Author's note: And behold, there was great rejoicing, for it was proclaimed throughout the world that a third season of the incomparable Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries would indeed be created!
Well done to everyone who took the time to petition, email, and join the Facebook page (where the above was anounced, albeit in rather less florid terms, on June 13th). Filming is due to start in October, and I for one am eagerly anticipating seeing the moment when my fanfiction to date is overtaken by new canon content.
Jack had insisted that Phryne meet him at the station the next morning rather than at Archibald Postlethwaite's residence, and they drove there in convoy with Jack, to Phryne's frustration, in the lead ("I'd prefer that the household didn't have advance warning of our intentions, Miss Fisher, so if you could see fit to curb your race-driving instincts for the duration of the journey I'd be most grateful"). They walked to the door together, Jack in the middle and Phryne and Hugh flanking him almost unconsciously.
"Is Mr. or Mrs. Postlethwaite at home?" Jack asked as soon as the butler answered the door. To Phryne's disgust, they had timed their arrival for a little before eight thirty, in hopes of catching the master of the house before he departed for work, but even with the early start it appeared that they were out of luck.
"I'm very sorry Inspector," Mr. Standley replied, "but I'm afraid neither Mr. nor Mrs. Postlethwaite are here right now."
"Do you know where they might be contacted?"
"At Mr. Bernard's residence. They were telephoned a little over an hour ago. It appears that Mrs. Charlotte has had an accident."
"Is it serious?" Phryne asked.
"I'm afraid so. According to Miss Marjorie she fell down the stairs in the small hours of this morning and struck her head. She did not survive."
Jack and Phryne exchanged glances, and Jack jerked his head back down the path. With a brief "give us a moment," to the butler, he moved them out of earshot.
"So the mother of the unborn heir to the Postlethwaite estate is dead?" Phryne began.
"After I let slip to Archibald's wife yesterday about her condition." She could hear the bitter condemnation in his voice, and made her own tone resolute.
"He would have found out sooner or later." She paused. "If Charlotte died hours ago, the police must already have been called..."
He glanced from the house to the road, torn.
"Sir, Miss Fisher and I can search the house, if you want to go to the scene. That would be legal, wouldn't it, as long as I was with her?"
Jack nodded, considering. "Yes, it would." He gave himself a brisk shake. "As long as you stick to her like glue, Collins, and don't let her out of your sight for a moment." His expression turned meaningful. "Not even to powder her nose. And you, Miss Fisher: no funny business." When she opened her mouth to protest he cut her off. "I mean it. Postlethwaite has already murdered two people and an unborn child, and I'll be damned if I'll see you jeopardise the case against him simply because it strikes you as being more convenient. Search the house, bag and label any evidence, then join me at the main Postlethwaite residence. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Sir," Collins answered smartly. Phryne rolled her eyes.
"Of course, Jack." And then, when he continued to frown, she sighed. "I swear, I'll be on my very best, completely law-abiding, behaviour." He gave her one last long, hard look, then handed the paperwork to Hugh.
"Very good. I'll see you at the other house as soon as possible."
He turned and walked briskly back down the path. Phryne smiled brightly at Hugh, who gave a nervous smile of his own in return. "Let's get on with it then, shall we?" she suggested.
...
In spite of his words to her, Jack had no real concerns about leaving Phryne in charge of searching Archibald and Josephine's house. In fact, it was rather a relief to be able to delegate that responsibility to her, secure in the knowledge that she seemed to have an unerring instinct for locating evidence, in order to reach his potential murder scene as soon as possible. The residence of the late William and Charlotte Postlethwaite was a hive of activity when Jack arrived.
"Sir!" a startled constable began, drawing himself swiftly to attention when he saw the Inspector approaching the house. "We weren't expecting you. The lady of the house had an accident-"
"I rather suspect that it was no accident, constable, but who's in charge here?" Jack interrupted.
"Sergeant Higgins, sir, and-" he lowered his voice to a confidential tone "- I think he might be inclined to agree with you, sir."
Jack couldn't help but smile at that. Higgins was a bright young man, one of the best under his command, which was why he'd made it to sergeant so soon after joining the Force.
