Chapter 8: Lavender

Before either of them had had a moment for thought, they were already chasing around the grey stonewalls. Familiar adrenaline was pumping through DI Robinson's veins, shaking off the lead of weeks of doing nothing without any effort at all. As though a heavy blanket had been lifted from him. They passed confused people on their way. Some had heard the blood-curdling scream, others hadn't, but neither knew what was going on and the detectives didn't hang around to calm them. Someone else could take care of that. They were on the hunt again and damn, it felt good. On the stairs a shaken looking woman came towards them.

"She's dead," she cried. "I only wanted to see if the office needed to be dusted and now she's dead."

Miss Fisher took the woman by the shoulders.

"Who is dead?"

The woman looked at her as if for the first time – which actually was the case.

"Miss Spencer," ahe said, more calmly.

The detectives locked eyes. Both of them remembered the pretty face of Uncle Walter's assistant, who had interrupted their breakfast.

"Inspector Robinson," Jack introduced himself and commanded: "Show us where she died." He was already halfway up the stairs. Other people had started to join them, loudly chattering, as Mrs. Roman lead the way to the office. Before a dark wooden door, she stopped, with shaking fingers pulling a key from her apron.

"I locked the door, so nobody would trample into the crime-scene," she explained with some embarrassment. "The detectives in my novels never want anybody to touch anything."

The Inspector nodded at this, sharing another look with Miss Fisher. Someone using their brain. That was certainly an unusual occurrence.

The smell of paper wafted through the now open door, as they stepped in a small front office. A leather padded door led through to another room, probably Walter Cox-Stafford's place of work.

"Stay here, please. Nobody walks through this door," Jack Robinson said, morphing from a nephew and cousin into an Inspector. Nobody dared protest.

"Show us where you found her, please," he turned the word to the housekeeper, who with a mixture of pride and dread walked up front. Phryne followed behind her lover, wondering what the others made of her intrusion. But then, she was a detective and they were a team. Partners in crime long before they had been partners in love.

"I don't understand."

The housekeeper stopped sharp, stuttering.

"She was right here."

She knelt on the floor and looked under the huge desk, as if someone could have hidden the body underneath it, then patted the carpet stretched over the floor. After a moment she got to her feet and looked at the silent detectives, appearing flushed and confused.

"Inspector, I swear, Miss Spencer's body was right here not five minutes ago. I am not crazy."

She sounded slightly hysterical at this stage and the Inspector laid a calming hand on her arm.

"I didn't say you were, Ms..."

"Roman," the woman stated quietly. "Mrs. Roman. I have been the housekeeper here for a decade. And I have never seen anything that wasn't there!"

Jack looked down at Phryne, who was crouched down at the place the housekeeper had indicated the location of their corpse. She looked up to shake her head. So no traces. Gently, he pushed the lady onto a chair and poured her a glass of brandy that she drained in one big gulp. She looked like she was seriously worried about losing her mind, confirming his suspicion that she really had seen something. People who were really insane usually didn't think they were.

"Tell me more, Mrs. Roman. What did the body look like?"

The housekeeper looked up at him. She was quite pretty it occurred to him. Not young anymore, but still quite pretty.

"She lay right there, where the lady is kneeling," she said, stretching out a shaking finger. And there was blood all through her dress. Her whole chest was covered in blood. With her eyes rolled up. It was really ghastly."

"Did you see anyone else?" Jack asked, scribbling in his notebook.

The lady shook her head.

"No, I didn't. Too be honest, I locked the door also because I was scared of the murderer. I thought he might get me, if I stayed around, before I could tell anyone."

"Well, that would have been quite impossible with your scream." Phryne smiled sweetly. For the first time in their conversation, Mrs. Roman addressed the lady.

"I didn't scream, Ma'am! I heard it seconds after I had left. I thought, maybe someone else might have found..."

She pressed a hand to her mouth.

"You don't think she was still alive, do you?"

Jack shook his head slowly. It all made little sense. But the woman wouldn't have made this up, would she?

"Well, she could not have run, since you were holding the key. How many keys are there, Mrs. Roman, do you know?"

The housekeeper stared into the distance for a moment, making him wonder if she had finally succumbed to her shock, but her lips were silently moving.

