Chapter Text
Phryne Fisher hadn't gone out partying for a long time. However, one morning after breakfast Mr Butler came into the parlour and handed her an invitation to a charity ball hosted by her aunt, Prudence Stanley, at the end of the week. It was scheduled to take place at the Riverside Hotel – one of the poshest hotels in town, overlooking the Yarra – on 8 September 1929. After a long telephone conversation with her aunt, asking about the underlying objective of that toffee-nosed gathering she had eventually accepted the invitation.
Not only did Phryne appreciate the cause of the charity ball, namely, raising money to renovate the local orphanages up to modern standards, she also owed her aunt a favour as she had refused to take part in one of her habitual soirées a few weeks ago – at least Aunt P had told her so afterwards. The sole reason for refusing that invitation was that she and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had been working on a tricky case at that time, but, of course, this wasn't exactly a valid excuse not to attend the party in her aunt's eyes. Besides, this ball seemed to be the next-best thing to bury that hatchet.
“Dot?”, she called from the hallway.
She heard her companion approaching from the kitchen.
“Yes, Miss?”
“It seems I have an appointment with the high end of town in a few days. So I could do with a fashion adviser.”
“And why are you asking me, Miss?”
“Well, I believe you know my wardrobe much better than I do!”
“Oh, I see ...”, Dot replied blushing sheepishly.
After one solid hour of ransacking her considerable wardrobe Phryne had eventually decided on dark magenta, soft flowing silk and the silver leaves-shaped headpiece she had already worn to several gala events. It had actually been Dot who had suggested the dress as it went beautifully with the new handbag she had bought Phryne to surprise her a few weeks ago; a handbag, she had explained to her back then, that was large enough to hold her pearl-handled pistol (“good thinking, Dot!”) and matched the dress she had hemmed for her not long ago. The charity ball would be the perfect opportunity to inaugurate said handbag.
Hopefully, she would only inaugurate her handbag that evening and not the new set of bullets lying innocently in the chamber of her pistol along with it, Phryne thought to herself. During their fashion show Dot had somehow managed to make the charity ball palatable to her, so in the end she was actually looking forward to it.
* * * *
Phryne had arrived at the Riverside Hotel. Dozens of lights were sparkling from the entrance arch. In addition to a handsome looking uniformed doorman, the outside stairs were being guarded by two marble statues resembling sitting lions, their diamond eyes glistening in the dark. For a second she had wondered if the doorman was not only standing there to welcome the guests, but was also instructed to keep an eye on those valuable statues, in case some financially distressed guest would come up with the idea of hammering out their eyes instead of declaring bankruptcy.
She had arrived earlier than Aunt P – which was hardly surprising. When Phryne had offered her aunt on the telephone to give her a lift she had refused her offer resolutely by saying, “No, thank you! I'll make my own way to the hotel!”, her voice sounding anxious and annoyed at the same time.
The entrance hall was bathed in light. Huge electrically operated crystal chandeliers were hanging from the high ceiling, true to the motto 'to see and to be seen'. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden brightness. The Riverside Hotel was just as lavishly decorated as she had feared.
After a bellboy had gently taken Phryne's white fur stole she could almost feel the guests' glances turning towards her and her magenta, side ruched, calf-length evening dress. One could hardly blame them. Its asymmetrical neckline, leaving one shoulder uncovered, and the semi-transparent lace panels, studded with silver sequins, that were following the soft u-shaped folds easily upstaged the other invitees.
Oddly enough, this impression intensified as she entered the ballroom. It took her a moment to understand why everyone's glances lingered on her for a moment.
“You look divine, Phryne-dear!”
Her aunt approached her. When Aunt P sized up her dress Phryne realised that it matched the colours of the ballroom. Plain lilac wallpaper, decorated with silver framed mirrors, softly lit from behind, the chandeliers on the ceiling were more temporary than the ones she had seen in the entrance hall, the tall windows draped with dark rose coloured curtains – but it was the dance floor that actually attracted her attention. A fashionable art déco pattern, dark magenta, picking up on the colours of her dress and the t-strap Mary Janes. The black ebony chairs placed around the tables were resembling her dark silky hair. Without meaning to, she was the centre of attention.
“Aunt Prudence!”, she greeted her aunt, her voice sounding slightly hoarse.
They were about to mingle with the other guests when suddenly a young man addressed them.
