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Dear Ambiguouspace, I really hope you enjoy this! Thank you for your prompts; I hope I've done justice to them. Thanks especially for the crossover suggestion, which I knew was perfect the moment I saw it. I hope you like what I've done with your idea!
Note to the reader: I'd describe this story as gen, with references (some oblique, some overt) to Daisy/Amina and Hazel/Alexander. IMO you don't need to be familiar with the Phryne Fisher books or TV series to enjoy it, but if you are, I hope it adds to your enjoyment of the story.
Also: Hazel has redacted certain information for the protection of the war effort. It is possible she forgot to redact certain details that ought to have been redacted; if this is the case, she asks you to please maintain professional secrecy and forget you ever read them.
Part One: Teddy Finds the Body
Case notes by Hazel Wong, Secretary and Vice-President of the Detective Society. Also present: Daisy Wells, President of the Detective Society.
4 September 1943
I am writing this in our bedroom at Miss Fisher’s London house. I can only be here on Saturdays and Sundays – I lodge in [redacted] during the week – but I am so glad I’m here now. Daisy is nudging me, and of course I am so glad she is here, too. She is away so much, it could easily have happened very differently, in which case Ping might well be in jail awaiting trial for murder, and Teddy would have had to deal with everything by himself. Which is not good for any seven-year-old, especially one who has as much to worry about as Teddy does.
Luckily we were on the spot, as Daisy likes to say, and she is currently pacing around our room, fizzing with excitement, as if she doesn’t spend most of her waking hours managing and detecting spies of every kind.
I am less excited, partly because I am very tired and worried – this week marked our fourth year at war – but also because Ping is still in danger, although I believe she is innocent, and because Father will be furious with me when he hears about Teddy’s involvement. Assuming he ever – but I refuse to finish that sentence, because as Miss Fisher says, there is no point looking for trouble when misfortune is all around us.
Also, I hate dead bodies.
Here is what happened: Mr Parkin is one of several young men who come in and out of Miss Fisher’s house for reasons I can’t write down. There are young women, too (Daisy and I included!), but in this case it’s the men who have been causing problems. For a start, some of them are not keen on foreigners of any kind, even though their work demands that they cooperate with many foreigners all the time. I understand suspicion, but really, it’s very wearying to be watched in case you are writing notes to hand to the enemy rather than producing worked-out keys and indicator groups for these very young men to use next time they go to France, or Holland, or wherever they are going.
The other problem is that some of them see a woman who looks different, especially one who resembles a servant, and assume they can treat her in ways they would never treat Daisy or Miss Fisher, or even me. Ping has been here with Teddy for over two years, and has become proficient at fending off men who catch her in a quiet corner of the hall, chase her to the kitchen, or even venture up to her room.
Which is where Teddy found Mr Parkin when he went looking for Ping.
It really is extremely difficult. And if those men had focused on what they should have been thinking about (most of them are doing terribly brave things in France) rather than being very stupid about Ping, it would never have happened.
Also, Ping is braver than might be expected, but even so, walking into her bedroom to find Teddy covered in blood and a dead man on the floor was not pleasant. Luckily, she knows Daisy and I have experience in these matters, so came straight to our room, which is just along the corridor. Miss Fisher does not believe in servants’ quarters, and besides, we are at war – all the cellars and attics have other uses now.
She was holding Teddy’s hand, and I screamed when I saw the blood all over his hands and legs. I refuse to be embarrassed about this, although Daisy says I was being terribly feeble. She would do the same if she was confronted with Bertie covered in – there is another sentence I refuse to finish. Just in case.
At this, Teddy took my hand. “It’s all right, Big Sister,” he whispered, but his eyes were huge. “I’m fine and so is Ping.”
I looked from him to Ping, calculating how many people had heard me. Only a few, I decided; the house was fairly empty in the mornings. “Then why are you – where did all the blood come from?”
“What a silly question, Hazel,” said a voice from the staircase. “You can see perfectly well that Teddy and Ping are unhurt; therefore this blood must belong to someone else. A murder has taken place!”
I knew that voice and the unmistakable note of excitement it contained. “You’re back.” I smiled despite the situation. “It’s been months.”
“It’s been seven weeks and two days,” corrected Daisy, “as you know perfectly well. My Hazel, please ask Teddy and Ping where they found the victim so we can get on with solving the crime before the whole of London hears of it.” She glanced meaningfully up and down the staircase.
“In my room, Miss Hazel.” Ping was trembling but she still stood erect. “Please come and see. I don’t know how he got there.”
But when we turned towards the offending room, someone was already standing in the doorway. As we approached, he turned a pale face towards us and pointed a shaking hand. “Murd–”
A hand clapped across his mouth, smothering his yell.
"Daisy, Hazel," said George, his voice strained from the effort of keeping the other man quiet. "Up to your usual tricks, I see. What's going on here?"
"We were just coming to find out," I answered.
Daisy bounced past me and bundled George and the other man into Ping’s room. I followed suit with Teddy and Ping, although by the time we all crossed the threshold the room was extremely crowded. Especially since much of the floor space was taken up by the body.
Mr Parkin lay on his side. His eyes stared at something underneath the bed – or at nothing. His mouth was open and blood leaked from it, but most of the blood was soaking through his shirt, which was untucked without a sign of his jacket or tie. I couldn’t help glancing at Ping. I knew she could look after herself if she had to; in fact, our friend Ah Lan at home had insisted on teaching her defensive fighting. Was it possible that Mr Parkin had waylaid her and frightened or forced her to such an extent that she’d drawn a knife on him?
Ping’s teeth chattered, presumably with shock, but there was something odd about her demeanour. Behind the obvious fright, and her concern for Teddy, she seemed to be shining.
George removed his hand from the other gentleman’s face – the one who was alive, I mean. “You are going to be sensible now, I believe,” he said, with such confidence that the man nodded and kept quiet, gazing from the corpse on the floor to the maid and back. I recognised him as Mr Reddy, a friend of Mr Parkin. They were both in [redacted] section, and were scheduled to go out together in a couple of weeks.
“Now.” Daisy turned to Teddy. “Master Wong, please give us your report.”
Teddy straightened, and I silently blessed Daisy. Sometimes her unflappable attitude is exactly what a situation needs.