"I believe, there is only two. Mine and the Masters."

"And you had yours on yourself the whole time?" Jack prompted.

"Right here in my pocket," she stated proudly.

"Alright, would you mind handing it to me. This is a crime-scene and you were quite right. Nobody should disturb it."

The lady stood stiffly, giving her prized possession to the Inspector.

"You really are a proper Inspector, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

"As real as your discovery," Jack replied, smiling.

She nodded at this, obviously relieved and left. When she had shut the door behind herself, Jack turned to Phryne.

"So, what do you think? Do we have an over eager crime reader or a murder at our hands?"

Miss Fisher held up a small, sparkling piece of jewellery.

"Unless your uncle is in the habit of receiving female visitors under his desk, I would conclude the latter."

Jack took the hair brooch from her fingers.

"A murder then. Can't have a holiday without one, Miss Fisher, can you?"

The grin they shared was not at all disappointed.

X

Waves splashed over two pairs of naked feet. Trouser legs that weren't used to this kind of treatment were rolled up over Mr. Butler's thin, pale legs, while he sat in the grass, wondering if this was what people enjoyed about a holiday: Getting wet feet. His lover seemed to have no such thoughts. Her toes were outstretched into the surf, her white dress flowing in a soft breeze around her, her face turned up to the sun. She was beautiful, he found and it hurt.

"Why are you here?" he asked, not unfriendly.

"Because you are," she said, without missing a beat.

Tobias Butler didn't answer for a while.

"You got my letter?"

It wasn't a question. She hummed approval, without turning her face away from the late morning sun.

"And yet, you've come?"

"No." Now she finally looked around. "Because of that, I've come."

Mr. Butler looked at Riya Santi as if she had lost her mind. There was steel in her eyes and his returned to the lake, where the water still moved in calming waves.

"I can not let you believe, I am having a dalliance with Admiral Winterbottom," she pointed out. "And I am quite disappointed, that you would think so."

Mr. Butler stayed silent for a while, his heart pounding in his ears. Unbeknownst to him, his hand had fisted into the damp grass.

"You had one while you were married," he finally said into the wind.

"I did. But you are not Akim."

That was undeniable, Mr. Butler found and so didn't answer.

"And while the Admiral might have a certain interest in renewing our romance, I do not," she said, getting to her feet. Tobias Butler's eyes followed her, as she shook the dust of her dress, her hair fluttering in the breeze.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his throat tightening. She couldn't have really just come to set him straight and save her pride, could she?

"I am going to find myself a landscape, Tobias Butler. Because I am furious right now and I am much better at painting angry pictures than leading angry conversations. I will talk to you later."

And with that she was gone. Mr. Butler sat a long time there, staring out over the water. Then a smile spread over his face.

X

"So, is she dead or not?" Walter Cox-Stafford asked, after having patiently listened to his nephew for what felt like forever.

"There is no way of telling, since her body is missing," Jack explained. "But at the moment we are assuming that she is."

Chatter rose across the entrance hall, where staff, family and guests had gathered.

"Can we please all stay calm!?" Inspector Robinson's voice sounded over everybody. "If anyone of you can think of helpful information, if you have seen or heard anything, come talk to me or Miss Fisher. Otherwise I'd like Miss Spencer's address and the name of her next-of-kin to start with."

The last words were aimed at his uncle and aunt, who understandably looked rather out of sorts, but were both nodding agreement. Esmeralda Cox-Stafford slipped away quietly to find the required things. Nobody stepped forward and so Jack Robinson took the piece of paper from his Aunt's hands and offered his arm to the Honourable Miss Fisher.

"We will be back for tea," she promised, her eyes finding Jane. To her relief she noted Dot had draped a protective arm around her ward's shoulders. It was funny, it occurred to her, how she had worried less about Jane travelling the other side of the world than leaving her alone for a few hours here. Of course the possibility there might be a murderer hiding in this house was also a consideration. With a quick greeting they left for the waiting car outside that would bring them to their destination. Seconds later, two people walked through the door.

"Children! You missed all the excitement."

To the astonishment of a blonde girl, maybe five years of age, trailing behind her parents, the two were wrapped up in several sets of arms, before they had time to greet anyone. Finally Will Robinson had caught enough breath to speak.

