"Mrs Blake?" another mother waiting to pick up her child, advanced, hand outstretched, "Elspeth Jackson," she finished.
"Oh, hello," Jean shook the hand, "pleased to meet you."
"And I you," Mrs Jackson nodded, "my daughter, Netta, says she has become friends with your young one, Helen, is it?"
"Yes, that's right, don't they sit together in class?" Helen had mentioned it one day, that she thought she had a friend. Jean had hoped things were looking up and that she was at last beginning to settle down.
"They do, Netta's a quiet one, she says Helen is too, like their books, apparently."
"Helen is rather shy," Jean confirmed.
"Well, Netta was wondering, if Helen would like to come to tea, one day," Mrs Jackson went on, "no real reason ..."
"That's kind of you," Jean relaxed a little, "I will see what Helen thinks, and we can arrange a date."
"Lovely," she smiled again, "ah, here they come," she looked over the playground, "I hope they've had a good day."
"So do I," Jean smiled and waved at Helen who waved back and trotted over, with Netta.
"Netta shared my reading blanket, today, Mummy," Helen slipped her hand into Jean's.
"That's lovely, sweetie," Jean stroked her auburn curls and pushed the ribbon back into place, "what book did you look at today?"
"A picture book, of animals," Helen grinned, "there were koalas in it."
"I see," her mother smiled, "you and your koalas."
Helen giggled.
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"Remember," Jean bent down to Helen, "Mrs Jackson is picking you up, after school."
"Ok, Mummy," she whispered, "but you'll pick me up after tea?"
"Of course I will, darling, about half past five," Jean reassured her. "Now, you have a good day, and I'll see you later." She kissed her head and watched her head off to class.
Jean had wondered about the wisdom of allowing Helen to go to tea with Netta. Mrs Jackson was far too effusive, in her mind, since they had met a week ago. Netta, she agreed, was a sweet child, quiet and unassuming, but her mother seemed to be trying to get too much of Jean's past out of her. Had she always lived in Ballarat? How did she meet her husband? Who did she know? Which was the best butcher's and greengrocer's?
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She stood on the doorstep of the Jackson's house. It was a perfectly respectable house, neat and tidy on the outside, a small car parked on the drive next to a larger, more expensive one. Once upon a time that would be imposing, but now, Thomas had taught, and Lucien was teaching her that she was as good, if not better than most in town. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She knocked and waited, hoping Helen had had a nice time.
"Yes?" a tall, imposing man answered the door.
"Mrs Blake, I've come to collect Helen," she smiled, "Mr Jackson?"
He harrumphed and stood aside to allow her entry.
Jean stepped in and looked around the hallway. Clean and bright, not a speck of dust, then she chided herself for that, judging another's housekeeping. She was distracted by a shout:
"Mummy!" and Helen ran in to her arms.
"Hello sweetheart " she kissed her "have you had a good time?"
Helen flashed her a look, but nodded.
"What do you say, to Mrs Jackson?"
"Thank you for having me," she smiled.
"You're welcome, Helen," Mrs Jackson nodded, "thank you for coming."
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Helen did at least wait until they were in the car before she dropped her stiffened shoulders.
"Mummy, what's for dinner?"
"You've just had tea," Jean laughed, "still hungry?"
"It wasn't very nice," she whispered, as if Mrs Jackson could still hear her, and opened the napkin she had concealed in her pocket. In it was a rather dry ham sandwich and a small piece of plain cake, each of which had a bite taken out of it.
"Oh, I see," Jean nodded, "well I have a rabbit stew in the oven and potatoes and vegetables. What do you say to that?"
"Yum," Helen grinned.
"Did Netta eat her tea?"
"Yes, but quickly," she nodded, "she had a school dinner so I suppose she wasn't too hungry."
