Death in Daylesford Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  THE PHRYNE FISHER SERIES

  ‘Miss Fisher is quicker, kinder, racier and more democratic than any character from Dame Agatha … if you haven’t fallen for her yet, prepare to be seduced.’ —The Australian Women’s Weekly

  ‘Always elegant, always sophisticated, always clever and damn it always right, Phryne is the finest detective to be found in the 1920s.’ —The Ballarat Courier

  ‘It’s Underbelly meets Miss Marple …’ —Emporium

  ‘Miss Fisher as usual powers through this newest case with grace, poise and unerring confidence, the sense of underlying tension is palpable …’ —The Age

  ‘Greenwood’s strength lies in her ability to create characters that are wholly satisfying: the bad guys are bad, and the good guys are great.’—Vogue

  ‘Kerry Greenwood’s writing is always a joy.’ —Stiletto

  ‘Phryne … is a wonderful fantasy of how you could live your life if you had beauty, money, brains and superb self control.’ —The Age

  ‘Independent, wealthy, spirited and possessed of an uninhibited style that makes everyone move out of her way and stand gawking for a full five minutes after she walks by—Phryne Fisher is a woman who gets what she wants and has the good sense to enjoy every minute of it!’ —Geelong Times

  ‘Kerry Greenwood captures the 1920s style perfectly as she weaves crime and intrigue in the dark streets of Melbourne Town, together with the glamorous high life of the one and only Phryne Fisher … Step aside, Miss Marple. Kerry Greenwood has given us the most elegant and irrepressible sleuth ever.’ —The Toowoomba Chronicle

  ‘Fisher is a sexy, sassy and singularly modish character. Her 1920s Melbourne is racy, liberal and a city where crime occurs on its shadowy, largely unlit streets.’ —Canberra Times

  ‘Together with Greenwood’s witty and fluid, elegant prose, Phryne Fisher is a sheer delight.’ —The Toowoomba Chronicle

  ‘The presence of the inimitable Phryne Fisher makes this mystery a delightful, glamorous romp of a novel—a literary glass of champagne with a hint of debauchery.’ —Armidale Express

  ‘Impressive as she may be, Phryne Fisher, her activities and her world are never cloying thanks to Greenwood’s witty, slightly tongue-in-cheek prose. As usual, it’s a delightfully frothy, indulgent escape with an underlying bite.’ —Otago Daily Times

  ‘If you have not yet discovered this Melbourne author and her wonderful books featuring Phryne Fisher, I urge you to do so now … In a word: delightful.’ —Herald Sun

  ‘Elegant, fabulously wealthy and sharp as a tack, Phryne sleuths her way through these classical detective stories with customary panache … Greenwood’s character is irresistibly charming, and her stories benefit from research, worn lightly, into the Melbourne of the period.’ —The Age

  ‘The astonishing thing is not that Phryne is so gloriously fleshed out with her Lulu bob and taste for white peaches and green chartreuse, but that I had not already made her acquaintance.’ —Bendigo Advertiser

  PRAISE FOR

  THE CORINNA CHAPMAN SERIES

  ‘What a delightful character the unflappable baker and reluctant investigator Corinna Chapman is … Greenwood is a long-established and prolific winner of many crime-writing awards, already a fixture in the history of Australian crime writing … this is a charming, funny and affectionate portrait of Melbourne.’ —The Sydney Morning Herald

  ‘… the endearing Corinna retains her love of food, cats, gin and her tall, dark and handsome boyfriend Daniel … The clever, whimsical crime writing [is] precisely the charm of Greenwood’s off-beat series.’ —The Courier Mail

  ‘Greenwood’s easygoing style makes this a pleasure to read. Humour, courage, recipes and eccentric characters add to the enjoyment.’ —Good Reading

  ‘Lovers of Kerry Greenwood’s witty and richly sensual crime novels will not be disappointed by the latest adventure … told with Greenwood’s trademark wit and panache, as well as her delight in lush physical detail.’ —The Sydney Morning Herald

  ‘Cozy and comforting … the mysteries are solved with intriguing conclusions.’ —The Advertiser

  ‘Greenwood has created another vibrant character with Corinna … a woman who rises off the page as if the font was printed with yeast … Best enjoyed in a warm lavender bath with a glass of something suitably fancy.’ —Readings

  ‘Gentle, funny and filled with eccentric characters. This mystery is a thoroughly entertaining read.’ —Woman’s Day

  ‘Cheerful, enjoyable and absolutely incredible.’ —Good Reading

  ‘This many-stranded mystery is a rich reward.’ —Herald Sun

  ‘… there’s plenty to sink your teeth into.’ —The Saturday Age

  PHRYNE FISHER MYSTERIES:

