The patients weren't sure what to make of the relationships in the house. Lucien and Jean were professional, almost coldly so, Genevieve didn't treat her any differently and Thomas would call through from his surgery if he needed her. Nothing, nothing at all seemed out of order – but still Dr Lucien was an eligible bachelor, so with nothing else to talk about they talked about Jean.
They would gather in corners of the shops, or the market and wonder. She would nod her greetings as she passed by and bought the fresh fruit and vegetables she needed, ordered the meat from the butchers, posted the letters and bills and paid the rates and telephone bills as she had done since she started working for Dr Thomas and Mrs Genevieve Blake. If she went out of town, she went by train, alone, and had returned by the next day.
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"Still talking, Jean?" Thomas frowned as she stormed into the house after paying the rates.
"Not about me, this time," she dropped the car keys on the hall table, "this time they were talking about some young girl who has apparently slipped up."
"Oh, goodness, any idea who, because sometimes these youngsters do the most foolish things."
"No, not yet," she shook her head.
"Jean?"
"I want to offer her support, 'cos round here nobody else will."
"If she's not one of our patients there may not be a lot you can do."
"Depends who her parents are."
"True, and who the boy is, and how old they are …"
"Let's hope they don't force them to marry …unless they really want to."
"There is that? Did you?" he blurted out.
"I wanted to travel, Thomas, I wanted to see the world outside of Ballarat; Melbourne was as far as I had ever been. We talked, Lucien and I, about that, and that Christopher took it away from me …"
"Things happen for a reason," Thomas squeezed her elbow. "I don't care what you did in your past life, Jean, because if you hadn't done those things you wouldn't be here now, and I'm glad you are."
"Thank you, Thomas, I'm glad you felt able to take me on, as a housekeeper."
"… and receptionist," he reminded her, "that was what we advertised for. Glad you had that 'discussion' with Mrs Macintosh, we had no idea of the waste she was making when she cooked."
"You are both busy people," Jean shrugged remembering the day she caught the previous housekeeper throwing away a pie that could have been saved for the next day, "you employ people to do those other things for you, efficiently, otherwise why employ us?"
"Quite." He patted her shoulder and headed back into the surgery, calling over his shoulder, "what's for lunch?"
"Yesterday's cold roast chicken …" she laughed.
"Marvellous."
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"… and don't come back until it's sorted!" Jean turned as she passed the line of passengers boarding a bus to Castlemaine. She saw a woman, red faced with fury pushing a young girl, around fifteen she thought, onto the bus. The girl was in tears, clutching a small suitcase in one hand and a tatty handbag in the other.
She joined the queue, the next stop was on her route and stopped not far from the house. She paid her fare and went to sit next to the girl.
"Get off with me," she whispered, taking her hand. She knew what awaited her in Castlemaine, the mother and baby home was run by nuns and they weren't kind. She would be set to work in the laundry until her time and not treated gently when she had the baby. No, Dr Thomas or Dr Lucien would know of somewhere much nicer.
"Why?" the girl sniffed.
"Because I've been in your place and you are not going through what is in Castlemaine."
"Did you?"
"No, I married the man …"
"I can't, he's married, he runs the cleaners, you know, the one on Sturt Street. This wasn't my idea."
"How did you meet him?" Jean decided to find another cleaners for Genevieve's dresses and the doctors' suits.
"I work there, on Saturdays. Dad said it would be good for me to learn about working for a living."
"Ah," Jean stood up, "here we are."
She pulled the girl with her and they hurried down to the door, ignoring the stares and whispers.
"Where are we going?"
"Dr Blake's."
"What will he do?"
"Make sure you are safe," Jean chivvied her along, "what's your name?"
"Violet Owen."
"I'm Jean Beazley, Dr Blake's housekeeper."
"Oh, will he mind?"
"I told him I heard gossip in the town and if I found out who it was that was in trouble I wanted to support them, nobody else will."
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"Dr Lucien, Dr Thomas!" she called into the house as she pulled Violet in with her. "Put your case there," she pointed to the floor under the coat rack.
Both men were in the study, discussing a case, and called back to her.
"Come on," Jean put her arms round her shoulders, "everything will be alright."
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"Gentlemen," she looked from one doctor to the other, "this is Violet, she needs your help."
"Ah," Thomas looked at Lucien, "come in, my dear, let's have a look at you, eh?"
Jean stayed, at Violet's request, while the doctors gave her a thorough check-up.
"You can stay here while we sort out a place for you to go," Thomas looked at Jean who nodded, though what they would tell Li she had no idea.
"What kind of place?"
"A place where you will be treated kindly until the time comes for you to have your baby. Then you can decide if you want to keep it or have it adopted by someone who can't have children."
"Oh, are there people who do that?"
"If you know who to ask," Lucien smiled kindly.
