Good evening, my beloved readers. It's been a long, long day, but in the hope that some of you are waiting for it, another chapter. Please enjoy and drop me a line if you have any thoughts on the matter, good or bad. Until tomorrow.

Chapter 20: Misfortune's Fool

Once the attention on her subsided, Grace gently dug her heels into Athena and on her horse's back slipped away into the afternoon. There was so much on her mind to be sorted. A pair of blue eyes followed her from the crowd.

"I don't thinks she enjoyed her win much," Jane said.

"Technically she didn't win," Jack explained. "Women aren't allowed to participate in registered races."

"Well, it seems she has though," Phryne stated happily, sipping on her glass. "A bit of a bend in the rules has never hurt anyone."

"Why does that not surprise me to hear from you, Miss Fisher?"

Jack couldn't conceal his amusement and was punished directly with a kiss. Jane rolled her eyes at her parents.

"Would you please stop that? Grumps is returning."

Her grandfather indeed looked rather annoyed.

"Barely fair to lose money on a winner who wasn't registered," he grumbled.

"That sounds like some bagmen might get lynched," Jack grinned. He didn't like the bookmakers much.

"They are paying out for O'Neill as the winner. Since it had been his victory if the girl hadn't snatched it from underneath his nose," John explained.

"I take it, you didn't bet on Mary?" Iris asked with a faint grin.

"I've put my money down on Benini and Melchior," the old man explained grumbling. "Bit of a let-down they were."

"Well, Father, I hope you've learned your lesson," Jack quipped, straightening his hat.

"Never trust a woman not to show up at the most inconvenient of times," John grumbled.

"Did you enjoy the race?" a voice asked from behind him.

"It was highly exciting," Phryne smiled at Miss Green, who looked flushed and glowing.

"Good on Grace for showing the men what she's made off," the elder woman said, unable to hide her pride before it turned into a slight frown. "Just a shame that Aidan couldn't get over himself."

"The runner up seemed a very good sport about it," Hazel pointed out.

"Luke is a darling, I'm afraid," Rosemary pushed in, stepping beside her aunt, "too good for this world." She grinned. "But then he might also be slightly biased when it comes to Grace."

"They are good friends?" Phryne asked, her attention perking despite her displayed nonchalance.

"They have been since they were children," Mia Green explained, her frown deepening. Her niece seemed oblivious to her reluctance on the subject, taking enjoyment in having some gossip to share.

"He was sweet on her some years ago; it was so obvious to anyone but Grace. I really did think they'd tie the knot as soon as he could get over his nerve and ask her. And then she turned around and married Aidan instead."

"That at least explains the men's dislike of each other," the Inspector stated thoughtfully. Mia smiled thinly.

"Thwarted love with do that, Inspector."

Jack nodded at this. He was getting used to the bite-sized information Miss Green provided. And it was all very interesting but not particularly helpful. So, O'Neill hated Harper for having snatched away the woman he'd hoped to marry. Was that a reason to murder a horse and then frame himself, a decade or so later? Or was it all connected with his aunt after all? Phryne's gut was barely ever mistaken and it announced itself very forcefully in this case. He remembered something.

"Miss Green, does the 16th of March 1899 stir up any memories?" he asked.

She tilted her head in question.

"Should it, Inspector?"

"It was carved in the tree bark, together with the two names we mentioned earlier," Phryne explained. Miss Green frowned while her niece watched on in stunned silence. The Robinson's family didn't pay much attention to the exchange, they were used to Jack and Phryne asking odd questions. Only Jane listened to every word, while Hazel excused herself. She had had a few glasses of champagne in excitement over the race and then some more in celebration of Mrs. Harper's win.

"That must be wrong," Mia thought aloud. "I am absolutely certain that Evie was gone by then. Aidan was born in November 1897 and she would have left less than a year later. He was still tiny when I became his nurse."

The Detectives stared at her in confusion.

"Maybe the date wasn't related to the names?" Phryne asked slowly. "It was quite separate."

"Excuse me for a moment...!"

Miss Green hurried off without another word and little later brought back a woman much heavier set than herself. They merely shared the eyes and some facial features. Despite the lack of resemblance neither of the people were really surprised at the following explanation.

"My sister Felicity," Mia panted. "Fefe, may I introduce the two Detectives I told you about."

The friendly face burst into a smile.

"How do you do? What a pleasure to finally meet you."

Her eyes were warm, her handshake a little too firm. Miss Green continued to introduce one after one of the Robinson's Clan. When the introductions reached Mac, Phryne paid close attention to Mrs. Tattler's body language. But there wasn't a flinch or hesitance as she shook the Doctor's hand and aimed a joke at her. So, Felicity Tattler could be crossed off the list of suspects. She hadn't written the spiteful letter.

"We were wondering if you could help us shed some light on the mystery of your friend's disappearance," the Inspector asked Mrs. Tattler, once she had shaken all offered hands and made enough small-talk to last the rest of the day. He briefly recounted their findings on the tree.

"If my memory isn't playing up Evie was long gone by then, wasn't she?" Mia asked her sister, who looked gobsmacked. Unnoticed, Hazel returned to the group, the paleness of her skin only seen by Mac. She discreetly grasped her lover's hand without asking questions.

"Of course she was!"

"And yet, her name along with Lucas's on the tree."

"Lucas?" Felicity asked. "Who is Lucas? Her lover's name was Louie."

Phryne frowned.

"Are you certain of this?"

