Chapter 22: Spruce
John caught up, mostly due to Phryne having to overcome the hindrance of her heels while running and they arrived at exactly the same time. They weren't the first to get there though. Beside the body on the floor, Dorothy Williams was bent over, emptying the contents of her stomach into the bushes. Phryne had to swallow hard to resist the urge to join her. Jane was rubbing calming circles on her friend's back.
"Bring her into the house," Phryne commanded in a voice that didn't allow any argument. Jane stared at her with big eyes and nodded, avoiding the scene on the floor. While Phryne had a first look at the young woman lying on the grass, a still panting Mr. Butler reappeared from between the hedges.
"I'm sorry, Miss, I lost him."
"Did you get a good look?" Phryne asked, while crouching down.
"I'm afraid I didn't see much more than glimpses of a coat between the bushes."
Miss Fisher hummed an answer, when Walter Cox-Stafford came running. His face was bright red from the unaccustomed exercise and looked deeply worried. When Mr. Butler stepped aside, revealing the body, he stopped cold.
"Miss Spencer? But..."
"But she died on Sunday," Phryne finished his sentence. "I doubt it," she continued, "this woman's heart was beating five minutes ago. She is still warm and the blood flow hasn't stopped yet."
Phryne could barely hide her surprise, when a rather pale but eager former policeman crouched down on the other side of the body, picking up the corpse's hand.
"You're right, Miss Fisher. This woman has definitely not been for dead two days."
He inspected the gaping hole in the victim's chest from which blood still seeped through the fabric of her dress.
"A single shot, close proximity, I'd say," he stated thoughtfully.
"Phryne!" someone yelled over his voice, before they spotted a half dressed Inspector Robinson turning the corner, sprinting over the grass. He looked terrible Miss Fisher noted, her stomach giving a painful lurch. This was not only because Jack hadn't had time to tuck in his shirt or brush his hair. He looked ill, his skin was grey, his cheeks hollow. She pulled herself to her feet and walked towards him, spotting the relief that came over his face as he drew closer. Phryne forced herself to smile at him, while his anxious eyes darted from the body to her.
"What happened?" he panted, stopping in front of her. Phryne resisted the urge to wrap him in her arms and take him back to bed like a child suffering of the flu. Instead she glued a friendly grimace to her face.
"Miss Spencer reappeared. And then died yet again."
Jack raised his eyebrows at this.
"You might have to explain this further, Miss Fisher."
He stepped closer to the corpse, spotting his father there. Phryne held her breath, waiting for another confrontation, but currently both men seemed preoccupied with the body to their feet.
"Sadly, I can't, Jack. We heard a shot and came running, and this is what we found."
Inspector Robinson crouched down, paying no mind to either John or his own dishevelled state and had a closer look.
"But that is the same dress she wore the other day."
"Maybe she wasn't dead, but kidnapped," Walter threw in.
Jack dipped his head in consideration.
"A possibility. And then she got shot as she tried to escape back here?"
"She doesn't look like a woman who was held captive for days though," Phryne pointed out. "Her hairdo was perfect before it was squished by the grass and her dress doesn't show a single crease."
"There's no old blood either," John said, realising that suddenly everybody was staring at him.
"You told us that the housekeeper remembered her dress being drenched in blood when she found what seemed to be her body. Yet all this blood here is fresh," he explained his thoughts.
"Thank you, father, we will take it from here," Jack answered coldly, without looking up.
John bit his lip, then pushed himself to his feet stiffly and walked back to the house without another word. Phryne forced herself to not watch the retreating figure. Instead she concentrated on the job at hand.
"Look at this, Jack."
He did as he was asked and inspected the glittering object in the strawberry blonde curls.
"The hair brooch?"
They locked eyes, both knowing that the one they had found under the desk was still lying in a lockable drawer in the guest room.
"Probably not the hair brooch, but a very similar one nonetheless," Phryne stated, inspecting the light green dress for any signs of the missing triangle that was lying right beside the brooch upstairs.
"It's almost as if she was a ghost," Uncle Walter said above them, shuddering in the warm morning light.
"There is only one small problem with that theory," Jack pointed out dryly. "There is no such thing as ghosts."
While Walter mumbled something under his breath, his nephew pulled himself upright, which took some effort as he still felt rather dizzy and shaken. He had been woken by the shot and never stopped to consider if he was in any state to get out of bed, his pounding head reminded him.
"But on the upside, at least we do have a body now," Phryne stated in fake enthusiasm, getting up as well. Jack was surveying the garden around them for some time, while parts of the family started to assemble around them, whispering between themselves, without disturbing the detectives more than necessary. They were filled in by a half shocked, half excited Walter into whatever the girls hadn't already shared.
"He was running in this direction, Sir," Mr. Butler explained, who had been silent for most of the conversation. Jack nodded.
"That path leads to the South-West of the property and joins the street at the forest without ever revealing passers by to the eye of the public. Which leads to the conclusion that this was a well planned murder – by someone, who knows Wombat Hall."