“I was looking for Ping,” he said in his soft voice. “I’m supposed to have lessons now, so I knocked, and the door opened, and…” He swallowed. “The man was there. On the floor. His foot stopped the door from opening properly.”
I suddenly came to my senses and pulled his face against me, ignoring his struggles. “You shouldn’t have seen this,” I murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I, Miss Hazel.” Ping was still shivering, but her words were clear. “I came in and found him kneeling there – and I brought him straight to you.”
“I was examining the body,” Teddy said into my stomach.
“You were far too close,” snapped Ping in a tone that reminded me of nobody so much as my mother. I suppressed a pang of anxiety. It has been so long since I've seen her, and she does not write.
“What rot,” Mr Reddy said. “Clearly this woman murdered my poor friend and left him here for the little boy to find.”
“Mr Reddy,” Daisy drawled, “I don’t think your presence is required now, but Hazel and I will need to interview you later. Don’t leave the house, please.”
"Come on, old fellow," George said, turning toward the door. "Let's find a bite to eat downstairs."
Daisy added, “In fact, this room is clearly not ideal for interviewing witnesses. We must repair to Miss Fisher’s drawing room at once. But this will mean leaving the body, which is also not ideal. We’ll have to put a guard–”
A floorboard creaked outside. There was a sharp rap at the door, and I jumped to open it, releasing Teddy. Only one person knocked like that in this house.
Miss Fisher looked as immaculately beautiful as ever. She is quite old, in her forties, but she has the kind of bone structure that ages well, according to the magazines my sister Rose has taken to bringing home from Deepdean. Her fingers are adorned with rings of such beauty that whenever I see her, I think of the lady in the nursery rhyme, riding to Banbury with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. For she shall have music wherever she goes, and that is a perfect description of Miss Fisher’s approach to life, even in wartime.
“What precisely is happening in here?” Her gaze slipped past me to the body of poor Mr Parkin, the blood on the floor, Mr Reddy, who was still held a little too tightly by George, and Daisy, me, Ping and Teddy. I saw her eyes narrow as she took in the blood on Teddy and Ping.
Mr Reddy tried to shove forward, and was impeded by George. Daisy drew a breath, but Miss Fisher held up a hand.
“Out,” she ordered. “All of you.”
Once we were all in the corridor, she checked us. “Is anyone hurt?” Her voice softened as she looked at Teddy, but he shook his head.
Mr Reddy finally broke free of George's grasp. “Miss Fisher, a terrible crime has occurred in this – this maid’s room.” He pointed at Ping, who shrank against the wall. “She must be apprehended immediately.”
“Mr Reddy.” Miss Fisher’s voice was sweet and deadly. “It is clear that something has happened. We shall discover exactly what that is through proper investigation.”
Daisy shifted beside me; she was bouncing on her toes.
“Who has a key to this room?” demanded Miss Fisher.
“I – I do,” said Ping. “But milady, the door was unlocked this morning. It must have been, for Master Teddy to go inside.”
“Did you lock it when you went down to breakfast?”
“Yes,” said Ping with all the assurance of a young woman in a foreign country who trusts nobody.
"And you haven't been there since?"
Ping shook her head. "No, my lady."
“Then please give me the key,” said Miss Fisher, “and we will all proceed to the lounge at the end of this landing, where we can be more comfortable.”
Ping glanced at me before handing over her keys. I nodded; my mind was working anxiously, afraid she or Teddy were about to be accused of a dreadful crime. But of course the first thing was to secure the crime scene. Assuming that the man had actually been murdered here.
I felt quite sick, and hurried Teddy in front of me along the landing.
“Now,” said Miss Fisher when we had all settled into an assortment of chairs, and she had settled onto a desk in the bay window. “Please will someone explain to me what has happened?”
Once again Daisy opened her mouth to speak but Mr Reddy beat her to it. Miss Fisher beat them both. “Mr Reddy, I will come to you. Miss Wells, didn’t you come in ten minutes ago after being away for several weeks?”
“Yes,” Daisy said, “but—”
“I will come to you shortly, too,” Miss Fisher said smoothly. “Now.” She looked at me (I thought I glimpsed a smile somewhere behind those perfectly straight features), but her expression grew serious as she turned to Teddy, on my left, and Ping, to Teddy’s left. “Teddy, my dear, am I right in believing you found Mr Parkin first?”
“I don’t know his name.” Teddy spoke steadily. “But yes.” He repeated the story we’d heard earlier, and something that hadn’t made sense then stood out to me. Mr Parkin’s foot had blocked the doorway - at least, it had the way Teddy told it - but we entered a little later, and this hadn't happened. Had the body been moved? Had Teddy moved it? It was impossible, surely. Daisy glanced at me, her cheeks still cooling after Miss Fisher’s rebuttal, and I knew she was wondering the same thing. But Teddy had no reason to lie; he was only seven, and he certainly couldn’t have had anything to do with Mr Parkin’s murder.
If Miss Fisher wondered about the discrepancy, she didn’t show it, only asked Ping to explain what had happened next.
“I saw Teddy there with the – on the floor,” said Ping, “and I took him away to Miss Hazel.”
Miss Fisher eyed her closely. “Did you know the man? Mr Parkin?”
"I had met him," Ping whispered.
Mr Reddy shifted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George glaring him into silence.
"When did you last meet him?" asked Miss Fisher.
Ping shrugged. "He came in as I was leaving the breakfast room. I left him there to get ready." Was her colour a little higher than usual?
"And what time was that?" asked Miss Fisher.
"I'm not sure." Her voice was so quiet it was barely there at all.
Miss Fisher leaned forward. "Try to think," she suggested. "The time now is half past ten." She gestured at an ornate little carriage clock on the mantelpiece. "You went down to breakfast at... when?"
"Half past seven," put in Teddy with an anxious glance at Ping. "She was with me."
"All right." Miss Fisher turned to him. "And did you go back upstairs together?"
Again Teddy looked at Ping, but she was gazing at the floor. "Yes?" he ventured.
"A lie," Mr Reddy said. "I saw this woman at breakfast - I came in with Parkin. But I did not see this young man!"
