Urn Burial Read Online Free Page B

matter?’
    ‘It’s Lina. I’d only say this to you, Phryne, because you rescued the girl. She’s still in hysterics and can’t tell us anything about what happened –
    every time someone asks her a question she starts to cry again.’
    ‘She avoided actual violation, Dot said.’
    ‘Yes, but she’s been mauled about and bruised black and blue. Can you tell me what happened?
    Tom should have called me last night but I had a terrible headache and I went to bed early.’
    Phryne told her hostess all that she could recall 23
    of the previous evening. Evelyn sighed.
    ‘I can’t get Tom to take it seriously,’ said Phryne.
    ‘Neither can I. He just keeps chuckling on about rural lovers so I have to restrain myself from throwing a hairbrush at him.’
    Phryne began to like her hostess. She herself had just refrained from throwing a full set of fire irons at the incomprehensibly obtuse Tom and his rustic romances.
    ‘You say you heard a shot – just one?’
    ‘Yes. I asked Mr Lodz, but he didn’t hear it. He said he was writing.’
    ‘You know what poets are.’ Evelyn’s face brightened. ‘Such a nice man, a good guest. He’s terribly amusing and speaks five languages. He hasn’t got very far with his book, though. He keeps going back to poems that Tom thought were finished and altering them. Publishers have to get used to writers, I suppose.’
    ‘And writers used to publishers. It can’t be easy for either of them. Now, can I help? Can I talk to Tom again?’
    ‘If you like, Phryne, but it won’t be the least use.
    He doesn’t want to take this seriously. Mrs Hinchcliff is most upset; the stores haven’t come, the butcher’s boy is late and I’ve managed to upset you, Phryne, about Mr Lin. And now the river’s rising again. Oh, dear, here I am boring on about my problems. I do beg your pardon. What would you like to know? The usual, I expect. Lunch is at one, just a light meal. Dinner is at eight, evening 24
    dress if you please. If we are up late, we have supper at eleven. Are your rooms comfortable?’
    ‘Yes, very,’ said Phryne truthfully.
    ‘Perhaps you might like to boat. There is the boathouse – it’s never locked.’ She indicated a small shed on the riverfront. ‘But do take care. As I said, the water’s rising. We are going to the caves tomorrow, that might be an agreeable outing.
    There’s good walking that way, and I’m sure Tom will lend you a horse if you would like to ride. It’s a bit too cold for bathing, though Jack and Gerry go out bravely every morning for a cold plunge.
    Such nice boys. Now, who haven’t you met?’
    Taking Phryne firmly in tow, Mrs Reynolds conducted her to another rustic seat where an old woman was crocheting. Her fingers moved like bone shuttles, so easy and automatic was the movement. It was a small garment of some kind, perhaps for a baby. The lady was dressed in a tweed skirt, sensible shoes, and a pale-blue fluffy jumper. Her long white hair was coiled into a neat bun. She looked up, her face soft and undistinguished.
    ‘Miss Fisher?’ asked an old voice. ‘I’m Miss Mead, Miss Mary Mead. Delighted to meet you,’
    she said, summing Phryne up, from Russian leather sole to close-cut cap of black hair in one comprehensive glance. ‘Are you looking for your Mr Lin? He’s in the house, I believe, with Mr Reynolds.’
    Miss Mead was watching Phryne’s face, and seemed disappointed when she did not react. ‘Too 25
    kind,’ said Phryne meaninglessly, preserving her blank expression. Evelyn led her on to another old lady, this one of the acidulated sort. She was dressed entirely in black, with a skirt down to her feet and sleeves down to her wrists, collar high about her neck, and perched on her head was probably the very last rusty black bonnet in captivity.
    ‘This is Miss Fisher, Miss Cray.’
    ‘Did you bring the Chinese with you?’ asked a sharp voice, very suddenly. ‘Is he a mission boy?’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Phryne,