My darling Jane,

I would have thought that the Australian heat would have amply-prepared you to deal with the heat of France – it certainly was a shock for me to realize how very cold the Western Front was after dark. Did you receive the shipment of coats I sent over? In uniform, be it military or school for young ladies, the only way to really express yourself is with your outerwear. The AANS provided all us nurses with coats, but for those of us on the front they were entirely insufficient. I've no doubt the ladies who managed to stay in Cairo or Greece made out just fine, but we had to supplement our uniforms with coats patched together from infantry jackets lost to the trenches. We all became clever seamstresses to stay warm and keep our patients' spirits up – but even then, we certainly nothing so pretty as what's on its way to you.

I hope at least they'll let you wear the gloves I sent. The rest is a long shot. Please don't worry if you need to find some of the more flamboyant items a new owner – perhaps in exchange for some pocket money? You always were a good haggler. Don't let them beat that out of you.

But as to the sweat – and I'm sure no matter the heat, yes, nerves can draw it out of you – I recommend sage. Just brew up a few leaves in some tea, and over a few days you should start feeling a little drier. Dot says she's mashed it up and tried it directly applied to her underarms before, but I imagine I'd find it cumbersome not to be able to lift my arms without little green specks dislodging and drifting down to my garters. Still – if you don't plan to show anyone your garters anytime soon, perhaps that's another solution.

Another solution is to avoid situations that give you nerves – but I can't recommend that, no matter how much I love you and want you happy, darling. It's not how you'll grow up strong and whole. I am so sorry that Foyle wormed his way into your mind before he died. He was the poison of my life for so long – even on the front, he was the one I had nightmares about, having his way with my sister in all sorts of unimaginable scenarios, each one full of horror. Paralyzed and muted as an ugly instrument approached her poor face, in the hands of a madman – I can certainly understand now what she went through. I thought they would end when I knew the full extent of what he did to her, but the nightmares continue.

This is all to say I can't promise your experience with Foyle will ever leave you, darling. I have found my ways to cope, and so must you. My ways of coping should not be yours. I wish I were there to help, but you loved France on your tour of the Continent and it's the safest place for you to be for a while, so I know it is for the best and that you'll find your ways of getting through.

But know that flashes of the past are normal. It isn't your fault that your memories can sometimes overwhelm you. If anyone questions you about them – well, another consequence of being the bravest girl in the room is that you have stories to tell, and stories to conceal. It's up to you to decide when to divulge your secrets, and intuit who can handle them with grace.

Does it sound like I'm delaying answering your question about Jack? That's because I am. There's nothing really to relate. He arrives, we play checkers and chat about cases, he nurses a cocktail or two, then gulps down his drink when he's had enough and I make a show of reluctantly sending him home. His visits vary in frequency, depending on how annoyed he is with my case methods or how social he's feeling in general. We don't have a standing engagement, but he doesn't seem to have any standing engagements with anyone else – at least after hours. It's thoroughly casual, and unlike anything I've been able to maintain for so long before without some sort of dramatic conclusion, for better or worse. Well, we did have that one tiff about how I drive my car, but then he came back around. You remember. I confess myself baffled.

Have you come across anything in your reading that might help puzzle out Inspector Jack Robinson? He wants desperately to read himself into the role of Mark Antony, pre-Cleopatra and completely without any strumpets or foolery, which says all sorts of intriguing things about his concept of fate, but I've exhausted my insights from this source.

You've read Antony and Cleopatra, yes? If you haven't, bump it up your list. All the Complete Works, actually. They're part of a classical education and you can't miss them – though sometimes I wish I'd missed Pericles. What blatant discouragement of adventurous young women: yes, certainly, if you travel you'll be hurled off a boat and sold to a brothel right away. Cymbeline is much more fun, and realistic. Apart from the eagle bit.

Any brothels making inquiries about you lately, ma petit flâneuse?

Love and kisses,

Miss Phryne Fisher