"I really-" I began, while George said, "Quiet, Reddy!" Daisy's voice carried over everything else. "Really, Miss Fisher, it's very bad practice to interview all the suspects together in one room."
Miss Fisher eyed her. Daisy held her head high, and I have to say I agreed with her. Perhaps Miss Fisher did, too, for she frazzled Mr Reddy with a glance.
"As I have already remarked, we will come to you, Mr Reddy. Now, Ping." She leaned back on the desk once more. "Do try to give me an estimate of when you went upstairs and where you have been since."
"I sent Teddy up to wash his face, milady," murmured Ping, "and I followed around five minutes later. I encountered that gentleman and Mr - Mr Parkin on the way out. I think it was about ten to eight."
"Thank you," said Miss Fisher. "And now, please explain where you were and what you were doing between ten to eight and the moment when you found Teddy in your room."
"I was getting ready," Ping said slowly, and..."
Beside me, Daisy's hand tapped the arm of the chair. Mr Reddy snorted. George once again moved to ensure he was between Mr Reddy and Ping. I sat forward, holding my breath.
"Milady, may I tell you in confidence?" Ping looked ready to cry. I tried to catch her gaze but she wouldn't look at me, or at Teddy, although she didn't refuse the hand he slipped into the crook of her arm.
Miss Fisher stood up. "Out, all of you," she announced. "Ping, you shall stay. The rest of you, do not stray more than ten steps from this door."
"Do you want me to stay?" I asked Ping.
"Oh no, Miss Hazel!" She squeezed Teddy's hand between her own. "Please, stay close to Master Teddy."
So we waited in the corridor for less than a minute, at which point Miss Fisher flung open the door. "You'll want to get cleaned up," she told Ping over her shoulder. "Both you and Teddy."
“Oh, but Miss Fisher,” Daisy burst out, “we must check them for…”
“Evidence?” Miss Fisher sighed and lit a cigarette. “Yes, we must.”
“I’ll go with them.” I stepped forward, catching a look of panic from Ping. “I know what to do.”
Miss Fisher wagged her fingers around the cigarette, rather as if she were a conductor and we her orchestra.
“Better not, Hazel. The police will need to be told, and while I and everyone in this room know that your little brother and his maid have done nothing untoward, it’s best not to, shall we say, give them an opening. Miss Wells!”
Daisy stood to attention.
“Take Teddy and Ping to my own bathroom. It’s one floor up, third room on the left. You’ll find what you need in the cabinet over the sink.”
“Yes, Miss Fisher,” Daisy said, as if she hadn’t explored every room in this house the first night she’d spent here.
As she led off along the corridor, I realised we hadn’t actually said hello yet. She'd been gone nearly two months this time, and whenever she disappeared, I never knew if I’d see her again. This is something I have had to get used to, as the best friend of Daisy Wells. The only thing that makes it a tiny bit better is that I know Amina, our friend in [redacted], would be certain to get word to us, perhaps even before it arrived through official channels.
My one great relief in life is that Daisy’s French accent is still terrible. One hears such terrifying things about the doings of the Nazis in occupied France; somehow I feel she must be safer in Egypt, even if she is fighting the occupying forces there, too.
Anyway, if Daisy was caring for Teddy and Ping, I knew she would deal with them kindly, if efficiently. And in the meantime…
“Hazel, do you have anything to add in regard to how you all ended up in Ping’s room?” Miss Fisher inquired.
“Only that we – Daisy and I – asked them to show us what they had found,” I said. “I hoped we could avoid creating a panic if it wasn’t necessary, but then—”
“I caught you all in the act.” Mr Reddy lounged against the wall; he was calmer now, or perhaps that was Miss Fisher's influence. She was his manager, after all. He wore a wry smile under a rather neat moustache, and suddenly I liked him better. “I raised bally heck, and now everyone knows. I’m sorry for that.”
“Yes.” Miss Fisher’s voice was cool. “And what exactly were you doing in that corridor, Mr Reddy? You had an appointment with me in drawing room one, which is on the ground floor. Also, you are…” She checked the clock. “Still twenty minutes early for our appointment.”
“I…” Mr Reddy flushed. “I only… that is, I had the morning to kill, and Parkin told me we could have a little fun with one of the girls, and I thought, well.”
"I see," Miss Fisher said. "And did this... girl, as you call her - did she agree to your little bit of fun?"
"Oh, I, er, I'm sure she..." Mr Reddy ran down under Miss Fisher's blistering stare. "I say," he said, gathering himself, "we're at war, you know, and..." He glanced at me without quite meeting my gaze. "Where's the harm?"
I no longer liked him.
"Wish I'd killed him myself," George remarked to nobody in particular.
“The harm,” Miss Fisher said, each word an icicle that seemed to puncture a different part of Mr Reddy’s body, “is when the woman is not in on the 'fun', as you call it. Have you and Parkin forced yourselves on anyone in my household before today?”
“I say, that’s a bit harsh, Miss Fisher!” He blew out his breath. “I don’t know exactly what Parkin had in mind, only that he wanted a bit of fun!”
“I see," said Miss Fisher. "I shall be speaking to my household this evening to learn whether any of them have had attentions pressed on them by you and others, and if there are any complaints, however unimportant you may judge them, Mr [redacted] shall hear of them. May I remind you that you’re in this house on my invitation? You hold a trusted position in our organisation; in future, I’ll make it known that unless you are explicitly told otherwise, while in this house you and everyone who does not actually live here – which includes Hazel and her brother for the foreseeable future – will remain on the ground floor.” She stubbed out her cigarette on an ornate plate. “I find I don’t have time for our interview today, Mr Reddy. I shall send for you in a day or two… unless I decide to hand you back to Mr [redacted]. Please leave.”
Paling, he stumbled to the door. As he reached it, Miss Fisher mouthed, “[redacted for profanity]” (I am being very careful about my journals at present, because May always ferrets them out when she’s home from Deepdean) and called after him.
“Mr Reddy! Do make yourself available tomorrow morning. You will need to be interviewed properly, along with all the other suspects.”
He nodded and closed the door carefully behind him.
Miss Fisher glared at me, but I have learned not to flinch at her mercurial temperament, quite apart from having had a lot of practice with Daisy. I sat and folded my hands in my lap and tried to list details in my mind for later logging.