Jean always made Helen a packed lunch; a sandwich and piece of fruit, a biscuit or a piece of cake and it was enough to see the child through until her snack after school and dinner with the family. Helen had said, right from the start, that she would like it very much if mummy would make her a packed lunch, please. Jean supposed her cooking was better than the boarding school food she was used to and had been happy to wrap her up a sandwich each day. She didn't know quite what to say so changed the subject to that of the day's activities.
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"Well, that's interesting," Lucien hummed later, when Jean told him of Helen's experience out to tea, "what are the parents like?"
"She's rather forward," Jean hummed, "can't say much about him, a lot older than her, rather gruff? condescending. I definitely felt he looked down on me."
"The nerve," Lucien huffed and kissed the top of her head, "doesn't do to upset the wife of the Police Surgeon, he knows people." He winked.
"Don't be silly, Lucien," she pushed him affectionately, "I got the feeling he wasn't happy to see me, or that Netta had a friend over."
"Mrs Jackson?"
"Oh heavens, that woman," Jean rolled her eyes, "so ... er ... well, she's nosy, always asking questions about Ballarat, the people, who do I know? Someone's told her about Mary and Li and now she's fishing."
"Neither of us have anything to be ashamed of, love," he pulled her close, "she's new to the area, I suppose, not as new as Helen, but anyone who asked questions like that ..."
"Do you think Matthew could ask around?" she asked shyly, "I know there's no crime to be investigated, but ..."
"Ask him, or I will, which ever of us sees him first, now ..."
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Jean suggested to Helen that she might like to invite Netta for tea, on her birthday. She could choose what they ate.
"Can we all eat together, Mummy, like we usually do?" Helen tipped her head to one side, "and can it be roast chicken?"
Jean laughed and agreed, it would be easier to just add Netta to the numbers, rather than do two separate meals. She could easily add a special birthday cake to the menu, for dessert.
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Netta skipped happily beside Jean and Helen, she rarely got asked to tea with anyone and when she did all her father did was question her about the family and the house. He would then decide if she was to associate with them again. She had lost friends at her first school that way, she didn't want to lose Helen's friendship.
"Uncle Matthew and Dr Harvey are joining us, Helen, if you don't mind, that is," Jean pushed the door open.
"I like Uncle Matthew, he's funny," Helen dropped her bag on the hall floor.
"Ahem," Jean coughed, "Helen we don't drop our bags, do we, hang it up, please. Netta, you can hang yours up next to Helen's."
"Sorry, Mummy," Helen smiled, "and Dr Harvey tells good stories."
Jean raised her eyebrows at that, Alice would tell stories of the Greek and Roman heroes, learnt when she studied Classics at university. It had happened quite by accident when conversation had turned to Zeus during a thunderstorm. Helen had been unnerved at the noise and Alice had just thrown in the explanation Zeus and his thunderbolts. Ever since then Helen had asked for other stories about the gods.
She sent the girls into the living room to play with Helen's toys while she prepared a light snack to tide them over until dinner time.
She could hear them giggling as she pottered around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to the dinner, wondering how much Netta would eat. Helen had a good appetite and had filled out a little since she came to live with them, Netta didn't look underfed but what Helen had told her about the tea had preyed on her mind.
Alice and Matthew arrived with a small gift for the birthday girl who thanked them with a big smile and Lucien came through from the surgery having finished for the day. He was introduced to Netta and kissed Helen, asking about her day.
"It was fine, daddy," she grinned, "Miss Roberts read us a new story about pirates and we are going to try and write our own stories."
"I look forward to reading yours, then," he grinned, "hope there's a parrot who says 'pieces of eight'."
"Daddy, you are silly," Helen laughed.
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Jean called everyone to the table and asked Lucien to carve. Netta's eyes were wide at the sight of roast chicken, potatoes and vegetables.
"Mrs Blake!" she gasped, "we only have roast chicken on Sunday's."
"Oh, well, with the doctor working all day and Helen only having a sandwich for lunch we like a proper meal and a chat about the day." Jean smiled, "help yourself to vegetables."
"Thank you," Netta's eyes grew wider, she was used to having her food presented to her on the plate, and not to ask for more.
