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me,’ said Phryne, carrying her fillet in one hand. ‘It’s definitely time for bed.’
    Morning announced itself to Miss Fisher’s displeased ear with the shouts and cries of those who labour for a living.
    The first, from the sprightly conversation, was the ice man, who called Ruth ‘sweetheart’ and seemed to be smashing through doors rather than going to the bother of opening them. A brief pause, then it was a dray at the back gate loaded with a truly remarkable number of sacks, packets and boxes, some of which chinked. He called Ruth ‘darling’ and Tinker ‘young feller-me-lad’ and also seemed to have some prejudice about opening doors. But loved slamming them shut. The next was the butcher’s boy, who whistled ‘Lily of Laguna’ a precise half-tone flat. Molly proved herself to be a dog of good socialist principles by barking at all without fear or favour.
    In a quiet interval, Dot brought a cup of Hellenic coffee and a fresh hot roll to Phryne, who sat up in bed to receive the tray.
    ‘Knew you’d be awake, Miss,’ she said apologetically. ‘Only one of the Seven Sleepers could have slept through that racket. Jane has, though,’ she added, as Phryne sipped the inky beverage.
    ‘Probably stayed awake half the night reading Mr Thomas’s books,’ rejoined Phryne. ‘Are there more tradesmen to come?’
    ‘Oh, yes, Miss, there’s the fruiterer and the ham-and-beef and the man from the pub,’ Dot informed her.
    ‘Then I shall rise and go for a refreshing morning dip,’ Phryne decided. ‘What’s the weather like?’
    ‘Fine and clear,’ said Dot.
    ‘Good. Are you coming, Dot dear?’
    ‘No, Miss, too chilly for me yet. The girls don’t want me in the kitchen so I’ll put on my hat and go for a walk. They’ll see this kitchen maid settled in and all the rest of the provisions delivered. That Tinker’s still unpacking stuff. He’s being a good boy,’ said Dot with faint astonishment. Tinker was not living up to his reputation.
    ‘Pip pip, then,’ said Phryne. Houses were not her business. She would give this experiment a couple of days, and if it seemed that her household was working too hard, they would shift en masse to the Queenscliff Hotel, a most superior hostelry. Money, thought Phryne as she finished her coffee and found her bathing suit, was sometimes very useful in smoothing the rough patches in the path of life.
    The town of Queenscliff was out and about when she walked from the house and into the cool morning air. Generally Phryne only saw this part of the day if she had approached it from the other end.
    I shall be so robust if I do this every day, she thought to herself. Strong and hearty. What a ghastly thought. I wonder how long Mrs Mason has been on the sauce? Her son didn’t appear to be surprised at her consumption and her butler has clearly been through times that try butlers’ souls. On the other hand, Jane squashed the upstart boy and the cocktails were first rate. Oh, Lord, and now we will have to ask Mrs M and her brood to dinner—and only Ruth to cook it. That should be interesting. Must make sure that the gin supplies hold out . . .
    The sea embraced her almost-naked skin. She dived.
    Ruth looked up from ticking supplies off her list at the appearance of a languid girl of about sixteen. She was thin and blonde and had watery blue eyes. From her crisp grey uniform, Ruth assumed that this was the kitchen maid which Mrs Cook had offered to lend her to get her kitchen into order. The girl advanced to the step, tripped over it and said, ‘H’lo.’
    ‘Hello, I’m Ruth, what’s your name?’
    ‘Lily,’ replied the girl, aiming for a drawl but not managing it.
    ‘Come in, then. I’m just making sure we’ve got all the things Miss Phryne ordered.’
    ‘How about a cup of tea first?’ asked Lily. ‘Your Miss Phryne’s still out, she won’t catch us.’
    Ruth was shocked.
    ‘She’s out, but we’re in, and we’re going to do this right,’ she told