Queen of the Flowers : A Phryne Fisher Mystery by Kerry Greenwood

Author:Kerry Greenwood [Greenwood, Kerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, A Phryne Fisher Mystery
ISBN: 9781742379654
Google: M5TtLpTIiiQC
Amazon: 1743109652
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2009-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

Her mother’s got eight children. Her father works on the railways. He’s not perfectly sober, Father O’Brian says.’ Dot always got a little flushed talking to priests. This one had been old and Irish and not disposed to judge humans too harshly.

‘But not a bad or neglectful man. Mrs Ryan has a job in a hotel.

All the other children are at school except for little Mary, and that’s why they jumped at a job where Bridget could take Mary with her. Mrs Ryan lost a baby in the care of a baby minder and she won’t hear of Mary being minded. Miss, the priest asked me if Bridget was in moral danger in that house. I said I’d have to ask you. Is she?’

‘I don’t believe so, Dot. Not for the time being. Now, come along, ladies, a nice cup of tea is what we need. You would have liked the lantern show, Dot. Would you like to go tonight? You could take Hugh with you if you’re feeling nervous.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Dot. Even Dot’s own mother, a censorious woman, could not object to a lantern show about the Holy Land. And she hadn’t seen Hugh for a week.

‘Good. I need to ring Lin. You have first go at the phone.’

Phryne toyed with the idea of taking Ruth into her parlour and making her tell Phryne what was on her mind, but gave it away. Forced confidences were not valuable. Ruth would tell her eventually.

The tea table was laid. Mr Butler waited until he heard Phryne coming downstairs after taking off her hat, and then he began pouring. There were small iced cakes. Jane brought the box of Haighs Superfine in which the clever chocolates, rewards for a clever question or answer, dwelt, and was allowed to choose one. She was in luck; it was her favourite, an orange cream.

Roused by the clatter of cups, James Murray woke and for a moment wondered where he was. In a lady’s house, by the sound of the voices and the tinkle of teaspoons. He was warm and lying in a luxurious bed, perfectly free of leaks, waterstains, rats or lice. He was clean. He looked at the jazz-coloured curtains and the little pictures of street children all around the walls. Of course. Phryne Fisher had rescued him.

He dressed in his clean shirt—that Chinese laundry was quick and there wasn’t a crease in it, they had even got the oil and tomato sauce stains out—and went in to see if anyone felt like giving him a cup. Preferably with tea in it.

They did. He sat down and drank and ate an iced cake.

‘Do you have a family, Mr Murray?’ asked Jane. James beamed. He could have kissed her. Just the question he hoped she would ask.

‘Ah, there’s my Maggie,’ he said, digging in his pocket for his wallet and extracting a picture which he handed to Jane. ‘She’s waiting for me this moment, wondering where I am. But I’ll be back with her soon.

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