"I'll get a room ready, maybe the guest room on this floor?" Jean had been thinking, "are you suffering much from sickness, in the morning?"
"No, not really, just a bit queasy."
"Lucky you," Jean smiled, "I was terrible."
"How do I pay for this?" Violet suddenly teared up.
"You can help around the house, if you like, maybe in the kitchen?"
"Oh yes, I can do that," she brightened, "and when I can I will pay you, I promise."
"Let's just get you through this?" Lucien set her notes to one side, "who else knows, apart from your mother?"
"Nobody, I haven't told anyone, mum found out – or rather she was gossiping with some other ladies and worked it out."
"Ah, that must have been the ones I heard. Usually they gossip about me."
"And what is she going to do about the father?"
"Nothing, she said it was my fault."
"Now why would she think that?" Lucien frowned.
"I use my eyes," she opened said orbs wide, they were beautiful blue eyes, "on dad when I want something, she says I must have done it on Mr Bright."
"He forced you?"
"In the back of the shop," she looked down, "he's a big man …"
Lucien stormed out of the room.
"I know," Jean frowned after him, "quite imposing. He's lost our business."
"Mrs Blake's dresses are so beautiful," she smiled.
"They are." Jean followed Lucien out, where had he gone in such a mood?
"What about his wife?" Thomas sat down and looked at Violet, "surely …"
"They have a house near the gardens; she lives there with their daughter. Mrs Bright isn't well, he says, we never saw her." Violet bit her bottom lip, "Edith, that's their daughter, left school and used to work in the shop … she doesn't now."
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"… I want him charged with rape," he was growling down the study phone, "she's fifteen, Matthew, and forced himself on her in the back of the shop."
Jean watched him from the doorway, admiring him standing up for someone he barely knew because her parents wouldn't.
He slammed the phone down and looked up.
"Oh," he shrugged, "well, nobody else would, and it is, if she wasn't willing and she's only fifteen …"
"It's ok, Lucien," she smiled gently and stepped over to him, "you are right, what he did was wrong and I am shocked that her parents wouldn't do something other than banishing the poor child. At least my parents were angry with Christopher, and me, but mainly him …"
"But they made you marry him?"
She nodded, "that was the only thing they could think of."
He instinctively put his arm around her and drew her close. "Let's make it better for Violet, eh?"
"Yes," she tiptoed up and kissed his cheek, "thank you."
"For what?" he frowned, he didn't think he'd done anything for her.
"For being you," she kissed him again, "for being the man I am happy to know …" she pulled away and started to leave, "… and to love."
He didn't quite believe what he had just heard, but before he could confirm it, she had gone.
Jean was glad she had already turned away when she made her last comment – he couldn't see her blushing.
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Li looked thoughtful as she wandered out to the car. Jean hoped she wasn't being bullied again.
"Hello," she smiled, "good day?"
"Hm? Oh, yes," Li frowned.
"Something bothering you?"
"No, well, yes."
"If you need to talk …"
"Well, it's not me, I mean …" she sat back and thought some more, "Jean?"
"Yes pet."
"You know about having babies …"
"I've had two, I get the idea," Jean smiled, hoping she didn't have to give Li a lesson in the 'birds and the bees'.
"I know, but, well," she took a deep breath, "there's a rumour going round that Violet Owen has got herself into trouble and she's going to have a baby." It all came out in a bit of a rush. Jean pulled over.
"It's true. Violet is staying with us for a few days while your papa sorts out a nice place for her to go and stay."
"But, she's at school, and she's not married, why would she go and get herself in the family way?"
Jean wondered how much Li knew, or how much Lucien had told her about sex. At her age Jean knew very little, her mother had reckoned that if she didn't know anything she wouldn't fall. She hadn't even had her first menstrual cycle at Li's age but Li was already quite used to her monthly bleed.
"It wasn't her idea. A man decided he wanted her and even though she didn't want to …"
"… have sex, papa has told me …"
"Oh, he has has he?"
Li nodded, "he told me when I started my monthlies."
"Ah," Jean nodded, trust Lucien to educate her thoroughly. "Well Violet didn't want to, but he wouldn't take no for an answer."
"Perhaps I should have taught her how to throw him," Li hummed.
"I think that would have been a good idea," Jean agreed, "but it's too late now, so, even though her mother was going to send her to a place in Castlemaine that isn't very nice, I thought your papa and grandpapa might know somewhere nicer."
"What did her mother say?"
"Actually, she doesn't know. I saw her putting Violet on the bus and decided to take matters into my own hands. I told her to get off with me and I would take care of her, or rather the doctors would."
"You are the nicest person I've ever met, Jean."
"Thank you, dear; now shall we get home." Jean started to pull away from the side of the road, "by the way, how do you know Violet?"
