«How droll it is to name your British motorcar company 'Sunbeam'», Phryne said, laughing, when the rain started pelting down on the roof of the vehicle.

With the chauffeur sitting ahead of them, any conversation of a more personal nature had to be replaced by light remarks about how Hugo's mother, now the Dowager Countess, had gone to Wiltshire to visit her sister, how Gerard continued settled as a famed barrister in London with his family, the changes Miss Fisher noticed around as they were driven on to Leasham – the arable plots and the pleasure gardens even more pleasant and well-tended-to than what she remembered.

«A glimpse of optimism, perhaps?», offered Hugo.

The beech-flanked avenue came to an end and the house was across them, fully in view now, imposing in its stern simplicity: a symmetric grey stone building with a pediment over the front door and plenty of windows to provide the interiors with as much light as possible.

The present building replaced the Tudor manor that had once stood there. It had been commissioned by the 1st Earl to showcase the significant improvement in the Selwyns' circumstances through the use of the best materials and craftsmanship available but without the overt extravagance of the English Baroque style more in vogue at the time.

Nowadays, the gravel road that lead to the entrance described a circle around a formal garden with parterres, bound to impress the newly-arrived. Definitely larger and more grandiose than Brentby.

The motorcar hadn't been parked yet in front of the staircase that came up to the door, but a man Phryne guessed was the butler was already waiting at its foot holding an open black umbrella.

When the chauffeur stopped, the man opened the door for Hugo to exit the vehicle, which he did, then offering his hand to help Phryne get out as well.

«Good afternoon, Bridgers», Hugo said to the butler, a man slightly older than himself still with dark hair and blue eyes. «Please, escort Miss Fisher inside».

«Yes, My Lord», he said with a nod and then turning to Phryne. «This way, Ma'am».

Miss Fisher proffered her own umbrella to Hugo, who thanked her and opened it, following right after them.

The rain kept on, so Phryne couldn't admire the house properly from this close, at risk of falling on the staircase, well-polished from 300 years of steps and treacherous in weather like this. She was glad she was wearing boots with a rubber welt instead of any other type of leather-soled shoes.

While it was only October, the fires were on the two marble hearths of the hall, trying to stave off the cold, which wasn't easy even with the door already closed, as it was a large wood-panelled room with a checked marble floor. The wall ahead was adorned by portraits of the 1st Earl and Countess of Holtborough, dating from the late 17th century.

Miss Fisher handed her raincoat to the footman waiting for it and after a quick glance of consultation at Hugo, who aware of how much she liked them tried to politely decline, handed him the bag with Mrs Harlan's scones and jam. «To present at tea, if it's to be served».

«Phryne, you shouldn't have», Hugo said, taking off his own coat and giving it to the footman as well, the briefcase going to the butler.

«It's the least I can do. I am one of those guests who likes to bring gifts».

«Very well then. Thank you», he replied with a smile. « Bridgers, have you seen Lady Holtborough?»

«I believe Her Ladyship in in the atelier, My Lord. Would you like for Peter to let her know of your arrival?»

«There's no need. I'll meet her there myself», his voice softening as he spoke about seeing Eliza again. «We'll have some tea in the drawing room – a comfort from the ghastly weather».

«Very well, My Lord», Bridgers said, disappearing with the footman towards a service door located somewhere close.

«After the unusual dry month we've had, rain is certainly needed but it didn't have to pour it all today. I guess you'd like to see the gardens – they're much improved since the last time you visited», Hugo said, somewhat disappointed.

«Maybe tomorrow it will be better. Even if not, I am not easily scared away by a light drizzle», replied Phryne with a laugh.

« I doubt even a flood would», he said. «There's a lavatory after the staircase, in case you want to freshen up. I am not in position to assign you a room as I'm afraid that falls under the domain of the lady of the house».

«Go meet her before you spontaneously combust», Phryne said, amused and free from any jealousy.

Hugo blushed but Miss Fisher didn't remark on it. She was happy for him, smitten like this about Eliza after 17 years of marriage, four children, and a World War.

«So, if you excuse me… please feel at home».

Phryne nodded and Hugo left towards the hallway.

Miss Fisher had been to Leasham many times during her youth. Henry had been quick to present his regards to his illustrious neighbours and the Fishers were sometimes invited as a family but she also visited on her own to meet Amalia and/or Hugo. Yet, she didn't feel completely at ease now; splashing some cold water on her face seemed like a wonderful idea and she took to the bathroom, hoping to be back before Hugo and Eliza returned.

As in many of the walls of the house, those of the grand staircase and attached hallways had portraits of Selwyns of different generations. She recognised some of them but Amalia's was the one that stopped Phryne in her tracks. She had seen it before and frequently. What struck her was the wave of loss over her friend that enveloped her once again. Miss Fisher thought about Amalia often but she had felt it prick at her heart sometimes since she had arrived in England in a particular way and it hit harder and more painfully now.