“I wish someone would remind me why I am here in dreary old London, where even sugar isn’t available most of the time and the Germans are trying to bomb us out of our beds, when I could have been at home in Melbourne, or taking the waters in the hills and being read to by my daughter’s daughter.”
I knew the answer to that one. “Because you have the heart of a lion and you couldn’t let the war slip by without doing something to help.” The first time I’d heard these words, the speaker was Lin Chung, Miss Fisher’s lover, a word which is much less shocking to me now than when I first realised it applied to him.
Miss Fisher smiled, and the strain on her face retreated somewhat. “Thank you, my dear. All true, and yet it does seem very inconvenient sometimes. Pour me a brandy, won’t you, and we’ll wait for the lovely Miss Wells to return.”
I do not like brandy at all, nor Miss Fisher’s habit of drinking it at sundry times of the day and night – but it never appears to affect her badly. Perhaps it is the quality, since I know she has sources in the Ministry. The other Ministry.
At any rate, she sipped with satisfaction, set down her glass, and asked, “Have you heard from your nice Russian boy recently?”
“He’s American,” I said, although only because it mattered to Alexander, not to me. “And no.” I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, but really, it is so very hard to be using all my detecting and spy skills – to be working in a place where everyone uses them! – and not to be able to communicate with one of my oldest and closest co-conspirators. “I hope he’ll be in London again soon.”
Miss Fisher patted my arm, but she didn’t try to say anything comforting, which I appreciated. The war has been going for four years, and now it feels as if this is just how our lives are. Peace seems unimaginable, and terrible things can happen at any time.
Resolutely, I pulled my brain from where it wanted to go – to my home in Hong Kong, and to the unknown fates of my father, my mother and Jie Jie. Father’s last letter said they were safe, and I will have to be satisfied with that, even though it was six months ago.
Thank goodness Father was able to leave Teddy here, with Miss Fisher, when he heard the news of the invasion. Thank goodness for Miss Fisher’s generosity, when she realised that neither Daisy nor I had proper homes to go to once war had broken out, and when she broadened that offer to include Rose and May, and Teddy, and Bertie and Harold and George and… everyone. War is exhausting and terrifying and heartbreaking, but it would be infinitely worse without Miss Fisher providing a place of safety for us all.
Part Two: Daisy and I Investigate
Daisy fitted Ping’s key in the lock, and we shared a glance before she opened the door. We have done so much since those early cases when we had such trouble accessing our crime scenes, and when nobody except lovely Inspector Priestley believed we were more than schoolgirls. But even now, I hate this part, and I know Daisy loves it.
The door slid open smoothly, and I wondered again about Teddy’s story. He was too young to lie intentionally about something like this – although even as I thought this, I remembered my little sister May at seven, and wondered – but it was certain that Mr Parkin’s body in no way impeded the movement of the door. Daisy swung it as far as it would go, to check.
“Make a note, Watson,” she muttered, adding, “papers on the floor, bedclothes neatly made, everything put away, no signs of a struggle… body possibly moved. Write that down, too. Anything else before we go in?”
It was hard to drag my gaze from the corpse, but I did so. “Blood on the floor.” I pointed at two indentations on the rug, a few inches from Mr Parkin’s shirt tail.
“Yes, well spotted.” Daisy crouched. “See the rounded impressions, equidistant from the body, almost as if…” She looked up at me. “I think this is where Teddy knelt.”
I hated to picture him there, staring at what he'd found. “That fits with Ping’s description of how she found him,” I said dully.
“Yes, and didn’t he say when we were all here before that he’d been inspecting the body? I must say, Hazel, he shows great promise.”
“He’s only seven!”
“Which puts him in an excellent position to creep around a large house like this and hear things nobody expects him to. Why did I never realise how useful he could be? Oh, all right, Hazel, I can see you don’t like it, but you must accept that if Teddy is meant to be a detective you won’t be able to stop him. Just look at May.”
“Yes, and I hate that, too,” I snapped. “Father will never forgive me if Teddy gets hurt by some horrible murder mystery while he and my mother and Jie Jie are trapped in Hong Kong!”
“He won’t get hurt.” Daisy’s voice was muffled because she was checking under Ping’s bed, tapping her fingers along the rug. “This must be the safest house in London.”
“Daisy,” I said, “we are looking at a murdered man right at this moment!”
She looked at me again. “Quite right, Watson.” She displayed her hand to me, palm first. “And I’ve found a clue.”
It was just a rag, but it was rusty brown because someone, presumably the murderer, had used it to wipe away blood. “Ping would never throw that down there, no matter how shocked she was,” I said. “She’s extremely tidy. Look at this room!”
“She is,” Daisy said slowly, “but the other thing I know about her is that she’s extremely brave. Remember the way she confronted Mrs Svensson when we were in Hong Kong? She could have dropped that hankie and intended to pick it up later, before the clodhopping police inspected the scene.”
“But she wouldn’t,” I said. “Ping wouldn’t do this.”
“I do hope so. But you know, Hazel, she must go on our list of suspects until we can rule her out.”
“I suppose you’re going to say Teddy should be on there, too!”
For a second, I really thought she was going to agree, but she shook her head. “No, I don’t think it’s possible for Teddy to have done this, even in some kind of odd accident. Unless he was defending Ping’s honour?”
“Daisy!”
“Oh, all right.” She twisted the bloodstained hankie as she looked around the room. “Ah! More blood stains.”
A series of marks, each fainter than the last, trailed from where Teddy had knelt to the doorway.
“Teddy again, I think,” I said dully.
“And of course, he ran straight into Ping, so she has a good excuse for having blood on her,” Daisy agreed, “even if she was just coming back from the bathroom after cleaning up, having murdered Mr Parkin. By the way, Hazel, who was the other gentleman who left this corridor so hastily as I arrived on the scene?”
"I beg your pardon?"
She tucked the handkerchief into a little pouch and stowed it in the pocket of her cardigan. "The other gentleman who hurried past me as I reached the top of the stairs. Really, Hazel, observation has always been a skill of yours. I hope you're not letting it slip."
I thought back. Teddy had given me a nasty shock, appearing like that with blood all over his hands and legs. Ping had been standing there, too, her dress smudged where Teddy had hugged her. I was almost certain nobody else had been on the landing - but was my brain playing tricks?
