DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

1 Kerry Greenwood
cracked cups. There were three tables with splintery wooden
benches. The one window wept grease. Phryne gave up hope for
her stockings and sat down next to the bright pink shimmering
dress and the desperate face under the curled blonde hair. Mrs.
Hart dabbed at her eyes.
‘I haven’t seen him since I ran away,’ she whispered. ‘His
father was rough. Big bruiser of a man and he took it out on
me, but not on Joss. Never on Joss. He loved Joss. So I left Joss
when I ran, when he put me out on the street in my nightgown
for the last time. And where could I go but on the game? Never
trained for anything. Not a penny in my pocket. Nowhere to
go. Tillie took me in. Looked after me. When the bruises healed
I started to work for her.’
‘How long ago?’ asked Phryne.
‘Ten years. I used to send little presents to Joss, letters, too. But
they always came back unopened. His father was very angry with
me. Still is, I expect. No one ever defied him before. But I did,’
said Mrs. Hart with a trace of pride. ‘And, you know? Life as a tart
is a good deal easier than life with Vivian Hart. Silly name. A girl’s
name, but I never told him so. I didn’t want him to call the boy
Jocelyn because I thought it would be difficult for him at school,
and it was, but he did it anyway. Never listened to me,’ she sighed.
‘But every working girl’s got a story,’ she said. ‘I went looking for
you at the University but they said you’d left. Professor Bretherton
told me, he’s one of my regulars. Nice bloke. Real gentleman. Told
me Joss was injured and told me you could smuggle me in somehow
if anyone could. Then I saw you in the street and I thought
it must be you. Green eyes are rare with black hair.’
‘Why don’t you go and see Joss?’ asked Phryne. ‘The infirmary
would let you in, you’re his mother.’
‘I can’t, Viv’s there and he told me he’d kill me if he saw me
again. He means it. Came looking for me several times. The last
time he took on Sharkbait Kennedy and got a real larruping.
Tillie looks after the girls.’
‘Until they are of no further use,’ said Phryne. ‘I have
no moral objections to your profession, Mrs. Hart, but in