Not only had Leasham always been a place very dear to her friend, but it was also where they had met.

«Phryne… It's such an interesting name and with such a lovely sound. I've always been partial to historical names. I am named after a Dutch great-aunt, which is a different kind of history, I guess».

Amalia had long brown hair with a fringe and her brown eyes were full of curiosity and a glint of joy. She always looked very composed, reminding Phryne, perhaps strangely, of a very efficient secretary, but she could quickly collapse into laughter.

Lady Amalia Selwyn had seemed shy at first but Phryne had quickly grasped that it was instead to cover the eagerness of those with little chance to make friends but who have a strong wish to. Even girls like them were going to school in significant numbers but Amalia was taught at home by a governess and occasional private tutors in particular subjects. By being the only girl, she was alone most of the year, not being able to even have Hugo's , her twin, company as all her brothers were away at boarding school, even the youngest. There was a cousin from Wiltshire she was friends with and who came to visit for weeks at the time but it wasn't enough.

Phryne had liked her at once. Amalia was warm and had an artless grace to her, even if she had and continued to be exquisitely brought up to be as pleased and poised at all times.

After tea, her parents had acquiesced to her showing the estate to Phryne and she had revealed herself knowledgeable, confident, and, regardless the fact that neither was dressed for it, had started to teach Phryne to ride, the lessons continuing over that week, Amalia a deft teacher and Phryne a quick learner.

Amalia rarely asked for something but as a keen horsewoman and deeply fascinated – nay, obsessed, by her own admission – with the significant equestrian art collection at Weston Park, especially the portrait of Elizabeth Simpson, Lady Bridgeman, in her red outfit, she wanted to wear her riding habit in the portrait her father had commissioned from Philip de László's to celebrate her debut into society. She would have looked beautiful in the elegant evening clothes usually chosen for this type of paintings but in an outfit so special for her, she shone gloriously against the countryside background.

Phryne hadn't been able to say goodbye. When she had finally returned to England, Amalia had been dead for three years of the Spanish Influenza, the news like a knife to her gut, the reality so far from the liveliness and brisk efficiency Amalia had conveyed in the last letter Phryne had received from her, retelling the many activities she undertook as Leasham had been turned into a recovery home for wounded soldiers and how she gleefully hoped to marry James Basingstoke, a Major she had met there, after the War. Unaware of the true circumstances, Miss Fisher had naively thought Amalia's letters had ended up lost somewhere along the way like all the others family and friends had tried to send her while she was in France. On the front, Phryne had come across more death than seemed possible but nothing can prepare you for when it comes for one of your own.

«Oh, Amalia», Phryne whispered, her eyes on her friend's painted face, deftly and accurately illustrated but an insufficient stand in for the real woman.

She would ask Hugo for some flowers she could bring to her friend's gravesite at the Selwyn vault in St Mary's church.

Phryne took a deep breath, kissed the tip of her fingers and touched the trace of the hem of Amalia's skirt. She hadn't often been to Leasham since her death and the place always felt emptier than what she recalled.

After some moments in silence, Miss Fisher turned her eyes to Hugo's portrait, this one painted much later, him already as Hugo, the 9th Earl of Holtborough. While in a rather traditional posing stance, dressed in a dark suit and looking straight at the observer, the lines were more modern, each brushstroke very visible while still rendering a clear and accurate representation of the sitter. On the right bottom corner, a telling signature: "Eliza H, 1924". Beside it, Eliza herself wearing a moss-green blouse and a long pearl necklace, painted by her own hand in a similar style, for some a very bold choice that Phryne personally applauded. She hadn't just stood as a repository of what a countess must look like but as she was every day and equal to her husband, both having eschewed the coronets and robes and looking as the country gentleman and lady they felt at heart.

While not seeming very keen on it, Bridgers had left Phryne at the staircase hall by herself and after a quick stop at the lavatory, she made her way to the drawing room; she knew very well where it was after all.

The décor had been changed. It remained tasteful and dignified, of course, but it seemed cosier by now. The intense red brocade wallpaper had been replaced by a more subdued shade of persimmon, the dainty Louis XVI loveseat and chairs had given way to plusher velvet sofas and armchairs, the heavy curtains in a colour slightly darker than the walls. The grey weather forced the lights to be on and it fell on the elegant wooded furniture – bookshelves, cabinets, tables of different sizes and purposes, a piano.

Phryne's eye was drawn to the skyline of pictures that dotted the table-top of a console on her left, positioned under a landscape painting she was fairly certain was depicting part of the actual estate.

There were formal portraits of Selwyns dating back to the 19th century but there were also more candid images, where people were laughing, or surrounded by dogs, playing sports or music, even one of Richard – one of Hugo's uncles – making a silly face to the camera. It seemed that there had always been a photography enthusiast in the family.