The conversation was kept to an appropriate level for young children. Mary told about her day at the Grammar school and said that her art class were going to the gallery later in the week.
"We have to pick a painting and study it," she took an extra potato, "talk about the style, use of colour and light and compare it to a totally different painting."
"Anything in mind?" Lucien wondered. He hadn't looked in the gallery since his return.
"Not sure, possibly a classical piece and a more modern one," she swallowed, "or two of similar subjects but different artists. I will see what's on show at the moment."
"And you, Li," Lucien turned to his daughter, "anything interesting happening for you?"
"A mathematics test at the end of the week," she pouted, "nothing as much fun as a trip round the gallery."
"Perhaps you and I could go one day," he smiled.
"Jean suggested once, that we see if they would like one of your mother's paintings, Lucien," Thomas grinned remembering a conversation so long ago, in another life it seemed to him.
"What about the one of Miss Clasby," Mary suggested, "if Miss Clasby doesn't mind?"
Lucien roared with laughter and said he might suggest it at her next appointment.
As the plates were cleared Jean took a cake from the side, decorated with candles and pink icing.
"I thought we'd have cake for dessert today, if nobody minds," she grinned, "now, Lucien would you light the candles."
Helen's eyes nearly fell from her head, so surprised was she. Nobody, not even her other mother had ever made a cake just for her. She jumped up and flung her arms round Jean.
"Oh Mummy, it's beautiful, thank you," she hugged hard.
"Well, the birthday girl should have a birthday cake, shouldn't she?" Jean bent down and wrapped her arms round her, "now, when Daddy has lit the candles you need to blow them out and make a wish."
"But," Thomas added, "you must keep it a secret, if you want it to come true."
"Ok," Helen breathed.
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There was a round of applause and a chorus of 'For she's a jolly good fellow', and the cake was cut and eaten.
Helen and Netta were shooed back into the living room while the table was cleared and to wait for Mrs Jackson to collect her daughter.
She arrived later than planned and quite flustered, worried that Netta might think she had been abandoned.
"She hasn't said anything," Jean smiled, "come in, they're in the living room." She noticed Mrs Jackson was rather more heavily made up than usual, strange for the that time of day, unless she and her husband were going out for the evening.
"Hello, Mummy," Netta stood up, "is it time to go?"
"Yes, dear, Daddy's waiting in the car," she seemed anxious to get out, "get your things, we mustn't keep him."
"Thank you for having me, Mrs Blake, it was lovely," Netta turned to Jean and smiled, "see you tomorrow, Helen."
"You're welcome, Netta, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."
"I do hope she wasn't any trouble," Mrs Jackson worried as they walked up the hall.
"None at all, a pleasure to have her," Jean assured her.
"Indeed," Lucien came up behind them, "nice to meet Helen's friends," he smiled.
"Oh, doctor," she gasped, surprised, "yes, well, we must go ..." she took Netta's hand.
Jean and Lucien watched them hurry down the drive then looked at each other, puzzled.
"Strange," Jean murmured, "she's always happy to chat at the school gate, now it's as if she can't wait to get away."
"Lot of make up," he observed.
She drew her brows together.
"A lot more than you wear, darling," he added, "and she doesn't look like she needs it, it's almost a mask."
"Covering up something?" Jean mused, closing the door.
He hummed in thought.
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Jean thought no more about the make-up and life went on as usual. Lucien had a case to deal with, just out of Ballarat. A new family had moved into a remote house and decided to do some work in the garden - quite a lot of work, as it happened.
Digging down to lay some hard standing for a new shed the man, one Mr Jonas Slattery, dug up a bone. Not a chicken bone that could have been thrown away after a meal, or a bone that could belong to a dog, no this was a human arm bone - it couldn't be anything else - it was attached to a shoulder, which was attached to the upper spine that was attached to a skull. Mr Slattery went into the house and phoned the police.
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"Has anyone else seen this," Matthew scratched his head, "do you live alone?"