"I don't, not really, she's a girl at school, but older than me and there are the rumours. They say horrible things about her, even though it isn't her fault."
"Most people blame the woman, or girl," Jean huffed, "which is unfair. Sometimes the man is persuasive, sometimes he demands, sometimes he promises nothing will happen, but most people think we girls flutter our eyelashes and encourage the men to follow what is known as their baser instincts. It does happen, I'm not saying all women are blameless, but one must always have the facts first, before making a judgment."
"That sounds like the kind of thing Aunt Vivi would say."
"Probably."
"Can she do something to help, d'you think?"
"We haven't thought that far, but as your father has asked Inspector Lawson to charge the man with the offence of …" she coughed, "maybe she can at least get some money out of him for her care."
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When they arrived home, Matthew was already taking a statement from Violet. It wasn't easy, she was too scared to say anything in case Bright found her and hurt her some more.
"… and my mum doesn't believe me, anyway." She sniffed. "Before you ask, dad just believes what mum tells him."
"That's beside the point, Miss Owen," Matthew sighed, "what Bright did is wrong, you are underage so there is a case to answer. The doctors here will find you a place that will treat you well and where he won't find you."
"And mum and dad?"
"When all is sorted they will be informed," he lifted his pen, "they already know you are here, Dr Lucien called them and told them it was a shame they couldn't support you. I believe he was quite blunt," he grinned. Mrs Owen had stormed into the station to lodge a complaint against the doctor for interfering.
They heard the door go and turned round. "That'll be Mrs Beazley and Miss Li," he smiled, "I believe Li goes to Wendouree grammar."
"She's got a name for protecting people," Violet smiled, for the first time that day, "after she threw Martin to the ground when he kept calling her names. Most of the kids like her."
"Takes after her father," he mused.
"Matthew," Jean put her bag down and went to fill the kettle, "tea?"
"That'd be nice, Jean, thanks. Afternoon Miss Li."
"Hello, Inspector, hi Violet."
"Li," Violet blushed. "I suppose you know the truth."
""I do, but not to worry, papa will help you, and I thought maybe Aunt Vivi might too."
"Why your aunt?"
"She's a lawyer."
"Women can do that?"
"Sure they can, they can do anything they want to, so papa says. One day, Inspector, they will have women in your position."
"I don't doubt that, Miss, I don't doubt that at all. Times are changing."
"Mum said I wasn't to have ambition."
"Pshaw!" Jean scoffed, "you want to do something more with your life than have babies and be at a man's beck and call?"
Matthew turned slowly and raised his eyebrows.
"Don't look at me like that, Matthew Lawson, or you'll have the tea over your head. If Violet wants a career then she should be encouraged. It takes work, Violet," she turned to the surprised young girl, "but it can be done. It might take time but if you have patience …"
"I wondered where everyone was," Genevieve took off her coat, "town was busy. Apparently, Mrs Beazley, you are now abducting schoolgirls. And I suppose this is she?" She looked at Violet.
"This is Violet Owen, Mrs Blake," Jean put her hand on Violet's shoulder, "she is staying for a couple of days until your husband and son can find a suitable place for her."
"Ah," she nodded knowingly. "Welcome."
"Thank you, Mrs Blake," she whispered.
"I'm just making tea, Genevieve, shall I bring it through to the studio, or …?"
"The studio, thank you, I shall leave you to talk to Miss Violet, Matthew."
"Just trying to get the facts, ma'am," Matthew nodded, "but Miss Owen is worried about repercussions."
"Such as?"
"Mr Bright finding her …" he hummed.
"The dry cleaner?"
"Yes," Jean set a tray, "and I shall be taking your business elsewhere."
"Trust the Inspector, Violet, and my son and husband, Mr Bright will not find you." She headed out of the kitchen towards the study.
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"Contact Vivi, Lucien, Thomas," she opened the door, "Violet needs a good lawyer and Bright is not going to get away with this. I wonder how many other girls he has impregnated."
"What makes you think there will be more, maman?" Lucien frowned, she made him sound like a serial rapist.
"The number of young Saturday girls he has employed. I never thought much of it before, but Jean said he got through quite a few, I just thought he was a bad employer or the girls didn't like the job."
"Ah, best mention that to Matthew."
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Matthew got the full story from Violet, and promised her he wouldn't do it again.
"Won't he, he's done it before. Grace Evans used to work there, then she went away and never came back. Everybody talked about her like they talk about me."
"I shall look into that, but he won't do it again. Who works there now?"
She shrugged, "dunnno, I guess I haven't officially left, mum just put me on the bus. I don't even think he knows I'm going away. He does know about the baby, 'cos I told him."
"And what did he say to that?"
"Nothing, he just shrugged and told me it wasn't his problem then he got me up against the wall – again."
