The girls filed into the classroom ready to start an English lesson. The weather was currently dreadful, high winds and torrential rain so the break had been spent either milling around the hallways or in the dining hall, gathered in groups and sipping glasses of milk or cups of hot chocolate. The school was nothing unusual, and Phryne-Rose knew she should be grateful that her father and grandfather saw fit to send her to a half decent establishment. Miss Fisher's ward, Jane, went to Warley Grammar but she knew that was too expensive for her father. Perhaps she could take the exams and be a scholarship girl, Jane had mentioned it one afternoon over tea and biscuits in Miss Fisher's kitchen.
"Only trouble is," Jane sighed, "scholarship girls get teased, sometimes bullied. 'Tisn't fair, of course, some of those that get their fees paid for because their parents are rich aren't the cleverest lot."
"It happens at the school I go to," Phryne-Rose huffed, "I've got it in the neck for knowing Miss Fisher. Some girls can be very unpleasant."
"Jealous, I expect."
"Mm," she nodded, "but one or two parents have stopped their daughters 'associating' with me because of something she did a while ago."
"Snobs," Jane sniffed, having a good idea what these parents were alluding to - that Miss Phryne had a number of 'gentlemen callers'. Though that seemed to have stopped, lately, in fact Miss Phryne didn't appear to have overnight guests of the male persuasion at all, these days, unless you counted the Inspector, and he didn't stay overnight. "Have you told your dad?"
"Not really," Phryne-Rose shrugged, "no reason to, they haven't hurt me."
"I'd go for the scholarship," Jane straightened up, "if they know you know me, at Warley, they'll give you a wide berth. They'll remember Marjorie."
"What happened to Marjorie?" the younger girl's eyes were wide with excitement.
"Some girls pinched her glasses and shoes and she had to walk home nearly blind and barefoot, I belted 'em," Jane was now rather embarrassed at the incident. "I got suspended, Aunt Prudence was horrified, but Miss Phryne sorted it out and threatened to take me to another school, but I'm too good for them to let me go, apparently."
"Would you want to leave?"
"God no! The library is wonderful, I love reading." Jane laughed, "and the science labs, they're quite forward thinking there ..."
"I'll ask dad if I can try, I think." Phryne-Rose tipped her head, the way the Inspector did when he was thinking, or exasperated at Miss Fisher.
"Good."
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Phryne-Rose chose the worst and possibly the best time to suggest she move schools. Her grandfather, George Sanderson, had been arrested for facilitating white slavery with his godson, Sydney Fletcher. George had been paying some of her school fees and Jack was wondering how he was going to fill the gap. He was a Senior Detective Inspector, but he wasn't a rich man.
"Well," he sighed as she put the suggestion to her, "if you think you can do it, I see no reason why you shouldn't try." He knew once the story got out, and it would, then she would probably be targeted at school. Parents once sympathetic to the motherless child would withdraw their support in the way of tea at their homes and friendships with their children.
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The news did leak out and Phryne-Rose's school suggested perhaps an extended term break for her.
"Just until the dust settles," the head had murmured primly, "I'd hate for her to be teased."
By 'teased' Jack knew she meant bullied because it had already started. Her new fountain pen, engraved for her and the nib ground especially to accommodate her left-handedness by Miss Fisher, had been stolen. It had been by chance that his daughter had discovered the thief. She had gone to the staff room to ask for something on behalf of another teacher and seen the history mistress using it to mark some books.
Phryne-Rose had instantly strode over to her and held out her hand.
"That's my pen," she smiled, "I'd like it back, please. I've been wondering who took it."
"Are you accusing me of stealing, child?"
"If the cap fits," she tipped her head, "please."
"And how can you identify it as yours? It's far too expensive for the child of a copper."
"My initials, PRR and the fact that the nib is ground for a left-hander. I expect you find it scratches."
"And if my initials are P R R?"
"They maybe, miss, but mine are P hyphen R R, and it was a gift," Phryne-Rose didn't move.
"Who would you know that would give a child ...?"
"You're new here, miss," she answered with the boredom of one of her father's suspects, "my father and I are friends with the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, and it was she that gave me the pen."
The teacher Phryne-Rose had come to see handed her the books she needed and whispered in the history mistress' ear. The pen was handed over and she left.
"Thank you," she skipped out, glad she would be leaving the school, who wants to be taught by thieves, she wasn't Oliver Twist of the Artful Dodger?
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"Oh," Jack leant over her as she finished the essay she was writing, to prove she was good enough for Warley Grammar, "you found your pen, Miss Fisher was wondering if she should mount a full scale investigation."
"One of the teachers," she went back to cross a 't', "the new history mistress, and she didn't want to give it back."
"But it has your initials ..."
"So I reminded her, and that is a special nib," Phryne-Rose turned round and smiled at him, "anyway, she handed it over, after the French mistress whispered something in her ear."
"I wonder if she's read the papers. Still, no matter, you won't be going back, not even if you aren't accepted into Warley."
She looked confused.
"The meeting I had, today," he sat down and pulled her onto his knee, "the head suggested you take a leave of absence, a long break."
"You mean she threw me out?"
He tipped his head and hummed.
"Snob!"
He couldn't argue with that.