"You're right," I said at last. "There was someone there. A man."
"Mr Reddy?" asked Daisy. "Or George?"
"No," I said. This was rather like decoding: uncovering a part of my brain that I didn’t know existed. “He was blonde and rather large, not like those two at all. It was-" I looked at Daisy. "Mr Robson."
"Ah." Her tone was pleased. "Large and blonde - that fits with the man I saw. He nearly bowled me off the stairs. I don't think I've met him before."
"No, he's quite new," I said absently. "But Daisy, we must tell Miss Fisher to summon him."
"We certainly must." Daisy looked down at the body again. "We must just have a proper look at this poor man first. "Eyes open… do you think he looks surprised?”
“Perhaps?” I’ve always found it hard to read the expressions of dead people, but I am more squeamish than Daisy.
“Cigarettes, matches, hanky.” She slid the items back into Mr Parkin's shirt pocket. “No cuts or defensive wounds on his arms or hands that I can see.” Gently she pulled away the fabric of the shirt. “Just the single wound between the left ribs, which must have either got his lung or his heart straight away. I do believe the blood coming from his mouth means it hit a lung. I wonder…” Daisy stood up and eyed me with rather more care than usual. “Hazel, do you think he might still have been alive when Teddy found him?”
“I don’t want to think that!” I cried. But it made sense of why Teddy had knelt, why he’d had so much blood all over him. “Oh, poor Teddy. Poor Mr Parkin.”
"It would explain the strange detail about the door," Daisy remarked. "Or it might, at least."
She was right. I covered my face with my hands, but I couldn't stop picturing the dying man, inching across the floor, perhaps reaching out for help, and my little brother staring at him in horror, facing all that imminent death.
“I think we’re finished here,” Daisy said, and patted my hands, pulling them down from my face. “Goodness, Hazel, you’re chilled through. Why on earth aren’t you wearing a cardigan?”
“I forgot to bring one with me for the weekend.” I turned for the door, eager to leave.
“Idiot! You can always borrow one of mine. Or better yet, Miss Fisher has an astonishing assortment of clothes for a woman only recently arrived back on this continent. Come on, let’s get you warmed up, before anyone else decides they need to muck up our crime scene.”
Ten minutes later, after a quick cup of tea while we conferred with Miss Fisher, Daisy went through the drawers in our room while I updated our case notes.
SUSPECT LIST:
Ping. Teddy’s maid. Mr Parkin was found by Teddy in her bedroom. The door was unlocked, although she says she locked it when she went down to breakfast. Since I know she has to beware of her privacy here, I believe her. She cannot account for her whereabouts. Note: IT IS POSSIBLE SHE IS BEING FRAMED, since the police may automatically be suspicious of her because she is not English.
Teddy. Hazel Wong’s brother. We do not believe he had anything to do with the murder, because he is far too young. It’s possible, however, that he saw or heard something important. The victim may still have been alive when Teddy found him.
Mr Reddy. Was on hand, but says he did not enter the room until we all went in there. He says Mr Parkin had invited him there to flirt with one of the girls - we do not know who. Which is disrespectful, but not the same as murder.
George Mukherjee. Arrived on the scene very quickly, but he is a friend of ours and very unlikely to be a murderer. Also, he seems protective of Ping and would be unlikely to try to frame her.
Mr Robson. Seen by Daisy Wells hurrying down the stairs away from the murder scene. Behaved suspiciously. Although if he wanted to hide, why not use the back stairs? Note: WE HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO SPEAK TO MR ROBSON AS HE LEFT THE HOUSE ON MINISTRY BUSINESS. WE MUST SPEAK TO HIM AT THE EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY.
Hazel Wong. Had opportunity but no motive, and did not murder anyone.
Miss Phryne Fisher. Is quite clever enough to have committed half a dozen murders without anyone (except the Detective Society) finding out, but is very unlikely to have murdered Mr Parkin. She is also in charge of both Mr Parkin and Mr Reddy (and Mr Robson?).
“Anyone else?” I asked Daisy. “Technically we could include everyone in the household, but if we do that the suspect list will be longer than the rest of our case notes put together!”
Daisy frowned. “I don’t like things being incomplete and untidy, but let’s leave it there for now. Here, try this. Bertie sent it to me last Christmas and I quite forgot about it.”
She handed me a wine-coloured wrap that made her look like one of the Kennedy girls, but made me feel a frump. Still, I decided after checking the glass over the wash basin that the colour rather suited me as well. I wished Alexander was there to see it, and then felt guilty and selfish for thinking about my appearance while he was somewhere unknown, in danger and... firmly, I stopped my thoughts before they could travel any further. I have had a lot of practice at this recently.
We were back in the first floor lounge drinking tea and nibbling some baking soda biscuits (well, I was) and waiting for Miss Fisher. A knock at the door announced George and Teddy, the latter looking stiff and starched in a fresh suit of clothes. I gathered him into a hug, and this time he didn’t resist. “Ping is having a rest,” he whispered to me. “Miss Fisher gave her a new room.”
“One with a better lock on the door, I hope,” George added. His jaw was set. “I don’t like the idea of someone getting into her room.”
“It’s disgusting,” agreed Daisy. “Men should know better than to treat any woman with such disrespect.”
“Most of us do,” said George. “Why, in Spain during the Civil War, relations between the sexes were quite equal. Do you know, it was generally up to the woman to decide who she, er, had relations with? Most refreshing, I can tell you!”
“Teddy,” I said rather wildly, “come and have a biscuit. George, you too.”
While I busied myself playing mother over the teapot, Daisy paced, making the floorboards creak so much that someone in the room below began banging on the ceiling. Daisy continued to pace, until Miss Fisher swept in like a queen.
"I've spoken to the office," she announced. "They've agreed that, given the sensitive nature of our work here, the police may be kept away until tomorrow afternoon.
We all sighed with relief, and Teddy and I returned to the biscuit plate.
Now it is bedtime, and we are no further forward. Our suspects are the same, and although I hate to admit it, we cannot exclude Ping from our list.