The one Miss Fisher was paying attention to was much more recent. It showed Hugo and Eliza with their children, sitting on a bench in the garden, under a big oak tree, with a rare clear sky behind it. Amelia, one of their twelve-year-old twins and Phryne's goddaughter, was next to her father. Oliver, the youngest, near his mother, a croquet bat loosely held in his eight-year-old hand. Standing behind, August, the eldest at sixteen and heir presumptive to estate and title, with Beatrix, his other sister, nearby, a hand around his forearm.

August looked so much like his father at his age it was somewhat disconcerting in fact. Like their brother, Amelia and Beatrix's features were all Selwyn, with the dark hair and the shape of their dark eyes, straight nose, and high cheekbones. Oliver was the only one of the four that favoured his mother's in the outline of his face and the cut of the chin.

«It was taken last Easter, when the children were home from school», said Eliza, walking into the room with Hugo by her side.

«You two have a beautiful family», Phryne said, moving from near the table to where her hosts were, closer to the sofa. She had heard the door but didn't move away fast - she wasn't doing anything forbidden, after all.

«Hello, Phryne», Eliza said, greeting her with a social kiss.

«Thank you for having me at such short notice, Eliza», Phryne said. «Hugo has probably told you that I missed the last train to London», she said with a little chuckle.

«Don't fret. It has happened to us all».

Eliza had an innate warmth to her that made words like those effortlessly sincere and not cloying and a sense of confidence that had grown with age without ever getting presumptuous, remaining approachable.

Eliza's brown hair was still long but was styled in a way that made it look like a wavy bob with a chignon. Her forest green jersey highlighted her hazel eyes. At her neck, a blue-and-green paisley ascot peaked over the collar of her white cotton shirt. With a green tweed skirt, it was outfit over which it was easy to slip a painter's smock but not less elegant for it.

« You are always welcome to Leasham. I know it's a special place for you», she continued.

«It is».

«Please», Eliza said, motioning to one of the sofas and sitting herself down next to Hugo.

As if on cue, Bridgers and Peter came in with the tea, sandwiches, cake, and Mrs Harlan's scones and jam complemented by some made at Leasham.

«They look delicious», said Eliza.

«They are delicious. Mrs Harlan is an excellent cook of every dish she sets herself to do but is an absolute magician when it comes to scones».

«If everybody agrees there are two for each of us», Eliza said, used to stem possible bickering as only a mother could, even if no one had never been in want of anything in that house.

Phryne and Hugo didn't raise any objections.

«I hope your work was going along nicely», Phryne said, taking a sip of her tea.

«More or less. Some shadows are tricking me, I'm afraid. I'm still sketching but I can't seem to get them right», the hostess said. «I may have to choose a different angle. It will be Ollie's birthday soon and I am painting a series of his favourite motorcars».

«What a lovely gift», said Phryne, genuinely, «What are they?»

«The Lagonda 16/60, the Duesenberg J Coupe Murphy, and the Hispano-Suiza H6. Good thing someone is a member of the Automobile Club», she said nudging Hugo tenderly with her elbow, « so I have plenty of examples to guide me. My studio looks like its Norfolk branch». Eliza laughed.

«I'm glad to be of help to both my wife and my son», Hugo said with a very dry nod, a smile breaking afterwards.

«The Duesenberg has just been presented at the Paris Salon and I haven't that many references, but Ollie fell in love straightway».

«I happen to have a Hispano H6», said Phryne with a laugh, «How small the world is».

«Ollie would talk your ear off with questions», Hugo said after finishing a bit of egg sandwich. « He says he wants to design, make, and drive his own cars. I guess I only have myself to blame», he continued lightly but with visible fondness for his youngest son.

«I would gladly answer them if I knew how. He's at school, I presume?», small talk about children was not normally something she indulged in, even after welcoming Jane into her life, but she asked with genuine curiosity.

«Yes. At Gresham's. A child has to be with other children but we didn't want to send him too far away. They go to school, not exile. We did the same with August and so far it has worked out, even when he went to Eton. Like a stepping stone from home to there, if you will», said Eliza, «I think Ollie is doing well in his first year. He's a very sociable boy», she continued.

«And are the girls doing well at Roedean? Amelia sent me a telegram thanking the one I sent her on their birthday in addition to the one she sent with Beatrix», Phryne said. She knew she wasn't the most present godmother; nevertheless, it had been heart-warming to find it among the correspondence Mr Butler had brought in alongside Dot's breakfast. «Apparently, I had been recently mentioned at my old school, yet if I don't know why. I hope it wasn't anything too scandalous».

«Miss Phryne Fisher, scandalous? Never!», Hugo, said with a laugh. «The girls are absolutely thrilled and thriving. They are quite bright – Amelia seems more in tune with languages and History and Beatrix with science – and sporty. August isn't underplaying when they win at tennis, croquet or badminton. They even beat me sometimes», Hugo continued, beaming proudly once again.

«You did well by sending them to school», said Phryne.