"Wife's shopping," Mr Slattery grunted, "it's just the two of us. Thought it was a good place to have the grandchildren over, big garden, lots of space for them."
"Doc?" Matthew called over to Lucien who was squatting down flicking bits of soil and garden detritus away from the skeleton.
"Been here a while, Inspector," he didn't turn his head, "I'll know better when I get it back to the morgue, but first thoughts are beaten to death, healed and unhealed fractures on the skull."
"Right," the Inspector dragged the word out, "best get it down there."
"We need to take it with some of the soil around it, Matthew," Lucien stood up, tarps'd be good to lift it. Dig under and slide them through."
"Leave you to it, then," Matthew turned on his heel and went to start piecing the case together. First he had to go to the land registry and see who had lived in the house over the past several years, judging by the state of the body.
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It took what seemed like, forever. Lucien and Alice spent more than two days cleaning and examining the skeleton of the woman - they had told Matthew how they knew the gender and how she died.
"Multiple beatings, Matthew," Lucien set the file on his desk. "This woman was subject to many beatings, breaks to her bones that I don't think were seen to by a medic. The break to her forearm was set, but inexpertly, the ribs are slightly out of line and the skull - well I'm surprised she lived through the first batch of beatings."
"So, what killed her?"
"This blow to the back of the head, for a guess, the most recent and unhealed," Blake sighed, "I would guess, she was felled by a strong blow to the head, with a rock or heavy implement, then suffocated in the dirt - she would have fallen forward and her face would have been buried in the soil. There were soil particles in her teeth, her mouth and her eye sockets."
"Murder, then?" Matthew grumbled.
"'Fraid so," Lucien admitted, "anything from five to ten years ago."
"Bugger."
While Lucien and Alice had been examining the body Matthew and Bill Hobart and one or two of the other constables were digging through the list of owners of the property over the years. Then they matched that information to the births, marriages and deaths and missing persons for the timeline Lucien had indicated.
The officers started locating and interviewing all the previous occupants of the house, striking them off their list as they went. All family members were accounted for, nobody, so far, was missing.
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"How're we doin'?" Matthew grunted tiredly.
"Two more left, Boss," Bill passed the files over, "Jackson and Miller."
"Right, tomorrow I'll take Jackson and you take Miller," he split the two files and gave one to Bill.
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Matthew knocked on the door, shoulders slumped. He had arranged to meet Alice at the Blake's house and have dinner before going home. So far a paupers funeral had been considered for the woman but nobody liked the idea, she had a name, once.
"Hello, Matthew," Jean greeted him with a smile, "come in, dinner's just about ready."
"You waited for me? You didn't have to do that, Jean," he took his cap off and stepped inside, grateful, however, that they had waited.
"Rude to start before the visitor," she closed the door. "Alice is telling Helen another myth."
"Y'know, Jean," Matthew whispered, "Alice has told be some of her background and children don't figure as something she is comfortable with, so why Helen?"
"She accepts people for who they are, like Mary and Li," Jean told him, "she doesn't make Alice feel awkward."
"Right," he sighed.
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Once dinner was over and Helen had been put to bed Matthew, Alice, Lucien and Jean felt they could discuss the case. Mary and Li headed up to their bedroom, with Sylvia, to do some homework and read. They weren't particularly interested in the gruesome parts of the case, but would often be told the result of the investigation.
"So, Matthew," Lucien handed him a glass of whisky, "how goes the door to door?"
"Well, Bill's done the Miller's, can't see him having anything to do with it, scrawny little chap and his wife would make mincemeat of him," he swallowed, "there are no records of anyone going missing and from what we can glean they did very little in the garden. It leaves us with only one, Obadiah Jackson."
"And ...?"
"Not in, the wife said he would be in in the evening, but he was out at his office. She wasn't too happy about giving his office address, seemed nervous about it - made us stand on newspaper in the hall," he huffed, "place was spotless."
