Kerry Greenwood - Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

The Queenscliff Hotel had been built in those spacious days when an empire was an empire, and the rooms were lavishly appointed. Constable Smith brushed past a bowl of winter leaves and berries which took up three square feet and saw the strangest assortment of people he had ever set eyes on, gathered around the largest fireplace he had ever seen. You could have roasted an ox in it, as he told his mates later. There was the chink of dishes in the back parlour as breakfast was laid.

The room contained numerous soft couches and two easy chairs. On one of the couches sat a man in flying gear, playing ‘scissors, paper, stone’ with a very grubby child in a stained white nightgown. Next to him sat a well-dressed and well-groomed young woman with fiery hair who kept patting the child, as if she was not sure that she was real. Between the child and the sofa back reclined a battered teddy bear with a handkerchief around its neck.

In one easy chair sat a plump young woman in leather gear, who had taken a cup of coffee into both hands as though to absorb the heat. She was staring into the fire. In the other easy chair sat the very dapper young man with a thin moustache, who stood up.

‘Hello, old chap. That was Miss Fisher I saw you carrying up the stairs just now, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ agreed the constable.

‘Is she all right?’

‘She fell asleep and I couldn’t wake her so I put her to bed. I don’t think there is anything wrong with her.’

‘Good. She told me that if she didn’t succeed in telling you the story I was to inform you that we’ll be down to the station after lunch to tell all. By the way, there’s a dead woman in a house up the hill,’ he gave the address. ‘Sidney killed her. I’m sure that he will explain.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the dumbfounded constable. ‘I’ll see about it right away, sir.’

He left the hotel to go and find his sergeant. What a young constable needs when given this sort of information is a sergeant. However, he had a strong suspicion as to what the sergeant would say.

He was right. He was immediately sent to see if there was a dead woman in the house. There was.

Dot had found that the lady who kept the draper’s shop lived over her premises, and Dot knocked until a sleepy voice replied that she was coming. At last the door opened.

‘Well?’ asked Mrs Draper.

‘I need a lot of things for three ladies who are benighted in the area,’ said Dot. Mrs Draper opened the shop door and switched on the light.

‘You look for what you want, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘I’ll just go and make me tea.’

She tottered off. Dot selected a light travelling bag and found a nightgown and a pair of soft, black velvet slippers. Phryne’s trousers were all very well but one could not dine in them. Dot took a black skirt in a size W for Bunji and in SSW for Phryne; bought a loose white blouse with dolman sleeves and a bright red jersey top, three gentlemen’s shirts and socks and undergarments, and three sets of stockings and undies for the ladies. Then she remembered herself and added one more of each. At the back of the shop she spied a quaint beaded cap with a long scarf hanging from it. She bought a feather cockade for the black cloche, and remembered Bunji’s flying boots at the last moment and bought her a pair of slippers, too. She wrestled this mountain of purchases onto the counter and went in search of the draper.

Placidly, the old woman added up the astronomical total, checked it, and gave Dot change. She agreed that the things would be sent instantly to the Queenscliff Hotel and saw her customer to the door, which she locked behind her. Then she chose a comfortable bit of floor and fainted.

Dot hurried back to the hotel. She had the nightgown and slippers in the light bag, and the thought of a cup of tea spurred her on. An aeroplane was attracting a crowd down on the foreshore, and a stern lifeboat man was warning the children away.

Dot ran up the steps and was just in time for breakfast.

‘Oh, I say, pity that Phryne is missing this,’ opined Jack Leonard. Dot thought so, too. She went up to room six and opened the door. Phryne was half-awake.

‘What’s that delicious smell, Dot? I’ve had the most amazing dream. I was clinging on to the back of a car. . hang on. That wasn’t a dream. Dot, where are we?’

‘Queenscliff Hotel, Miss, and breakfast is waiting. Why not wash your face and brush your hair and come down? I’ve never seen a breakfast like it.’

The Queenscliff Hotel was famed for its breakfasts. Phryne put on the black slippers and brushed her hair as ordered. She and Dot descended into a cloud of steam savoury enough to make a glutton swoon. Phryne’s stomach growled reproachfully. Dot felt almost faint with hunger. They passed the formal dining-room and the cocktail bar and burst into the back parlour at something not too short of a run. Jack Leonard gave a cheer as Phryne came in and supplied her with a big plate.

‘Now, Phryne, you must keep up your strength. There won’t always be policemen to carry you around.’

‘So I didn’t dream the policeman either. How odd.’

‘What would you like?’ asked Jack, leading her to a long row of silver chafing dishes. ‘There are kidneys and devilled ham in this one, scrambled eggs in this one, mushrooms in this one, sausages, rissoles, fried eggs, and they can make you an omelette in a moment.’

‘This is too much. Get me a bit of everything, Jack, and bless you.’

Phryne sat down at a small table. A waiter took her order for tea and offered her a newspaper, which she waved away. When furnishing the hotel someone had bought a job lot of life-size negro figures made of wood or papier-mâché. At the feet of the one with the gold turban sat Candida, eating fruit compote with perfect equanimity. Phryne raised an eyebrow at Molly.

‘She says that the poor man must be lonely, so she’s gone to keep him company,’ Molly explained. ‘Have some of this compote, it’s marvellous. Essence of summer. I wonder where they found melons, pineapple and strawberries at this time of the year?’

Jack placed Phryne’s plate before her, and she had demolished it, with three slices of toast and two cups of tea, before he had time to complete one across in the Times crossword. Phryne went back to the buffet and gave herself more bacon, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and kedgeree. This she ate with two slices of toast. Dot had found the diversity of things to eat miraculous. All that food! She picked at everything.

Phryne tried the fruit and found it delightful, then stood up and stretched.

‘I bags first bath,’ she said, and Dot raced after her as she fled up the stairs.

Ten minutes later she was lying in a hot bath and Dot was soaping her feet. She was so stiff that she could not possibly have reached them.

‘Oh, your poor toes, Miss!’

‘I suppose it isn’t any use asking you to call me Phryne, is it, Dot?’

‘No. It ain’t right. And you are changing the subject. You’ve bruised them toes so that you won’t be able to put a shoe on your feet for a week. You’ve cut your hands and there’s a little cut on your brow. It won’t cause a scar, Miss,’ commented Dot. ‘Let me have your foot again. I’ve sent your clothes to be cleaned, and they say they’ll be back this afternoon. Miss Candida’s as well. Mrs Maldon wants to get rid of that nightgown. I didn’t think of buying a new one for her. That’s better, Miss. Hang on to my hand and. . up we go!’

Dot dried Phryne, clad her in the nightgown, and put her to bed between clean sheets.

Dot took a bath, replaced her chemise, and lay down in her own bed for some sleep. She was rather worn out from worrying about Phryne and Candida and Henry and Bunji.