"Are my eyes playing tricks on me or was that just Jack with some fancy bird climbing into your car, Uncle Walter?"

Booming, if still rather shaky laughter sounded through the old walls.

"You are correct. Your brother has found himself a Baroness and a murder."

Three pairs of confused eyes were turned to the master of the house, while his wife looked at him disapprovingly.

"I think we should all have a calming cup of tea," Olivia stated into the resulting break. "And then we will tell you everything."

X

Madelyn Spencer's house was a tiny cottage at the end of a small road at the edge of town. It didn't look overly lived in, which was probably explained by the fact that she had moved to Daylesford only three months ago, taking up work at Wombat hall. A few stray flowers bloomed in the front yard, that looked rather uncared for – a sacrilege in a small community like this one.

"So, what do you think happened?" Miss Fisher asked, while breaking in with an ease that made Jack smile to himself.

"Maybe her killer let her disappear. There might have been another key, Mrs. Roman didn't know about."

"What would be the point though?" Phryne replied, pushing the door open and stepping into a gloomy living room. "He must have known that her body had been discovered and that we would look for her killer."

"True. And there is also the scream," The Inspector pointed out. "Unless it was the victim who was really not quite dead yet and the killer came to finish her off."

"All rather mysterious." Phryne Fisher concluded, turning into the kitchen. But the insid0e of the house was a bare as the outside. There was little that actually pointed to Miss Spencer or anyone else having lived here. Phryne inspected two wineglasses drying off beside the sink.

"What is also strange is the brooch," she said, returning the glass to where she had found it.

"What is strange about that?" The Inspector's voice asked from the living room, where he flicked through magazines that certainly wouldn't solve his murder.

"Why would she wear a piece like this to work?"

"You wore one for breakfast this morning," he pointed out, suddenly standing right behind her and breathing warmly into her neck. Phryne felt goosebumps covering her arms, as she stepped out of his mesmerising nearness.

"True. But I am not the assistant of a country-business man."

DI Robinson's eyebrows rose at that.

"Oh, lets not play games, Jack. I like my glittering things, but it's not particularly common to wear jewellery like this to an office job. Which makes this all the more mysterious."

"She might have had another appointment after work," Jack pointed out, pushing a book back onto it's shelve. A small piece of paper fell from it, while he did so.

"What's that?" Phryne asked, watching her lover pick it up. A collection of numbers was littered over the sheet in blue ink, making little sense to either of them. The Inspector sighed.

"I wish, someone would for once just write down the name of the killer instead of leaving mysterious clues behind," he grumbled, shoving the piece of evidence into his pocket.

Miss Fisher grinned at that.

"But what would be the fun in that, Inspector?"

She had snuck off to the back of the house, before he had a chance to answer her rhetorical question. Despite his grumpiness, Jack couldn't help but feel happy. Of course, a young dead woman wasn't a cheerful occasion, but still digging through someone else's belongings with Miss Fisher in an attempt to solve a puzzle was familiar, calming. With a start he realised, that somehow he had feared, after the serial-killer that had taken both of their breath away for a while, that they would never be the same again. That somehow, a normal murder-investigation would be impossible, unthinkable. He had been wrong and the discovery made him smile.

"Jack?" a voice called from the bedroom. DI Robinson knew what the tone meant. Miss Fisher had found something. And of course, when he stepped trough the doorframe, she was holding up a sock. A single, black sock that would definitely not have been worn by strawberry blonde assistants.

"I believe, our victim might have had some male company," Miss Fisher concluded, while shoving the smelly piece of clothing in front of her lover's face. Jack's nose curled at the waft of cheese he got and he turned away. Phryne smirked.

"A lover?" he asked. "That would certainly have been scandalous in a place like this." The Inspector rather hesitantly accepted the sock from his fiancée's fingers, before opening some drawers, finding nothing more of interest. If Miss Spencer had indeed had a lover, they had been rather careful.

"Maybe your uncle can be of some help there. Surely he would have heard any rumours about his assistant before anyone else did."

Jack nodded, closing the cabinet with a disappointing clicking sound.