"Dear God," Esmeralda gasped. "Are you implying it was one of us?"
Jack smiled wryly.
"Not exactly. Just that it was someone who has been here before."
She visibly breathed a sigh of relief.
"It is still completely horrible," she said, obviously upset but somewhat reconciled.
"Don't worry, my niece will help the Inspector find the murderer. They are very good at this," Aunt Prudence comforted her and wrapped a motherly arm around the skinny woman, leading her back to the house. Many of the other's followed them. Jack whispered to Phryne a request to stay with the body till he had phoned the local police and found a coroner, when a voice broke the silence left behind by the retreating people.
"But... I thought she was dead already?"
It was Samuel, a shocked, shaken Samuel, who right now looked nothing like the golden boy he usually was. The things a murder did to people were always astounding, Phryne found.
"So did we," she said gently. "Turns out, we were wrong."
"But how could she have died on Sunday and now all over again? It's impossible."
"Well that leaves only one conclusion then, doesn't it?" Jack said, growing tired of the same question.
"She is not real," Sam whispered.
Inspector Robinson couldn't help rolling his eyes at his cousin.
"Samuel, please do me a favour and go back to the house, ring the police station and ask Sergeant Otterson to come out here as soon as he can."
The young man obliged, turning towards the house, when Jack called after him.
"Oh and Sam, please don't tell him we have a ghost lying in the garden. He will die of laughter before he shows."
His cousin nodded and retreated. DI Robinson sighed, rubbing his face with both hands.
"Sir, if you would like to leave, I am happy to stand guard," Mr. Butler offered.
"Thank you, that won't be-"
"That would be very helpful, Mr. B," Phryne said quickly, pulling her lover away from the corpse by his sleeve.
"What are you doing, Miss Fisher?"
"I'm sneaking you upstairs, before a fellow police officer sees you with your shirttail hanging out and morning stubble in your face," she stated, without stopping or letting go of him. Jack blushed. He had completely forgotten about his fresh-out-of-bed look. He smiled, despite still feeling like he had been chewed up and spat out.
"Remind me, Miss Fisher, why I didn't marry you a decade ago?"
"Mostly, because you were already married. Of course there is also the small detail of you having been unaware of my existence, Inspector," she smiled, while they snuck up the servant stairs.
He tilted his head at this, deciding her explanation was fair enough.
X
"I don't know how to put this," Mac said, her face serious, when she removed her stethoscope from Dorothy William's chest. "But you are completely healthy."
"I don't feel healthy though," Dot observed, pressing her hand against her stomach.
"And you don't think that might have something to do with the body you just discovered?" Mac asked sarcastically, restoring her instruments in her bag.
Dot shook her head vehemently.
"I told you, I have been feeling off for at least a week. And I have been working with Miss Fisher for a while, I am used to bodies."
"A fair point," Elizabeth sighed, wondering what to do. "Look, if you feel really terrible, we can send you back to Melbourne for some tests-"
"Oh, tell her already, Doctor," Prudence Stanley called from the back, where she was playing cards with Jane. Mac shot the older lady a look that could have killed her on the spot, then turned back to her patient, who appeared deeply worried now.
"Is it anything serious?" she asked, paling.
"Well yes," Mac smiled. "Quite serious actually, if Mrs. Stanley is correct in her assumption. However, while some of your symptoms point in that direction, I cannot make a diagnosis without a proper-"
"Will you please stop babbling and tell me what is wrong with me?"
Mac couldn't help but grin.
"I think you are expecting a child, Dorothy."
X
"So, what do you think happened, Jack?" Phryne asked her Inspector, as they wandered along the path their killer had presumably taken, looking for any pieces of evidence. After a wash and a shave he still looked terrible, but at least a groomed version of it.
"I honestly have no idea, Miss Fisher, but I can tell you what people out here will think happened," he said, looking at a small patch of mud that showed enough shoe print to tell them that someone had been walking here, but no more. "They will make up something mythical."
"A ghost story?" Miss Fisher smiled.
"Well, there is a dark story about Wombat hall," Jack sighed, pulling himself upright. "Iris had a lot of fun telling it to all the children, when we were little. She loves horror stories."
"Were there any hair brooches in it?" Phryne asked.
"Not that I know of. But there was a young woman being murdered. According to legend, in 1862, shortly after the house was built, the first owner, a Mr. Tribalt stabbed his young wife when she was on her way to meet her lover. He never admitted to it, but was hanged all the same."
"A charming anecdote," Miss Fisher stated dryly. "It wasn't in the garden by any chance?"
"I don't believe so. But then I don't share my cousins love for those stories."
For a little while they continued walking in silence, their eyes sweeping over the ground.
"Do you think, someone has re-enacted that legend?" Phryne asked.
"Possibly. But for what reason?"
"To send a message to an unfaithful spouse?"
