Bernard Postlethwaite's club was exclusive, expensive, and guarded by a doorman in a Victorian morning suit complete with cravat and top hat. It was his job to keep the riff-raff at bay, and it was clear that this included not only nosey police officers intent on interviewing club members but also all things female.
"I'm very sorry sir, miss, but ladies are not permitted in the club."
"Miss Fisher is part of a police investigation. If she cannot come in, then I'd appreciate it if you'd ask Bernard Postlethwaite to come and speak to us outside. Or I could send my constable in to fetch him for us." Jack's tone was mild, but the threat was clear: Bernard Postlethwaite was going to speak to the police. Whether that happened in private or in public, with or without a uniformed police escort, rested entirely upon whether or not the club was willing to make an exception to its rules.
The man looked put out, but a glance at Jack's face convinced him that he wasn't kidding. "One moment please, sir."
Hugh, standing slightly to one side, saw the Inspector and Miss Fisher exchange another one of Those smiles before returning their attention to the door. It took only a few moments for the doorman to return. "Happily, sir, we have been able to make a private room available for your interview. The lady will be permitted to join you."
"I'm very glad to hear it." Jack gestured in an exaggerated manner towards the entrance. "After you, Miss Fisher."
"Why thank you, Inspector." Phryne inclined her head coquettishly as she preceded her friend into the building, which was dimly lit and decorated in a style which she could only think of as 'overblown masculinity': dark wooden panelling, dark carpets, and dark paintings of old men, glowering darkly. The air smelled of cigar smoke and expensive alcohol and she would have bet her good silk scarf that the furniture featured a great deal of leather, and that there would be a stag's head nailed to a wall somewhere. She felt Jack's hand on the small of her back, and smiled. Evidently bringing her into such an aggressively masculine environment was unsettling him and she glanced back at him with a reassuring look, earning a brief, tight-lipped smile in return. She wondered which he was more afraid of: what some of the patrons might do or say to her, or what she might do or say to some of the patrons. Probably the latter, but you never knew with Jack. The man was annoyingly inscrutable at times.
"If you would just wait here." Their reluctant guide escorted them into a room decorated along the same lines as the corridor, but with the addition of a window. A sideboard held several crystal decanters and a number of tumblers, and four leather armchairs were arranged around the room. There was no fire in the grate, but above the mantlepiece there was, indeed, a stuffed and mounted stag's head. After glancing briefly around, Phryne dropped herself playfully into a chair facing the door, and was unsurprised when Jack moved to stand alongside her, one hand resting on the wing of the chair. Hugh, of course, remained standing with stiff nervousness against the wall just inside the door.
A moment later the object of their search was shown in. He was a year or so younger than Phryne, and his face was softer than his brother's, although still showing traces of that same bitterness. He was beginning to thicken around the waist in the manner of a man accustomed to good food and easy living and lacking the self-discipline necessary to offset their effects, and in spite of the fact that he could no doubt afford the best tailors and came from a well-staffed household his suit appeared subtly rumpled and ill-fitting.
"Bernard Postlethwaite?" At the man's nod, Jack continued. "I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police. This is Constable Collins, and the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective. We're looking into your brother's death, and were hoping to ask you a few questions."
"Uh, of course, although I don't know what help I'll be. Billy was robbed, then killed."
"Have a seat," Phryne suggested, gesturing to the armchair opposite her. Bernard sat inelegantly, in a manner that suggested carelessness rather than Phryne's artful playfulness.
"When was the last time you saw William?" Jack began.
"The night before last. Archie and Josephine joined us for drinks. It was only a few hours before..." He broke off, clearly more distressed than his surviving brother had been.
"And how would you describe your brother's mood that night?"
"Um, I don't know. Normal?"
"Archibald suggested he seemed tired," Phryne commented.
Bernard frowned slightly. "Not at first, but he did flag as the evening went on. It must have been the booze; Billy was never the strongest of fellows."
"Was William in the habit of taking late-night walks?" Jack asked.
Again, the slight frown. "Not really, not with his leg. But I suppose anything's possible. Maybe he felt the need to get out of the house."
"How would you describe your relationship with William?"
"Normal, I suppose. He was always the beloved eldest son and heir; got everything he ever wanted, while the rest of us were left trailing along behind. I don't think he ever took me seriously."
"And your affair with his wife; did he take that seriously?" Phryne challenged, and saw Bernard stiffen.
"Who told you about that?"
"It appears to be common knowledge throughout Melbourne society," Jack replied. "Archibald certainly knew, and he implied that William did as well."
Bernard slumped. "And here I thought we'd been so discreet." He gave them a pleading look. "It's just that I love Charlotte, you see, and she loves me, but if you think I killed Billy for her then you're wrong. Charlotte had already asked Billy for a divorce. We were going to go away together, just the two of us, start all over again. Billy was going to say yes, I just know it, and then we could have been happy together. That's all I ever wanted: to be happy. I'd never risk going to the gallows instead."
"Archibald implied that he'd talked Billy out of a divorce; too big a scandal," Phryne countered.
Bernard shook his head. "Maybe for now, but he would have had to say yes, and sooner rather than later."
"Oh?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
Bernard's eyes darted around the room, then he leaned in and said in a low voice, "Charlotte was pregnant."
"And the child was yours?"
"Definitely."
"How can you be so sure?" Phryne demanded.
Bernard gave a derisive snort. "Because it was common knowledge in the family that Billy was incapable of fathering a child." At their sceptical looks he elaborated. "Seven years of marriage, and Charlotte never conceived once."
"And you're certain the fault lay with your brother?" Jack asked.
"Billy was a cripple. It stands to reason that if there was a problem it'd be his damaged body that was at fault, not Charlotte's." He narrowed his eyes. "And do you really think Archie would have continued to say 'no' to a divorce when he realised that Charlotte was in the family way? As long as Billy remained childless, Archie's own son was heir to the family estate. But if Charlotte bore a child while she was still Billy's wife it wouldn't have mattered who the father really was."
"Because legally the child of a married woman is automatically considered the offspring of her husband," Phryne concluded. "Archibald would have had to get Charlotte out of the way before the child was born, and what better way than by marrying her off to his younger brother?"
Bernard smirked in self-satisfaction. "Exactly."
Jack exchanged a look with Phryne, asking her with his eyes whether she had any further questions. At her slight shrug he returned his attention to Bernard. "Thank you, Mr. Postlethwaite, you've been most helpful. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."
...
"Thoughts?" he asked Phryne, once they were back on the road.
"Well, if Bernard's right about Archibald being willing to accept a divorce if it'd ensure his own son remained heir – and assuming that Billy would have been willing to grant Charlotte one – then Bernard doesn't have a motive. And if that was Archie's motive then it'd have made more sense for him to do away with Charlotte than Billy. Stop the car."
Jack pulled over obediently. "Why?"
"Because there's an excellent restaurant just down that street, and this case is making my head hurt. And since the only possible reason for it to be having that effect on me is that I'm too hungry to think straight, it's time for lunch."
Hugh watched with open mouth as the two got out of the car, apparently intent on abandoning him to the rumblings of his own empty stomach, but an airy "you as well, Hugh," from Miss Fisher had him scrambling after them.