DEATH BEFORE WICKET - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Death Before Wicket 1 1
s-she ought to be quite prostrated, and s-she was proposing to
go to a ball, he thought. Every muscle in Professor Brazell’s body,
including quite a few of whose existence he had previously been
happily unaware, twinged at once and he gave a complicated,
wet, all-over wince.
‘Would you mind terribly much if I just lay down and s-slept?’
he asked. ‘For about three thousand years?’
‘Not in the least,’ said Phryne promptly. ‘In that case, I shall
have a brief nap and you can go byes and I’ll come back later. Dot!’
she called, then remembered that Dot was not among those present.
‘Of course, she must still be with Mrs. Hart. Never mind.’
‘Did you s-say Mrs. Hart? I didn’t know that Mr. Hart had
married again.’
‘He hasn’t, it’s Joss’ mother.’ Phryne rinsed foam off her face.
‘I thought Joss Hart’s mother was dead.’
‘No, she’s been somewhere else.’
‘Phryne.’ Brazell grabbed the edge of the bath and wrung out
his beard. ‘S-So did Joss Hart.’
‘What?’ Phryne sat up abruptly and a bow wave sloshed onto
the marble floor.
‘His father told him that his mother went to London and
died there,’ said Brazell. ‘It’s a very affecting s-story. He told me
all about it. S-She’s been missing s-since he was a little boy.’
‘That’s what Adam told me, too, now that you mention it.
Oh, lord, what a tangled web we weave,’ sighed Phryne. ‘Well,
either he’ll recognise her or he won’t and there’s nothing we can
do about it now. Are you clean, Edmund dear?’
A face like a Roman coin turned to her and smiled bravely.
Perhaps Brazell was a little mature for these athletic games,
Phryne reflected. However, with any luck he would be back in
mid-season form with a little rest.
Meanwhile she had a costume which would astonish even at
the Artist’s Ball and she meant to wear it. The silk body stocking
would conceal her bruises and the costume itself was daring,
verging on indecent, without being actually obscene enough to
attract police prosecution.