By this time Jean was fuming, Matthew wondered if he'd have to charge her with assault if she got hold of Bright, or murder!
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Matthew and Bill Hobart entered Bright's Cleaners and turned the open sign to closed.
"Hey! You can't do that."
"Want a private word, Mr Bright," Matthew stepped forward, "about Violet Owen."
"What's the little tart gone and done?" he sneered.
"Actually, it's what you have done to her," he leant on the counter, "seems you've gone and impregnated her."
"She was up for it," he folded his arms.
"She's fifteen …"
He shrugged; Bill drew his truncheon and slapped it in his palm.
"Ernest Bright I am arresting you for the rape of Violet Owen," Matthew got out his handcuffs and went round the counter. He pulled Bright's hands behind his back and tightened the cuffs. "Shall we?" he pushed him towards the door.
"I want a lawyer!"
"Better be a good one, Miss Owen's is a doozy."
"Who?"
"Miss Vivienne Blake – you know the one, had Jock Clement banged up for attempted murder."
"A female lawyer?"
"You do get them, these days," he grinned.
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The next thing Matthew had to do was to find out what had happened to all the Saturday girls Bright had had working for him. He took his wages book to find the names and then started visiting their homes.
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"One dead – in childbirth at the laundry in Castlemaine, one runaway," he read down the list of names, "two returned after a year and not allowed out of the house without a parent."
"And one dead from a rampant infection after a botched abortion?" Alice was sitting with him in the office having given him her autopsy report on the last one.
"Now I've got to find a back street abortionist," he rubbed his face.
"Maybe Bright knows, after all he's the one ruining these girls lives."
"Or the parents, god, what a mess, Alice."
She looked at him and knew she was marrying the kindest of men. "Did you hear what happened after you arrested Bright?"
"No, what?"
"Jean and Violet were in the crowd watching. Not sure why they would be there …"
"Probably to make sure I was carrying out my duty, my promise to Violet."
"Anyway, there was muttering about clothes that were in the shop either waiting to be collected or waiting to be cleaned."
"Damn!" he cursed, "I didn't lock the door, did I?"
"Doesn't matter, Jean and Violet opened the door and gave the cleaning back, without charge. When asked what was going on they were quite candid and suggested the cleaners on Lydiard Street as an alternative. There was quite a bit of sympathy for Violet, though."
"Makes a change, but nice going. Is the shop locked now?"
"Yes, I believe Jean gave the key to a passing constable."
He grinned, "I bet that gave Violet some satisfaction, not charging folk for the job."
"It would if it were me," she agreed.
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Bright claimed he didn't know about anyone who relieved women of 'little problems'. Why should he, it was their problem, not his. Matthew resisted the urge to punch him in the face but slammed the cell door closed with feeling. He would have to ask the parents of the dead girl, not something he was looking forward to.
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"My mum and dad told me I had to do as he told me, no questions. That's what a good girl does, they said." The first of the girls he interviewed, Melanie Head, sniffed, "so I did, and when I told mum what he'd done she told me I was stupid and sent me to the laundry in Castlemaine. I can't do right for doin' wrong," she glared at her mother sitting in the corner of the interview room.
"You weren't the first?"
She shook her head, "no, that was Elsie Mathers. She told her dad he was touching her and he told her he was the boss so he could do what he liked. When she got in the family way they sent her to Castlemaine too, her baby died. She said it was wrong, the baby, and the nuns just said it was best it hadn't lived. There's a place in the laundry they bury the dead babies and the girls that don't make it. I think that's where Grace Evans is buried."
Matthew sighed, he thought parents, notwithstanding his useless father, were supposed to protect their children, not send them into the lion's den. If he and Alice were blessed then he would keep his kids safe, and they wouldn't be working anywhere without him checking it out, thoroughly. He wondered if he could prosecute the parents for neglect.
He interviewed Elsie next and she confirmed what Melanie had told him. She also had her mother sitting in the corner with a sour look on her face.
He would interview Grace's parents later, in their home, but first he wanted to talk to Mrs Mathers and Mrs Head.
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They both sat, straight backed with their handbags held firmly on their knees while Matthew asked them why they hadn't believed their girls when they said Bright was touching them and forcing himself upon them.
"He's a respectable business owner," they tipped their heads and looked down their noses, "why would he touch young girls?"
"Why indeed? The thing is, ladies, he did, and he hurt them and left them with a name no girl wants to be called, all because you and your husbands wanted them to 'pay their way'. They are children, and while I applaud learning about the world of work and saving a little bit for treats, making them work where they are being used in the worst way is not good parenting."
He sat back and observed them; while they weren't on the same level as the Tyneman family they weren't scraping a living, either, maybe he needed to talk to their husbands, there was something not right about this.
