A/N: Life's a bitch sometimes. First, writer's block. Then, depression. Then, once I had the energy to function my brain decided "Hey let's use that energy for PANIC ATTACKS!" So, yeah. Sorry about the wait.
But here's the next chapter all shiny and new. I hope it's worth the wait.
And thanks ever to the wonderful, amazing Old Ping Hai, because she got me through the writer's block and because she's fantastic at what she does, translate my gibberish for the masses.
Enjoy!
The next morning David and Mary joined Phryne and Jack for tennis, with Sherlock playing ball boy and John as judge.
David and Mary teamed up against Jack and Phryne in mixed doubles. Phryne and Jack trounced the other pair.
"My heavens!" Mary exclaimed, extending her hand over the net to shake Phryne's hand. "I thought Sherlock was a whiz, but you are amazing. Is there anything else you can do?"
Phryne cocked her head to the side, "Well, let's see: I drive a car, I shoot, I fly an aeroplane, and I have my own detective agency in Melbourne."
Mary rocked her head back in shock, "All that?"
"Don't worry, I have no intention of making England my permanent home. Australia is and always will be where my heart lies."
"You can't imagine how good it is to hear you say that," Jack murmured.
"Getting sentimental on me, Jack?" Phryne teased.
"Aren't I always?"
"Besides, I have Mr Butler and Cec and Bert to think about," Phryne said with a little shrug of her shoulders.
"Who are Cec and Bert?" David asked, coming up to them.
Jack laughed. "Just a couple of Redragger cabbies she cons to do odd jobs for her."
"Redraggers!" Mary cried. "Aren't you afraid they'll murder you in your sleep?"
"Whatever for?" Phryne protested. "Communists are as varied as Capitalists. The first time met them was at the hospital Mac works at, they had brought in a fare that had had a botched abortion. Saved her life. Cec's Alice owes everything to those two."
"She started dating one of them, that's gratitude for you, I guess," Mary sneered.
Phryne turned away from Mary and called out to Sherlock, "I hear this is your court, and you're quite the ace. Care to take me on?"
"I was going to let you go home without being humiliated, but if you insist," Sherlock said, rising to his feet. Mary and David exchanged worried glances behind her back.
Mary slipped off during the ensuing match, David hot on her heels.
"Mary!" David hissed, grabbing her arm.
"Go away," she hissed back. "I've told you, I've moved on and so should you."
"Moved on?" David snarled. "I fucked you senseless yesterday, Mary!"
"And I told you then, that would be the last time. I'm done, I don't need you anymore," she said with a toss of her hair.
"You listen here, you slut. You are mine, not some fucking cripple's."
"You're not man enough to take him on, David. John would kick your arse so far, you'd be swimming in the English Channel."
"It's not as though he's interested in what you've got," David said indicating to her tits.
"I beg to differ. And have," Mary leered.
"Yeah, right, he's got a raging hard-on for queer boy," David mocked.
"That's neither here nor there, that little virgin wouldn't know his way around his own cock, let alone anyone else's. Besides, I always get what I want. And it's not you," Mary said triumphantly.
David grabbed both her shoulders and shook her, "You will regret that, you mewling whore."
Mac stumbled on them and shouted, "Hey! What's going on here?"
David let Mary go. "None of your damn business."
"It is my business if you attack this woman," Mac said, inserting herself between them.
"Whatever," David said, storming off.
Mac convinced Mary to go to the house instead of back to the tennis court and vowed to tell Phryne what she had seen the next time they were alone. There was something going on around here that wasn't right.
Anthea wanted to scream. She had been planning this party for months and now she was forced to miss it because of a miscarriage. She was fine. She needed to be active to take her mind off of the tragedy. But no, everyone from doctors to her friends and even Mycroft thought that she should be resting.
So she pretended to be the invalid, hoping that if she appeared to be "resting" enough that they'd let her attend. Which had backfired in the worst way. Now they thought her too ill to move.
She had read somewhere that small towns held the most vile secrets and Undershaw and the surrounding village of Musgrove had to have the darkest secrets, no one was that nice. But Mary seemed to be at the center of it. A swirling web of deceit and lies with that chit at the center.
And though she couldn't prove it, she was sure that Mary was the cause behind the miscarriage. Someone had pushed her that day. And then there was also the way that she had chosen John over David. John was good-looking to be sure. Not as graceful and exotic as her husband and his brother, but he had a rugged charm. But David was more Mary's match in age, station, and temperament. It didn't make sense. So Anthea was on a mission to find out more about the enigmatic Miss Morstan.
Sherlock was one of the reasons that she pursued this still. After having turned up nothing for months, she should have given up. But the look on his face whenever she saw him watching Mary and John acting like a couple was more than enough to drive her ever onward.
And if the way that Sherlock was acting this week was any indication, John either had proposed or had at least bought the ring.
