Chapter Three
"So, Mr B," remarked Phryne conversationally as the door slammed behind the most understanding husband a Lady Detective ever possessed, "why would anyone want to kill you? And, it appears, your bridge partner? Just what are the ridiculous stakes you play for at these events? I have to confess to a degree of vulgar curiosity."
"Not worth killing for, Miss," replied Mr Butler. "Tonight, I won a delicious white peach."
Her brow furrowed. "Curiouser and curiouser. What did you achieve for such a relatively tame reward? A two-clubs contract?"
"Oh no, Miss," Mr B smiled involuntarily. "No, the winners of the rubber receive a nice fresh apple. To get a white peach, we had to achieve a Grand Slam." He gazed into the distance and remarked absently, "On No Trumps. An exceptional achievement by Mr Barton."
"Then I think we can safely assume it wasn't a jealous rage on the part of your opponents," remarked Phryne. "What about other enemies? Have you inspired blistering anger in anyone lately?"
Mr Butler considered. "Unless the butcher is more touchy than I thought about my comments on the leg of lamb he provided last week – the one that was, frankly, mutton – I really can't think of anyone." He ran his fingers experimentally over the bruise on his head, and winced. "I think, Miss, if you'll excuse me, I'll retire for the night."
"You'll not only retire for the night, Mr Butler, you'll stay indoors for the foreseeable future until we've got some idea what happened tonight," stated Phryne firmly, and looked around as a quiet call came drifting down the stairs. "Ah. Feeding time at the zoo again. I swear, that child should be the size of a horse by now. Coming, Mary-Lou!"
So saying, she rose to her feet and ascended the stairs to the nursery, where one of the two nurses who provided round-the-clock care of arguably the most cosseted baby in Melbourne stood holding her precious charge. Miss Elizabeth Jane Robinson, contrary to her mother's assertion, was not in any way equine in appearance, but was rather a healthy size entirely appropriate to her six weeks on earth. For one so young, she was proving remarkably rewarding; both her parents traced signs of immense intelligence in her eyes, which would follow them solemnly as they chatted to her cheerfully – Phryne of gossip, Jack chiefly of complete nonsense. She was also very relaxed about life; although she had her mother's eyes, she had almost certainly inherited her father's philosophical temperament (and, Phryne thought, his cheekbones too) and would ask as politely as possible for her next feed.
Feeding had been something of a revelation to Phryne. Her natural fastidiousness had initially warred with the appeal of such a clever design by Mother Nature; but – perhaps in large part due to Elizabeth's amenable disposition and all-round genius in the process – she now rather enjoyed the whole business, which was not, as she had feared, in the least bit messy.
(Being able to wear some of her favourite gowns again within a matter of weeks had also made a difference).
Agnes, the wet-nurse, had been retained in order to allow Mrs Robinson a little flexibility in her day – and, it had to be said, to allow some modest resumption of the consumption of Hard Liquor by one who had always seen Mr Butler's prowess with a cocktail shaker as one of his key skills. The first martini after the child was born had still tasted like paint-stripper; but Phryne had Persevered, and Mother's Ruin was now at least occasionally reinstated on the menu.
As she sat in her divinely comfortable nursing chair and watched the most junior member of the household consume supper, she turned over in her mind the awful occurrences of the evening. Who on earth would shoot at Mr Butler? She decided that she believed him when he said he couldn't think of any suspects; he had a long memory, and – thanks to his employers' professional history – more than the usual level of experience of reasons for Folk to kill Other Folk. If he couldn't immediately think of a suspect, they would have to cast the net more widely.
Elizabeth began to appear both sated and sleepy; Phryne handed her back to Mary-Lou with a smile, set her dress to rights, and decided that an early night wasn't such a bad idea. Lin Soo assisted with her mistress' preparations for bed, and having supplied a cup of fragrant jasmine infusion, was allowed to retire.
"Soo?" Phryne said, as the girl opened the door. She looked back enquiringly. "Thank you," said Phryne simply. "We owe you a great debt for your work tonight."
A wicked grin flashed. "It is no trouble, Miss Fisher. I am only sorry that Mr Butler's so-beautiful face will be less beautiful for a little while." With that, she closed the door gently behind her and was gone.
Mr Butler's face beautiful? Phryne considered, and agreed. In wisdom and generosity of spirit there was indeed much beauty.
She finished her tea, and settled down with her book to await the Inspector's return.
The Inspector's return, however, was not until the sky was starting to lighten. It had been, for Jack, a very long night.
He crept into the bedroom, and saw the bedside light still burning, although Mrs Robinson was asleep, book still held loosely in her hand. He switched off the lamp, eased the book from her fingers and, by the grey light of the early morning, undressed and slipped under the covers.
The movement in the mattress made her stir.
"Jack?" she whispered groggily.
"Shhh. Go back to sleep," he whispered in reply; but Mrs Robinson was of independent spirit, and insinuated herself into his arms.
"It's very late," she remarked.
"Or very early," he suggested. "I can only have a few hours before I go back. I fear I have bad news for Mr Butler."
She propped herself on one elbow. "Mr Barton?"
"No," he said, "Mr Barton should pull through – his daughter shares the house, and came home in time to find him unconsciousness but not dead, from carbon monoxide poisoning. No, it's the other two players. She gave us their names; and both men were found dead tonight. Shot."
She stared at him in disbelief. "All four of them targeted in one night? Jack, there's a lunatic out there."
He nodded. "Quite possibly. But I've been up for almost twenty-four hours and unless I get some sleep, I'm going to be useless in tracking him down."
He relaxed back on the pillows at that, and closed his eyes; but she could see by the furrow in his brow that, no matter the degree of exhaustion, sleep was some way off.
"Let me help you with that, darling," she suggested; and proceeded to render Mr Robinson Very Relaxed Indeed.