«How could I not? Not only for their educational enrichment, which they could get at home with good tutors, who would have been easy to get even nowadays, but I remember how wretchedly alone Amalia felt while we were all at school and her friends were away. The girls would have each other but I could never do that to them», he said.

«While home-schooled, I was lucky to have my sister, my art, and a very well-stocked library», said Eliza,« but when I went to Switzerland for finishing school it was as if a whole new world had suddenly appeared. I mean, in a way, some might say that just the scenery had changed from home but still.»

Apart from the way they had gotten their education and the fact that Henry's title and the change of circumstances for the Fishers had come basically as a present from genealogy while Eliza's father's barony had passed from father to son or –at most grandson, brother or nephew -, Phryne and Eliza's backgrounds were somewhat similar. Both daughters of barons - brought up between London and the family estates in the countryside (Buckinghamshire in Eliza's case), from families with enough money to be way more than comfortable but not insanely rich. Beautiful, agreeable and smart enough (if not too much sometimes), the perfect prospective bride for, in the best of chances, the third son of a Marquess, if not possible, the second son of an Earl, the first son of a Baron or of a very rich baronet; anything else would be a failure of them and their families, even if the war and the absolute devastation it had brought to at least two generations of men had muddled things. Eliza was two years younger than Phryne so they hadn't debuted in the same year and hadn't found themselves in the same circles and thrown into the marriage dance of the season at the same time. (Not that Phryne had regarded it as such and not only because she was paired with Hugo back then).

«Is August already considering his future?», Phryne asked after another bite of scone with jam and clotted cream, the first being from Brentby and the latter obviously made at Leasham. While the matter might fall out of her usual purview, it was only natural se would ask about him as well.

«He's very interested in going to Edinburgh to study Biology, lending a scientific slant to what we do here. I support the idea. Agriculture is basically the core of the estate and such approach seems very sensible, in fact», Hugo said, impressed by the clarity of his son's plans. «Besides, someone has to bankroll Ollie's car company until it either bursts or turns a profit».

The three of them laughed.

«And Jane?», asked Hugo, having heard of her from Margaret when they had last met by chance also at the Leasham train station. «She's about August's age, isn't she?»

«Slightly younger. She's fourteen. She's currently studying in Paris. She has been doing well too. She loves to learn, has made friends and is taking full advantage of the opportunity. She came to Europe first in a sort of updated Grand Tour, but asked to stick around to study. I did all I could as a parent but she arranged it all, finding the school, applying, getting in. I miss her very much but she's happy where she is and all I can do is to be on her side. Sometimes, the best a parent can do is to step back. And you have to reckon with it times four!», Miss Fisher said with a laugh matched by Eliza and Hugo's. «I'm looking forward to meeting her in a couple of days. She makes a point of keeping a very intense correspondence but while telegrams have been a boon, there's no match for letters and those do take a little while to get to the other side of the world».

Eliza and Hugo smiled understandingly at Phryne.

«The fame of Mrs Harlan's scones is fully merited. Thank you for sharing them with us», said Eliza after she had finished eating the second one that had been destined for her. «Send her my compliments, if you have the chance».

«Will do. I'm always glad to share this particular bounty. The more people know of them, the happier their world is.»

They had been talking for a while when the footman came in to stoke the fire on the grate. His gestures drew Eliza's attention to the tortoiseshell clock on the mantelpiece.

«I'm sorry but I must take my leave. I am supposed to go down to St. Mary's and deliver the flowers for the Jones-Carr wedding tomorrow. The family always offers the flowers when our tenants either marry, get baptised, or have their funeral», she explained to Miss Fisher. «I could just send Jameson but people seem to appreciate when I go personally and it's no trouble. So, if you excuse me…», Eliza got up from the sofa. «The Blue room is already prepared for you, Phryne. Feel free to go upstairs whenever you want.»

«Thank you, Eliza.»

«I'll see you both for dinner», she said, touching her Hugo's shoulder. He tenderly enfolded her hand with his.

«Looking forward to», said Hugo.

Eliza patted his shoulder again and left.

«I'm glad to see you happy», Phryne said. Hugo and Eliza might be uncharacteristically public in their affection for each other, particularly for aristocrats, but it was clear that it was simply how they behaved normally and not for show, and especially not because Miss Fisher had been his first love.

«Thank you. I will never be able to be grateful enough for Eliza and for my family. It's actually once of the reasons why I still have faith in God even after all that has happened in my life. »

He had always been more religious than Phryne, who had stopped going to church apart from when she was specifically invited to long ago, probably since she had left school and chapel was no longer an obligation. She didn't begrudge who did it, but for her it made no sense to engage in a ritual she didn't believe in.

«People find it in all kinds of places», Phryne said, not willing to engage in a theological debate at that hour of the day even if Hugo was unlikely to start it anyway. He might wish more people would believe, but he wouldn't be the one to try to draw them, as he thought that that sort of actions actually tended to have an opposite effect from what was desired.

