and kiss the ground.
"She's a beaut," a worked said as he came to park the car for them.
"That she is," Phryne smiled as she handed over the keys. "Put one mark on her and the cook will be serving up your delicate parts for dinner," she added in the same tone.
The man gulped. Good, Phryne thought, it appeared he understood perfectly.
Other men come to remove her many bags then her car was driven away at a speed no faster than a man could walk.
Phryne was met at the door by a butler who smiled and informed her than her room was in the west wing, second on the left. He added that he would escort her there. For this, Phryne was thankful.
The room was surprisingly decadent, made with dark colors and warm woods. Perfect, Phryne mused, for seduction. She wondered if that had been her reason for her placement in this room in particular. It truly was superb. All that was missing was an attractive young man lying across the bed wearing nothing but a smile.
"Oh, it's magnificent," Dot mused as she entered the room behind her. Dot, clearly, was not missing the nude young man.
"That it is. Now, I'm going to explore. Would you lke to come with me or stay here?"
"Oh I'll stay here Miss," Dot smiled, already beginning to work on unpacking. "I'll make sure all your clothes are away."
"Very good Dot dear," Phryne smiled, then was out the door with a "toodle-pip".
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"Cousin Phryne!"
Phryne had barely made it halfway up the flight of stairs in the entrance all when she was spotted. She turned and saw Guy standing at the bottom. Phryne wondered why her aunt had no felt the need to inform her that her cousin would be in attendance.
"Guy!" She exclaimed, almost genuinely, and ran back down the stairs to embrace him. He smelt, as usual, even better than she.
"How long have you been here?" He asked, presenting is elbow for her to hold. She did so. He led her in the exact opposite direction to that in which she had been headed, but it did not bother her. She was simply keen to see the manor that she would be residing in for the next week, the direction which she went about it did not matter. Although there was sure to be no trouble, Phryne liked being able to know her way around in case she had to escape in a run at night.
"Less than five minutes."
"Then you have yet to meet our fellow guests?"
Something in his tone made Phryne weary. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at his grin. "Are there any other than us under the age of fifty?" Not that she minded all that much. In her experience, the older made better conversation and were less prone to tantrums.
"Perhaps one," Guy grinned, "one cannot often tell with these women who have been married such a long time. Such an unnatural act is sure to make one appear much older than their years."
"Most certainly," Phryne agreed.
They stepped down into a large seating area and Phryne knew exactly what her cousin had meant. She did not need to worry about the possibility of finding somebody to warm her bed – who would cause her later guilt as she had yet to clarify her situation with Jack – as there was no possibilities whatsoever.
Apparently Guy noticed her thoughts as he laughed and squeezed her arm. "There are a few good looking stable boys," he informed her, "just in case you cannot last the week."
Phryne was not given chance to reply. As soon as they were spotted by Aunt Prudence, Phryne was removed from Guy's muscular arm and introduced around in whirlwind fashion. She first met the hosts, Mr and Mrs Elijah Everwood, who seemed happy enough. They would have been great company in their prime, some twenty or thirty years in the past. Phryne would, if she were a betting woman, put money on the fact that they would be filled of interesting stories of life before the Great War. Phryne recognized in Mrs Everwood's eye the same gleam she saw every morning in the mirror.
Next were Mr and Mrs Gerald Campbell. They too were not young, but younger than the hosts. Phryne viewed them optimistically. She smelt of strong French perfume, applied a little too liberally for her taste, and him the classic smell of older gentlemen: peppermint and cigars. Mr Campbell picked up her hand to kiss it and muttered something which Phryne did not catch, but his tone was heard loud and clear. His wife shied away sadly. Phryne had no problem with older men, and in fact often enjoyed them, but she had rules against the married – that she'd only broken on very rare an occasion. There was complication with taking a married man to bed and Phryne did not enjoy complication when it came to lovers. So why, she mused, was she so keen to get involved with Jack Robinson, a relationship bound to be filled with complications? Clearly she had lost her mind. She wondered if she should be worried that she didn't seem to care.
"Professor Matthew Reagan," Aunt Prudence said with a sparkle in her eye present whenever she introduced Phryne to any man even remotely eligible, drawing her out of her musing.
Last to be introduced, Professor Matthew Reagan was a man about the same age as Mr Campbell but without a wedding ring or wandering eye. He seemed quite agreeable and Phryne wondered why he was not married. She supposed many would ask the same about her. She wondered briefly if his reason was similar to her's.
A small party for a hunt, Phryne thought to herself, but smiled and sat with those who would be keeping her company for the next week. You could not have a hunt with a mere eight people – seven as it was very unlikely her aunt would mount anything, not even a horse. However, Phryne had been informed it would be an intimate company.
"There are more to come," her Aunt Prudence assured her.
Phryne wondered when she had become so transparent and told herself she would have to work on becoming less patent.
. . .
xoxo