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Grace Evans mother was devastated at the loss of her daughter and blamed her husband for sending her to Castlemaine.
"I wanted her to stay with me," she bit her bottom lip, "I thought if we went away for a while we could come back and I could bring the baby up as mine. Nobody need know. Nobody knew she was in the family way until someone asked where she was and Bright told them she had got into trouble. She never said it was him and we never thought it was. Mr Evans blamed one of the boys from the school, he said it had to be."
This had Matthew even more convinced he needed to talk to the husbands.
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Mr Evans, Mr Mathers and Mr Head sat in the bar of the Pig and Whistle discussing their friend Mr Bright.
"We never knew a thing," each insisted of the other. "He asked us if our girls would like a Saturday job, and we agreed they could work there."
"Yeah, but he gave us a 'finder's fee', or that's what he called it. Paid us for our daughters. The cops are going to want to know how much we knew."
"We knew nothing. We knew our girls had got into trouble, they never said it was him …"
"Our Elsie told us, we said it couldn't be true," Mr Mathers grunted.
"Mel blamed him, too, but – I mean, she's a kid why would a grown man want a kid?"
"Grace never said. She wouldn't say who it was. Maybe I should have let the wife and her go away for a while, nobody knew until we sent her to Castlemaine." Mr Evans bitterly regretted what he had done, he was even on the point of going to admit to the police he had sent Grace to Bright because he paid him for her services. He would, he would do it, it was his fault. He stood up, "sorry, gotta be somewhere."
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Matthew slumped in the chair in his living room. He had been on the point of leaving the station at the end of his shift when Joe Evans walked in and asked to speak to the person in charge of the Bright case. So, with Bill as observer in the interview, he listened and wrote down all Evans told him. How Bright had been a drinking pal for years and had always employed local girls in the shop. As far as he knew, it was the first time he had actively looked for young girls to work the shop on Saturdays and he had said he always paid a 'finder's fee' to the parents, knowing the girls would probably be involved in household chores that day.
"He also gave us our cleaning cut price."
"And you told your daughter to work hard and do what the boss told her to do?"
"Yeah, and Grace was a good girl, obedient, never in any trouble at school. We were shocked when she said she was in trouble, we thought it was one of the boys at school, but she wouldn't say."
Matthew put his statement in the file and made a note to speak to Mathers and Head the next day. For now he was going home for a bite to eat and a large whisky.
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Alice knocked on the door. The autopsy had unnerved her, back street abortions were never safe and if they didn't kill the mother invariably left them infertile from the subsequent infections. She had decided to watch people, do a little investigating of her own. She had no idea how to look for someone to perform that service and asking the obvious question would get her nowhere, in fact it might have the abortionist go into deeper hiding. She had thought of perhaps posing as a woman who required that service, but as a doctor she would be able to deal with that herself, so decided that probably wasn't a good idea.
She had just finished working in the labs at the hospital, later than usual but she needed to complete a report for a surgeon and set a test going over night, so it was just on closing time for the shops as she walked back to her flat. As she passed the florists'; all flowers taken in and the pavement swept, the blind halfway down, a young couple walked out. Her head was on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. She stopped for a moment and rubbed her belly, letting out a soft whoosh of pain. Alice frowned, was the woman who ran the flower shop the abortionist? The blind was pulled all the way down and the door locked, the sign turned to 'closed' and the lights extinguished. She had to talk to Matthew though part of her hoped the young woman was just experiencing cramps at that time of the month.
So, here she was, waiting for him to open the door. She didn't usually visit him at home, it was a very busy street with lots of twitching of curtains. If they wanted a quiet evening to themselves with a meal and a glass of wine he would go to her flat, in uniform. They surmised it would look like he had gone to discuss a case, her neighbours knew what she did for a living.
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"Oh, Alice," he blinked, "er, come in."
She looked up and down the street then decided the reason for her visit was more important than gossip.
"Matthew," she closed the door behind her. "Sorry to barge in …"
"Alice, if it wasn't for the nosy neighbours you could 'barge in' any time you want to," he grinned and kissed her. "But I'm guessing this isn't a social call." He led her down to the living room.
"It's about the abortion," she blurted out.
"Sit down, woman," he pointed to the couch and poured her a whisky, "tell me."
She took a mouthful of the drink and told him all she had seen that evening.
"So, I was wondering if it's her, the woman who runs that shop."
"It's a stretch, love," he sat next to her, "the woman could just have a bad stomach."
"I know, and I have thought of that, but it was the way she rubbed her belly, and the way he had his arm round her, and she looked dreadfully pale."
"Okay," he looked her straight in the eyes, "we'll deal with this, have a look, make some inquiries but you need to tell me what I'm looking for, instrument-wise."
She wrote down what she expected the florist to use to end unwanted pregnancies and a few that could be used but were not common in the practice.