«Would you find it terribly rude if I did go upstairs for a while?», Phryne asked, putting her teacup and saucer down, nevertheless confident enough in their bond for it to not be out of place.

«Not at all. I completely understand and I am not against getting some rest before dinner myself. I'll show you to your room». Hugo got up from the sofa and pulled the heavy cord by the fireplace to let Bridgers know that the tea things could be removed, Phryne guessed.

«After you», he said, letting Phryne walk ahead through the door.

She nodded in acknowledgement.

«I was thinking about when the last time I've gone up these stairs was but I can't seem to remember», they were walking side-by-side now, «maybe someday I slept over during some school holiday?», she asked yet not exactly seeking confirmation but just musing in general. «I think I always went back to Brentby after the last visits for the christenings and so on, when I could still do that», Miss Fisher paused. «I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I guess today is indeed catching up with me», Phryne said, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.

«Don't apologise. I find your reaction quite natural. Maybe it's not only the use of Brentby itself but the whole context as well. It's a lot to try to make sense of», Hugo said as they walked the hallway.

«I think you are right», said Miss Fisher, «very wise and perceptive, as always».

Hugo chuckled and looked down for an instant, slightly abashed.

He had felt wounded to the core when Phryne had broken up with him all those years ago but couldn't exactly bear her ill will even then. She had clearly stated that she couldn't live the expected life of the spouse of an army officer; it was a valid choice to those who preferred it or had to but she wanted to see more, to do more, to be more and would be unhappy within its confines. Hugo had accepted, how could he not, as he would never sacrifice Phryne's happiness for his. What kind of marriage, of future would that be? And he respected and thanked that she had told him so before he had actually asked her to marry him. That rejection would have shamed him forever, not for Phryne's decision but for his own failure to read the signs. He had been grateful his army service had kept him away from Leasham, and London, and Phryne for a while, his heart still too raw and his emotions too bruised. While he would always hold that first love in a very special place of his heart, time did make things better and after he was whole again he had met Eliza and fallen in love with her in a more mature and deep way, a relationship from which both wanted the same. He didn't regret it one bit and never considered he had settled for less.

«Here it is», Hugo opened the door and stepped aside to let Phryne walk in. «The Blue Room. You have your own private bathroom through that door over there».

The room had a good size, the walls covered by a beautiful wallpaper depicting a variety of colourful birds on delicate branches over a powder blue background.

There was a half-tester bed with the boards and the canopy in a shade of blue complementary to the wallpaper, and the furniture – bedside tables, chest of drawers, wardrobe, dressing table and desk – were made of mahogany and in Chippendale style. A small chaise-longue was set at the end of the bed and a pair of armchairs upholstered in blue were placed in front of the hearth, already lit. Above the fireplace, a gilded mirror – Venetian, perhaps.

«Thank you. It's lovely». Back then, Phryne had always stayed in Amalia's room with her friend.

«Well, I can't exactly take credit but I'm glad you like it», he said.

«At what time should I be downstairs?», Phryne asked.

«Dinner is served at eight, but we usually gather a bit earlier for an aperitif. But don't fret. Bridgers will sound the gong at 7.00, you'll have time enough, I think».

«I'll organise myself accordingly then», Phryne said with a nod.

«If you need anything, the cord is by the fireplace.»

«Thank you again for putting up with me in such short notice».

«You are always welcome. It was a very nice surprise, meeting you.»

«I am sorry I hadn't reached out before».

«Don't mention it. We've met now, that's the important thing».

Phryne smiled at Hugo. He might not admit it but she knew he had been at least a bit hurt for the slight, if you could call it like that.

«And now I am going to leave you to get some rest before dinner, as promised».

«Just before you go... where could I find a telephone?»

«In the hall - there's a small room to your right».

«Thank you. See you later then».

Hugo, with a smile on his face, nodded and exited the room, closing the door after him.

Phryne walked farther into the room. On the chaise-longue, two step-ins, seemingly in cotton, with an embroidered neckline and hem, and a nightgown in a similar style had been placed. Given the material they were made of, it was likely those garments were part of the 'impromptu guests' trousseau - easy to clean or toss - but Phryne didn't mind it. Wearing underthings that belonged to Eliza would feel too awkward, she would confess. There was also two pairs of stockings and a sage green dressing gown.

Out of curiosity, she opened the wardrobe door - for all the talk about not minding not coming ready to stay there was a dressing gong to be heard soon, certainly some more formal clothing would be provided. And so they were: three dresses that were likely Eliza's, given the modernity of the lines and the quality of the materials, not very dissimilar to what Phryne usually wore apart from the colours. But she would choose which one she preferred later and continued exploring the room.

A couple of jars of cold cream and other beauty products and clean rolled-up face cloths had been placed on the dressing table as a well as a flask of lavender water and a brush and mirror set. Phryne opened the containers and smelled what was inside, finding it pleasant and fresh.

