Well, here is the latest instalment of this AU. Sorry it has taken so long, I kept getting lost in other stories. I hope you managed to have a good Christmas in spite of the current situation, Happy New Year to you all.

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Despite the distance, Janey and Teddy Applegate got closer. There were weekly letters, sometimes twice weekly if something in particular had happened and by March it was expected that there would be a wedding in the near future. Phryne was genuinely happy for her sister; she could see Teddy was kind and gentle and would take care of her.

"Will you marry, Phryne?" Janey asked one evening.

"I don't think so, Janey," she shook her head, "I may take a lover or two …"

Janey looked shocked.

"… but no, I doubt I shall marry. I don't want to be controlled, you see …"

"Is that what happened, in Paris?" her sister had always wanted know, there was always something that made Phryne not the Phryne she remembered.

Phryne sat back in the chair and looked at the ceiling, wondering if she should tell her sister what happened, or part of it, at least.

"Something like that," she hummed, "he was charming and gentle at first, then, well he got jealous, easily, if another man spoke to me for too long. I was a fool Janey, to get involved with him, he was arrogant and I knew that, but I was naïve, I suppose …"

"He beat you?"

Phryne nodded.

"Like father used to beat mumma?"

"No, Janey, worse, he wanted me to know I was his property, it was wrong and no man is ever going to do that to me, again," she raised her chin and stood up, "fancy a walk?"

"Alright," Janey stood up and touched her hand, "sorry. I didn't mean to make you think of bad things …"

"I have good things to think of now, you and Teddy, my flying lessons …"

"You still intend to learn to fly?"

"Of course," Phryne laughed, "the sky's the limit."

Janey shuddered.

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As winter turned to spring thoughts turned to that year's Season. Phryne had rolled her eyes, declaring that at twenty one she was too old to be paraded about in the marriage market and Janey was as good as engaged, but their father decided his two lovely daughters should be presented at court. His surprisingly gentle courtship of Miss Thompson was also noted by the girls, and by Mrs Worthy, who thought it ill becoming that a companion should be so close to the master of the house.

She had huffed one day when Miss Thompson had mentioned, on Miss Janey's behalf, that Teddy Applegate was coming down for the weekend and Phryne had heard it. She knew what it meant, dissent in the household, and as the elder daughter she best put it out of the way.

"Mrs Worthy?" she asked as the housekeeper swept out of the parlour, "is something wrong?"

"Not for me to say, Miss Phryne," she sniffed.

"Now Mrs Worthy," Phryne smiled, "you have always been very kind to us and I would deem it a kindness if you would tell me what is troubling you. After all we muddle along rather well usually, don't you think?"

"It's just, well, Miss Phryne, Miss Thompson is a companion, an employee and she seems to rather too easy at passing on messages and …" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "… she seems to be rather too close to the master, a little too informal."

"Ah," Phryne nodded knowingly, "you worry that she may have ideas above her station, eh?"

Mrs Worthy reddened, but nodded her agreement.

"Miss Thompson is the younger daughter of a Viscount, the impoverished sort," she smiled, "hence her need for gainful employment. Janey and I are very fond of her, for she led us through to becoming English aristocratic young ladies, at least she managed it with Janey, not so much with me, but, hey ho!" she laughed. "She did what our mother would have done had she been with us, and now father is a widower, we accept that mother has passed away even if we don't know if it was by fair means or foul, and neither of us minds if father finds someone to keep him company as he grows old. If he chooses to marry again than I can think of no one better than Miss Thompson …"

"I wouldn't say the master is old …" Mrs Worthy cautioned.

"He is to me and Janey," Phryne laughed, "he's our father, aren't they supposed to be old? Anyway," she continued, "I would like it if you, and any of the other staff, treat Miss Thompson with the courtesy you always have done – we are all family here, Mrs Worthy."

The housekeeper nodded politely though she may not agree with everything the young Mistress had said, but it would not do to upset her.

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Visits to dressmakers and tailors took up much of their time, Miss Thompson helped them with their choices, advised them on styles that were suitable for Court and schooled them in their curtseys and small talk.

"Were you presented, Miss Thompson?" Janey asked as she massaged her ankles, sore from a day in London.

"Indeed I was," her companion smiled, "many moons ago, it was Edward VII on the throne, then."

"What was he like, the old King?"

"Full of charm and bonhomie," she laughed, "a tease with the ladies."