  Cocaine Blues

  Flying Too High

  Murder on the Ballarat Train

  Death at Victoria Dock

  The Green Mill Murder

  Blood and Circuses

  Ruddy Gore

  Urn Burial

  Raisins and Almonds

  Death Before Wicket

  Away with the Fairies

  Murder in Montparnasse

  The Castlemaine Murders

  Queen of the Flowers

  Death by Water

  Murder in the Dark

  Murder on a Midsummer Night

  Dead Man’s Chest

  Unnatural Habits

  Murder and Mendelssohn

  A Question of Death: An Illustrated Phryne Fisher Treasury

  CORINNA CHAPMAN MYSTERIES:

  Earthly Delights

  Heavenly Pleasures

  Devil’s Food

  Trick or Treat

  Forbidden Fruit

  Cooking the Books

  The Spotted Dog

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First published in 2020

  Copyright © Kerry Greenwood, 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 978 1 74331 034 2

  eISBN 978 1 74269 800 7

  Set by Bookhouse, Sydney

  Cover design: Christabella Designs

  Cover illustrations: Beth Norling

  This book is dedicated to the glorious memory of Dougal, prince of cats; my sisters Amanda and Janet; and also my parents Jean and Al, whom I still miss more than I can say.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN


  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;

  But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.

  And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,

  Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

  Rudyard Kipling,

  ‘The Sons of Martha’

  It was a lazy, late summer’s morning in St Kilda. The early sun was no longer the copper-coloured furnace of January, and instead of beating at the window with bronze gongs and hammers was knocking respectfully at the shutters, asking leave for admittance. Without, the tide was gently turning, lapping over the mid-ochre sands of the beach and promising light refreshment for anyone wanting a matitudinal paddle. Last night’s windstorm had blown itself out, and through the open window drifted a cool, damp sensation of overnight rain.

  Phryne Fisher rose from her bed, wrapped a turquoise satin dressing-gown around her impossibly elegant person, tied the cord, and tiptoed towards the bathroom, where a malachite bathtub and unlimited hot water awaited her. Pausing at the door, she turned and raked her boudoir with a long, ever so slightly greedy and thoroughly complacent look. She admired the wickedly crimson satin bedsheets. The hand-painted silk bedspread (the Book of Hours of Marie de France, now wantonly disordered, with its scenes of medieval life carelessly strewn over the aquamarine Chinese carpet). The half-empty crystal decanter (with matching balloon glasses, both empty) whose contents had been imported at absurd expense from the sunny vineyards of Armagnac. The outstretched paws and arched back of the sleeping cat Ember, jet-black and sleek with good living. And the jet-black eyebrows and perfect features of Lin Chung, who arched his golden back and burrowed further down between the sheets. She admired his bare, muscular shoulder, smiled with a thrill of retrospective delight, and entered the bathroom.

  From her extensive collection of bath salts, Phryne chose the china pot labelled Gardenia and emptied a goodly pile into the shaped malachite tub. She opened both brass taps and watched as the twin torrents of water swirled and effervesced. A warm, fragrant aroma of English Country Garden caressed her nostrils. Phryne slipped out of her gown and lowered herself into the water. She surveyed her slender body with a certain level of satisfaction, her imagination still ravished by the previous night’s passion. A woman on the brink of thirty always nurtured secret suspicions of fading charms—even someone with Phryne’s armour-plated self-esteem. Yet, judging by her lover’s awed reactions and responses, it would seem that this was far from being the case. Lin himself was utterly unchanged by marriage. So many businessmen let themselves go; their waistlines expanded along with their incomes. Lin’s copper-coloured body was as smooth and strong as a teenage boy’s. The only sign of change she had observed was a small knot of ebony hair in the centre of his delectable chest, with the merest suggestion of a line of down heading due southwards. Her tongue had given this matter some considerable exploration the previous evening.

  Phryne grinned, and began to soap her person. I’m well and truly on the shelf now, and the world can watch me not care, she told herself. How fortunate that her idiotic father had shown the foresight to dismiss her from his baronial presence some years ago, otherwise she would have been visited with a plague of suitors of varying degrees of loathsomeness. For the English nobility, an unmarried daughter of twenty-nine was a matter of some uneasiness, somewhere on the continuum between Unsuitable Entanglements and Failure to Ride to Hounds. Her father’s threat to cut her off with a shilling for gross disobedience had been rendered toothless when, upon obtaining her majority, Phryne had calmly removed her assets from her father’s rapacious fingers. To compound his sense of disgrace, his other daughter Eliza had combined the twin horrors of Socialism and Unnatural Vice.

  Phryne’s opinion of her father had not been improved by this attitude. Socialism was frequently affected in noble families, and lesbianism could easily be forgiven in polite society given that Eliza’s Chosen had been of impeccably noble birth. Once you were in Debrett’s, unnatural vice was magically transmuted into Passionate Friendship, which had been socially acceptable ever since Lady Eleanor Butler and the Hon. Sarah Ponsonby had set up house together as the Ladies of Llangollen. Even the Duke of Wellington had visited them. Although that said less than it might, since the Iron Duke was renowned for not giving even one hoot for popular prejudice. Nevertheless, Father had broken off all contact with both daughters, and all his attention, such as it was, had been lavished on his son and heir Thos. Of whom the best that could be said was that the future Baron of Richmond-upon-Thames would be a worthy heir to the present one. Neither the present nor future lords would ever visit either Phryne or Eliza. Phryne felt she could moderate her grief.