He didn't ask how she knew this, she was a doctor there were things she would know that would make his hair curl! He put the paper to one side and slipped his arms round her.
She tasted of whisky and lipstick and smelt of jasmine with a faint overtone of antiseptic.
"God, Alice," he groaned, "we've got to get this wedding organised."
"Quick and quiet," she breathed.
He moved down her neck and under the collar of her blouse where he left a mark. She groaned and tipped her head to give him better access; her self-restraint was disappeared faster than his.
She slipped her hands down and pulled his shirt out, then his singlet and pushed her cool hands up his torso.
He wondered if she'd mind if he did something similar to her and opened the buttons of her blouse and slipped his hand inside her bra. Her nipples were hard with arousal, her breath came in short pants.
"Matthew," her voice was husky with desire as she worked the buttons of his shirt and pushed it open. He pushed back and allowed her to push it off and lift his singlet off, leaving him bare-chested. She admired natures handiwork and leant forward to flick her tongue over his nipples and taste his salty skin.
"Two can play at that game," he whispered, swiftly removing her blouse and unclipping her bra. He pulled it out from under her slip, pulled those straps down and bent to take one beautiful breast in his mouth. "Jeez you're gorgeous," he mumbled. She arched her back and threw her head back.
Usually they kissed and cuddled, touched over clothes, telling themselves they should wait until they were legally wed. He had experience, was no novice in bed, Alice – well that was a different matter. No matter how many of the male students at university had tried she had managed to stay untouched and when she started working in hospitals she was known to be somewhat cold. It wasn't through any firm upbringing, or religious belief she just didn't want to get a name for being easy, she'd seen it happen to other girls and women, being talked about, and heard about the gossip Jean had to endure, and Matthew wouldn't put her through that.
This time, it could be different, she told herself. They were engaged, they would be married and he was right, they needed to get that arranged, and if they were careful no one would know … would they?
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Her skirt was off, her slip went with it and she was left in her knickers and stockings.
"You are better dressed than me, Matthew," she smirked, slipped her hand down and unfastened his trousers.
"I am yours to command," he stood and let her pull the garment down.
He was so hard, Alice blushed.
"Al …?"
"Have you got any protection?"
"Well," he hummed, "I must always be prepared; are you sure?"
"Make love to me, Matthew," she stood up and wrapped her arms round his neck, "please."
Matthew was good at following orders and swept her into his arms, carrying her to his bedroom and laying her gently on the bed. He reached into the drawer in his bedside cabinet and took out the protection.
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She could not have imagined how tender he would be. He took his time to ensure she was ready for him. He used his fingers, first, finding her hot and wet; she bucked against his hands and reached for his erection.
He'd entered her slowly, at first, then gradually pushed further and waited. She'd gasped, it had hurt, a little, but now it was comfortable and she let him start to move in her. She began to meet him, stroke for stroke, urge him on, faster until her orgasm exploded around him and she bit down on her bottom lip to stop the scream of pure pleasure waking the neighbours. She was so tight around him he was glad they used the protection, he wouldn't have been able to withdrawn if he wanted to and he came with a roar.
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He got off the bed, finally, and went to dispose of the condom and brought a cloth back for her to clean up. There was minimal amount of blood that he was sure would wash out. She apologised.
"No worries, darling," he kissed her forehead, "are you alright?"
"More than alright," she smiled, "thank you." She sat up, "I have to go."
He frowned.
"I wish I could stay, Matthew, always stay here, but if I do …" she waved her hand in the air.
"Yeah, I wish you could. How about we go and see the registrar tomorrow, get this wedding arranged and you can leave that flat and move in here – after we're wed, of course."
"Let's do that," she agreed.
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They both dressed. He enough to satisfy the neighbours it had been a meeting for work, and Alice looked as if she had just dropped in with some paperwork. His comb had tamed her hair, she always carried lipstick and because their clothes had come off in the living room they were creased too much.
"Thank you for that, doctor," he waved her off, "I shall follow this up."
"A pleasure, Inspector," she waved back and drove off.
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The florists' shop was quiet when Matthew and a junior constable arrived. He had failed to come up with a reason to search the back of the premises but when the owner, Helen Murphy came through, wiping her hands on an apron he thought quickly.
"Ah, morning," he smiled, "I'm looking into an assault committed last night. According to our pathologist the weapon was something like a pair of secateurs or pruning knife."
"Really?" her eyebrows lifted.
"I was wondering if you are missing any pieces of equipment, just a general enquiry, you know, wondered if we could have a look round," he smiled.
"Oh, well, I don't think I'm missing anything," she stuttered.
"Do you keep that kind of equipment locked up?"
"Er, no, I don't; it never occurred to me that someone would use them as a weapon."