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For the Season the Fishers took a house in Belgravia. They took the minimum number of household staff to supplement the staff that came with the house, mainly a maid each for the girls, the housekeeper and Lord Fisher's valet. Miss Thompson would act as chaperone to the girls at dances, dinners and lunches, and companion to them all.

The evening of Queen Charlotte's Ball was the most prestigious event they would attend. Phryne and Janey would both be presented to the King and Queen, there would be dancing and polite small talk and from there they would attend various gatherings at Glyndebourne, Ascot and other race meetings. Phryne prepared herself to be supremely bored.

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As it was she found it interesting, irksome, tedious and amusing, all points of the compass, she thought. She danced with the Prince of Wales for a short time, though his comments about the indigenous people of her homeland had her excuse herself as soon as it was acceptable to do so. She quickly filled up her dance card at most balls with some pleasant young lords and earls as partners, flirted and showed Janey how to flirt, but Janey was lucky enough to have Teddy join her at some of the functions and he was more than happy to escort her.

They went to the races, Phryne was relieved they were not invited to the Royal Enclosure; Henry had a flutter or two, those were unsuccessful but as he had both his daughters and Miss Thompson with him his gambling was kept to a minimum. Phryne was grateful to her companion, she, more than either of the girls knew how bad his betting could be and she didn't want a scene later on if he decided to drown his sorrows. She confided this in Miss Thompson, because if Abigail was to become involved with him she would need to know.

"Ah," she nodded knowingly, "that's how my family lost most their money, my great grandpapa had habits of buying a 'pig in a poke', so to speak, horses that were little more than donkeys …"

"… with three legs?" They both laughed at that description.

"Pretty much," Abigail hugged her, "you know your father has the best daughters he could wish for, I just hope he realises it."

"Hm, me too," Phryne agreed, thinking it was one of the nicest things she could have said to her.

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Eventually the Season came to a close, in August; Phryne was relieved, Janey took up an invitation to go and stay with Teddy in Yorkshire. They were officially engaged, and the wedding had to be prepared for. It would take place the following year, in the village church that Lord Fisher and the two Honourable Misses attended each Sunday.

Phryne managed to find someone who was not averse to teaching a woman to fly, a skill she found easy, though one or two of her landings may have been a bit bumpy. Her flying instructor was a personable young man with a ready wit and cheeky grin. He was not immune to her flirting and he was perhaps the best person to re-introduce her into the ways of the bedroom. It was really a tumble in his bunk at the aerodrome, reasonably satisfying but not earth shattering. Afterwards she ruminated on the situation and while she was more willing to find lovers now, he probably would just scratch an itch occasionally.

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September was warm, in Melbourne, for early spring. The man was studying celestial charts, eclipses that were due; for during the eclipse was when he would take his final step into the afterlife. He had things to do for that, things that involved his four compass points, and to that end they had been given certain tasks to do in the house and garden. Margaret was to polish the woodwork and piano in the music room, tidy the rugs, clean the windows and reposition the four peace lilies in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. There, there was a model of the solar system under a glass dome constantly moving in line with the seasons. The model was a geocentric model with the earth at the centre based on the Egyptian Ptolemy's version. It was quite beautiful and with the four peace lilies at the compass points the whole thing was quite incredible.

On the day of the eclipse the ladies went to bed in the afternoon, for a nap, he said, there was something special to happen at night. They fell soundly asleep, more soundly than usual, breathing softly, so softly it was barely discernable. They felt nothing. As the moon slowly moved across the sun he crept into each room and set a box at the end of each bed …

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He was pleased with his work, the ladies felt nothing, they were good and faithful servants and he didn't wish them to feel pain as he removed the heart, brain, liver and spleen – one organ from each of the ladies. The boxes were placed at the base each of the plants and then he took a stiletto and fixed it into the base of the solar model from which he had removed the cover and simple fell onto it. It pierced his heart and he left this world for what he hoped was immortality in the next.

Nobody noticed the lack of movement in the house, orders had been cancelled, the post office had been ordered to burn any mail for him and a note was on the gates stating that the house was empty and the owner decreed it would ever be so.

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In her sleep, in Somerset, Phryne turned over and whispered a good bye to her mother who had appeared in a dream and told her to be happy – because she was.