Phryne then moved onto checking the private bathroom, quite a luxury in a house of that age. The room itself had probably been there for centuries and it might even have served a similar purpose, but what was in front of her was thoroughly modern: a fully equipped bathroom as one could find in recent buildings. Hers had blue and white tiles in the walls and floors. There was a feet-basin, a bathtub, a bidet, and the toilet bowl placed against the wall to the left of the door, with a sink set in a white table across them, topped by a mirror, flanked by glass sconces. It even had a towel heater, powered by hot water running in the tubes. It might not be the most stylish layout but surely the most functional one. Hugo's father had modernised all the bathrooms in the house at great financial cost and tremendous engineering cunning.

She would definitely have a bath before dinner, Miss Fisher decided. But first, she must call Margaret.

Phryne couldn't exactly explain why she had lately always been so concerned about reassuring her mother. She hadn't been when she was younger, even after she had made her way back home after the war and might feel more beholden to it after all the life-changing circumstances they and the world had gone through. Miss Fisher ventured that her current care was linked to all the worries her mother had been dealing with by herself over the last months and didn't want to add to them. Apparently in this regard, it was easier for her to navigate that across the world than in the same country.

She found the small room in the entrance hall Hugo had mentioned, probably where once there had been a sentry space, back then before the bell-board had been invented and put an end to the need for footmen to stand by room doors in case anyone wanted something.

There was a telephone on a desk with two armchairs in front of it and a swivel chair on the other side. The room was lit by a pair of wall sconces and a more practical lamp by the phone. On the tabletop, a blotter and a note pad with a pencil for some detail that may need being taken in writing.

«Hullo, Phryne!», greeted Margaret once she got to the telephone.

«Hello, Mother. You sound quite cheerful. I like to hear that.»

«The Chapmans will be here soon for dinner. It was not exactly planned in great advance but I was talking with Irene on the telephone early on, felt like inviting them and they accepted. Mrs Swanson probably wants to murder me though», she said with a little laugh.

«Sounds wonderful. The invitation, I mean, not the possible homicide. I would miss you.»

Phryne had said it very organically but suddenly both ends of the line went silent.

«Thank you, dear. That's very heart-warming to know.»

Margaret's voice hadn't exactly catch, but Phryne discerned a veil of relief and acknowledgement. Miss Fisher was sure of Irene's friendship and fondness for her mother - certainly the best among her friends - but she had the impression that Margaret felt quite lonely sometimes. She had gone through a lot but she hadn't grown numb and jaded, which carried its own set of challenges, particularly when facing such upheaval at this stage of her life.

«I was calling to let you know that, as you may have gathered, I missed the last train and will be staying in Leasham for the night». Miss Fisher hadn't replied directly to her mother not out of shame or shyness; in their relationship, saying anything else more would be what would sap her words of their sincerity.

«How is dear Hugo?»

Margaret had always liked him and while she knew her daughter too well to voice it, Phryne was aware that she had once hoped he'd be her son-in-law. For a dizzying instant, she wondered if her mother would like Jack.

«He is well and sends his regards. Both he and Eliza couldn't have been more welcoming», she replied, not exactly sure if the mention of Hugo's wife had been out of acknowledgement or to remind her mother that such chapter had been closed for nearly 20 years. Besides, there would probably be at least one operator who could hear them.

«Thank you for telephoning. I am much assured by knowing you are with friends. If you excuse me, know I have to go break the news about dinner to your father».

«Do go. I won't keep you from such an exciting task any further».

«Phryne...», she admonished briefly, «Goodnight».

«Goodnight, Mother. Have a pleasant evening».

«Likewise, dear».

Phryne had fallen asleep, it seemed, and she looked from the bed and saw the copy of the latest issue of Vogue on the floor and the fire on the hearth much reduced.

She had taken that glorious bath and reclined on the bed. It had still been too early to get ready and she had picked the magazine from the small table by the fireplace. The hot bath and the emotions of the day had gotten the best of her though, it seemed.

Miss Fisher got up and arranged the still hot remains of the fire that had once blazed. It might still be only October but those grand houses always tended to be very cold, even one as well-tended to and modernised as Leasham.

She took the three dresses out of the wardrobe and laid them on the bed: a cinnamon burnt-velvet one with chiffon sleeves and a belt in the same material secured with a well-made rhinestone clip, a bottle-green velvet dress with a crystal-bead motif scattered across the front like tiny leaves and an asymmetrical sleeve lined with white satin, and a sage green velvet dress cut in bias with a very subtle ruffle fall below the cut.

They had been carefully chosen, she could tell, as all the colours and styles would suit her quite well.

Miss Fisher was holding the green one to her body as she stood in front of the full-body mirror in the corner of the room when someone knocked on the door.

Phryne tightened the dressing gown around her and found a maid, all starched apron and cap, on the other side.

«Good evening, ma'am. Her ladyship sent me in case you wanted help to get ready for dinner».

«That's very thoughtful of her but I am all settled and will be down shortly. Thank you,...»

