Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

‘I have every intention of watching my step. Don’t rejoice too soon, my Bobby. Now, tell me all you know about the Andrews family.’

‘So far,’ smiled Bobby, ‘it has been small pickings. The man is an idiot. Unfortunately, his wife doesn’t like me. She has quite a bit on her own account, but she has resisted me fiercely. . she’s the brains of that outfit.’

‘Is she, indeed? And she hasn’t fallen into your most attractive arms, Bobby? Strange.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Bobby without modesty. ‘Most of these hoi polloi have been positively predatory. She’s got a whopping big share in several very good companies. No Argentinian gold mines for Mrs Andrews. Luckily her husband has bought a controlling interest in more than a few of the useful stocks which I had the forethought to bring with me when I was banished. I have a big deal coming off soon, with Andrews. If it works, we’ll be rich.’

‘And if it doesn’t work?’

‘Then I’ll be rich.’

‘Good luck with it, Bobby. Your secret is fairly safe with me — but let me know if you get a line on the King of Snow. I’m interested in him.’

‘And I’ll send lilies for your funeral,’ promised Bobby.

Phryne floated away to engage herself in an interesting discussion on water supplies with all four politicians.

She was agreeably surprised by dinner, which was well-served and beautifully prepared, and she complimented her hostess. Mrs Sanderson smiled.

‘My dear, when you’ve done as many dinners as I have, you are prepared for anything. Politicians seem to spend half their lives talking, and the other half eating. Tonight’s company is rather select — some of those parliamentarians eat like pigs. Are you looking forward to the concert, Miss Fisher?’

‘Indeed. It is in honour of the hospital, is it not?’

‘Yes, Madame Melba arranged the concert herself, in order to help her less fortunate sisters. All proceeds are going to the Queen Victoria Hospital — and they could do with the money. Madame Melba is not accepting a fee. She is a most charitable woman.’

‘Have you met her, Mrs Sanderson?’

‘Once — yesterday. Small, plump and imperious, but with a lovely speaking voice and a charming manner. The concert should be most interesting. I hope to meet Dr MacMillan there — I sent her a voucher for our box, for she could not come to dinner.’

‘Dr MacMillan? My Dr MacMillan?’ asked Phryne.

‘I didn’t know that she was yours, my dear, but if you mean the Scotch lady doctor, then that is she.’

‘How do you know her, Mrs Sanderson?’

‘I’m on the board of the Queen Victoria Hospital. I do hope that she does find a skirt to wear; I fear that Melbourne is not ready for her trousers.’

‘Had I known that she was coming, I would have gone and dressed her with my own hands,’ said Phryne. ‘She is a most amazing woman.’

‘My dear, I know! She had to go to Edinburgh for her degree, and all those men wouldn’t let her practice. They even tried to ban women students from learning anatomy, God forgive them, and now I see in the newspaper that they are trying to keep them out of the wards again, saying that now there is a hospital for women they can go there, and not interrupt the men’s reign in the others. Really, the folly of men makes me seriously angry. Dr MacMillan must have been very dedicated in order to ever become a doctor.’

The gala was everything that Melbourne had hoped. The Town Hall was crowded, all seats had been sold, and to Phryne’s delight, Dr MacMillan was there, dressed in a respectable dark velvet gown and hat, though she was scented with iodine, as always.

‘Well, are you here, Phryne? You see that I am in all my glad rags. They dressed me like a child and forbade me my trousers. I’ve told all my patients not to dare to give birth until I come back so all should be well. Is this Melba woman in good voice?’

‘I believe so. Hush, here she comes.’

A storm of applause greeted the singer as she was welcomed by the conductor. Madame Melba wore flowing, dark red silks, heavily beaded on hem and shoulder, and Phryne reflected that she must be a strong woman to stand up under the weight of her garments. The orchestra began the ‘Addio’ from La Boheme, and Melba began to sing.

It was an authoritative voice, pure and pearly without being in the least thin, every word meticulously pronounced and carefully pitched. But what endeared her to Phryne was the amount of emotion with which she loaded every note. Here was a dying courtesan bidding farewell to life and to love, and tears pricked Phryne’s eyes. The short, stout woman had gone; here was langour and white draperies and fainting suitors. She finished the song and allowed the orchestra to display its talents in several rondos; then she was back with the ‘Willow Song’ from Otello and the ‘Ave Maria’, and she had most of her audience in tears.

Finally, garlanded and knee deep in flowers, she came back to sing ‘Voi che Sapete’ with such clarity and mastery that the audience were dragged to their feet, to cheer, throw flowers and applaud until they split their gloves.

‘Fine voice,’ said Dr MacMillan. ‘She could sing seals out of the sea.’

‘I want a word,’ said Phryne, recovering from a dream of music. ‘I may send you some stuff to be analysed for mineral poisons — can you do that for me?’

‘Aye, or, at least, the laboratory can — what about the cocaine, Phryne? Are you not getting yourself into deep waters?’

‘Yes, and there are sharks. Here, take this, and give twenty quid of it to the girl who brings you the samples — her name’s Maureen or Brigit — and I’ll come and see you tomorrow.’

Phryne kissed Dr MacMillan goodbye, thanked her hostess heartily for the excellent entertainment, and swept out in the milling crowds to walk back to the Windsor.

‘I hope,’ she added to herself as she stalked up the hill towards Parliament House, ‘I do hope that I know what I am doing.’

She found Dot drinking tea and reading the newspaper.

‘Did you have a nice time, Miss?’ she asked, putting down her cup.

‘Delightful,’ Phryne called over her shoulder as she sailed into her bedchamber to remove her clothes. ‘Did anyone call?’

‘Yes, Miss, Mrs Andrews telephoned and asked you to remember that you promised to see her soon.’

‘Anyone else?’ came Phryne’s voice, muffled in cloth.

‘No, Miss, except for that cop. He was most upset that you were out, Miss. Asked you to ring him as soon as you come in.’

‘I’ll call him tomorrow — it’s after midnight. Throw me a dressing-gown, Dot, please.’

Dot passed her the gown and Phryne came out of the bathroom.

‘There’s a letter for you, Miss.’

Phryne took the envelope. It was marked with the Scott’s Hotel emblem at the top left-hand corner. She tore it open.

‘Dearest Phryne,’ it began in a flowing and extravagant script. ‘Please allow me once more to worship at the temple of your beauty. I will call at your hotel at eleven.’ It was signed, ‘Your devoted Sasha.’ Phryne snorted, crumpled the letter, and flung it into the waste paper basket. Sasha’s mercenary nature was fully revealed. However, Phryne thought as she tucked herself into bed, he had his charms.

Smiling a little, she fell asleep, and her treacherous body recalled Sasha very well. Two hours later she awoke, flushed and wet, and took her second bath of the evening entirely on his account.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Poison grows in this dark It is in the water of tears Its black blooms rise

Wallace Stevens ‘Another Weeping Woman’

Woman Police-Officer Jones pinned a red geranium to the shoulder of her thin, cheap suit, and walked the steps of the station. She had arrived at ten minutes before three and it was now five minutes past. She feared that Butcher George had smelt a rat and was not going to show. She was excited rather than afraid, and she clasped