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The years wandered past. Janey got married to Teddy Applegate in the spring of 1923, it was a lovely service, the church was decorated with spring flowers, the choir sang beautifully and Janey looked radiant. She had chosen Phryne to be her bridesmaid, for Janey she would do anything, and their father looked on bursting with pride. Miss Thompson had given over the mother of the bride talk with Janey to Phryne who had been gentle and given her some confidence in her role as a bed-mate to Teddy. She had told her what would happen and that if she ever needed Teddy to stop or do something different she must tell him.

"He will listen to you, Janey, he will not demand and I am sure you will find him a considerate lover." She smiled and kissed her cheek, "and if ever you need any advice or guidance I will happily answer your questions as well as I can."

"I'm sure you are right, dear sister," Janey sighed, "he has already told me he will take it slow in everything and we are young enough not to rush into parenthood."

"And I am in no hurry to be an aunt." Phryne laughed softly, "though I think father will be very pleased to be a grandpapa."

"I'm sure he will."

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In the spring of Phryne's twenty- eighth year, with a niece: Phryne Margaret, known as Megsy, and a nephew, Edward Henry from Janey, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher felt the pull of her homeland. Janey was a mother now and had little need of her sister, she thought, and Henry had quietly married Abigail Thompson the year after Janey's wedding, and produced a son, Albert George (Bertie) to carry on the line so she was at a loss as to where she was going in her life. She loved Megsy and Eddie, was generous with her time and gifts, spent time in London with friends she had made over the years, had her hair bobbed and wore the latest fashion, flirted and bedded a few young gentlemen who would not dream of kissing and telling, but there was something missing.

The letter Dr Macmillan – dear Mac, the best friend she had – sent, had her look into the prospect of returning to Melbourne and starting a life there. Mac was at the Women's Hospital in Melbourne and had mentioned that her aunt, Prudence Stanley sat on the board of that and many other institutions. She had kept in touch with Aunt Prudence, regularly sending little gifts for her cousin Arthur, letters about her life in England and Prudence had kept her up to date with Jack Robinson's continuing investigation (on his own time) into the disappearance of her mother. Jack had served in the war in France and returned a different man. Still driven to find the truth in all his cases, but now he was a Detective Inspector at City South station, where her father had frequently crossed swords with the constables there. While Phryne was resigned to her mother's passing, had been for many years, she still harboured a need to find out what had really happened.

She had her legacy from her grandmother and her trust from the estate, there was nothing stopping her sailing the oceans to Australia.

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"So, you're really going back"? Janey held her hand and looked into her sister's eyes.

"I am, Janey, I shall start again, somewhere better than Collingwood, in a nice house where I shall be beholden to no one and do as I please," Phryne smiled through the tears. "I shall write, often, and you must send pictures of the babies and word of your life. Abigail will write to me of father and Bertie, and the goings on in the village. I shall miss you all, but you can come over, perhaps, when I am settled, show Teddy where we come from."

"He would like that, he says he would like to see Melbourne, someday, and we should while we can, though a month on a ship with the little ones may be trying, don't you think?"

"You can bring Nanny," Phryne nodded, "I should like to take them to Luna Park without sneaking in on the coat tails of a large family, and to walk on the foreshore, maybe have a picnic?"

"I think they'd like that too."

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Jack Robinson sighed and made a note in his diary: 'the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher returns to Melbourne'. Mrs Stanley had 'popped' into the station to inform him that her niece was returning to her home city and would no doubt be looking to talk to him about his investigation into her mother's disappearance.

"Of course, Inspector," she hummed, "we know Margaret is dead, but it would give my niece peace if you were to find out what actually happened, where she lies now."

"Indeed, Mrs Stanley," he nodded, "but I doubt I shall have anything new to tell her that you haven't passed on to her, already."

It had always bothered him that they never found the Baroness' body or that of the other 3 ladies still listed as 'missing', his pursuit of the case was the only thing that kept him interested in his life since his return from France. His wife didn't understand what he had gone through, how could she? And she never agreed with his relentless investigation into the disappearance of a woman who was married to a habitual drunk and beat her and their two girls. When he had stood on the picket lines, shoulder to shoulder with the other constables, during the police strike of '23 she had packed up her belongings and gone to live with her sister in England – she hadn't come back and he was sure she never would. She now moved in completely different circles, so her sister said in her sporadic letters, escorted by gentlemen of 'means'. He wondered if he should divorce her on the grounds of desertion but everyone knew Jack Robinson was not that kind of man; at least until she wrote saying she wanted a divorce because she had met someone who she wanted to marry. She could divorce him on the grounds of mental cruelty – but no one would say he had been cruel in any way, distant, perhaps, maybe a little less than understanding, but he could say the same about her and she had left him. He wrote back, a short terse note saying he would agree to divorce her on the grounds of her desertion of him. She wrote back saying he wasn't being fair.

