It was a mild autumn morning in Melbourne. On most of these mornings, Dot and Mr. Butler would have breakfast together before he prepared a tray of toast and strong coffee that Dot would take up to Phryne. However, on this particular morning, Phryne had awakened much earlier than usual, and joined them at the cozy breakfast table. Phryne wasn't your typical mistress; no one in her household, from Janey to the butler, was ever made to feel the strict boundaries between mistress and servants. But despite Phryne's attempts to establish an egalitarian household, each knew his or her place and still behaved with a sense of decorum and deference to Phryne.

When that mistress of the house, clad in her bright red silk dragon robe, languidly slipped into a chair, Mr. Butler darted straight up to get a cup and saucer for Miss Fisher. For a split second he thought about giving her a cup of tea with a little added heart starter but decided instead to pour her usual Hellenic beverage.

"Thank you, Mr. Butler," she drawled. "Please, do finish your breakfast."

"Already finished, Miss Fisher," replied the ever-proper butler, even though there still lay half a waffle and a heap of scrambled eggs on his plate. "Will check on the morning post now."

As Mr. Butler left the kitchen, Phryne pulled his breakfast plate over and started on the eggs. "What's on your agenda today, Dottie? More work on your glory-box?"

Dot blushed. "Ah, I've got some mended shirts to deliver to the church this morning, and a meeting with Father Grogan to secure the wedding date. Then I'm getting fitted for my dress this afternoon, and I'm supposed to ring the florist back about my bouquet and the church decorations."

"Lucky for you, my dear, I won't need you at all today," winked Phryne.

"Oh, but Miss," gasped Dot, turning even more scarlet, "of course I wouldn't neglect my duties to you, or to anything case related. If you need me for something particular today, I can re-schedule my appointments."

"Nonsense!" replied Phryne breezily, and reached for the small pitcher of syrup to pour on what remained of Mr. Butler's waffle. "I do hope that you're not single handedly planning this wedding. You are giving Constable Collins something to do? It's his wedding, too, after all."

Dot smiled and said proudly, "Hugh is in charge of planning our wedding holiday."

Phryne smirked. "In that case, I better loan him more books…."

Dot frowned, not understanding. "Pardon, Miss?"

Before Phryne could come back with an airy wave and a never-you-mind, Mr. Butler reappeared with a silver salver on which were two small piles of envelopes. He presented the salver first to Phryne, who sifted through her post in under thirty seconds, and then to Dot. On the top of Dot's pile was a cream-colored envelope. Her brows knitted together as she read the letter and then exclaimed, "Oh my goodness!"

"Bad news?" asked Phryne over her cup.

"Just the opposite. Someone's just given me and Hugh five thousand pounds as a wedding present."

"Someone? You mean you don't know who this generous person is?"

Dot studied the loopy scrawl at the end of the typed message. "It's signed 'Your guardian angel.' I don't recognize this handwriting at all."

"Hm! Do you mind?"

"Of course not, Miss," Dot said, handing the letter over to her mistress.

Phryne quickly assimilated the contents of the letter, which began with congratulations on Dot's upcoming nuptials, enumerated the fine qualities of her fiancé, and concluded with the promise of five thousand, to be disbursed on her wedding day.

"Who has that kind of money, I wonder?" Dot mused aloud, and then gave her mistress a pointed look.

"Dot, you know how fond I am of you. But really, I think you know me well enough to know that this is simply not my style. If I'm going to give you and the young constable a gift I'm going to give it straight out and not hide behind a nom de plume. Especially one like 'guardian angel,'" she scoffed. "No offense," she added cheekily.

Dot knew that Miss Fisher was tolerant and respectful of her religious beliefs so she wasn't offended. "No worries, Miss. So it isn't you?"

"I wish I could take credit for this generous sum, but no. I can say that this is no ordinary writing paper. See here?" she said, holding the paper up to the light of the kitchen window. "There's a watermark of the paper's manufacturer. I happen to know that he caters exclusively to the well born of Melbourne society."

Dot marveled at her mistress' powers of deduction just by analyzing a letter. "Okay, obviously this person knows me and Hugh well enough to know that we're going to be married. But we don't know anyone who's rich enough to do this except you, Miss Fisher."

"Well, there's Aunt Prudence. I recognize the watermark from her own stationery. Notice, too, that the envelope bears no stamp or postmark. What might that mean?"

Dot thought for a moment. "It means this letter wasn't posted." At Miss Fisher's beaming expression, she continued, "It means someone hand delivered the message."

Mr. Butler cleared his throat. "If I may, Miss, I added this letter to the pile for Dot. I found it separate from the post that was delivered."

"Did you see anyone else besides the postman this morning, Mr. Butler?" Phryne asked.

"No one, Miss. However, I did see Mr. Bert and Mr. Cec, who were arriving home from their evening shift at the port."

"Maybe they saw who might have delivered this," said Dot.

"Well, then, my dear," smiled Phryne impishly, "you better add one more thing to your to-do list today."

x-x

At the St. Kilda police station, Dot spent a half hour with Hugh at his desk behind the counter. She had brought him lunch and while he ate, told him about their mysterious benefactor and about Miss Fisher's deductions. Hugh hungrily bit into one of the thick ham and cheese sandwiches and rummaged through the basket to offer her the other one. Dot shook her head. "How do you think I'll fit into my dress if I gorge on that before I go?"

Hugh smiled sheepishly and swallowed. "Can I see the letter?"

Dot handed him the note and the envelope. "Tell me if you recognize the handwriting on the signature."

Hugh shook his head. "Nope. You don't have any rich relatives I don't know about yet, do you?"

"No. Do you?"

"Not a one. So it isn't Miss Fisher…."

"She swears it isn't her. It could be her aunt Prudence, she thinks. She says she uses the same kind of writing paper."

Hugh inspected the watermark closely. "Good place to start. When my shift's over, perhaps we can pay Mrs. Stanley a visit. Can I hang on to this?"

"Sure. I'll also talk to Bert and Cec when I get back home, see if they saw anyone who was by the house this morning."

"Good thinking, Miss Williams," Hugh grinned.

"Imagine, Hugh, of all the cases we've ever worked on, perhaps this might be the most important one yet. After all, it's not every day one discovers who your guardian angel is." She rose and slipped on her gloves, and then leaned in to kiss Hugh on the cheek. "I've got to run to the dressmaker's now. I'll see you later."