Dot stared at the gleaming black galoshes, still wrapped in folds of tissue, and sighed. Her birthday had been a month ago, and she'd not yet worn them. It was now rainy season in Melbourne, and the perfect time to wear such sturdy footwear during her walks with Hugh, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to put them on. Twice during those walks, she had caught him casting surreptitious glances at her feet to check if she was wearing them. If he was disappointed that she was sporting her serviceable lace-up boots instead, he didn't let it show.

Every time she pulled the box from the depths of her wardrobe, she invariably pictured him as he presented his gift to her. Hugh had a pleasant, open face and a genuine smile, and that evening, he had looked equal parts earnest and shy. She remembered how his eyes lit from within as they searched hers, looking for a reaction that mirrored his: that she was as thrilled to receive them as he was to give them to her. She knew exactly what Ma would think—that Hugh's gift was a proper token from a gentleman to a lady. A lady being courted could only accept certain items as gifts without compromising her reputation. Gifts such as candy or flowers, perhaps even a book of romantic poetry were perfectly acceptable. But to receive a pair of boots was not only practical, it was a mark of respect. It meant that Hugh thought she was a proper nice girl.

Lord! Was she still considered a nice girl? Dot continued to write dutifully to her mother and to go to confession at least once a week. She was diligent about her commitments to the sewing group and to baking for the church fundraisers every month. She made sure that with every letter home, she enclosed a portion of her earnings for her mother and her younger brothers and sisters.

But Dot knew in her heart of hearts that ever since she'd found a new place as Miss Fisher's maid, she was committing grave sins of omission. She knew it would break her mother's heart to know that not only was she using the telephone (and by now she had no qualms about doing so), but she was also assisting Miss Fisher as a fellow sleuth. She had even worked undercover at a factory, lying her way towards the investigative pursuit of murderers, swindlers, and people embroiled in scandalous affairs. When Miss Fisher gave her the assignment, a feeling of dread washed over Dot, and she could hear her mother's voice warning her that factory work was not for nice girls. The biggest secret she kept from her mother was her growing admiration for Hugh, who was a devout Protestant. At first, she felt guilty about stepping out with him, and she had been cautioned more than once in the confessional that she shouldn't associate with him at all. But how could someone so handsome, so sweet and kind, be likened to the devil himself? Dot couldn't understand it. She thought herself a good judge of character. In Hugh she saw a man with good prospects in the police force, an inspector-in-training who witnessed the uglier side of humanity on a daily basis. Hugh was not yet hardened by police work that he couldn't spot the difference between the decent and the damned. He had a keen sense of duty, was energetic, strong, and ready to serve. Dot smiled at the thought—those qualities were all very good reasons why she admired him so much, but then her eyes fell back to the galoshes. He might not be the most imaginative man when it came to gifts, but Dot knew there was so much more potential in Hugh, just waiting to be unleashed.

She had been seeing Hugh for almost a year now, and he hadn't attempted anything nearly as bold as when he kissed her in the theatre. She had stood before him, just inches from his own body, so close that she could smell the faint scent of his shaving soap and of the wool of his uniform. She felt warmth suffusing her cheeks and trembled slightly—whether she felt nervous with anticipation or fear, she didn't know. Hugh had held her gaze and whispered, "You are so beautiful." No one had ever said anything like that to her before. She was surprised at first, and then mesmerized by Hugh's audaciousness. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse leapt as she felt his soft lips and warm breath move from her ear to her cheek. She closed her eyes, every nerve tingling as his lips travelled over her cheek and then to the inside of her wrist. She was certain she would faint with all the frightening and new sensations that coursed through her. She didn't remember how she willed herself to stand so still, but she wanted so much to tear at the buttons of his uniform and press her palms beneath his coat into his chest. When he finally pressed his lips against hers, she unthinkingly wound her arms around his neck, feeling dizzy and breathless. We must stop, she thought, but her body betrayed her, telling him that she didn't want him to stop.

And then, the spell was broken, as Hugh pulled away. Dot's eyes flew open and Hugh, with a pained expression, took hold of her wrists and pulled her arms from his neck. His breath was ragged, as though he'd run for miles at top speed, and his face was flushed crimson. "Dottie," he gasped. "Please forgive me."

It had taken a moment before Dot could get her own bearings. "What for?"

"I…I didn't mean to take such a liberty. I got carried away and I'm sorry."

"But, Hugh…" she started to protest.

"It won't happen again." Hugh avoided her eyes. "I don't want you to think I don't respect you. Because I do, Dot."

"Oh." Disappointed, Dot drew back and raised her hand to her lips. It all seemed rather anti-climactic as she couldn't think of anything to say. To encourage him and to tell him that it was all right would definitely have meant that she was not a nice girl. Hugh never attempted such a liberty again, but Dot discovered that something in her had been breached. She found herself wanting more, much more….

x-x

Was it sinful to have wanted Hugh to take another liberty? Perhaps living with the bohemian Miss Fisher was causing her to shed, inch by inch, her moral standard. Or…was it all just the opposite? Was being around Miss Fisher and having new experiences allowing her to grow more confident? To be a new woman in the postmodern world?

She bit at her bottom lip. What was it that Miss Fisher was always telling her? "To make it in a man's world, my dear, you've got to get out and take the bull by the horns." Well, she decided, Hugh needed another nudge. If she hadn't asked him to the policemen's ball she would never have become his sweetheart today. Dot made her way into Miss Fisher's room for a few things that she knew her mistress would not mind that she borrowed. Miss Fisher was out on an all-night stakeout with Cec and Bert, Janey was back at boarding school, and it was Mr. Butler's evening off. She had the whole house to herself. Forget the galoshes—Dot Williams had something else in mind to wear for Hugh Collins tonight.

x-x

Seated at her dressing table, Dot pulled her long, wavy brunette hair up, trying to imagine what she'd look like in a sleek bob. Having had lots of practice styling Miss Fisher's own shiny black hair, she'd no doubt she could maintain such a hairstyle. She pinned it up in the usual manner, leaving out one or two hairpins (in case she had to hastily take her hair down). She applied the thinnest coat of Miss Fisher's ruby-red lipstick, and then blotted out most of it so that the red faded into a pearly pink. Then, she slipped on another thing borrowed from Miss Fisher: a powder blue silk dress adorned with beading on the bodice as delicate and intricate as a cicada's wing. Dot looked at this new girl staring back at her in the mirror. Used to seeing herself in prim, floral dresses, she felt shockingly bare, with her exposed shoulders and calves. She swayed and turned, a smile playing at the corner of her lips as the skirt flitted up lightly, showing her knees. Dot had a dancer's legs that tapered beautifully into well-shaped ankles. She gently tugged at the black leaf patterns on the bodice. The cut of these flapper dresses favored slim girls with flat chests, and Dot's hourglass figure was not suited to the fashion of the day. As she spritzed a bit of scent (the least exotic, in her opinion, of Miss Fisher's array of perfumes) on her neck, her little golden crucifix shone in the ambient lamplight. Dot swallowed as she undid the clasp and gently laid the necklace in her jewelry box. She felt a slight twinge as her conscience pricked at her, for she'd never taken it off in her life. Once more, her eyes roved over her hair, her face, and then her risqué dress. Her mother and her priest might not approve of how she looked tonight, but she hoped that Hugh definitely would.

Downstairs, her voice trembled slightly as she rang the operator to connect her to the St. Kilda police station. When Hugh answered on the first ring, it sounded much more confident. "Hugh, it's me, Dottie. What time are you off duty tonight?"