23 July 1942

My Dearest Matthew,

You know me well enough, dear, to know that age-old doubts resurface within me outside of areas of my expertise… but thank you. I'm glad Christopher is getting enjoyment out of the photos, I'll make sure to forward any new ones of the Beazleys to Jean so she can send him more.

Your vision of the future is very clear, are you somehow able to time travel, my dear? I like it. I don't like the war going on longer either, but we'll get through this, I know it.

I think I will see Mum in the holidays, maybe go see her Christmas Eve before Dot takes me to Midnight Mass (I know, I'm shocked myself, but… mass has oddly been comforting in these strange times).

Ashby seemed genuine compared to Doctor Blake, but no matter about both of them - stuffy old men I can deal with; they'll huff and puff about a woman invading their "sacred spaces" such as the workplace, but either move on from the bluster or leave - I won't be moved by their fragile egos because I'm here to work and here to do it damn good if I say so myself.

Nell does still have the same sweets, she offered me some and some to the Beazley boys - she asked after you, by the way; Agnes also asked, but in a similar vein as Miss Fisher's inquiries so I'll leave that to your own imagination as to what she asked, dear.

Thank you, Matthew, I know adjustment will be easier if you're there with me and I'll take your word about the knowing for now… but my years at Wardlow have shown me it's not the worst thing in the world. I like the house, but it definitely needs some work - I'm going to help Mum find someone to help with the draftiness before winter is over. She's not complaining too much, but it's far too cold for her alone in that house. The other things can easily be fixed in time.

I've not gotten the chance to visit just yet, might see how the term goes for a bit before I journey back up to Ballarat - or the next time Miss Fisher needs me to go on "vacation" during one of her investigations; I do talk with Jean whenever I can, and she's mentioned more letters from Christopher which is good now that he's deployed - how are you feeling, dear?

I don't think telling the Army that your girlfriend is a "well-learned doctor" (which is a lie, dear, I've not finished yet) will let them actually come here - and don't try it, I'd rather not have you written up for cheek. I'm also sure that the army doctors are more than qualified to care for you and the boys, you're just making a palaver.

Life at Wardlow continues! It's still strange not having Clara and Edith here, but the Collins children keep up the noise whenever they're not at school. Miss Fisher still investigates with Dot as her right-hand woman - still coming around City South to bother Jack in their overlapping cases; Mac and her partner dine here frequently and we might have some new boarders before the end of the year - I hope they're interesting and don't run out of the house screaming over the antics Miss Fisher gets up to (a few before Clara and Edith came here did that, it was… amusing to watch).

I haven't been spritzing the letters, honestly, but that's a great idea; I guess the stationary has absorbed my perfume from its position near my vanity. Now you should be able to enjoy longer, stronger reminders, dearest Matthew. I miss you too, so much; I miss your kisses and the feel of your arms around me. I miss trying new things with you, and the letters are more of a plaster on the wound than stitches closing it by your presence. The postman knows me by name now, that's how often I've gotten the mail here in anticipation of getting a letter from you; no chance of you getting leave any time soon?

Not a word to Hugh, I promise! I have, however, told Dot and she found it all amusing. (You don't need to be a manly man to me, dear, you as yourself is more than enough.)

I know you won't be able to actually tell me which island (if any) you'll be sent to, but you will let me know when you have to leave? Tell the boys to behave around the Americans if you serve next to them, no fights amongst the men. The Americans are still here in Melbourne, but most have moved on to other cities closer to the front for their leave; I'm grateful for the business to Rufus' diner and also grateful that the bulk of them are not here anymore, fending off somewhat bothersome behavior has been exhausting for me and the other waitresses.

Don't tease the censorship readers, they're the reason we get each other's letters nearly untouched. In fact, they'll find some extra biscuits for them with this letter.

Photos of the ceremony certainly will be taken, hopefully with you beside me, but I'll take admiration from afar if need be; I take heart in the idea of maybe seeing you by the time I'm a fully-fledged doctor.

I hope it's warm for the two of you, winter has its teeth fully sunk in Melbourne and I wish I could have a spitfire kitten curled up on my feet as I write this letter in my beloved window seat. (Mum might have let me borrow a few of your wool jumpers, they bring comfort and warmth and I think she might have designs on knitting one of my own before the year is out.) My misfits are missed dearly, I wish you could both be here with me… Dot's cocoa will have to suffice for now.

Yours, Wistfully,

Alice