Mr Butler had a special gift. It wasn't a talent known to many people but it was what made him perfect for his job. He lived to be a butler. To anticipate people's needs and provide them with excellent service was his lifeblood, his raison d'etre. He never put a foot wrong and it was down to his special gift.
'Never reveal the secret to your success' he had been told when he was just a boy. It had been recognised and nurtured by his mother, honed to perfection by his butler training. Top of the class each time because of this unspoken advantage. It was also the reason why his food tasted so good. A little bit of this magic in every dish.
The one time it had failed him was when he had tasted that odd type of fudge. His senses were thrown out of whack. He never wished for that experience again.
He could feel and see the train of thought and the force behind each person. The way the colours changed with their mood. He knew it was the Detective Inspector when he rang the doorbell. Jack Robinson had a calming blue aura around him, something that signalled sensitivity and patience. Lord knows he needed patience around Miss Fisher. There were secret thoughts of course but on the whole, they were sad secrets and ones he would divulge if given the right platform. He figured that Miss Fisher would prise these secrets out of him soon. On the one occasion Mr Butler had seen him angry, the blue threaded away, to be temporarily replaced with a jagged streak of crimson. It wended its way around him and disappeared once the DI had resumed control of himself. Mr Butler also noted the secret passion between them. It unfurled like an orchid whenever they were in the same room as each other, particularly noticeable in the evening when they were relaxing in the sitting room. It was the shimmer around their hands that gave it away.
Miss Fisher on the other hand, was a wave of intense orange. Her aura was bright and unconventional but there was a melancholy there, an underlying strand of jet black. The woman had sadness and confusion in her soul. Generally, she was an easy read and he could anticipate what she wanted before she'd said it. It was there, formed in her mind, the words just hadn't been spoken yet. A vase here, a whiskey there. Mainly frivolous wants and needs. He had occasionally come across a time where the black snaked across her, binding her body in its depths. That time she read a particular letter from the prison. When the good Detective Inspector had lost his patience with her and turned her down. When she thought about her sister. Mr Butler knew all about Janey although he'd never asked. Phryne's sister was very much on her mind; lurking in the corner, a misty spark of magnolia, the colour of Mr Butler's apron.
Darling Dot on the other hand was quite a different creature; a dusty rose, a pleasant placid aura with a strand of steely grey that he knew she had in her before she did. She was very easy to read and worried far too much. He always remembered her favourite chocolates and she was grateful for his recollection, not knowing that he could read her preferences every time. She had no damaging secrets.
One of his favourite visitors, Doctor Mac was a wonderful comforting burnt orange, easy to read when she wanted a whiskey (which was often, much like the Inspector) but much more secretive. There was a thread of emerald green in her that would wind, rope-like around her whenever she felt threatened or cornered, as he knew when certain aspects of her lifestyle were called into question. For he knew all of that too. Nobody had secrets around Mr Butler. His discretion was utter perfection as he never outwardly pried. He had his own way of channelling people's thoughts and accessing their secrets.
For Mr Butler had the power of synaesthesia telepathy.