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‘Phryne Fisher! Jane Fisher! What do you think you are doing?’
Margaret Fisher stood in the doorway, staring in horror at her daughters.
Phryne leant back on her heels, holding her dripping blue hands over the bowl of soggy items.
‘We’re helping, Ma.’
‘Are those Mr. Blewitt’s collars and cuffs, the ones I starched and ironed last night? Heaven help us, they are, and Mrs. Blewitt coming to collect at 3. I’ll never get them dry and finished by then and she’ll refuse to pay if I’m late and take her laundry elsewhere and she’s always been one of my best customers with her husband needing clean linen every day for work, which is more than can be said for your father and, oh, what am I to do?’ Mrs Fisher fairly wailed the last words, burying her face in her hands.
‘We’re … we’re sorry, Ma.’ Janey’s lipped trembled as she stumbled towards her mother.
‘No! Don’t touch me with those blue hands, either of you! Out you go to the pump at the double and rinse it off and then come back here. Now! At the double!’
Phryne grabbed her younger sister’s hand and dragged her out to the communal pump, whispering as they went, ‘I’m sorry, Janey. It was all my fault; I was the one who said we should help Ma by bluing the whites. I’ll tell her.’
But there wasn’t the opportunity to tell their mother anything when they returned a few minutes later, their hands dripping and less vivid, but still vaguely azure in tone. Mrs Fisher, having assessed the damage, had reverted to her brisk, efficient self and was in no mood to listen to explanations from either of her daughters.
‘Jane, here’s tuppence. Take the crockpot to McGilivray’s and get a penny bar of blue and the milk. Phryne, you take the bucket to the pump for clean water. You are going to help me rinse and clean Mr Blewitt’s whites. If we’re smart about it we might get them dry in time to iron and starch them again.’
Phyrne leaped towards the crockery jar on the table. ‘Let me go to McGilivray’s, Ma. It was my idea about the blueing…’ Her voice tailed away under her mother’s grim stare.
‘No, Phryne, you are going to stay here with me and put things right. Janey will go to the store.’ Both girls knew this was their punishment, each assigned the job she dreaded most.
Without a word, Janey took the coin her mother held out to her, picked up the crockery jar for the milk and walked out the door, shutting it carefully behind her. She could feel Phyrne’s anxious eyes on her back as she went. Phryne always looked after her, but this time she was going to have to do this on her own. She took a deep breath and started down the dusty road.
‘Yah, yah! Fisher girl! Watcha gonna do? Go to sea and drown!’ It was Wally Eckhart, red haired and freckled, dancing up to her and pulling her plait before dashing off again laughing. Janey clung tightly to the coin in her hand, knowing that if Wally saw it he would grab it off her, quick as a wink. She wished Phryne were with her. Phryne would know what to do. Phryne would have had a smart answer for Wally, then chased him up a gum tree, like she had the last time Wally had tried to pull her plait. Wally didn’t yell at Phyrne anymore.
Janey quickened her pace, trying not to run, which would only make Wally chase her, she knew. McGilvray’s general store was just around the corner, she would be there in a moment, just a few steps more… Panting slightly, she nearly tripped over the stoop into the cluttered interior. She had made it.
The store was, she saw with relief, empty, except for big Mr McGilivray, who leaned on the counter, arms spread wide, reading his newspaper. Next to his elbow stood a large glass jar full of multi-coloured lollies. For a long minute, Janey looked longingly at them. There never was any money for lollies in the Fisher household, not unless Phryne managed to earn a copper or two running errands, which she was strictly forbidden from doing. They had lollies when they went to stay with Aunt Prudence sometimes; Cousin Arthur always shared his, although Cousin Guy would tease and hold the bag above the girls’ heads, making them beg.
Janey was brought back suddenly from her reflections by Mr McGilivray’s voice as he looked up from his paper and spotted her in the doorway.
‘Now then, now then, it looks as if I have a Jumblie patronising my store today! To what do I owe this honour?’ Mr McGilivray smiled at her.
‘A … a Jumblie?’ Jane stuttered.
‘Aye, that’s right. ‘Far and few, far and few / are the land where the Jumblies live. / Their heads are green and their hands are blue / and they went to sea in a sieve.’
‘Oh!’ Jane blushed and glanced down at her hands.
‘Far and few are the lands where they live, so a great honour it is to entertain one, I should say. What can I do for you, Miss Jumblie?’
‘The milk, please, and a penny-pack of blue.’
‘Coming up! Pass us the jar then.’ Jane put it carefully on the counter, laying the twopenny coin next to it. Mr McGilvray disappeared into the back of the store, returning in a few minutes with the full jar and a neatly wrapped brown paper package.
‘Now then, will you be able to carry this with those blue hands of yours?’
Jane nodded.
‘Even if you are carrying a lolly as well?’
‘But I won’t be! There isn’t enough for a lolly.’
Mr McGilivray winked and tapped his nose.
‘Not every day that I get a Jumblie in my shop. Seems to me, I should do honour to the occasion and make an offering.’ He pulled out a piece of brown paper and opened the jar. ‘Now then, how about a blue one, to match those paws of yours?’
‘Oh, oh please, sir, could I have another one, for my sister?’ Jane could hardly believe her own daring in asking the question.
Mr McGilivray’s eyebrows shot up in an alarming manner. ‘For young Phryne, eh? I don’t see why not. Is she playing Jumblies as well?’ Jane nodded. ‘Well then, how about a green one for her?’
‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ Jane breathed. Mr. McGilivray dropped the sweets on to the paper and twisted it into a tight little bundle.
‘There you are, young Jumblie. You carry those back to your far-lands safely now.’
Jane slipped the package into the pocket of her pinafore with the bar of blue, picked up the jug of milk and, with a dazzling smile, left the shop. Mr McGilivray returned, with a chuckle to his newspaper.
Jane fairly danced home, never hearing Wally’s renewed catcalls. What cared she for Wally Eckhart? She was a Jumblie, a creature from a far-off land returning in triumph from a successful trading mission. She did not mind the weight of the full jar in her small hands. The packet of sweets rustled and crackled promise in her pocket. Just wait until she showed Phryne!
She slowed as she came to the door of the house, wondering if her mother would still be cross when she got in. But all was calm. Mr Blewitt’s collars and cuffs hung over the stove drying. On top of the stove sat the iron, heating in preparation, with a large pot set to boil next to it. Phryne was laying plates on one end of the table, while at the other her mother briskly rolled dumplings for dinner. Jane carefully put the shopping on the table.
‘Please, Ma, can Phryne and I play out back until dinnertime?’
Mrs Fisher looked up with a weary smile. ‘Thank you, Janey. Yes, you go play, but no more helping with the washing!’
‘Oh, no, Ma. We’re going to sea!’
‘Are you now? Well, as long as you are home by dinnertime.’
‘Yes, Ma! Come on, Phyrne!’ And grabbing her sister’s hand, Jane dragged her out to the back yard, where their washtub ship stood waiting to take them to the Torrible Zone and the hills of the Chankley Bore.