"Jackson?" Jean turned, "not Elspeth Jackson?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Her daughter is Netta, Helen's friend. Sorry, I didn't know her husband was called 'Obadiah'. He's a gruff character," she passed on her assessment of Mr Jackson from her one meeting, the day she had collected Helen. "I noticed the house was spick and span, too," she blushed. "You know," she pursed her lips, "when she picked Netta up from here on Helen's birthday, she could hardly get away fast enough, and she was wearing an awful lot of makeup; even Lucien noticed."
"Didn't want to keep her husband waiting, or that's what she said," Lucien agreed. "Did you get to see him?"
"In a meeting this morning," Mathew huffed, "made an appointment to see him this afternoon but strangely he was out of town. We're going to try the house tomorrow morning, before he leaves for work, at least we're going to try."
"Didn't you try tonight?" Alice raised her eyebrow.
"Nobody home, at all," Matthew grunted. "I think he's avoiding us. There was a car on the drive, a Jag, so either they were out for a walk or they were hiding in the house. With a child there ..."
"You didn't want to put her in danger," Jean murmured.
"No."
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"Lucien," Jean turned over to lie on her side and look at Lucien, "I've been thinking ..."
"Yes, about ...?"
"The Jacksons. You know how you noticed the makeup and we thought maybe she was hiding something. You said it looked like a mask."
"Yes, I think I see where you're going with this, you think she was hiding the evidence of a beating."
"I can't think of anything else. She's usually so well made up, and perfectly dressed."
"So, you're thinking he beats her, probably beat another wife and buried her in the garden and made another life for himself?" He pulled her close, "but why come back to almost the scene of the crime?"
"He got away with it last time," she snuggled against his warm chest, "so why not rub the police's noses in it?"
"You stay away, d'ye hear," he tightened his hold on her, "no more tea there for Helen until this is sorted out. Netta can come here, but you'll have to make excuses for Helen not going there."
"Right, yes, of course."
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Matthew and Bill stood outside the front of the Jackson house early the following morning and knocked ... and knocked and called:
"Police! Open up!"
Nothing.
No feet running, no voices whispering no doors closing.
"Bloody hell!" Matthew cursed, "flown the coop."
Bill pushed the door, it swung open, "Boss?"
Tentatively, holding their breath and praying they didn't need to use force, they entered the hallway.
"Hello?" Bill called, "anybody home?"
Silence.
Matthew walked a little further down the hall, passed a vase tipped on its side on the table. Water had run out of it and formed a small, drying pool on the immaculately polished floor. Further in they found the kitchen, a chair turned over and a cup smashed next to it.
"Boss," Bill stood looking in the sink, "over here."
Matthew joined him and they both looked at a bloody tea towel lying there.
"Right!" Matthew went to the phone in the hall, "I'm calling in the doc, this looks like he's done a runner, Jag's gone, but I'm more concerned about the wife and daughter." He dialled Blake's number first and grunted his instructions to get up to the house, then asked for the number of the school Helen attended. That was his next call, to find out if Netta was at school that day.
She wasn't, and there had been no message to say why, they assumed she had been taken ill. He put the phone down and scowled. It rang and he absentmindedly picked it up.
"Lawson."
On the other end of the line Jean was relieved he had picked up.
"Matthew, how many cars are on the drive?"
"What?"
"Mrs Jackson has her own little car, an MG I think, has he taken the Jaguar?" she asked.
"Bill," Lawson looked at his colleague, "check the garage, is there a car in there?"
Bill ran outside and looked about. The garage was padlocked shut. He took his police baton and brought it down on the padlock, the baton came off worst and the lock stayed put. He looked around for a heavy rock and found one in the flower border. He weighed it in his hand then hit the lock as hard as he could. It took a couple of blows but the lock gave way and he pulled the doors open. Inside was Mrs Jackson's small car but there was no sign of Elspeth, Netta or Obadiah.