"May I remind you, wife," he sent back, "you left me." He underlined 'wife' 'you' and 'me'. The underlining was dark and nearly tore through the paper; after he had sent the letter he thought that maybe writing such a missive when one has supped too well and not too wisely, was not the best idea. He consulted his lawyer who agreed on the latter thought, and the former grounds. Jack filed the divorce papers before Rosie could and the proceedings were conducted by letter. Not ideal but neither had to face the other in court, it took longer, but in the end it was done and they were free of each other. He sold their little bungalow with three bedrooms and bought a smaller one with two bedrooms and a larger garden. The remainder of the 'estate' was divided between them and that was the end of that. Jack thought he would not marry again, he wasn't very good at talking things through to resolve personal differences; he was happy enough with his flowers and vegetable plot, his glass of whisky in the evening and his 'Complete Works of Shakespeare'. Work took up the greater part of his life, he saw his mother occasionally, and life moved on apace. Now Miss Fisher, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, was returning and he wondered if he would recognise her, how much would she have changed from the grubby little waif that used to accompany her mother to retrieve Henry from the cells after a night of drunken revelry?

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The voyage from England to Australia was long, but not too tedious. Phryne had a stateroom on the ship, large and luxurious, she dined at the Captain's table with other wealthy passengers, she danced with young men in the evenings, flirted and took one or two to bed, though on a ship it was more noticeable and she needed to be discreet, she didn't want to get a name for herself that would embarrass the family and see her talked about in unflattering terms. She whiled away the days reading on the foredeck, playing deck games and engaging in pleasant small talk with ladies and gentlemen.

She had booked a suite at the Windsor, a hotel she could only dream about staying in when she first left Melbourne, Mac was going to meet her with a taxi waiting to take her and her luggage to the hotel and then she would begin to look for a new home, visit Aunt Prudence and cousin Arthur and go and see this Inspector that Mrs Stanley had told her about. Perhaps two heads would be better than one, and she wanted to thank him for continuing to keep the case open.

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She arrived at the Windsor, with Mac, ready to take on the city. Mac had greeted her with a hug and a yelp, the hotel arranged for a maid to unpack for her and there was a little post set on a little table by the door.

She tossed a letter from her aunt to one side to be read later, with a stiff drink, and raised her eyebrows at an invitation to luncheon with Mr and Mrs Andrews – friends of Mrs Stanley's.

"You going?" Mac reclined on a chaise, "you've just got off a ship, that's a good excuse."

"I know Lydia, it's only luncheon, I shall go and perhaps leave early. Aunt P said in one of her letters that she is generous with her time for one of the charities my aunt is on the board of, and she does give good parties." Phryne was looking through her wardrobe for something suitable for a summer day. She pulled out a pink dress that floated round her calves and showed off her shoulders and the top of her back. She teamed it with matching shoes and a hat with a small brim. She lifted a complimentary wrap and small clutch bag, ensured she had everything she needed and skipped out of the hotel to a waiting taxi.

"Have fun!" Mac called.

"Catch you later!" Phryne waved cheerfully.

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Phryne expected a light luncheon, possibly buffet style, good conversation and plenty of champagne; what she did not expect was a shaky, nervous little mouse of a maid telling her that the gathering had been cancelled, due to the sudden and unexplained death of the master of the house.

"Really?" she gasped, "is Mrs Stanley still here?"

"Yes, miss," the maid bobbed a little curtsey, "in the drawing room."

"Poor Lydia, and poor Aunt P," she swept by, "I'll just pop in and see if there's anything I can do."

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Phryne resisted the urge to smile at the sight of Prudence Stanley sitting in a chair, a worried expression on her face. Prudence was a short, stout woman with a surprisingly commanding presence, but now she was just worried, flustered, even.

"Phryne, dear girl … oh goodness I told the maid to telephone and cancel," she stood up, not much taller now she was standing, "silly child." Phryne assumed she meant the maid, who looked scared of her own shadow.

Phryne bent and kissed her aunt's cheek, "Hello, Aunt P," she patted her arm, "what happened?"

