Chapter Four
Phryne used to regard her Aunt Pru's residence as A Bit Fussy, though she couldn't deny the pool had come in handy on more than one occasion. Her reaction to the Cosworth mansion was therefore a sharp intake of breath.
At least, she reflected, Aunt Pru understood Comfort. The Cosworths appeared to have decided to display their mining heritage chiefly in a Spartan style: vast expanses of unforgiving stonework were unrelieved by such niceties as climbing plants or ornamental box. Unlike many of Toorak's gorgeous edifices, it was stark – a plain statement of enormous wealth. The few columns were the plainest Doric, the gardens were laid out formally, and the door was opened by a gentleman in morning dress who wasn't happy to see them. He probably wasn't ever happy to see anyone.
"Yes?" he asked forbiddingly. Jack, however, had stormed sterner fortresses than this one, and coolly held up his badge.
"We would like to see Mrs Cosworth."
"I will see if she is At Home, sir, madam. Please wait here."
"He can't be much good as a butler if he doesn't even know whether the boss is in," remarked Phryne snidely, in a not-quite-quiet enough voice as he shimmered away, unhurriedly. She regarded his rear view speculatively.
Knowing full well that she would have understood perfectly the meaning of the phrase the butler used, Jack concluded that she had decided to be Bad Cop.
Accordingly, when the butler returned to usher them into the Rose Room (apparently), Jack smiled in a friendly manner and led the charge.
The Rose Room was occupied not only by Mrs Cosworth, but also by a middle-aged man whose moustache was far too well tended for Phryne's liking. They both stood to greet their guests.
If there was such a thing as Old Money in Melbourne, Mrs Cosworth was it. Not by a flicker of an eye did she lose composure when informed of the purpose of their visit.
"What you say is quite extraordinary, Detective Inspector. And I'm afraid I don't know who this woman is."
"The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Detective," announced Phryne in clipped tones, presenting her card. "I was also at lunch with your husband today. He had asked for assistance on the matter of a missing diamond necklace."
Mrs Cosworth pursed her lips. "I had no idea Herbert had stooped to paying a private investigator to do what is properly the work of the police."
Jack's poker face remained intact, and gave no clue as to his level of enjoyment of the exchange.
"You'll be amazed the depths to which a man will stoop when the rewards are attractive enough," smiled Phryne. "And we hadn't actually got round to discussing my fee. Perhaps he thought it would be rude to talk money over lunch. Good breeding will always out, won't it, Mrs Cosworth?"
The matron's gaze became positively flinty.
Deciding it was time he rescued the interview with the new widow before it resulted in any more sudden deaths, Jack stepped in hastily.
"We did, however, discuss one or two matters in relation to the business, and I wondered if you might be able to help us with some initial enquiries, Mrs Cosworth? And, forgive me …" he tailed off politely, looking at the gentleman, who extended a businesslike hand.
"Jim Cosworth, Chief Operating Officer of Consolidated Copper. I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself at the outset … the news about my father has been … rather shocking." He shook his head in disbelief.
"Mr Cosworth," Jack nodded. "Were you at the office this afternoon?"
"Yes – for a while. I left slightly early, I had an appointment with Mother." He looked at her. "We should convene an emergency Board meeting, Mother."
Mrs Cosworth shook her head impatiently. "Don't be ridiculous, James. Everyone will have left town for the weekend. By the time we reach them, it will be too late to do anything until Monday in any case."
Phryne found their ability to parse Cosworth's murder in the context of business affairs on such short notice … remarkable. And not a little chilling.
Jack could see she was itching to speak up again, and forestalled her.
"I apologise, Mrs Cosworth, but I have just a couple of questions – firstly, can you confirm where you were this afternoon between the hours of three and five pm?"
"Here, Inspector." This, at her most haughty. He was not left in any doubt as to his temerity for asking the question.
"Thank you. And for both of you – do you know of anyone who might have wanted Mr Cosworth Senior dead?"
"On the contrary, Inspector, it was in all of our interests for him to remain very much alive," interjected James.
"How so, sir?"
Cosworth hesitated for a moment, and after a silent exchange of glances with his mother, gave a slight, acquiescent nod. "What I am about to tell you, Inspector, constitutes inside information, and I can only disclose it because of the murder investigation. My father was in very private, but well-advanced talks to sell the company to a much larger rival. Most of the shares in Consolidated Copper are in family hands, but a few are traded on the market, and they will be worth a lot more if this gets out. That's why we have to have the Board meeting, so that we can release a statement – although with father gone, there's every chance the deal won't go through." He fixed Jack with a steady gaze. "I don't know what procedures you have for dealing with this kind of situation, but until we have had the chance to tell everyone what's going on, I must ask you to tell no-one – or at least, as few people as possible."
"That goes for you too, Miss Fisher," said Mrs Cosworth icily.
"Received and understood," replied Phryne with a glittering smile that told Jack to get her out of the building as soon as possible. He briefly thanked both Cosworths, and began to move to the door, taking Phryne's arm quite firmly as he did. At first she showed every sign of coming quietly, but then halted suddenly at the door, and turned back with a seraphic expression. Jack's heart sank, and he studied his shoes closely.
"Oh, and Mrs Cosworth? Your necklace? Your butler has it," remarked Phryne casually.
That, finally, rattled the matron.
"Innes? Impossible, and downright insulting to suggest it, Miss Fisher."
She shrugged. "Have it your own way, but you really ought to look after your household staff a little better. His shoes have newspaper covering holes in the soles, his cuffs have been turned once and are frayed, his nails are bitten to the quick, no doubt due to money worries, and there's a suitably-shaped bulge in the breast pocket of his coat."
She gave a wintry smile.
"Don't worry, Mrs Cosworth, there will be no charge for my services – on this occasion."