"Very. I have a very good memory for details," Felicity Tattler answered. "It was Louie, by the life of my daughter."

Her daughter didn't look particularly pleased with that exclaim, but the Detectives had no time to ponder that. Jack gently pulled his wife away to whisper something to her.

"Maybe we really are hunting ghosts, Phryne. We have to face the possibility that it was another Evie, with another lover, sitting underneath that tree."

Phryne wanted to protest but she couldn't deny that he was making sense. Maybe it was time to stop and go home. She turned, suddenly very tired.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tattler. I think we might have been on the wrong trail after all."

The Detective realised that she didn't have anyone's attention. Instead all eyes were glued to the two men who were glaring at each other not ten metres away from them in postures that promised an imminent fight.

"How? How would I have put her up to this? She doesn't even speak to me!"

"As if it mattered. You've always found a way to manipulate her, O'Neill."

Luke, who had made an attempt at walking away, spun on his heels, his dark eyes glittering angrily.

"Keep your mouth shut!" he hissed. "You know nothing about..."

He swallowed down the rest of the sentence.

"About what? You and Grace? There is nothing to know and wouldn't you love it to be different?"

The mockery in Harper's voice caused the audience to hold their breaths in expectation. But Luke O'Neill sucked some air into his lungs, holding onto his composure by the very skin of his teeth.

"You know," he finally said with traitorous calmness, "I never understood how such a clever woman could be so utterly stupid on her wedding day."

Whatever had held back the two men, snapped like an overstretched rubber band, meeting it's limit. A fist flew, hands tore on shirt collars, Phryne felt the air move beside her as the Inspector's frame raced towards the brawling men. From the other side Rupert ran towards them across the grass.

"Enough!"

Jack's voice rose over the crowd as he pulled on an elbow, while Rupert ripped on Harper's hand which had entangled itself in O'Neill's necktie. It was unfortunate timing and happened too fast for anyone to react. Aidan released his opponent, causing Luke to stumble backwards, where unluckily the Inspector was positioned in an attempt to pull him away. With a pained gasp the Inspector released him and doubled over, tears shooting into his eyes. Phryne arrived by his side before the blood really started pouring.

"Jack?"

The hissing sound of air being drawn through clenched teeth was the only answer she received for the time being. The two farmers just stared at the bent man, panting in righteous anger, Rupert still hanging off Haper's arm.

"Harper! C'mon, time to go and cool down."

The words were uttered by Bill Ferguson, who took his reluctant friend and dragged him on the shoulder away from where Jack's blood was dripping into the grass. Phryne was crouched down beside him, attempting a closer look, but his hand was stubbornly clutched over his nose.

"I am so sorry!" Luke finally awoke from his frozen state. "It wasn't my intention to hit you!"

"Well, that's a relief," Jack ground out, feeling if his nose was broken. When he finally pulled himself upright, his face was drenched in bright red blood, causing Phryne's stomach to curl up in a corner and whimper.

"Let me have a look," Mac demanded.

"Be my guest," he ground out, fully aware of the crowd surrounding them curiously. "But maybe somewhere a bit more private?"

"Let's get him back to the hotel," Phryne decided, successfully managing to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Both of them," Iris added. Only then the Detective tore her attention long enough from Jack to look at Luke. His eye was already starting to swell over.

X

Dorothy Williams just happened to drop into a bakery at this very time. She didn't really need anything, but then the scones in the window did look nice. Possibly not quite as nice as the ones she had intended to bake herself, but then hardly any did. She kept her eyes open for the man she'd hoped to see, but there was only a rather tall and rather broad woman in a white lacy apron behind the counter.

"Can I help you, Ma'am?" she asked in a very thin voice that stood in stark contrast to her appearance.

Dutiful Dot made an order, trying to sneak a look into the back.

"Was there anything else?" the woman asked, showing signs of suspicion.

"I was wondering..." Dorothy took her heart in her hands, "would someone named Paddy work here by any chance?"

The woman's laugh was somewhat shrill and a little annoying.

"Not this late in the day, Dear. He has been up baking bread since 2 o'clock and is now home."

"Oh," Dot made, feeling somewhat deflated.

"Are you sweet on him, Dear?"

It took a moment until the question sank in. Then her eyes opened to make two huge dinner plates.

"What?!"

"Quite handsome young man, he is. I'm just wondering. You wouldn't be the first," the Baker's Wife continued happily.

"I'm married!" Dorothy protested. The friendly face darkened.

"Well, that's no good for being sweet on him then."

The sleuth felt herself turning bright red, but in a last attempt to solve her dignity she pressed out: "I am the assistant of a Lady-Detective. She asked me to find this Paddy for a case."

It was only a tiny white lie. Barely worth mentioning at the confession. The creases appearing on the woman's forehead made her regret her decision quickly.

"What kinda case? He's not in trouble, is he?"

"No. No, he is not. His picture was found in a stolen necklace," Dot explained quickly. "I was just attempting to make sure it was indeed him."

The baker's wife stared at her for a long moment before obviously deciding to believe the strange woman in her shop.

"Right. He'll be workin' tomorrow. I'll let him know you've been looking for him."

"That would be lovely."

Dorothy swore silently to herself in a language that she would definitely have to confess, but stalked towards the door. There she turned, realising that she had left her scones behind.

"Actually," she said, as she snatched them up, "I'd rather you wouldn't."

Her head had turned the shade of a rather ripe tomato by the time she finally made it back out onto the pavement.