"We really don't know," Prudence sat down again, "John Andrews went up to dress after a light breakfast of tea, toast and kumquat marmalade; then he appears to have just dropped dead in the bathroom. The police are there now – in fact, it's that rather capable Inspector Robinson."

"The one who is still looking into mother's disappearance?"

"Yes, him," Prudence pursed her lips, she didn't like the look in her niece's eye, she was quite a flirt, according to the letters she got from Janey. "Phryne …" the flirt in question had turned and headed out of the room, "… where are you going?"

"To powder my nose," she grinned, cheekily.

"Nobody's allowed in the bathroom!" Prudence called after her, feeling she was wasting her breath.

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"Miss," a fresh faced constable called after her as she headed up the stairs, "miss, sorry you can't you up there."

"Just need to …" she crossed her legs, "sorry, my bladder doesn't understand …"

The constable jumped in front of her, trying to block her way, "Let me just ask the Inspector," he bumbled, embarrassed at the sight of a lady in obvious need of the facilities.

Phryne watched him run down the stairs, and when he was just out of sight, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

On the floor there was a crude outline of, perhaps, a human form. She looked around and saw nothing out of place. From the outline it looked like John had been standing facing the sink, possibly ready to shave. The outline showed he was doubled up with a stomach pain, possibly? She looked at the bath, no sign he had hit the edge and sustained a bleeding head wound; there was a unit which she assumed contained bathroom supplies, soaps, flannels, maybe a small towel or two, shampoo, none of these things were visible on any of the surfaces. She opened it and found what she expected and a box of headache powders. Rather a lot, unless one was subject to frequent headaches. She pulled out a couple of little pink envelopes and pushed them into her bag. There was an urgent knock at the door and a commanding voice insisting she leave the room immediately.

"It's a crime scene, Miss," the voice was rather pleasant to listen to, she thought. Deep, smooth and warm – were policemen supposed to have nice, almost musical voices?

She checked her appearance in the mirror, repaired her lipstick – just in case – and unlocked the door. Looking back she should have flushed the lavatory, just to give some proof to her presence.

"Your constable needs drawing lessons," she quipped and waved at the drawing on the floor. "Inspector Robinson, I presume?" The man he had grown into intrigued her, no longer the green but terribly sweet constable.

She held out her gloved hand to him, "Miss Phryne Fisher," she gave him a smile that had his heart do a somersault in his chest.

"Ah, Mrs Stanley said you were coming back," he cleared his throat, "Miss Fisher, this is a crime scene yet to be properly processed."

"I'm wearing gloves," she wiggled her fingers, "my aunt tells me you are rather capable, Inspector," she continued, "I'm so glad, it's been quite some time since I was in Melbourne and I am quite alone in a dangerous city."

Inspector Robinson had a feeling Melbourne had become a tad more dangerous with her arrival but he just held out his card, "I aim to make it less dangerous, Miss Fisher."

"I do like a man with a plan," she took the card and read it, "Jack."

The way she clipped the 'k' at the end of his name did things to him that he didn't want to think about, what had happened to the skinny kid he remembered that used to sit on the counter in the station and nibble his mother's biscuits, breaking one in half to share with her sister?

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She hadn't meant to become involved in the case but when she found out, through Mac that the packets contained cocaine, when she danced with a professional dancer called Sasha a rather intimate tango at the charity party that went ahead despite the death of John Andrews, that had her aunt raise her eyebrows and purse her lips, and put two and two together she found she enjoyed the puzzle. Inspector Robinson took the little maid in for questioning, Phryne knew she had nothing to do with it, the poor child was convinced electricity was going to blow up the world, that it was unnatural, so she gave her her calling card should she need help.

Sasha was looking for the 'King of Snow'. This elusive person had sold cocaine to his sister, got her addicted which killed her. With Phryne's help they found who the King of Snow was, discovered a struck off doctor who was performing back street abortions that nearly led to the death of another maid who had been dismissed for stealing a silver cruet set – it was all quite convoluted she thought.

The Inspector had followed his own line of inquiry; a steady clue driven line, but he was not able to get quite close enough to the real story, not like Miss Fisher was. Her 'meddling' made his head ache, it was diverting him from his goal of discovering who killed John Andrews and he didn't think the abortion racket was linked to it, he had to deal with that as well but it was, to him, a separate case. When Phryne persuaded the maid, Dorothy Williams, to pose as a young girl who had got herself into 'trouble' and to ask one of Mrs Andrews guests, Madame Breda, if she knew of someone who could help her, that was when things started to come together, but all the same, he'd rather hoped she would stay out of his way.