So it was time for Anthea to up her game, and this party was going to be the perfect cover. She smirked at the bed where her maid, Hannah, was unconscious. A little sleeping pill in the girl's tea, put her right out.
Anthea dressed Hannah in her night gown and changed into the girl's uniform. The hat would keep all but the most observant from noticing the difference. Which meant she had to avoid the Holmes boys and Phryne and she'd be fine. She tucked her hair under the cap and slipped out of her room.
The party was going full swing. Everyone who was anyone was there. Even if they weren't supposed to be. The booze was flowing and the laughter filled the dance hall.
Sherlock came up to Phryne, scowling.
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
"I can't find Mycroft," Sherlock explained, "and the staff is moving around so much that they have been elusive as well, but if I'm right, and I usually am, we are going to run out champagne in about ten minutes."
"Oh! And you don't have a key to the liquor cabinet?" Phryne asked.
"No, Mycroft doesn't trust me with it," Sherlock groused.
"You're a grown man for crying out loud," Phryne protested.
"Tell him that, he still thinks of me as a wide-eyed child," Sherlock said throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. "Ever since the war started, he's been so protective and he only got worse after it ended."
"I'm sorry," Phryne said, "I'll see if I can run him down. See what you can do to distract the guests before they notice the drink isn't flowing like it should."
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?" Sherlock roared.
"Can you juggle?"
Sherlock shook his head.
"Sing?"
"I sound like a goose in its death throes," he admitted.
"Dance?"
"Not by myself," Sherlock scoffed.
"Is there anything you can do?" Phryne asked, desperate.
"Actually, yes there is," Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up.
"Good, go to it!"
Sherlock went one way and she went the other.
Sherlock found a stable hand, but he didn't have access to the liquor any more than Sherlock did. But he could help Sherlock with his plan.
A couple months back when he was having a severe bout of sleeplessness, he had begged Mycroft to get him a spotlight so that he could practice his tennis at night. After the third night, Anthea had put a stop to his nightly playing as the sound of him hitting the ball kept her awake.
He and the stable hand pushed the light into the Great Hall and turned it on. Sherlock stepped into the bright circle, violin tucked under his chin and bow poised over the strings. He drew the bow down and the violin sighed its first melody. It was beautiful and haunting and the crowd stood entranced.
Across the hall, John watched, fiddling with the poison vial in his suit jacket pocket. He looked down at his already tainted drink. Perhaps there was something worth fighting for. He set down his glass and slid out to the gardens to think. It was time to get what he wanted, he just had to figure out how to get it.
Phryne grabbed Mac to enlist her help in finding Mycroft and they were playing around when they burst through Mycroft's office door accidentally.
They were arguing whether or not they should knock when they had fallen against the door, causing it to fly open.
All laughter died on their lips when they saw Mary put something in her bra.
"You'll think about my offer, won't you, Myc?" Mary sneered at a clearly distraught Mycroft. "It'll be in everyone's best interest, don't you think?" Mary winked at him and then pushed past Mac and Phryne without so much as an 'excuse me'.
Phryne turned to Mycroft to protest, but he held up a hand to forestall her.
"There is nothing you can do and you won't say a word to anyone. Do I make myself clear?"
"Fine, but you better get out there, Sherlock says that the champagne is about to run dry and I'm not sure how long he can hold them off before your guests turn into a mob."
Mycroft nodded and led them to the liquor cabinet.
Mary watched John set down his drink and slip off into the garden.
"Just you wait, John Watson," she said to herself, "you'll be mine and Sherlock will be but a distant memory."
She gulped the drink that he had set down and went in search of another. She found a maid with a tray that had one drink left on it.
Mary smirked. "The outfit suits you, my dear," she whispered into the maid's ear. "I've got your man by the balls and soon this little getup will be the only thing you'll have left."
The younger woman skipped back, laughing as the maid tried to take a swipe at her with the now empty tray. She downed the drink, then threw the glass at the maid's feet. The glass shattered, causing the maid to jump back.
Mary used that to make her escape. This night was just getting better and better. She dashed upstairs. She only had five minutes before someone came looking for her.
She reached the top and a figure stepped out from behind a suit of armor.
"You!" she hissed.
"I figured you'd come up here eventually," the figure sneered.
"You really are pathetic, aren't you?" Mary jeered.
The figure snarled and pushed her hard. Mary reached out to try to find something, anything to grasp a hold of, but there was nothing. She tumbled down the oak steps to the cold marble floor. Blood flowed from her head, staining the floor red. Her eyes were now cold and lifeless as the figure watched on.
Dun, dun, dun... So many suspects, who could it be? Everyone has a motive, but who did the deed? Pfft. Like I'm going to leave you guys hanging for too long. Hopefully the answer won't take as long as the question did. LOL!