"Strange what people will use," he hummed, "so, in the back?"
She swallowed, but had no reason to deny them access, if she did they would be suspicious. As far as she could recall, all her 'surgical' equipment was cleaned but not put away. She followed them through and prayed.
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The back room was a riot of benches littered with secateurs, pruning knives, snips, buckets of flowers, spools of ribbon and string, rolls of paper and scissors – except for one table. This table was about as big as the one in the Blake's kitchen and scrubbed clean. He ran his hand over the smooth surface and found it free of dust or specks of soil and compost. He didn't think Jean kept the kitchen table that clean and he considered it almost surgically clean – probably because she worked for doctors.
There was a sink to one side with a bowl in it. The bowl was covered with a cloth and smelt suspiciously of disinfectant. The constable lifted the cloth out of pure curiosity; Matthew thought he'd go far; and called his boss over.
Matthew took the list that Alice had written the previous night, out of his pocket and looked at it and the instruments in the bowl.
"What do you use these for?" he turned to Helen, now very nervous, standing in the doorway.
"Oh, you know, floristry is complicated, Inspector," she chewed the inside of her cheek.
He lifted a long thin instrument up with thumb and forefinger. It was shiny, metal with a small curved end. Alice had described such an instrument as one that could possibly scrape the inside of the womb and disconnect a placenta.
"This?"
She gulped, turned and began to run out of the shop.
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With hindsight, Helen Murphy knew she wasn't going to get away with what she had done. Women and young girls came to her when they were in trouble and she relieved them of their burden. Her mother had done it before her and had taught her what to do. Nobody came back to her and complained about the service because it was illegal, and she never knew if the women had children later on, or had died. She didn't keep records, and she didn't take any payment, so, no, she couldn't give any names.
Matthew wondered if she would be able to say whether or not the girl Alice had autopsied was one who had come to her. He held up the photograph that had been taken for identification purposes.
She could deny knowing the girl, but her face said different, Helen Murphy had performed an illegal abortion on her. She knew nothing more than the girl had got herself into trouble and had come to her for help.
"How far gone was she?"
"'bout three months, she said," Helen hummed, "she said nobody knew and she wanted to keep it that way."
"What did you know about her?"
"Nothing. She was young, well dressed, spoke nicely, but I didn't know her and I didn't ask her name."
Alice had gauged her age at around seventeen or eighteen, no older, someone who should just be starting out in life, not lying on a mortuary slab.
Matthew sent Helen to the cells. It would be manslaughter; he signed off the file and set it to one side. His next line of enquiry was Mrs Bright and the daughter, Edith. It seemed strange to him that he would pay someone to do a job a family member could do, and probably without pay, being his daughter. Also, why hadn't they been looking for him after he had spent two nights in the cells?
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The whole truth came out when they visited the Bright house. The door was answered by a downtrodden young girl – Edith. She was wearing a tired dress, much repaired, under a grubby brown apron. Her hair was scraped back into a knot at the nape of her neck and she wore no makeup. She escorted them into the living room to meet her mother.
Mrs Bright was sitting on the couch, a blanket across her knees. She was thin, haggard, grey haired and on her knee was a small child of about five years old.
"So you've come," she waved Matthew and Bill to two sad and worn chairs. "Caught him, have you?"
"To whom are you referring?" Matthew frowned.
"Ern," she shrugged.
"If you mean your husband …"
"Some husband," she huffed, "what husband pushes his wife down the stairs and leaved her bound to that thing," she pointed to a wheelchair tucked into a corner, "and his daughter to raise his child."
"Edith?"
"Yeah, when he couldn't have me after the fall he turned his attentions to Edith, in the shop. When she caught with Freddie here, he pushed her back here and wouldn't even let her go to the hospital to have him. Gives us just about enough money to feed ourselves and lives over the shop." She turned little Freddie to face them and pulled a scarf from his face. He had a hare lip. Even Matthew and Bill knew that could be repaired, should have been done when he was a baby.
"And before you ask, he wouldn't pay for the surgery," she put her arm round the boy and held him tight. Despite the way he had come about, she still cared for him. "So, how did you catch him?"
Matthew saw no reason not to tell her how Bright had been caught and about the other young girls he had assaulted.
"What's going to happen to the last one?"
"She's going to be found a place where she can have her baby and then decide whether to keep it or to have it adopted," Matthew stood up, "thank you for your time, Mrs Bright, Edith; I'll see if the bank will release his account to you."
"That would be much appreciated," she nodded.
Edith saw them out.
"Thank you, Inspector," she almost smiled, "for not judging me."
"Why would I judge you, Miss Edith," he returned the smile, "you have done nothing wrong. Would you like me to ask Dr Blake to call; give you all a check-up?"
"Er …"
"I doubt he'll charge, Edith."
"I don't want to trouble him."