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Dorothy had gone to Miss Fisher when Mrs Andrews dismissed her and she had nowhere to go. Phryne had discovered she was a timid little thing, who was under the thumb of her priest who told her all the rubbish about electricity and had her fearing the telephone. However, Dorothy, or Dot as she became known to Phryne, had quite a hand with a sewing needle, her invisible mending was incredible and she found herself with a new post and a better wage.

The night it all came together Phryne had left Dot wrapped in a warm blanket with a large cup of thick, sweet cocoa and told her to ring the police if she wasn't back by midnight. She knew it was a gamble, Dot had spent her time at the Andrews' house avoiding the telephone like the plague, but she was sure if she told the Inspector what she was going to do he would stop her – likely clap her in irons! So she swanned off to meet Sasha, follow the lead of the cocaine distribution and found herself locked in a sauna with no access to the controls. She had discovered that the King was really the Queen of Snow, and she ran her business out of the back of the Turkish baths, together with Madam Breda who controlled the abortion racket. It was all rather sordid, but while she was thinking this she was telling Sasha to take off his clothes because of the heat, and she disrobed, taking off a rather expensive outfit and wrapping herself in a towel. Sasha collapsed onto the seat with a towel covering his buttocks, while she wondered if Dot would have the nerve to call the police. She had sent the cabbies she had got into the habit of using to tell Robinson what she was doing and where she was but he just sat back in his chair and regarded the two communist sympathisers with some distrust.

"Sir!" his constable, Hugh Collins ran into the office, "it's Miss Williams, sir, Miss Fisher, she's in trouble!"

Jack couldn't leave that, in many ways he wanted to get to know this adult Phryne Fisher, see how much she had changed over the years.

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In the sauna Phryne looked round for any way to turn off the heat and steam. She slapped Sasha on the buttocks, telling him not to go to sleep, but it was to no avail – he was practically unconscious – so much for him rescuing a maiden in distress! She found, under the bench, a trap leading to the pipes and a wheel to control the distribution of the steam. It was hot, too hot to touch with the naked hand, so she removed the towel that was covering her modesty and used it to protect her skin. She managed to turn the steam off, or at least stop the flow, not really thinking what effect this would have on the pressure and wrapped the towel round herself once again. She was struggling with feelings of light-headedness and found using a hairpin to pick the lock wasn't working. Suddenly the door opened and she found herself facing the top of a man's legs. She looked up, and grinned.

"Hello, Inspector," she breathed, "sorry, I'm not looking my best at the moment."

Jack Robinson thought she looked adorable, divine, but he told himself he was a professional copper and just cleared his throat. He held out his hand to her and she seemed to unfold like a cat until she was standing a full head shorter than him, but upright and apparently unharmed. He let her dry herself off and replace her clothes while he arranged for Sasha to be taken to the hospital and checked over for any injuries.

"It was Lydia Andrews," she told him as they left the baths, "she's the cocaine dealer. Her husband was not involved, contrary to popular belief the appearance she gave of being hopeless with business was more him than her. I did wonder," she frowned, "after all Aunt Prudence kept going on about how good she was at coming up with ways to raise money for the various charity boards they sat on together - so being hopeless with business didn't really sit right."

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The subsequent explosion of the Turkish Baths, caused apparently by the out of control pressure in the pipes, left the surrounding area with quite a mess to clear up. Jack mentioned it to Phryne when she was summoned to give her statement of events, but he couldn't really blame her and although she liked the facilities the idea that it was just a front for dealing drugs didn't sit well with her. She wasn't a habitual user of narcotics, she had tried them in the past but she got her highs from other, more physical, activities.

"Andrews was poisoned," he took the signed papers off her, "arsenic."

"Probably in the sugar in his morning tea," Phryne shrugged, "Lydia didn't take sugar, at least she didn't when we had tea together."

"Ah," he wondered, "that would do it."

"Poor Aunt Prudence," Phryne sighed, "she liked Lydia, she was so good at getting money out of people for the charity boards."

"Hm," was all he could think of to add.