I only hope that Daisy and I can solve the case tomorrow before the police come clodhopping in. I am not usually as suspicious of them as Daisy (she can be very dismissive of some people for the wrong reasons at times), but in this case I am concerned that they may jump to conclusions and take Ping away without examining the case properly.
So Daisy and I will have to solve the mystery ourselves.
Part 3: Evidence Comes to Light
5 September 1943
I worried I wouldn’t sleep knowing that Mr Parkin’s body was just down the hall, but actually I slept well. One of the odd things about war is that I am constantly tired and worried, yet sleep like a log. Miss Fisher had a bed moved into our room so Teddy could sleep here, and that was all I needed to feel safe.
I dreamed of codes. It happens a lot these days; I spend three days a week making up worked-out keys and poems for the agents to use and two days decoding messages, and so quite often my dreams are awash with the rattle of machinery and the swish of silk, and the random letters that my brain reflexively tries to make sense of.
And when I woke up, I remembered something.
Teddy was sound asleep in his little camp bed. I pulled a blanket around my shoulders and crept across to Daisy.
It’s funny, but although we call this ‘our room’, we hardly ever sleep in it at the same time. Mainly this is because Daisy spends a lot of time abroad – in [redacted], although I’m not supposed to know that. I come here most weekends to keep an eye on Teddy, and of course during the school holidays Rose and May are here, too. Anyway, it seemed much longer than seven weeks since I had last looked down on Daisy’s pale, calm face unobserved.
I tapped her wrist gently: three quick morse code dots.
Her hand snaked up and seized mine immediately. “Watson,” she muttered, “what time is it?”
“The clock chimed seven a few minutes ago,” I said, and she sat up straight. We had two hours to prepare for our questioning of the main suspects.
Teddy sighed and turned over, snuggling under his blankets. I wondered how long it would take me to banish the image of him with blood all over his hands and legs.
“Where’s your casebook?” demanded Daisy and I hushed her.
“It’s here.” I pulled it from my pyjama pocket. “But Daisy, I’ve remembered something important.”
“Out with it, then!” she snapped. Daisy is a lot more patient with me than she used to be, but reading back over this account, I can understand why she was annoyed. Why do people always insist on saying something is important, or asking if they may ask a question, instead of saying or asking the important thing?
“The handkerchief you found,” I said, glancing again at Teddy. “I need to see it.”
She fished the packet from the inside pocket of her pyjamas, which were looking a little worn, even if they were silk. Most of England’s silk supplies have been commandeered for the war effort, so not even the most fashionable society ladies can buy it these days.
I took the packet carefully and turned it over. It smelled bitter and oddly salty, and I wondered how Daisy could bring herself to keep it so close. But I pushed beyond that, beyond the knowledge of the dead man’s blood that had soaked through it, and I knew.
“This is a silk,” I whispered. “Look.”
"I know it's a piece of silk, Watson," Daisy snapped.
I shook my head. "This isn't just any piece of silk. It's covered in worked-out codes - look."
She held it close to the lamp. “Are you sure? It looks like an ordinary handkerchief, or perhaps a signal flag.”
“That’s the whole point,” I said. “If the officer is caught, it looks like nothing at all and doesn’t arouse suspicion. Aren’t you using them in your section yet?”
“No,” said Daisy shortly. She and Miss Fisher had opinions about the way the [redacted] section was run, not to mention the whole of the Ministry.
“You will be soon, if Mr Marks has anything to do with it. He’s desperate to keep as many agents as possible safe.” I thought again of Alexander. “All the European agents have them now when they go into the field.”
Daisy jumped off the bed. While I rescued the handkerchief, she began pulling on clothes – apparently at random, but thirty seconds later she looked as elegant as if she’d been dressed by a Paris atelier.
“Come on, Watson,” she hissed. “We must establish whom that evidence belongs to.”
“How can we do that?” I asked, but I already knew. Once again, we were going to have to look at the body.
We halted outside Ping’s room – her old room – and Daisy brandished a hairpin. Before she had done more than poke it into the keyhole, the door opened.
Daisy is made of sterner stuff than I am in these situations, but even she froze. I did notice that the hairpin disappeared back inside her dress, though. As for me, I jumped away and clapped my hands over my mouth to cover a squeak. The logical part of my brain no longer believes in ghosts, but on the dark landing, with the knowledge of what was on the other side of the door, my brain was not operating on logic.
“Well,” said a voice from inside. “Aren’t you going to come in?”
We looked at one another. I nodded at Daisy, whose hands were still outstretched toward the door.
“Miss Fisher.” If an undertone can be said to sound breezy, Daisy made it so. “How interesting to find you here.”
“How utterly unsurprising to find you breaking in, Miss Wells. Come in – and you too, Hazel.”
Miss Fisher had shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday, but otherwise she looked utterly at ease. She reclined on the bed in a sumptuous dressing gown, and if you only looked at her face, it was possible to forget the dead body that lay alongside the bed.
“We need to search the body,” Daisy began, but Miss Fisher held up a hand.
“I thought you did that yesterday.”
“Yes, but we didn’t know then what we were looking for.” Her voice rose, and I looked anxiously through the open doorway. Teddy had seemed fast asleep, but I didn’t trust him to stay that way for long.
“Here.” Daisy brandished the evidence bag containing the handkerchief. “Hazel recognised this – it’s one of the new silks they’re giving to agents, isn’t it? I don’t know why [redacted] hasn’t been apprised of this, but I intend to find out! Anyway, we need to know if it belonged to the dead man. If not…”
“If not, it probably belongs to the murderer.” Miss Fisher sat up. “All right, girls. Consider me an impartial observer; I give you permission to search the victim one more time.”
Handing the evidence to me, Daisy crouched by Mr Parkin. He looked just the same as he had yesterday, except that the blood had congealed on his chin, making him look almost like a vampire in a story.
“Cigarettes,” Daisy murmured, “matches, coins, receipts, handkerchief… handkerchief.” She drew out a square of folded silk, a clean match for the one in my hand. “Just to be certain, Detective Wat- I mean, Wong, is this the type of silk you were referring to when you told me about the evidence?”
“Yes,” I said.
Daisy straightened. “We must interview Mr Reddy and Mr Robson as soon as possible this morning. And we must find out if either of them have mislaid their silks.”