"You won't."
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Jean and Lucien were horrified at what Matthew told them.
"Of course there won't be a charge," Lucien growled, "Jean, perhaps you would come with me."
"Of course," she began thinking, "do you think they'd appreciate some of that stew I'm doing?"
"That would be kind, and I shall take a supply of vitamins, with me. We'll put them on our list and see if we can do something about little Freddie."
"And tomorrow we are taking Violet to Melbourne, remember."
"Of course, and calling on Jack?"
"Hmm," she sighed, "maybe."
Lucien reached over and squeezed her hand, "don't worry, Jean, I won't leave you to face him alone."
"Perhaps you can wait in the car?"
"Whatever you want, love," he leant forward and kissed her cheek.
They had found out where Jack was, the school he had been placed in, but seeing him was a step further on. All she wanted was to see he was alright, but she knew he blamed her for his predicament.
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"Miss Bright?" Lucien lifted his hat as the door was opened revealing exactly what Matthew had seen earlier that day. "Dr Lucien Blake, my housekeeper Mrs Beazley," he nodded towards Jean, "may we come in?"
Edith was stunned and just let them in.
"So nice to meet you," Lucien smiled, "Inspector Lawson said you might need a check-up."
"Oh, er," she blinked, "he was kind."
"Matthew Lawson is an old friend of mine, Miss Bright, he is, and always has been, kind." He put his hat down on the hall table. "Mrs Beazley has been cooking …"
"I hope you don't mind," Jean lifted the casserole dish, "only Matthew said you had been left …"
"He, I mean my father," she sneered, "was a mean old bastard – excuse my language – so, I er, I thank you for your kindness."
Jean just nodded, Edith now had the freedom to say what she thought and she thought a lot.
"My mother and Freddie are through here," she preceded them to the sitting room Matthew had interviewed them in.
Lucien did a thorough check-up on Mrs Bright, finding her in pain and undernourished. He checked young Freddie and found him undersized for his age and the hare lip in need of treatment and Edith painfully thin. He assumed she fed her mother and the boy before her.
"Right," he rummaged in his bag, "vitamins, for you two ladies, some for this young man," he chucked him under the chin …
"Oh, Dr Blake …" Mrs Blake gasped.
"There is no charge, Mrs Bright," he handed her a bottle, "this is for your pain, one every four hours when you need it, and if you will permit, I will schedule the surgery for Freddie's lip next week. Again, no charge," he smiled at their astonished faces. "What he did to you, and to the other girls was wrong. Freddie should have had his surgery shortly after his birth, so the repair may not be as tidy as I would like, but I will do my best. Now, if you need anything you must ring the surgery, anything at all. Medical I will deal with it, or my father, recipes or help with Freddie Mrs Beazley will be only too happy …" he looked at Jean, she nodded, "you are not alone, ladies …"
"Dr Blake, you have been so kind, just today, but …" Mrs Bright peered at him, he thought he might see of an optician could visit, "why?"
"I have seen much pain visited on one man by another, Mrs Bright, I don't understand it, and never will, so if I can help in any way, I would like to. Now," Lucien held out his hand, "may I add you to my surgery list, for no other reason than I would like to see you cared for?"
"Oh, I suppose that would be good. Ernest didn't approve of doctors, he said they were meddlers."
"Ah, there are such people, and there are such doctors. I do not propose to meddle, Mrs Bright, I just want to help."
"Thank you," Edith spoke for the first time, "I love Freddie even though he wasn't planned?" she tipped her head, "it's not his fault …"
"… nor yours, Miss Bright."
"… but he said he was an abomination."
"He has the most lovely eyes," Jean interrupted, "after Dr Lucien has repaired the lip take him out in the sunshine, or come and see me, we'll go out together, to the market?"
"Oh, Mrs Beazley, you wouldn't mind?"
"No, Edith, I wouldn't."
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"Jean," Lucien put his bag on the back seat of the car, "that was very good of you."
"What? To offer to fend off the gossips?" she huffed, "remember Lucien, I know what it is to be gossiped about, she did nothing wrong, she is the victim, so is Freddie."
He pulled over just down the road, turned off the engine and pulled her into a long, kiss, deeper and longer than any they had shared so far.
"Let's get married," he straightened his tie, "be my partner, in everything, Jean."
"Really?"
"Oh bloody hell, Jean, I love you, I love you so much because you are you, kind, strong and beautiful and I can't do this, this life without you."
"That's good," she wiped her lipstick off his mouth, "because, Lucien Blake, I have been in love with you since the time you took me to the harvest festival all those years ago."
"You have?" he eyes shot so far up his forehead she giggled.
"Yes, and that was when my mother told me to stick to being a farmer's wife."
"How wrong could she be?" he pulled her to him and kissed her again.
