Do you see the man polishing the silverware in the kitchen of that lovely house in Melbourne, my friends? That man is Mr. Butler. True to his name Mr. Butler is a butler, working for the owner of the house: Miss Phryne Fisher. If you're willing to grant me a few minutes of your precious time, I'll tell you a little tale about Mr. Butler. A tale I hope you will find both entertaining and thought-provoking.
You see, Mr. Butler is a man with many talents and they extent far beyond those a butler needs to deal with his usual tasks. His talents are rather special. Not only does he know exactly when Miss Fisher is in need of a drink and which drink it is she needs or is in the mood for, he knows of other needs and desires of his employer, too.
And his talents don't stop at knowledge. Mr. Butler has Power. Great Power, so great it deserves, no, demands to be capitalised. Mr. Butler has the Power to make things happen. His is a power I can only describe the effect of, but I can not explain to you how he brings things about, I simply do not know.
What things can he make happen, you ask? Well, let me give you an example: Mr. Butler can make it rain.
Now how would rain aid Miss Phryne Fisher? Is her garden on the verge of dying for a lack of rain? No, my friends. The rain is a means to achieving something completely different: Company for Miss Fisher on a lonely evening, which admittedly is not a common occurrence.
But you see, Miss Fisher is at home alone tonight – except from Mr. Butler of course. She's in her parlour, running her hand along her bookshelf, occasionally taking out a book, opening it to a random page, then putting it back without really noticing any of the words.
Dot has gone out to see a film with Hugh and there is no social event tonight to keep her entertained, either. Not that she would be in the mood for it if there was one. No, it is a totally normal and even a little boring evening. It would be perfect for settling down with a good book.
There is a problem, though: Phryne Fisher is restless this evening. She is not in the mood for reading, she longs for something else: company. But not any company, no, she's thinking of a specific person, but would not admit it to anyone let alone call him and invite him over. Yes, him. Can you guess? Why, the good Inspector Jack Robinson of course.
As her employee, Mr. Butler can't just ignore her unwillingness to act on her wish for his company and call the inspector behind her back. She might not forgive him for overstepping the boundaries of his position - or maybe she would. But it would require explanations he's not willing to give.
Mr. Butler knows many things, though, not only about his employer. He for example knows that Inspector Robinson is in the area at this moment. Not due to any special talent, but because Constable Collins mentioned to Dot how grateful he was that the inspector had let him get away for the date though they still had to interview someone just a few minutes walking distance from Miss Fisher's home.
Well, I already told you Mr. Butler can make it rain. And that is what he does once he thinks enough time has passed so that the inspector should have left whomever he was visiting: Mr. Butler makes it pour down.
He has timed it well, Inspector Robinson has not walked far from the person's home when it starts dumping on him seemingly out of nowhere. 'Odd, it hadn't looked like rain at all,' he thinks as he pulls his hat deeper into his face and flips the collar of his coat up. Of course there's no taxi when you need one and he is not in the mood to stay out in this torrential rain for a second longer than need be waiting for one.
For a brief moment he considers going back to the house he left only a few moments ago, but he wasn't exactly made welcome there the first time around, so going back is not something he wants to do.
There is another option for him, though: Miss Fisher lives only two streets away. Without giving it another thought, he hurries in that direction.
And so it happens, my friends, that due to Mr. Butler making it rain, a few minutes later Phryne Fisher replaces yet another book on the shelf before she turns towards the hall-door from where she heard a familiar voice and through which she can see Jack Robinson shrugging out of his dripping wet coat.
"Jack!" She exclaims delightedly and walks over to the door to greet her unexpected visitor.
Hearing her voice, Jack looks up and finds himself facing her, amazed as always at her beauty. "Phryne," he returns her greeting, the use of her first name serving as a signal that he hasn't come in any official capacity.
Phryne takes in his wet trouser-legs and shoes. "Mr. Butler, a drink for Inspector Robinson, if you please," she requests unnecessarily as Mr. Butler already is on his way to the drinks tray.
Sitting down on her divan, pulling her legs up underneath herself, Miss Fisher pats the seat next to her in an invitation for the inspector to join her. "So what brought you round, Jack?" She asks as he takes her up on her offer and sits down besides her.
"The rain," he truthfully answers. "I happened to be in the area when this deluge started."
"What a coincidence," Phryne comments. "But you keep telling me you don't believe in coincidences, don't you, Jack?" She asks teasingly as Mr. Butler passes them a glass of liquor each.
Jack clinks glasses with her. "The exception proves the rule I suppose."
At this point, Mr. Butler retreats to the kitchen with a content smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Oh, the good a little rain at the right time can do.
And as we leave Phryne and Jack alone, I'll take my leave from you as well. But I shall not go without a last thought for you to mull over: Doesn't this little tale give the expression 'the butler did it' a whole new meaning?