«Charlotte.»

«But if you could have my suit taken care of, I'd much appreciate it, Charlotte».

Phryne went on to get it and handed it to the maid.

«There's no need to come after dinner either».

Charlotte bowed her head and went down the hallway.

Miss Fisher was sure someone would come and take it while she was having dinner but couldn't send the maid back empty-handed. Since she hadn't had a lady's maid or equivalent since before the war, she was used to it. When she had come back to London, there was only the parlour maid she employed in tandem with Peter and even now Dot might tend to her clothes, arrange and mend them as a lady's maid would or even run Phryne a bath and sometimes help her with her hair but that was as far as those duties went. It was simply a position she hadn't felt the need to fill in her own house.

Half an hour later, she was ready and coming down the staircase in the sage green dress and golden shoes (chosen out of the four pairs in different colours and sizes put at her disposal), and a floral lamé shawl draped over her shoulders.

Phryne followed the men's voices to the drawing room, where Hugo was telling Bridgers which wines to serve at dinner.

«Good evening», she greeted, the tapping of her heels on the wooden floors denouncing her even before she spoke.

Hugo turned to her, the friendly smile she knew so fondly on his face. Wearing his dinner suit, he looked dashing and even more distinguished, if it were possible. He had never been exactly an exuberant dresser, but had always carried clothes well.

«Phryne! Would you like something to drink?», he offered, the cabinet that had been conspicuously closed this afternoon now revealing an orchestra of crystal decanters, bottles, and glasses.

«A gin sling, please».

Peter busied himself preparing it and Phryne sat down in one of the sofas, followed by Hugo across her.

«Did you manage to get some rest?», he asked, taking a sip of his dry Madeira.

«I did. Besides, how could I not when it's all so comfortable? Now I get why Amalia used to call it The Queen's Room», she said with a wistful chuckle that found a match in Hugo's. While always very dear to them and each had moved on with their lives, but Amalia's loss was a chasm that would never close.

«She wanted to take over it, but Mother never allowed it. It was a gown-ups room, she said and eventually she forgot about it. The girls settled in her old room when they out-grew the nursery and have always loved it. In theory, they have separate rooms but always end up in that one, which is Amelia's. Each to their own», he said.

«And the world is better for it.»

«Indeed», he said, raising up his glass in cheer, Phryne doing the same with the newly-received hers. The drink was refreshing with a little bitter aftertaste, just like she liked it. It wasn't at Mr Butler's level, but whose cocktails were?

«Hello! Good evening!»

Eliza walked into the room, clad in a very becoming olive green beaded silk gown that brought out the colour of her eyes. While still like how she had worn it earlier, it was clear her dark hair had been freshly styled. Yet, it was now adorned with a pin with tiny mosaics that matched the beautiful Art Nouveau necklet in pastel colours forming a soft iris spray she had on. Tasteful and in tone with what Phryne had seen her wear in the other occasions they had coincided for dinner.

«A sherry, please, Peter», she said, as she made her way to the sofa where Hugo was.

«Good evening!», greeted Phryne.

«I gather everything fit. The dresses we had for borrowing felt too fusty for you», Eliza said, sitting down.

«Oh, it does. The ones you chose are all wonderful. Thank you so much again, for all the attentions paid. And for sending Charlotte to meet me. I didn't use her help but it was very nice of you.»

«You are welcome. Not everybody travels with a valet or a lady's maid these days and I didn't know your preference. Better safe than sorry when it comes to hostessing duties», she continued, a smile that lent a shade of confession to her words.

«I hope your rooms are to your satisfaction», inquired Eliza, taking her sherry from the platter the footman presented her.

«I was just telling Hugo I couldn't be more comfortable. It's splendid.»

«Thank you».

Eliza might fashion herself a a more "modern" countess but being a good chatelaine was still one of her main priorities.

Hugo and Eliza were telling Phryne about what had happened at St Leger, held last September, where their own filly had gotten a very respectable 4th place and how it bode well for next year's Ascot Golden Cup, when the butler announced that dinner was ready.

«You two go ahead together», Phryne said, pre-emptively. «I am but one person and we're among friends».

«The least I can do is let you go first», Hugo said, as Eliza took his arm. «You know where to, the dining room hasn't changed its place».

Phryne nodded in thanks and acknowledgement and did so.

After walking a stretch of hallway and a brief passage through the breakfast room, they reached this destination. The 1st Earl and his architect had been very precise about impressing guests.

The dining room had a sumptuous marigold wallpaper that reminded Phryne of honey in the way it reflected the light from the crystal chandelier and wall sconces.

They took their places at a table where carefully polished glasses, cutlery and fine porcelain shone like fireflies. It wasn't much changed from how it had been when Phryne was more often to the house but she suspected the family usually took their meals at the cosier (while still splendid) breakfast-room but she didn't remark on it.