“Excuse me, Madam, Miss … may I get through?”
Only then did Phryne notice that they were nearly blocking the golden-framed revolving door that led to the entrance hall.
Aunt Prudence stepped aside, slightly startled.
The dark-haired man turned to go, then spun around again.
“Oh, Mrs Stanley, I'm so sorry I didn't recognise you.”
He reached out his hand with an apologetic gesture.
“You know each other?”, Phryne asked curiously.
“Ahem, yes. Mr Riley Thompson is an importer of branded goods from the Continent. He donated some of his earnings to the Hospital Board during the past few months.”, her aunt explained quickly.
Slightly amused, she wondered if his business was run on a legal basis and if she should ask Bert and Cec some time if they knew him or have Jack check on him in the police records.
“… Mr Thompson, this is my niece, the Honourable Phryne Fisher.”
Phryne reached out her hand with an inviting smile.
“How do you do?”, he replied politely.
There was an awkward pause.
“So, if you'll excuse me.”
Mr Thompson nodded towards the door behind them.
“Oh, of course.”
Aunt P tried to put on a smile but it didn't look very convincing.
“What a ruffian!”, her aunt said sourly after a few seconds, “Never mind. Come, let me introduce you to a few guests.”
And so she dragged Phryne to a table surrounded by a small group to the left of them.
“Do you see that couple over there? They are Mr Graham and Mrs Catherine Walker. They were a great help organising this evening.”, Aunt P explained in a low voice, “Mr Walker is working as an architect for a renowned company. His wife used to be a nurse, now she's training midwives.”
“Is she?”
Phryne had never heard of such an institution in this city. To her knowledge, women had been facing a great deal of disapproval among the medical association up to the last decade.
Considering that this ball was held to raise money for the local orphanages, this piece of information made them look quite likeable.
“Oh, that's their son – James Walker.”, Aunt P added as they approached their table. A handsome, light-brown haired man had joined the group.
The next couple of minutes were filled with polite handshakes and some rather insubstantial compliments. The Walkers were a very good-natured family, Phryne had to agree with her aunt in that point, but their eloquence definitely lacked in vigour. Only James radiated a pleasant liveliness. But Aunt Prudence whisked her away to another group of guests before she even had the chance to get into conversation with him.
With some relief Phryne noticed that, meanwhile, other highly influential guests had arrived, so the toffee-nosed bystanders were not so much overawed by her stunning dress as occupied with gaping at the newcomers.
“And this is Lady Elisabeth Marshall, the richest guest who stays here at the moment. She's practically awash in money.”, her aunt whispered as she headed for a table at the other end of the ballroom.
“Aha, and what's her story?”, Phryne asked drily.
Aunt P cast an indignant glance at her.
“Phryne! Lady Marshall comes from a titled landholding family in England, although she has been living in Melbourne for more than five years now.”
“Then why is she staying at this hotel at the moment?”
“She's not the talkative type –“
“In contrast to present company?”
“Honestly! At least Lady Marshall knows how to behave in front of high society. And reticence is an important virtue in these circles, my dear. So if you would please let me do the talking?”, she concluded rather sternly.
Phryne sighed. This time she would need to restrain herself from showing her natural curiosity in order to live up to her title.
Lady Marshall was deep in conversation with a couple of guests when they drew closer, so she seized the moment of eyeing her more closely without appearing rude.
There was almost something regal about her appearance and one couldn't help admiring the light blue evening gown, that went perfectly with her strawberry blonde hair. It was composed of a floral-beaded bodice, tapering into a V just below the hip, and an ankle-length chiffon dress falling in loose folds. A job that would probably even make the House of Fleuri reach their limit, Phryne thought to herself. She estimated her to be roughly thirty years of age. Lady Marshall turned around for a moment when a waiter, carrying a silver tray of drinks, passed the small group to help herself to a glass of champagne. Now she could see the back of her dress properly. It had a daringly low back neckline supported by thin straps. A tall blond man wearing a white tux passed the group, hindering Phryne's sight. She followed him with her eyes curiously.
“About time!”, Aunt Prudence suddenly muttered next to her and grabbed her arm. Phryne had been deep in thought, so she hadn't noticed that Lady Marshall was heading towards them.