He entered the main hallway to see Higgins walking very deliberately around the pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs. "Higgins?"
The young sergeant jumped slightly and turned, his shoulders relaxing in subtle relief when he saw who it was. "Am I glad to see you, sir."
"What have you got?"
"Well, unfortunately they moved the body. Although I suppose I probably shouldn't say it that way: she may still have been alive at the time, and they were endeavouring to render assistance. She's upstairs, in her bedroom."
"Take me to see her."
"Of course, sir." As they mounted the stairs, the sergeant glanced across at him. "Forgive me for asking, sir, but why are you here? At this stage this appears to be no more than a tragic accident."
Jack didn't miss the subtle emphasis Higgins placed on the word 'appears'. Yes, he was indeed a keen one. In a soft voice, he replied "what if I told you, Higgins, that the victim's husband was murdered three nights ago? And that the victim herself was pregnant, quite possibly to her brother-in-law?"
Higgins thought for a moment. "I would say, sir, that that makes a lot of rather odd things appear significantly less odd." They had now arrived outside one of the doors on the first floor. "She's in here, sir."
From the doorway, Charlotte Postlethwaite appeared to be merely sleeping, placed back in her bed with the covers drawn up to her chest. The effect was ruined, however, when they approached and looked down at her, seeing, from their new angle, the bloodied wound on her left temple.
"I've examined the entire staircase and the hallway below, sir: I can't see where she might have sustained that injury."
"Which means she was either struck in the head and thrown down the stairs to cover it up, or else thrown down the stairs and then struck in the head to finish the job." Jack nodded in thought.
"I have a constable with the family, and another with the staff. Constable Peters is searching the house, and you would have seen Granville on the door when you came in. I thought perhaps I was being a little excessive, but..."
"No, you've done exactly the right thing, Sergeant," Jack confirmed.
"Thank you, sir."
He nodded. "Now, is there a telephone somewhere I can use?"
...
Phryne, meanwhile, had made a beeline for Archibald and Josephine's bathrooms, Hugh in tow. The house boasted two: one, apparently, for the use of the family and located between Archibald and Josephine's rooms, and the other down the corridor towards the guest bedrooms. Phryne was not surprised when the former yielded a half-full bottle of barbiturates.
"Here you go, Hugh," she remarked, passing them to him with gloved hand. The young constable had an evidence bag waiting and accepted them, adding a neat note detailing the contents, the date and the location in which they had been found. Phryne completed a thorough search of each bathroom, then returned to the hallway, looking around speculatively.
"We still need the dagger." She pursed her lips in thought. "If Archibald still has it, it's likely to be somewhere he considers fairly private." When his bedroom yielded nothing, she headed back downstairs.
"What now, Miss?" Hugh asked, as he followed along faithfully behind her.
"Archibald's study," Phryne replied. "After his bedroom, it's a man's most private sanctuary. In fact, it's often more private: I've never known a man to forbid the maids from picking up after him in the bedroom, but I've known plenty who have banished them from their studies."
Hugh nodded, filing that titbit away for future consideration.
The study was dominated by a large desk made of some dark, heavy wood, and littered with papers and books, but after only a brief glance around Phryne homed in on the blades displayed above the mantlepiece. "Around eight inches in length..." she mused to herself, and plucked a weapon from the wall, moving to examine it in the light coming from the window. "What does that look like to you, Hugh?" she demanded, turning it so that he could see the reddish-brown stain where the blade met the hilt.
"Blood?" the young man hazarded, and she nodded.
"Almost certainly. I think you'd better bag this one for the Inspector." She broke off suddenly, as the ringing of the telephone brought footsteps to the hallway. Hugh caught himself straining his ears to hear what was said, and was embarrassed to realise he was eavesdropping – until he noticed Miss Fisher concentrating with even more fixed attention. After a moment, however, they heard footsteps approaching and she was all action once again. "Get that evidence bagged, constable." She might almost have been the Inspector in that moment, and Hugh obeyed immediately. By the time Mr. Standley arrived at the door, the blade was sealed out of sight.
"I beg your pardon Miss, Constable, but Inspector Robinson is on the telephone. He'd like a word with the lady."
Phryne nodded. "Of course."