A/N: Welp! That took longer than I thought it would. Life, depression, and work kept me from writing. But it's done and ready for your view pleasure.

Thanks to you all for sticking with me through this and to my beta Old Ping Hai.

Enjoy!


Phryne and company followed close on Greg's heels. Mycroft waved his hand for Greg to take his chair and sat in the seat across from him, clasping his hands together and resting his arms on his legs. Jack stood to the side with Hugh at the door, to prevent anyone coming or going without Detective Inspector Lestrade's express wishes. Phryne, of course, draped herself on the edge of the desk.

Greg pulled out his notebook and a pen, then tapped the page with the pen. "Right, tell me about the deceased."

Mycroft sighed and leaned back into the chair. "Mary Morstan was often a guest here at Undershaw."

"To see your wife, Anthea?" Greg asked.

Mycroft laughed mirthlessly. "God no, two brilliant, head-strong, clever women in the same room only generated sparks. They weren't friends. No, my wife and I tolerate Miss Morstan because she was one of the few who would come and play tennis with my brother Sherlock."

"Which Collins mentioned earlier," Greg said, nodding. "Was she currently staying at the estate?"

"No," Mycroft replied.

"No?" Greg asked with a frown. "Do you know what she was doing upstairs?"

Mycroft crossed his legs and leaned on one of the arms of the chair, "Being herself, I'd imagine."

"A snoop?" Greg supplied.

Mycroft smile wanly. "That's one way to put it."

"Wait!" Phryne gasped. "She was blackmailing you. That's what she was talking about when Mac and I stumbled on the both of you earlier."

Greg stood up quickly as Mycroft sat up and buried his head in his hands.

"Phryne!" Mycroft moaned.

"What?" Greg shouted at the same time.

All three police officers turned to Mycroft and narrowed their focus to him alone.

"Oh for God's sake!" Mycroft growled as he saw them looking at him. "I didn't kill her. I was with my butler, Bishop, and another maid, Edith, in the wine cellar getting more spirits for the party. Besides, this is only an inquiry. You have no evidence of murder yet, anyway."

Phryne scoffed, "If she fell of her own accord, I'd eat my best cap."

Mycroft managed to look both amused and horrified.

"We are getting off the point," Greg barked, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. "Was Miss Morstan blackmailing you or not?"

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, she was."

"What was she blackmailing you for?" Jack asked.

Mycroft wiped his hands nervously on his trousers and took a deep breath. "It'll most likely come out in an inquest anyway. But please, it can't leave this room. I'd be ruined."

They all nodded.

Mycroft closed his eyes. "Most people around here don't know because my family kept to ourselves, but I have said on multiple occasions to the town and to the Crown that Sherrinford and I are two years apart and that Sherlock and I are ten years apart."

"Okay," Greg said slowly, wanting Mycroft to get to the point.

"There are four years between Sherrinford and myself and seven between Sherlock and me."

"So you lied about your age," Jack said, "How is that blackmail-able?"

"I've told that lie for twelve years."

"Oh!" Phryne cried.

"What happened twelve years ago?" Hugh asked.

"The War," Jack said catching on.

"Oh God," Greg breathed and sat down hard.

"You lied so that you could go to war," Jack muttered. "A lot of boys did the same, that's not that unpardonable."

"It is when you tell the Crown that your eighteen-year-old brother is fifteen," Mycroft whispered. "It was nearing the end of the War and they were getting desperate for men. They were thinking of lowering the draft age to seventeen and I couldn't think of what would have happened if Sherlock had been drafted."

"Mycroft," Phryne murmured.

"I could be stripped of rank, pension revoked, and be made a social pariah," Mycroft said, lifting up his chin. "But I did what I had to. I couldn't lose both of my brothers. I wouldn't have been able to survive if that had happened."

"Is there anything you would like to add, Detective Inspector Robinson?" Greg asked.

"Not at this time," Jack said.

"Does Sherlock know?" Hugh asked.

"What?" Mycroft asked, turning to the constable.

"Does Sherlock know you lied for him?"

Mycroft blinked. "I honestly have no idea."

"Would Sherlock have killed Miss Morstan to protect you?" Hugh asked.

"Hugh!" Phryne protested.

"You leave him out of this!" Mycroft stood. "He had nothing to do with her death! Do you hear me!"


It took them some time to calm Mycroft after the outburst. But once they got him settled with a drink in his hand, Greg looked at the least of people he wanted to see.

"I'd like to speak to the maid who found the body," he said to the others.

Suddenly Mycroft tensed and looked up at Phryne in shock, "So soon? She's had a terrible fright."

Phryne hurried to reassure him, "It's all right, Mycroft. They just want to speak with her while what she's seen is still fresh in her mind. Besides, isn't it better that she get it over with fast instead of constantly making her dredge it up later?"

"You're right," Mycroft murmured, defeated. "This is just so vexing. A murder in my own house and my own friends and family are suspect."

"I promise to get down to the bottom of this, Mr Holmes," Greg said fervently.