Part Four: Daisy and I Unravel the Mystery
Mr Robson arrived first. I let Daisy take the lead, because she does enjoy it so very much. And also because sometimes it means the suspects underestimate me and say something stupid when I ask a question of my own.
However, Mr Robson made for an extremely frustrating suspect. He hadn’t seen anything the previous day. He’d gone up to the first floor to answer a call of nature, because the outside privies had been busy. He hadn’t seen Mr Parkin, or Mr Reddy, or Teddy, or me, or Ping. When Daisy pointed out that he'd walked right past Ping, Teddy and me, he shrugged and said he'd been in a hurry. I didn't want to believe him, but since I had forgotten I'd seen him yesterday until Daisy made me think about it later, it did seem possible.
He then said he had no idea why Mr Parkin might have been murdered. “He was a good agent,” he kept repeating, until Daisy gave up. She glanced at me, but I shook my head; I had no idea how to get through to him.
Finally, she pulled out the silk she’d taken from Mr Parkin’s body. (We had promised Miss Fisher we’d put it back in his pocket when the police arrived, but it was much nicer to wave around than the bloodstained one we’d found under the bed.)
“Do you know what this is, Mr Robson?”
He stilled. “Looks like a handkerchief,” he said calmly, but his eyes flickered to each of us in turn before settling on the doorway. “Look, girls, this is all very well, but some of us are busy with important war work, and—”
“Less of that, if you please,” put in Miss Fisher. “A lot of important war work takes place in this very house, as you know, and these young women are responsible for just as much of it as you are.”
He blushed. “Didn’t mean to offend,” he muttered.
“Everyone in this room knows what this is,” Daisy announced, ignoring the fact that she had been party to the information for less than three hours. “What we need to know is if you’ve been given one – which we will of course discover from your superiors – and if you have it with you.”
He looked at Daisy through narrowed eyes, for so long I thought he was going to continue pretending ignorance. Then he turned to Miss Fisher, who nodded.
“I won’t go into detail," he said slowly, his lips thin. "Apparently you girls know all about it already - but yes, I have one here.” He pulled it out: a pale reproduction of the others, frayed where he’d started cutting off the codes as they were used.
Daisy swiped it from him, frowned over it, and handed it to me. It was exactly like the ones I’d handled at work. I nodded at her, and we both looked at Miss Fisher.
“Thank you, Mr Robson.” She strode forward, hand outstretched, so that he was out of his chair and shaking hands and on his way to the door before he realised what was happening. “Please, if you wouldn’t mind, stay downstairs. There’s food and tea in the drawing room if you need it. The police may want a word.”
In the doorway, he hesitated. “The maid – Ping. Is she all right? She’s not a suspect, surely?” He blushed.
“Everyone is a suspect,” Miss Fisher said brightly, “even me.”
Mr Reddy was next. He was not in good spirits this morning, and smelled unpleasantly of brandy. I will never understand why some people smell rather nice after drinking brandy – my father, for example, who only ever drinks when he is being polite to his investors – while other people smell as if – well, I can’t think of a polite way to put it. But Mr Reddy smelled as if he’d been drinking most of the night.
Daisy went through the questions again, and like Mr Robson, he tried to be obtuse. Finally, she brought out the evidence bag.
He squinted at it, but didn’t hesitate. “Well, here’s mine.” He pulled a hanky out and made a show of mopping his forehead with it. “I say, sorry. Rather uncouth of me, didn’t think. But you did ask for it.”
Daisy held it out to me between a finger and thumb. I shook my head. I didn’t need to examine it closely to know it wasn’t what we were looking for.
“Mr Reddy,” Daisy said sharply, “I believe you know that isn’t what I meant. And I refuse to believe you don’t know what this is.” She shook the evidence bag in his face.
We had another tedious conversation about state secrets and women not being proper spies. It really was very boring, and even Miss Fisher was most annoyed by the time he had conceded that yes, he did know what it was, but he wasn’t willing to show us his own silk.
I was tired and infuriated by the situation in general, and by Mr Reddy in particular. He had been rude to Ping, patronising to Teddy, dismissive of Daisy and me - and he'd been in a perfect position to commit the murder himself. I decided it was time to call his bluff.
“Mr Reddy,” I said, and he swivelled to look at me. I think he had forgotten I was in the room. “We know you stabbed Mr Parkin. What we don’t know is why. You seemed to be friends.”
He gave a choked cry; it took me a second to realise he was shouting the word ‘friends’. His face crumpled. “Friends!" he repeated. "What the bally hell is one supposed to do when one realises one’s friend is a damned traitor?”
The word rang in the silence. Daisy and I looked at one another.
Miss Fisher stared at him, turning one of her rings over and over around her finger. “What one does,” she said slowly, “is take it to one’s superiors.”
“Who would’ve let him carry on,” Mr Reddy said bitterly. “I’ve seen it before. They know a fellow’s blown, but they can’t let the enemy know they know, so they just let things drag on, while good men and women are murdered.” He doubled over in his seat and pulled his arms over his head. “Sorry, I…” His voice, muffled as it was, sounded desolate. “I had to do it. I couldn't see any other way.”
We all gathered for lunch – except for Mr Reddy, who had been taken somewhere in the company of several large men who looked like policemen but apparently weren’t. At least, they weren't part of the proper force. I do not know what will happen to him, and I don’t want to think about it. If he hadn't done what he did, he might well have died or been captured as soon as he landed in France alongside Mr Parkin, so he certainly had good reason for doing what he did. But I can't forgive him for trying to frame Ping, who had never done him any harm at all. He admitted once he began confessing that he'd acted on the spur of the moment yesterday. He'd had concerns for a long time, but it wasn't until he came back to [redacted] that he realised his suspicions were justified. Mr Parkin had led him upstairs, intending to play a trick (I shall assume nothing worse, since he is dead and unable to defend himself) on one of the maids. He had a special key, which he said would open any door, and he proved it by opening every door on that landing - mine would have been next! Mr Reddy seized the moment to shove him into the nearest room, which happened to be Ping's, and stabbed him. His silk must have slipped out of his pocket, or perhaps Mr Parkin grabbed it, and in the struggle, Mr Reddy didn't notice. He didn't say so, but Daisy and I concluded that he was returning to Ping's room to retrieve his silk when we met him.