  She sank down deeper into the smooth embrace of the steaming waters. It was so much easier dealing with the Chinese. Lin’s wife Camellia was a typical exemplar of Chinese womanhood: small of body and voice, discreet, self-assured and possessing a will of pure adamant. The greeting she gave Phryne whenever they chanced to meet was gracious, polite and filled with iron Confucian certainty. You are my husband’s honoured concubine and I trust you implicitly. You may walk through Chinatown in perfect security. Anyone who offers you offence may expect consequences of considerable severity, up to and including a small battleaxe to the back of the head. I, on the other hand, am Lin’s First Lady. I have my position, and you have yours. We understand each other perfectly.

  Phryne sat up in the bath and listened. Noises Off appeared to be happening. Since Dot was unlikely to outrage her maidenly modesty by attempting to bring her employer breakfast in bed when Phryne was Entertaining, this must mean that Lin himself was doing the honours, with the assistance of Mr and Mrs Butler. She climbed out of the bath, dried herself off with two towels of spotless white cotton, and wrapped herself anew in her turquoise silk robe. ‘Do I smell eggs and bacon, Lin?’ she enquired, opening the bedroom door.

  Lin Chung pushed a prodigiously laden tea trolley into the centre of the boudoir and gestured to the two cushioned seats. ‘Eggs, bacon and all the accoutrements of an English breakfast,’ he announced. ‘I believe there are roast tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms and sausages made from absurdly pampered pigs. There is also toast, Earl Grey tea, marmalade and strawberry jam. Will the Silver Lady join me at breakfast?’

  Phryne lifted the lids of the chafing dishes one by one and inhaled deeply. ‘I was scarcely expecting such luxury. How did you manage to get the trolley upstairs? Was Cantonese magic involved at all?’

  Lin folded his hands in an imitation of a stage Chinaman. ‘Ah! The East is filled with mysteries.’

  Phryne gently pushed him down into one of the chairs. ‘Well, yes, Lin, otherwise why would it be called the Mysterious East? But how—oh, of course, I forgot: the dumb waiter.’

  Mr Butler had of late come down with a serious outburst of Home Handyman and had installed a dumb waiter where one of Phryne’s wardrobes had been. Phryne had been about to object in the strongest terms when she recollected that Mr Butler was, it must be admitted, getting on in years and that, moreover, the day would inevitably come when Dot would finally achieve holy matrimony with Hugh Collins and might not be available to attend upon Phryne. Yet refreshments must be conveyed to the lady of the House in her first-floor bedroom. So, the dumb waiter had been installed, skilfully concealed behind a Chinese silk scr
een when not in use.

  For some time, conversation gave place to unbridled gluttony. It was not Phryne’s habit to eat breakfast at all, beyond a French roll and a morning coffee, but erotic adventures awoke her hunger for other forms of bodily delights. As Phryne closed the lids on the devastated remains of the hot dishes and looked with devotion at her beautiful lover, he reached out his right hand and closed it around her left. ‘Phryne? May I ask you something?’

  ‘Ask me anything, and I shall answer.’

  ‘Yesterday I saw Bert and Cec driving their cab, and as their fare debouched right in front of me, I enquired after their health.’

  ‘As one does.’ Phryne buttered herself another piece of toast and smeared it with marmalade. ‘And how did they respond?’

  ‘Cec looked inscrutable and muttered something, and Bert gave it as his opinion that he was a menace to shipping. What does this mean?’

  Phryne clasped his hand tighter and raised it to her lips. ‘It means he is in robust spirits. Your English is perfect Oxford, but I presume Australian argot did not feature in the curriculum at Balliol College.’

  ‘No, it didn’t. Is this like a bald man must always be called Curly?’

  ‘And a red-haired man is always Bluey. It’s similar, but … not quite the same.’ Phryne pondered for a long moment how Lin Chung had got along with the rowdy undergraduates, deciding there were several reasons why he would have flourished there. Balliol was one of the more intellectual seats of learning at Oxford. His imperturbable calm would have unnerved most of the bullies. And the whiff of serious money would have inspired automatic respect.

  As she nodded to herself, Phryne became aware that Lin was studying her closely.

  ‘You are perhaps wondering how I fared at Balliol, being so blatantly Oriental?’

  ‘I was,’ Phryne confessed.

  ‘It was largely trouble-free. Don’t forget I had Li Pen with me. Having one’s own servant in college lent a certain cachet. And …’ He paused and allowed himself a complacent smile of recollection.

  ‘And Li Pen was also available to chastise the rowdier elements under the influence of excessive alcohol?’ Phryne suggested.