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Feeling she had a talent for detective work Phryne set herself up as a private Lady Detective. When she announced this to Jack and Constable Collins in the restaurant at the Windsor, Inspector Robinson practically choked on his champagne – a glass of which had been thrust into his hand when he arrived to tell her the case was officially closed. Collins' jaw dropped and Mac grinned. Inspector Robinson looked around the ensemble gathered there and noticed the two communist cabbies and Miss Williams – was this what he was up against? Miss Fisher was totally untrained, but even he had to admit she was quite clever and her contacts could be useful, but allowing her into his cases could prove awkward. The Deputy Commissioner was his ex-father in law and he was known to be something of a misogynist, Jack's thoughts on the matter of her being a detective were somewhat jumbled, he would have to see how it panned out.

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At first Miss Fisher seemed to content herself with arranging to buy a house, a lovely Italianate house on the esplanade in the St Kilda area of the city so Jack didn't see much of her. She had to have some alterations – indoor plumbing, redecorating, furnishing and staff – she would need someone to cook and clean for her, so she went to an agency and set out the skills her new housekeeper would need.

"Will you require a maid, Miss Fisher?" the woman sat poised with her pen ready to take down the particulars.

"I have a companion," Phryne drew her lips together and thought, Dot was perfect, she could mend and remove stains from her expensive garments, lay out an outfit for the day or the activity of the hour, kept an eye on the level of her cosmetics and toiletries, "she does everything for me, so, just a housekeeper who is prepared to answer the door – perhaps I shall need someone else once I am settled, but for now …"

"Very well," the woman hummed, "I think I have just the person for you, that is if you don't mind it being a man?"

"How qualified is he?"

"Very, highly, he and his late wife ran only the best establishments, his references are impeccable."

"Well, let's give it a go, shall we?" Phryne grinned, "I shall be out of town for a couple of days, give him the address and tell him to get started, settle in and stock the cupboards."

The woman raised an eyebrow as Phryne swept out then reached for the telephone.

"Mr Butler?"

On the other end of the line Tobias Butler listened while the agent described his new employer as a spinster and what his first task would be.

"Not sure if it will suit you, Tobias," the agent admitted, "but I'm sure you will be able to rise to the task. She expects you to 'stock the cupboards' and is independently wealthy so seek out the vintner you used last time and cultivate the butchers and grocers in the area. Good luck, I shall ring you in a couple of weeks to see how you are getting on. Name's Miss Fisher and she has a companion, though she didn't mention her name. 221B The Esplanade, St Kilda."

Tobias Butler looked round the small flat he had been renting since his last post ended. St Kilda was an affluent area, there were some beautiful buildings on the Esplanade and a spinster – it would be nice to live out his days as butler/housekeeper to a spinster, quiet, he thought, set in her ways and the salary on offer would enable him to set aside a little something for his retirement … yes it sounded very much like they would suit each other. He packed.

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Phryne hadn't planned to become involved in a case, a murder at that, she was just taking a latish train to Ballarat to collect her new car, a Hispano-Suiza, that she had taken great delight in describing to her sister in her latest letter, as well as the house, Dot and the two cabbies. To Janey, there in Yorkshire, it sounded like she was having a wonderful time, though she worried about the detecting side of her life. She had talked to Teddy about this and they decided that perhaps in the New Year they would take the children to see their Aunt Phryne, who they missed, and spend some time in Melbourne. She wrote of their plans and hoped to see her soon.

"Do take care, Phryne, darling," Janey wrote, "with this business of yours. Eddie wants to know if you carry a gun – you don't do you?"

When Phryne read this, after the conclusion of her latest case, she grinned, Little Eddie was in for a treat!

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Tobias Butler was unsure as to why the two cabbies were grinning when he said it would be nice to work for a spinster, hinting he thought it would be a quiet life. The drank the lemonade he brought out for them after they had brought over Miss Fisher's things from the hotel while she was away, and choked on it when he passed his comment. It was when she arrived home with a client, from the train, and a possible suspect, aged around fourteen and told him to watch the girl, said she may well be infested and to be careful with the luggage, her pistol was there and may still be loaded.

"Thank you for the warning, Miss," he called as she headed into the house, "well, Tobias," he continued talking to himself, "this may be more interesting than you thought." It also helped him understand why the cabbies laughed.