“Oh, you must be Mrs Prudence Stanley. I was just told that you're hosting this charity ball. What a charming idea to hold it at the Riverside Hotel. I really do appreciate your cause.”
Not only her title, but also her voice seemed to originate in English aristocracy, Phryne thought to herself.
“Well, er, thank you. The Hospital Board ...”, Aunt P began, obviously flattered, “Now, may I present my niece. The Honourable Phryne Fisher.”
Phryne had to try very hard not to roll her eyes. It wasn't the first time this evening she had the impression she was being followed by a broken gramophone unable to play other options how to start a conversation.
“Pleased to meet you.”, she smiled at Lady Marshall, shaking her hand.
There was a fair chance the mention of her title could ring a bell with Lady Marshall, so she hoped it wouldn't automatically associate her with her worrying, gambling father, otherwise known as Baron Henry George Fisher of Richmond-upon-Thames. It was some relief to know that, at this moment in time, her father was safely exiled to Lilydale with Bert and Cec keeping a close watch on him every now and then.
“Speaking on behalf of the Hospital Board, we are honoured to have you here tonight, Lady Marshall.”
By all looks, Aunt P had been thinking the same way. Given that her aunt considered Lady Marshall the more or less special guest of this gathering, it was the only reasonable explanation for that sudden change of subject and her stilted choice of words.
“The pleasure is all mine.”, Lady Marshall smiled politely.
“That's a very lovely dress.”, Phryne said quickly.
If the rest of the room wouldn't do so, at least someone had to step up and treat Lady Marshall like a mere mortal tonight.
“Likewise.”
This time she gave her a natural smile.
After that, Phryne successfully engaged Lady Marshall into conversation about the charity measures in this town and what was still necessary to be done. Although Lady Marshall seemed to be less familiar with the conditions of the poor than Phryne was, she didn't seem to be shocked at as to how she did. When she was just considering to tell that she had helped a homeless boy from Collingwood to find his brother a couple of weeks ago, Aunt Prudence cast a warning glance at her.
“If you'll excuse us, Lady Marshall.”, her aunt interposed, “I'm afraid there are so many people the Hospital Board has to welcome tonight.”
Phryne was pretty sure that they had welcomed all in her aunt's eyes relevant guests already a while ago, but as to make the pretext look convincing she said goodbye to Lady Marshall and followed her aunt.
“Lucky, you didn't tell Lady Marshall where you get your information, my dear. I don't want the guests to feel … supervised tonight.”, her aunt said in a low voice and linked arms with her.
“Aunt P!”, she exclaimed appalled.
She twisted herself free from her.
“Shh!”
So as to give the lie to her aunt, Aunt P suddenly pointed at a group of elegantly dressed men and women to the right.
“Ah, look who's here!”
As it turned out her aunt had invited a formation team of renowned dancers, who would showcase their artistry later this evening. The men wore smart, black, tight tailcoats. The women were dressed in silver, loose-fitting, fringed frocks, with the sequinned fringes starting to waft at the slightest movement. Admittedly, there were worse measures to humour high society, Phryne thought to herself.
The dancers were a lively lot to talk to. For her aunt's sake Phryne didn't share her brief foray into show-dancing at Madam Lyon's Gentlemen's Club earlier this year, although she was certain that they wouldn't have frowned upon hearing this story.
“May I present Mrs Irina Martin. She has been the leading dancer for several years now.”, Aunt P explained proudly when a slim blonde woman headed towards them.
“Phryne Fisher.”, she introduced herself, “Nice to meet you, Mrs Martin.”
“Likewise. Irina will do.”, the young woman smiled back.
“You're running the troupe all by yourself?”, Phryne asked curiously.
“No, not exactly. Humphrey, he's my husband, is my right-hand man. I think I couldn't do it without him.”
“He's a dancer as well?”
“Oh, yes. We've been dancing together for more than three years now.”, she turned around for a moment, “He just left to find ourselves a drink, I believe.”
“There's nothing like seeing Mr and Mrs Martin waltzing together, my dear.”, Aunt P chimed in – rather intrusively.
“Well, in my experience, it's not so much a certain talent that matters as the one partner.”, Irina Martin replied, obviously trying to humanise herself.
“I'm sure it is.”, Phryne nodded politely, although she suddenly found herself at a loss for words.
“What about your Inspector-friend? You could have brought him along!”, Aunt P asked.