He is a murderer, but so was Mr Parkin, and that is even more horrible. Traitors exist, of course, and logically some of them must be among us. And of course, there is always the risk that agents might be caught in the field and their codes stolen, allowing the Nazis to transmit misleading messages pretending to be them. I suppose that is what Mr Reddy meant by HQ carrying on as if nothing had gone wrong. Sometimes those in charge hate to believe their plans have gone wrong through human error or ill luck.
But with Mr Parkin it feels different. How could he have worked so coldly, betraying one agent after another? I can’t understand it. And I can’t stop thinking about Alexander, and all the other agents in France and Holland and Poland and everywhere else, and wondering how many of them have been endangered by his treachery.
Thank goodness for food. We ate roast mutton, produced like sorcery by Miss Fisher's housekeeper, Mrs Catton, accompanied by potatoes and parsnips, and for after there was a sort of vanilla pudding that tasted mostly of oats but was still a comfort. I will never stop missing proper custard, but I’m getting quite accustomed to war food these days.
Teddy cleared his place and looked hopefully around for more. Technically there wasn’t anything left, but I saw Mrs Catton winking at him and knew he’d find his way to her kitchen soon enough. On either side of him, Ping and Mr Robson ate with downcast eyes, but they kept sneaking glances at one another, looking away before the other caught them at it.
It was an open secret now that they were having a love affair. Mr Robson had been in the first floor lounge with Ping during that missing hour. Teddy had found Mr Parkin in Ping's room, and worried that Mr Robson had done it, because although he is only seven he notices things like that. Ping had told Miss Fisher she was with Mr Robson. Daisy and I had worked it out. But none of us said anything openly. I told myself it was Ping's business until she decided to share it with me.
It was left to George and Daisy to carry the conversation, which they did with aplomb, even if there were rather a lot of abortive sentences, because the problem with spies is that we all know such a lot, but we all know different secrets and must be careful never to disclose them between ourselves.
It was rather a relief when Mrs Catton collected the plates and I began to think of returning to Bletchley. I wondered if I should engage a tutor to keep Teddy out of mischief. Ping is all very well, but the past twenty-four hours have shown she can't watch him all the time, and it isn’t fair on either of them to expect her to do so. Besides, she has regular days off, and when the war is over – and it will be over, however much it feels like a constant at the moment – Father will expect me to have looked after Teddy as a young man should be looked after. I can't bear to send him to boarding school, not yet, but I made a mental note to ask my colleagues about any brothers or boyfriends who aren't well enough to enlist or have been invalided out, and who might be suitable for Teddy.
Mrs Catton popped her head around the door. “Miss Hazel, there’s a gentleman here for you. I’ve shown him into the drawing room.”
I hurried to my feet. “Mr Stephens, I expect,” I said to the rest of the party, because he did occasionally call for me and sundry other Bletchley ladies on his way up there on Sunday afternoons. It made for a long journey by car, but a more reliable one than the train and the tube, even in these quiet days of the war. “I’d better get my things.”
But when I pushed open the drawing room door, the man waiting for me wasn’t Mr Stephens. He was tall, much thinner than I’d ever seen him, and his blond hair had recently been shaved. That was all I noticed before I ran to him, and burst into tears, and buried my face in his chest.
“Hazel, my Hazel,” he murmured into my hair.
“I’ve been so worried,” I managed, and he kissed my forehead, then the spot between my brows, and then my eyelashes, until I raised my face so he could kiss me properly.
Some time later, I became aware of a scuffle close at hand. “Oh Hazel, you are so very soppy sometimes,” Daisy announced from the doorway. “Alexander, welcome back! Please don’t stay away so long next time.” But she shook his hand hard, and kissed me on the cheek, and I knew she forgave me for loving Alexander as much as I loved her.
“I have to get back to Bletchley,” I mourned.
“I’ll take you,” he said instantly. “Er, though I don’t have a car.”
“I’ll get a car from the Ministry,” said George, coming forward with his hands outstretched. Alexander let go of me, or some of me, to hug his friend, and for a moment we were all laughing, even Daisy, and I didn’t understand why my tears kept falling.
“I shall drive us all there,” Daisy said grandly, “in Miss Fisher’s Bentley.”
“Oh, will you?” demanded Miss Fisher. She reclined in the doorway, a cigarette lolling in one hand. Smiling brilliantly, she added, “In normal circumstances, the person I’d trust most to drive my pride and joy would be Hazel. But not today, I think. Daisy, you may drive there, and George can bring her back. One scratch, and your superiors will hear of it.”
An hour later, Alexander and I climbed into the back of Miss Fisher's Bentley and I turned back to the driveway. “Teddy, be good!” I ordered him. “Please, no more excitement before next weekend.”
“I’ll be good, Big Sister,” he promised, but after what he’d witnessed yesterday, I was almost relieved to see mischief glinting in his eye.
I looked at Ping, and wished I’d had a chance to talk properly to her before I left. I tried to project everything in a smile instead. A letter would have to do, and was perhaps even better, because it was private – as long as Teddy didn’t read it.
Alexander tugged my hand gently, and I snuggled luxuriously against him. In the front, Daisy and George were already arguing about the route.
“Goodbye,” I called again. “Thank you!” I wasn’t sure who I was thanking, really, but as the car turned a corner, jolting over each pothole, I saw Miss Fisher still watching from the drive, Teddy and Ping waving alongside her, and I thought how lucky I was to have a home and people I loved close by, at a time when so many people were missing both of these things.
"Daisy, you idiot!" George exclaimed as we shot through a junction. I squeezed Alexander's hand, and laughed.
Afterword
Between Silk and Cyanide by Leo Marks is an account of the author's attempts to make life safer for SOE agents during World War II. At one point (I think in 1942/3) an agent in France could expect to last for six weeks before their cover was blown. In the worst times of the war, their life expectancy was horribly short. I'm fairly sure I've taken liberties with the time when silks were introduced (I believe agents were being given them by the time this story is set, but I don't think it was routine yet), but there's no doubt that they were much safer for agents to use than earlier methods for transposing messages into code. The title of this story is a tribute to Marks's book, which is a fascinating read.