"MG in the garage, Boss!" Bill called back, then wandered round the small vehicle. It was clean, polished, the tyres new, never driven, it seemed to Bill. He leant on the front and it moved backwards. "Hello," he muttered, "brake's not on."
He found the car was not locked and opened the driver's door to pull on the handbrake. The car was in showroom condition. Now, why did a man who appeared to beat his wife; at least that was their thinking at this time; provide her with a rather smart little car like this? He checked the usual hiding places for a key and found it, in the glove compartment. Inserting it into the ignition he turned it - nothing, not a murmur, just a click as the key went round. So, if it had been parked on the drive the day Mrs Blake had been round to collect Helen, then it must have been pushed into the garage. He pulled the bonnet release catch and got out to inspect the engine. Bill was good with cars, it was his little hobby, having no family or lady friend, it kept him busy off duty. He lifted the bonnet lid and gasped. The engine was clean. "This car has never run," he mumbled, and leant in to check leads, spark plugs ... he took so much time finding the car that Matthew came out of the house to find him.
"Hobart? What's going on?" he peered into the garage to find Bill half in the engine compartment.
"This car, Boss," Bill stood up, "it's never been run, clean as a whistle, no charge in the battery, from what I can see, but otherwise, well, it's a beaut. Blake should get one for Jean."
"Nice motor, I grant you, but ..."
"... why give a wife he beats a car like this?"
"Show, to make it look like he is a good provider?" Matthew pushed his cap back and scratched his head. "Well, while you've been examining the evidence I've put out a call for anyone whose seen a black Jag heading out of Ballarat and sent the troops out on the roads to the main towns. There's no one in the house, I've checked the cellar and there's nothing there, either."
"Right, don't look good."
"No it doesn't.
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The evening before Jackson had pushed his wife and daughter into the cellar and told them to be quiet - or else. Elspeth held Netta close, ignoring the pain from her bruised and battered face. She had a plan, if she could keep him from killing them for the next few hours. The pounding on the front door finally ceased and it went eerily quiet. Netta clung to her, silent tears running down her face and soaking her mother's blouse. She stiffened as her father's heavy footsteps came down the cellar steps and winced as he dragged her up.
"Up the stairs, now!" he hissed, using his other hand to drag Elspeth onto her feet. He pushed them up the stairs and along the hall, knocking a vase of flowers over on the way. Outside he shoved them into the back seat of his car and reversed down the drive onto the road. Then he turned it to face out of the town and sped off.
Elspeth knew better than to question his actions, or ask where they were going. This was the third time they had fled their home, and if she had her way it would be the last. She had cultivated Jean Blake's friendship, encouraged Netta to be friends with Helen, seeing them as an island she could cling onto after the ship had gone down. Obadiah had beat her and told her, in rather colourful language, just what he thought of her when he arrived home at the end of the day. He knew she would have given the police his office address and he also knew there were inquiries made into the discovery of a skeleton. He had to get out of Ballarat, what he was to do with his wife and child he would work out later.
He pulled up at an anonymous little hotel in a small town. little more than a hamlet. Inside he rented a room which had a double bed and a couch, which would do for Netta.
'Poor Netta,' her mother thought, 'I've tried so hard to protect you from this, I am so sorry.' She daren't speak out loud, just prayed her husband would drink himself into a stupor, as he did so often. At least on those nights she wouldn't have to suffer his 'attentions'.
He locked the door and took off his jacket and threw the car keys onto the bedside cabinet, before ringing down for a bottle of whisky. Inwardly Elspeth cheered and took herself to the couch still holding Netta tight. The child had sobbed herself to sleep, clinging to her mother's torn blouse. She remained silent, it was her best defence, and watched as he grabbed the bottle off the concierge, slammed to door shut and locked it again. Elspeth watched him put the key in the bedside drawer, noticing it squeaked as it slid in and out. He glared over at her and growled, "don't get any ideas." She cowered obediently into the couch and waited.