“Oh, you mean Jack? Er, I'm not sure if waltz and foxtrot are his stock-in-trade.”
In reality, she knew they were – at least the former one. She had indeed considered to invite him, but she knew that he didn't feel particularly comfortable among a crowd. And for some inexplicable reason she couldn't name it had occurred to her that he would perhaps construe such an invitation as a mere pretext on her part to bring along the obligatory companion to keep up appearances in front of high society.
The orchestra had started playing.
Phryne recognised the song – Ben Selvin, Am I blue. Without her noticing James Walker had joined them in the meantime and was chatting to one of the dancers. The invitees were gradually heading for the dance floor.
So as not to fall victim to the male hyenas on the watch for easy prey Phryne quickly grasped James' hand and asked him to a dance – ladies' choice was disregarded way too often anyway. It was a good choice as it turned out. He was a skilful foxtrot-dancer. Pleasant and by no means pushy – a trait, she could tell from personal experience, not every dance partner possessed. Thinking back, dancing with Mr Tintagel Stone – or rather Tentacle Stone – at the Green Mill had been the worst experience of her terpsichorean career.
However, as the music went on Phryne noticed that, after turning into a promenade position, James developed a liking for leading an underarm turn. She couldn't help thinking that he enjoyed this step as it offered a good view of the low-cut back of her dress.
Men were frequently known to seize the opportunity of a formal dance to express their feelings, but James' suspiciously gentle way of showing his admiration made her wonder if he had perhaps misinterpreted her invitation to this dance and considered her to be easy prey for him after all.
They had turned into a basic action again.
“I hope I'm not disappointing you. It has been a while since I last showed up at a ball.”, James smiled charmingly.
“Not at all.”, Phryne smiled back, “Quite the contrary. It would be almost rude of you if you would safe your dancing skills only for me.”
When she felt that they were turning into a corner step she seized the opportunity of nodding towards a group of fashionable young women, who were eyeing them from the other end of the room. James turned around with another corner step to see who Phryne was referring to. What he didn't know was that the same couple of girls had already gaped at her dress when she had arrived at the hotel.
“And what's your preferred dance?”
By the look of things, James wasn't the versatile ladies' man she had considered him to be. Perhaps it was time to resort to some extreme measures.
She put on an inviting smile.
“Well, I'm not exactly one for Charleston, but I'm always happy to help you brush up on your Tango. You know what they say about this dance?”
“I'm afraid not. Tell me!”, he asked eagerly.
“It's the vertical expression of a horizontal desire.”
She lowered her eyes with a knowing, suggestive smirk – an art she had mastered to absolute perfection.
James, visibly flustered, cleared his throat and they turned into a promenade position again.
“Ah, I see …”, was his only reply.
Phryne was pretty sure that – judging by the invitees' average age and the circumstance that it was her aunt who had organised this ball – the orchestra wasn't going to play a genuine Argentinian Tango in a hurry tonight.
She felt relieved when the music came to an end. Not because of James Walker's subtle advances, rather due to the discovery that they made her feel uneasy in the first place.
She couldn't tell if it was the sort of dance that made her feel like this, but she wouldn't go into raptures by a flirtation attempt that easily, whatever James' liveliness.
The orchestra was having a break after its first performance and the ballroom was filled with a jaunty Charleston.
When they returned to their table Aunt P and the Walkers had left. Hardly surprising, she detected her aunt near Lady Marshall's table in conversation with the blond man she had noticed earlier.
In the meantime, a lavish buffet had been opened. If Phryne hadn't known her aunt had organised for the leftovers to be given to charity the next day, she wouldn't have touched any of the food and drinks. But as she felt that James' gaze seemed to be more drawn to her bare shoulder than to the tempting meal, she decided to mingle with the crowd and find herself a drink.
The music faded away behind her (Gene Austin).
Five foot two, eyes of blue
But, oh boy, what those five could do
Has anybody seen my girl?
Turned up nose, turned down hose
Flapper, yes sir, one of those
Has anybody seen my girl?
Now, if you run into a five foot two
Covered with fur
Diamond rings and all those things
You can bet your life that it isn't her ...
Phryne was heading for the adjoining lounge when she noticed a dark shape on the floor behind the reception desk. She paused for a moment. After a few seconds she realised that what she was seeing were the receptionist's legs. They weren't moving.