"I don't think there is much to be found here," he finally stated, effectively ending their visit to the near barren house of their supposed murder victim. But when they stepped back out of the door into the bright Australian sun, the street in front of the small cottage was empty.

"Wasn't he supposed to wait for us?" Miss Fisher prompted after a moment. Jack Robinson let his eyes follow the road, but there was nothing to be seen of the black motorcar that had brought them here, leave alone it's driver.

"I guess we had a small misunderstanding. But it isn't too far to Wombat Hall from here. I know a short cut."

Miss Fisher grasped the offered arm and followed her lover across the meadow in three-inch-heels. Soon the grass gave way to seemingly endless stretching fields of golden wheat and purple lavender. The sun stood high in the sky by now, bees were buzzing around the couple of detectives. They had talked for a while about their mysteriously disappeared murder victim, but now they were walking in comfortable silence. Miss Fisher had let go of her lover's arm some time ago. Out here she was not trying to be a lady, she was just Phryne Fisher and there was no need to hold onto him. Jack Robinson wasn't going anywhere, a reassuring ring on her finger told her every day. It was still rather hard to wrap her head around the fact that she was engaged. She had never thought that she would ever get married and yet, it felt right. Their relationship was like a living, breathing being, twisting and turning in its own free will, leading them to places neither of them had ever seen. Of course, Jack had been married before. She glanced at him from the side. But something told her, that being with Rosie had not been the same kind of experience. Phryne wondered, if he felt it too. That they were evolving into something new together, more than the sum of their parts.

"Jack?" she asked, attempting to grab his hand, but didn't get any further. There must have been a small dip hidden under the wild growing grass. At least she would swear later it had been that and not a sudden loss of her ability to balance on those damn heels. But with a small shriek, the Honourable Phryne Fisher ended up in a lavender field.

"Phryne!" she heard Jack call. Then he was kneeling beside her, while she was still dazedly staring into the blue sky suddenly in plain view and taking in the intoxicating smell of the flowers she was bedded in.

"Have you hurt yourself?" he asked, helping her to a sitting position. Phryne shook her head, not sure if she should burst into laughter or blush in embarrassment.

"Well, that was rather inelegant," she finally pointed out.

"Nobody saw it but me and a few dozen bees, Miss Fisher," Jack grinned, pushing back onto his feet and stretching out a hand to help her up. But something sparked in Phryne's head and she took his fingers but made no attempt to rise.

"Remind me to not let you talk me into hikes like this one again, Inspector," she purred, pulling him gently back down to her side. Inspector Robinson wasn't sure, where exactly this was leading, but something told him not to argue and so he let himself sink beside her into the astonishingly soft bed of small purple flowers. Before he could assemble his senses, she had already pulled him into a kiss, the smell of lavender mixing with her skin into an intoxicating perfume.

"Then again, there might be some upsides to hiking," he whispered hoarsely, while her hands found their way under his shirt.

"Are there now, Inspector?"

A pair of lips caressing his neck rendered him unable to answer. Blindly he reached for her warm body, pulling her closer, while his fingers sought out her curves through the thin fabric of her dress.

"God, Phryne," he moaned, when she gently bit into the nape of his neck. It was unfair with what ease she could undo him. There were in public for God's sake, even if it was only shared by a few dozen bees and yet, there was no stopping. Her taste on the tip of his tongue, her smell in his nose, joined by a billion tiny purple calyces, Jack felt like a bee searching for her nectar, drawn in by blind instinct. The hunger making his heart beat faster was ravenous and there was no sating it, but by exploring every inch of her soft, ivory skin, with her shuddering breath ghosting over his ear, her nails digging into his back, leaving angry red marks. When he moved, her breath hitched, and he wondered briefly, if the bed of flowers could be comfortable with his weight on top of her, but the way her moans echoed in his ears, her cheeks flushed, she cared as little about that, as she did about the fate of their crumpling clothes. She pulled him tighter, closer, as if trying to melt them together and Jack obliged, his lashes fluttering shut again, while he sought out her lips in the haze of lust and lavender. Drunk with the sheer intensity of the love pulsing through his veins, Jack searched for his nectar and a couple dozen bees stopped confusedly in their buzzing, when he finally found it.