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Phryne settled in, she liked Mr Butler, he seemed to be able to read her mind. He, in turn, found her a breath of fresh air. Her companion and he got on famously as he joined Miss Fisher in drawing out the painfully shy and diffident young girl and he found the arrival of the two cabbies, Albert Johnson and Cecil Yates amusing – they seemed to be able to smell the kettle and the pot of tea, the fresh scones and biscuits.

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Inspector Robinson had been warned by the Deputy Commissioner not to get involved with Miss Fisher and the case of the missing women.

"That case is closed, Jack," he scowled, "we couldn't find them, they likely ran away to a better life, or just left their violent husbands. Put the files away, there are new cases to deal with … and you can keep her away from those, too!"

Jack had given up trying to tell him that Margaret Fisher would not have left the girls with her husband if she truly had run away. Anyway George Sanderson was not the most diligent of coppers – he could see that now. He slipped the case file into his briefcase and decided a quick visit to Miss Fisher was in order. After all, she had asked – in passing.

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"Inspector Robinson to see you, Miss," Mr Butler opened the door to the parlour.

"Oh," she looked surprised, "how lovely. Show him in, Mr Butler."

"Very well, Miss."

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Miss Fisher," the Inspector looked round the room took in the cool colours, modern furniture and beautiful grand piano.

"Not at all, Inspector," she smiled, "drink?"

She had already stepped to the drinks table and lifted a decanter of what appeared to be whisky.

"Er, well …"

"Not on duty, are we?" she teased.

"No, thank you a drink would be lovely."

They sat on the chairs and he sipped his drink, a rather fine single malt.

"So, Jack," she leant back and observed him, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

He put his drink on the small pie-crust table between them and lifted his briefcase.

"Well, you asked about your mother's disappearance …" he pulled out the file, "… and the Deputy Commissioner …"

"… wants you to close it, end your investigation."

"Yes, but … you deserve to know the truth. I can't believe a woman like your mother would just leave her husband and not take the children with her. So … here is the file, best if you have it …" he passed over the bland light brown folder with dog-eared corners and a tea cup stain on one corner.

"Does this mean you are giving up?" she frowned, flicking through the old pages with the fading ink and type.

"No, no that's not what I mean, at all …" he sat forward, "I want to help you find the truth, I want you and your sister to find peace. I can't imagine how you feel, no knowing how or why she left …"

"There's a little hole, here," she pointed to her heart, "my mother tried her best, she loved us – me and Janey – and seeing Janey with her children; did Aunt Prudence tell you she has two, a boy and a girl?"

"She did, I ask – asked – after you, when she came in to see if I had got any further. She said she had named the girl after you and your mother …"

"Poor child," Phryne laughed, "we call her Megsy, seeing Janey with them makes me wonder how mother would have been, as a grandmother. Father is quite a lovely grandpapa, the children love him and now he has remarried and has a boy, Bertie, quite the little pest when he wants to be. Father says he is rather like me, Abigail, that's father's new wife, says that is no bad thing – if only she knew."

"What will you do, if you find out what happened?"

"I don't know, I suppose that would depend on whether the person who abducted them is still alive – then I suppose I shall expect retribution. So … Inspector, have you eaten yet?"

"Er, no, I was on my way home," he cleared his throat and looked embarrassed.

She got up from her seat and went to the door, opening it she called through to Mr Butler to set an extra place …

"Hungry policeman ..!"

Jack didn't hear the reply and he didn't expect to be fed. As he said, he was on his way home to whatever was left in his kitchen. He was able to cook and feed himself quite adequately but all of a sudden he had no idea what he had planned for his evening meal.

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The meal was delicious, the wine that accompanied it was superb and during it all they went over the file, the statements he had taken, the photographs of the area the women had been taken from, dates, times …

"Did you know any of the other women, Miss Fisher?" he asked, pushing his dessert plate out of the way.

"Mrs Lindeman, she and mother used to tend each other's bruises; her husband was as bad as my father when he had had a drink. I didn't know the other two." She closed her eyes momentarily and visualised the scenes so much a part of her early childhood.

"I'm sorry, Miss Fisher," he sighed, "this is all I have, nobody saw anything, and no traces … I don't know where to go from here."

She could see he was disappointed in the investigation but also understood he had been hampered, first by the lack of evidence, then the war and the lack of support from his superior officer.

But this story was not over, and she was going to start finishing it.

"Well, Inspector, as we are in cahoots over this you'd better call me Phryne …"

"…and you can continue to call me Jack, after all just about everybody else does," and he raised his glass in salute to their joint venture.