"Thank you," Mycroft said softly. He moved to get up. "I should go get her then."

Phryne put her hand on her shoulder, "I'll do it, you have enough to worry about."

Mycroft patted her hand, "You are a dear."

Phryne smiled and then slipped out of the room.


Phryne entered the Grand Hall where Dot and Mac (who had finished her examination of the body) stood guard over the guests and staff.

"This is preposterous!" an older man yelled from the corner. "Being held in here like sheep!"

Phryne turned to him. "You could leave if you like," she said sweetly. "But then the police would have to hunt you down, and you would become their number one suspect."

The man quieted down. Muttering rippled through the crowd as Phryne confirmed that Mary's death was not an accident.

"Where's our fox?" Phryne asked Dot.

"In the corner, hiding from everyone," Dot replied.

Phryne walked up and hissed the maid's ear when the girl protested. She stood up and followed Phryne out the door, to the study.

Mycroft stood up as they entered.

"Phryne, what is the meaning of this?" His voice shook. "That is not Hannah!"

Greg turned to Mycroft. "So who is it?"

Phryne ripped off the maid's hat and wig, revealing Anthea.

"My wife!" Mycroft hissed.

"Your wife is the maid?" Greg asked.

"No," Jack said, stepping in. "His wife disguised herself as the maid, and who knows where Hannah is."

"Probably in Anthea's room either knocked out or pretending to be Anthea," Phryne suggested.

"Oh dear God!" Mycroft huffed and ran out the door.

"Where is he going?" Greg asked, exasperated. "Collins, go bring him back."

Hugh nodded and ran after Mycroft.

"He's probably gone to make sure that his maid isn't dead," Phryne said callously.

"I gave her the right dose," Anthea groused. "She's perfectly fine." She shrugged her shoulders. "Or will be when she wakes up."

Anthea glared daggers up at Phryne. "Some friend you are." She crossed her legs and arms and tossed her hair back.

"Remind me to tell you about Lydia Andrews some day," Phryne glared back.

Jack smiled and ducked his head to try and hide it. But Greg caught it.

"Who's Lydia Andrews?" Greg asked.

Jack coughed, blushing at having been caught out. "Our first case," he said waving his hand at Phryne. "Lydia Andrews was a friend of Phryne's who turned out not to only have murdered her husband, but was a cocaine kingpin, and attempted to kill Phryne and the Russian dancer she had tried to save."

Anthea blinked. "Oh. That would explain a lot of things."

They all turned to look at her. "I didn't kill her. In case I need to make that clear."

Jack huffed out an amused chuckle. "You do understand that the sheer fact you are in your maid's uniform makes us doubt that very much."

Anthea sighed and then said slowly, like she was explaining something to a small child, "I was suspicious of her. I was trying to follow her. Now that she's dead, I won't be able to find out what she was up to."

She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, "Mary kept giving me the slip. I still don't know what she was trying to do, but she said that she was going to bleed Mycroft dry, so I'd guess blackmail."

"No, no wait," Greg said holding up his hand. "You were following the deceased?"

"Yes," Anthea replied, rolling her eyes.

"Did you take your suspicions to the police?" Jack asked.

"Or Mycroft?" Phryne amended.

Anthea scoffed. "Police are often dismissive of women, children, and the different, whether that difference is of mind or skin color or belief."

Jack and Greg shared an uncomfortable glance. Jack coughed and looked at his feet. When he looked up, Phryne had her hands on her hips and was smiling at him in amusement.

"I hope I've gotten better at that," Jack inquired.

Phryne's expression softened. "Yes, you have."

Greg coughed. "Did you tell your husband?"

Anthea's shoulders sagged. "No. He's got so much going on right now. There has been a rash of dead animals appearing on the estate, Sherlock is getting more difficult, and the balance ledger is often more red than black when it comes to the upkeep of this house. He's already had to send away a couple of under-gardeners, a handful of chamber maids, and one groom. It's sapping every strength he has. And then there was the miscarriage. I was afraid one more thing might break him."

"Speaking of which," Phryne said, "I thought you were supposed to be on bed rest."

"I heal very quickly," was Anthea's curt response.

"You could have come to me," Phryne complained.

"You were here on holiday, I didn't want to disturb you," Anthea explained.

"I'm a Lady Detective, Anthea," Phryne huffed, "Murder, intrigue, and danger is what I do for fun."

Jack laughed, which cause Anthea to chuckle.

"Do you know if she was blackmailing anyone other than your husband?" Greg asked, trying to get them back on the proper topic.

"No, but it wouldn't surprise me," Anthea sneered.

"Do you know what it is he was being blackmailed for?" Greg pressed.

"I know him more intimately than anyone on this earth, he is above reproach," Anthea said, staunchly defending him.

"Well, Mary and he felt differently," Phryne said with a snort.

"Clearly," Anthea said, glowering.

"He mentioned his war record might cause some trouble," Jack prompted.

"That's even more impeccable," Anthea replied.

"And how would you know that?" Phryne snapped.

"Because I wrote it."