He savoured the first two or three glasses of the spirit, then just sloshed it into the glass and swallowed in large mouthfuls. He'd not eaten and it would have a quicker effect on an empty stomach. Obadiah drank, but he shouldn't, he couldn't hold it, not really.
She must have dozed off because she woke to the empty bottle falling to the floor and Obadiah snoring. She knew, from past experience, that he was nearly unconscious and now was her best chance.
She nudged Netta gently, waking her but imploring her to stay silent. They both stood, legs sore from the cramped position, but still strong enough to hold them upright. Pushing the child behind her and towards the door she grabbed a cushion from the couch and held it against the drawer to, hopefully, deaden the squeak. It did, enough not to disturb the sleeper in the bed. She passed the car key to Netta, still holding her finger over her lips to show she should stay silent. She held the cushion over the lock and turned the key, the muffled click had Jackson turn over and grumble and snort. They both held their breath, but the door was now unlocked. Gingerly Elspeth pulled it open enough for them to slide out and close it silently behind them. She locked it, again with the cushion and, taking Netta by the hand, they tiptoed fast down the corridor and the stairs. The entrance hall, such as it was, was empty so they stole out into the night and towards the car.
"Mummy?" Netta whispered as she was shepherded into the passenger seat.
"No more, darling," Elspeth slid into the driver's side, "he won't find us."
"How?"
With a last look at the hotel, and committing the name to memory, Elspeth started the engine and drove away, back towards Ballarat. She knew she could just drive until the tank emptied, but she needed him to be caught. She too had seen and heard the reports of the skeleton and something about his manner told her he had something to do with it. She didn't drive fast, her head hurt, probably mild concussion, she thought, and her vision went blurry from time to time. She had to get to safety and the one place she knew she would be safe was with the woman whose friendship she had hopefully cultivated enough. Even so, the woman had friends in the police force and that was enough.
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A police car pulled across the road in front of the jaguar. Elspeth narrowly missed hitting it, swerving and ending up in a ditch. She heaved a sigh of relief and let a constable lift her daughter out of the car and another help her out.
"Thank goodness," she murmured, then her world went black as shouts went up for an ambulance and her daughter called for her.
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Lucien grabbed the receiver from its cradle and barked down the line.
"Right, I'll be right there," he ran his hands over his head and called for Jean.
"Elspeth and Netta have been found," he held her arms, "Mrs Jackson's not good, looks like he gave her quite a beating, Netta has a bump to her forehead, probably from the car ending up in a ditch, she'll be ok, I hope. I'm going down to the hospital, I'll ring you later." He kissed her forehead and dashed off.
Jean slumped into a chair. Helen would beg for Netta to come and stay with them and really she couldn't take that, not now.
"Jean?" Thomas crept into the kitchen, "are you alright?"
She had jumped at her name but relaxed and smiled a little smile.
"Mrs Jackson and her daughter have been found, alive," she added quickly. "Lucien has gone to the hospital to see how they are. Apparently he gave his wife quite a beating."
"That's not all, is it?" he sat beside her and took her hand. "I've known you all your life, Jean, something's bothering you."
"It's nothing," she tried to brush it off.
"And you expect me to believe you?" he raised his eyebrows, "my heart may be a bit suspect, but the brain still works," he grinned.
"Helen," she sighed, "when she hears that Netta is in hospital she will want her to come and stay, and her mother ... after all, we took her in."
"You can't take in every stray," he soothed.
"It's just, well ...Thomas," she turned to him, "don't say anything to Lucien, not yet, but ..." she took a deep breath, "I think I might be pregnant."
"Really?" his eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"As I can be at the moment," she nodded, "of course a blood test would confirm it, or not."
"Come into the surgery, dear child," he stood up and held out his hand, "let me do it, then if it is positive you can tell Lucien, until then," he tapped the side of his nose, "mum's the word."
She grinned and followed him into the surgery.
