Chapter 5

Phryne shielded her eyes with her hand when she resurfaced at street level from the Russell Square underground station. The morning clouds had vanished meanwhile and now sunshine poured over the street.

Given that she was carrying two small volumes, Miss Fisher carefully fetched her sunglasses from her handbag, put them on, and stepped onto the pavement.

She had always been partial to Bloomsbury, finding it airy and spacious, with all the squares and the trees, a feeling conveyed by how the name itself rolled on the tongue. It sounded like a breeze escaping through the leaves, she thought, taking it in once again as she walked under the yellowed branches of Russell Square.

With money not being an issue and a good name to her (yet slightly burdened by her singleness to some eyes), London had completely been at her disposal when she had decided to find a flat for herself upon her return from Paris. Phryne quickly chose that area, spurred not only by its actual features but also by the multifaceted arts scene, which reminded her of Paris' in a way, even if, truth be told, they weren't that similar.

While she had been to war and lived in foreign countries, Phryne had never lived alone in circumstances that could be deemed ordinary and she was looking forward to it when she moved to that flat in a Georgian building in Bedford Place.

Well, not completely alone given that a maid came daily to cook and take care of house chores, part of the arrangement made with her landlord, her actual employer. Peter Harrington was a young man who had come to a house divided in two apartments for the children of the family but with his unwed brother buried somewhere in Belgium and no will to sell, he had sought for a tenant among the friends of his friends.

Phryne looked at the building from across the road. She wondered if Peter still lived there and concluded he probably did. Yet while she would like to meet him again, in this moment she preferred to thread undisturbed over her plentiful memories of having lived there, recalling the layout of the large rooms with tilled fireplaces that stood beyond those sash windows, furnished with Harrington heirlooms she hadn't minded much because while she wanted her own space, she didn't want to be burdened by movables and fittings and such circumstances were perfect for her. The Harringtons being people of good taste had helped, obviously. She had attempted to convince Peter that it made no sense for him to take the downstairs flat, but he hadn't budged. His had always supposed to be that one and taking over what was supposed to be John's made him feel much more discomfited at home than what anyone could want.

Her eyes started to prickle but she smiled. It was to be expected, Phryne acknowledged, even if her trip to Bloomsbury hadn't been undertaken as some step in a personal pilgrimage. Once she had been at street level, she had felt she couldn't simply make her way towards her real destination without dropping by Bedford Place if only for a couple of minutes - it was so close (which had been one of the definitive advantages of that house back then). Overlooking it felt wrong somehow.

She tried to make out if someone had taken the flat, but with the sun hitting the windowpanes it was difficult to ascertain what might be going indoors. In the end, it didn't matter, did it?


A/n: Thank you for reading.

I'm afraid this story has been going for a little longer than what I had predicted but there are so many details that end up making an appearance in my head.

I'll post a new chapter right away.

I hope you enjoy it and are still interested in what is coming up. Feedback is appreciated as always.