"I'm pretty sure, most people settle for angry notes on the kitchen table and packed suitcases in the hall, Miss Fisher."
"I wouldn't know, Inspector," she answered, wondering for a moment, if he did. But as hard as she tried, she could not imagine Jack ever having cheated on Rosie.
"Once," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "And not in the way you think."
"I am not thinking anything, Inspector," Phryne smiled innocently. "But I am curious now."
Jack sighed.
"When we lived in Abbottsford early in our marriage, we had a neighbour. A very nice lady, I think her name was Adelheid."
Phryne repressed a giggle at her Inspector trying to wrap his tongue around the strange name. It was so cute, that she almost forgot what he was implying.
"She was Dutch I believe or Belgian, definitely European. Also very beautiful, with long blonde hair and a lovely accent."
"Inspector, you're straying off track," Phryne said pointedly, as a green-eyed monster reared its head somewhere in the depths of her stomach. Jack threw her a cheeky smile making her wonder if he was intentionally teasing her. She was glad to see though, that there was some colour returning to his face. Distraction seemed to be the magic word.
"Keep in mind that I was 22 and quite innocent," he said, while he inspected a broken branch lying in the grass with some interest. "And in retrospect I might have made a few missteps."
Phryne bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
"So you ravished her innocently, overwhelmed by her accent?"
He blushed.
"Nothing of the kind, Miss Fisher! But I might have gotten a bit carried away flirting. Since my experience was rather limited I might have also missed the subtle differences between a woman being friendly and a woman being friendly."
They walked further, their eyes scanning the bushes and hedges. A cool breeze made the leaves flutter in the wind. It was indeed becoming autumn.
"So, what happened?" Phryne asked, when he showed no signs of continuing his story.
"She kissed me."
Phryne almost laughed. That much build-up for a little kiss?
"And you defended your marriage in the harshest of manners, I assume?"
To her surprise, he cleared his throat.
"I was so shocked that I kissed her back. Just as Rosie walked through the door."
Miss Fisher couldn't help herself. She burst into giggles.
"I'm sorry, Jack. The picture is too beautiful."
"Well, Rosie didn't think so. Our row lasted a week, before I could convince her that I was not having an affair behind her back."
Phryne really wanted to say something unfavourable about his former wife but the truth was that she could relate to her reaction perfectly. If she ever found Jack in the arms of another woman, all bets were off. God knew, she had almost lost her mind seeing him in innocent embraces before. It was strange and a little scary, being in love.
"So that was the only time you 'cheated' on your wife, Jack?" she asked, with some relief.
He nodded solemnly, but she couldn't help but prod a little further.
"Not the slightest little dirty affair?"
He gulped.
"I might have been tempted once or twice, Miss Fisher. But I never succumbed. I did not want to betray her trust and I don't take marriage lightly."
Phryne nodded to herself. So exactly as she had suspected. As long as he stayed away from blonde Belgians, they should be perfectly fine.
"There's something," Jack called, obviously relieved to change the subject. The muddy piece of paper was folded up tightly. The Inspector handed it to Phryne, who untangled it with gentle fingers.
"Don't worry, it is not true. I will explain later, just come as we discussed. And please do not tell a word to anyone. Trust me," she read aloud. "No signature."
"So, someone lured Miss Spencer here. Someone she knew well," Jack concluded, holding his nose into the wind as if it could tell him what had happened. They were close to the South-border of the Cox-Stafford's land now; the still not quite dried street glistened in the late morning light like a big grey snake. To their right, the trees of the forest rose up into the clear blue sky.
"But how did she get here? It is not exactly a short walk from anywhere really, in her clothes," he pondered aloud. "And why would she come in the first place?"
"The letter implies that she was involved in some elaborate plan. And then her accomplice turned the tables on her."
Jack pulled himself upright, followed by Miss Fisher.
"If we assume her first demise was staged, she must have been involved in it. Unknowingly paving the way for her own murder," he concluded. "Maybe the killer thought he could get away with it if people thought, she was a ghost?"
"Seems a bit out there. But then, that never appears to stop people," Miss Fisher pondered. To Jack's surprise, she walked towards the dark trees, rather than turning back.
"And why would she agree to stage her own murder?" she called out, while he followed her after a moment of hesitation.
"And to what purpose?" he asked, finding her crouching underneath a spruce, half-hidden by the lower branches. With a slight cry of triumph she pulled out a silver cigarette case.
"Our murderer was waiting here and left us a souvenir."
Jack took the piece of evidence with a handkerchief, before helping his lover back to her feet.
"He even went to the trouble of engraving it with his initials," he stated dryly. "J.B."
"Seems a bit convenient," Phryne said calmly. "But I do think, we should have a word with the Bartons."
"Well, at least Mrs. Barton's sister is definitely dead this time," Jack sighed, gently peeling a piece of spruce from Phryne's hair. She smiled.
"Unless she really is a ghost, Inspector."