On the wall, an intricate Gobelins tapestry depicted a hunting scene, with men on horses, packs of dogs, and a deer hiding among the trees. Always attuned to Leasham history and that of its contents, Hugo had once told her that while the tapestry itself dated back to the 18th century, it had been put up in that room 150 years later after his grand-father had bought it from an impoverished French aristocrat. Where would Brentby's treasures end?

Conversation ran pleasantly, Miss Fisher regaling her hosts with stories from her many travels and detective career over a very delicious meal, prepared with ingredients from the estate as often as possible, which was frequently, as Hugo explained beaming with modest pride.

Since he didn't smoke anymore apart from the occasional cigar when there was company who did, the three of them returned to the drawing room to have their digestifs and listen to two musical pieces beautifully played by Eliza on the piano placed in the drawing room. That had been another addition. No Selwyn had been very musically inclined since Hugo's great-grandmother and her violin.

Tired from the long day and mollified by their drinks and the fire on the grate, Eliza read the signs and with etiquette by her side, suggested they retired for the night. Everybody agreed.

The bed had already been turned out when Phryne returned to her room. She could see the bulk of a hot water bottle in the middle of the bed and appreciated it a great deal as she was getting cold. It was difficult to go back to those drafty big houses once one has gotten used to central heating and other modern conveniences.

Miss Fisher tied the shawl closer to her and went to the window. «Of all this I could have been mistress», she quoted with a chuckle to the house she was in and the gardens in front of her, barely lit by the moon. Well, it hadn't exactly been on the table back then, with Hugo being the second son and a healthy father leading ahead of the siblings. Army postings abroad was the most likely prospect for them. She had loved him and might even enjoyed the traveling around but she was sure all the propriety and conduct demanded of her would have made her wither. Phryne knew Hugo enough to be sure that not being able to make her happy would destroy him and, perhaps even worse, embitter him. Phryne had never doubted it, but, in that particular moment, felt sure once again of the choice she had made all those years ago.

While much calmer than the previous ones she had lived in, it had been a very pleasant evening and she was very glad for having met Hugo once more. Pleased to see him this happy and settled, making the best of a situation that while having many advantages also carried its share of drawbacks and was haunted by the twists of fate that had put him at its helm.

How lovely and treasurable of an opportunity it had been. How many men had she known that had died in the war, been injured physically beyond recognition or independence, been so locked in their shell-shock they had never returned home even if their bodies actually had? Some, she had only been aware of their names, like John – Peter's brother -, Martin and Graham – Simon's - or James Basingstoke. Others she had been acquainted with at least, like Louis Selwyn, Freddie Ashmead, or even the horrendous Roland and the long-lost cousin Christian Fischer. Of others, all she knew was their faces as life abandoned them.

Even the ones that had forged on would never completely leave it behind: Jack wrapping himself in his work, Simon coping through storytelling that sometimes was the only catharsis he could ever reach, Darshil that hadn't been to the front but whose chemical expertise had put him in a lab where there wasn't a day where he went to bed without thinking about the uses their breakthroughs had been applied to, good and bad.

No one, man or woman, at the front or at home, could completely cast the war's shadow away.

Sometimes, the horrendous things she came across in the course of her investigations led the vow she had made about not taking anything seriously since 1918 after witnessing other horrendous things to waver, but these precious joys life gave her always strengthened her resolve. How could they not?


A/N: So, after many months, here's the new chapter of this fic. Given the interval between updates, it may seem that I have given up on it, but that's not the case. I don't know when, but I want to finish writing it eventually. Thank you so much for still wanting to read it and doing so. It means a great deal to me. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Other notes that may be of interest:

The Sunbeam car manufacturer/brand was an actual thing that existed. For a bit of trivia: on Downton Abbey, the Crawley's car is a Sunbeam at some point, in fact.

Philip de László was a real (mostly) royal and high-society portrait painter. Do check out his paintings if you are into this sort of thing because they are magnificent - and while I'm not art expert, I'd say he is great at faces and fabrics.

Amalia Selwyn may be fictional but Lady Bridgeman's portrait that so deeply fascinated her in this world is real and can be easily found on-line. Thank you so much Art UK dot org for catering to mostly of my artsy needs for this chapter. I spent hours and hours browsing through their database to find paintings that fit my ideas and would be as accurate for the time as possible.

That's also where I learnt of Reginald Grenville Eves's work, whose style I borrowed for Eliza's portraits of her and Hugo.

All the cars mentioned are real.

Gresham and Roedean are real schools that are still open today.

St Leger is a real horse race too. I hope I got the technical details right. I rode horses when I was younger but never at competition level, so all those mentions came out of research. I found a short video of the race in 1929 and that was quite cool, if I may say so. You can find it on youtube, if you're so inclined.

Phryne's quote to herself is from 'Pride and Prejudice'.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one will take Phryne to Paris to meet Jane. I'm still not sure about some things and I've only started doing research but I'm excited about it.

Thank you for your time and attention and drop a line, if you feel like it.