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Lucien studied the notes on Elspeth Jackson. Matthew and Bill had gone to the hotel she had named when she regained consciousness. She had a fracture over her eye and severe bruising to the jaw and cheeks. Some teeth had come loose, but that was for a dentist to deal with. In time she would be fine, physically, mentally he wondered. She had told how he had related a story of his wife, his other wife, dying suddenly, and he had wooed her gently and as a gentleman. It was only when they married that the other side of him had come out. The house had to be pristine, she wasn't allowed to have visitors, nor was the child when she came along. He kept her short of money, scrutinised the receipt for her shopping and, as Matthew had surmised, the MG was for show. She was at his beck and call and if ever she did anything wrong or not to his exacting standards he would beat her and tell her it was her own stupid fault. In time she had come to believe it. It was only when Netta had met Helen and told her all about the kind doctor and his wife who had rescued her from the school in Brisbane and taken her in as their own that she understood none of it was her fault; that men could be kind and gentle. When she had invited Helen for tea it had been with the sole aim of planning her escape. When she had met Jean in the school grounds she had seen someone who was loved, and Helen was nurtured. Letting Netta go for tea on Helen's birthday had all been part of the plan, she would tell her how things went in a 'normal' household. Lucien had smiled at this, but it was 'normal' for him. The only thing was she didn't know how to finalise her plan. If it wasn't for Mr Slattery digging in his garden she might still be trying to sort that out.
"Tell him thank you, will you?" she mumbled at Lucien, the painkillers and brutal beating having an effect on her speech.
He smiled and decided he would leave that bit out of the end of the case. "I want Netta to stay in hospital today and overnight," he put the charts on the end of the bed, "nothing to worry about, I just think she would be happier near you."
"Thank you, Dr Blake," she drifted into sleep and he left her there. It had crossed his mind that Netta could stay with them but, somehow, for once he thought he had better speak to Jean first, the house was getting rather full, and he was surrounded by women!
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Elspeth Jackson was in hospital for over a week, her statement was taken by Matthew, sensitively over that time. Obadiah had been found, still in a drunken stupor in the bedroom she had locked him in and taken in handcuffs to the police cells in Ballarat. Once he had sobered up he was questioned repeatedly until he finally gave in. He had beaten his first two wives to death when they hadn't lived up to his expectations. Stupid women he snarled, deserved it, and then his current wife had presented him with a daughter, of all things, and no matter how he had tried she had not fallen pregnant again to give him the son he believed was his due. Lucien was of the opinion that he probably caused her to lose babies too early for her to know, with his beatings. Elspeth had said as much, that she had hidden any sickness in the mornings, that she had missed often then bled painfully and heavily after a beating ...
"Sometimes, doctor," she had whispered, "I wonder if he didn't kill the sons he wanted. I was too frightened to tell him I thought I may have caught, so kept it quiet, then, perhaps it was too late, each time ..." she had shrugged, "perhaps it was for the best."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHelen wondered why Netta wasn't at school so Jean just told her she had not been well and Mrs Jackson didn't want her to pass it on to any of the other children, it was easiest that way. When Netta finally returned to school, near Christmas, she said little about her absence, just that she had hurt her head and Mummy wanted to keep her safe.
Elspeth Jackson had decided to stay in Ballarat, for her daughter's sake. Stability, she called it. She had found a little place she could afford to rent, a little job in a shop to tide her over after Obadiah had been convicted of murder, failure to order a proper burial and assault, and she found peace. She still saw Jean at school and the two girls remained friends, having tea occasionally, but not too often. She had thanked Jean for her kindness and apologised for her subterfuge.
"No worries, Elspeth," Jean had smiled, "come and have a cuppa when you feel the need."
Jean's suspicions about her pregnancy had been confirmed and Lucien was beside himself with joy. When they told the girls they had danced round the living room and Mary had voiced what everybody thought.
"Perhaps a boy this time, mum," she hugged Jean, "after all, dad and grandpa will be overrun with women if not."
They had all laughed at that and Jean had stroked her still flat stomach, smiling at the thought of a mini Lucien.