Epilogue

By the time Miss Fisher had removed her stage make-up, replaced it with a lighter-weight version and done the same for her costume, swept a graceful arc through the well-wishers backstage and at the stage-door (with more than one suggestion that a top-up to the Hospital fund wouldn't go amiss, where the dart might be thought to hit the recipient in the wallet) and been driven home by Her Jack, head on his shoulder, the portals of 221B had already been opened to a goodly portion of the theatrical team for the after-show party.

When she walked in, Jack at her side, a great cheer went up, and she swept an immense and graceful curtsy, before accepting a glass of champagne from Mr Butler, which she raised to them all.

"WE DID IT!" she shouted, and the assembled company confirmed with equal volume.

She took a healthy slug from her glass, and swept the room with her glad gaze; then realised it held some rather unexpected faces. The cast were all there, of course; and Dot, with Hugh. But … Lin Chung, and his wife Camellia? Tom Derriment, from Hugh's gym, and a handful of his fellow pugilists? Regina Charlesworth had certainly been at the show, but who was the rather faded lady sitting on the sofa beside her? Bert and Cec, the red-raggers, clinking beer bottles gleefully at the back of the room?

She took a step back, and nearly fell over a giggling threesome – Elizabeth was bouncing up and down in an excited ring with Meggie and Gid, Dot and Hugh's twins, watched fondly by Elizabeth's nurse, Mary-Lou and Dot's home help, Miss Stubbs.

She turned to Jack, a little concerned. "Surely it's long past their bedtime?"

He inclined his head. "Certainly. But it would be churlish to exclude the Marketing Department from your party." And, when her jaw dropped, "perhaps a quiet word in the dining room?"

She allowed herself to be drawn by the hand away from the clamour of the party, and they took a corner of the dining room that wouldn't get in the way of Mr Butler, Soo and – wait, wasn't that Aunt Pru's new butler? – as they hurried back and forth.

Jack stood her with her back to the window, possessed himself of her hand and kissed it.

"You'll work out the rest for yourself, but just to make sure that you're aware of the full list of credit where it's due … carpentry was by Collins, and his lads at the gym. They worked through the night to get it all done. Said it was the least they could do after you got Hugh back from the laudanum smugglers in time for their boxing match."

She opened her mouth to exclaim. But he placed a finger on her lips and finished his sentence.

"They used materials sourced by Bert and Cec…"

"Where from?" she interrupted to ask.

He glanced away for a second and cleared his throat uncomfortably, "… I decided not to ask. It was bound to have been a generous donor to a worthy cause."

She was smiled but forebore to tease him.

"The lady with Regina Charlesworth is Miss Sowerby. She's taken over doing the art work for Regina's magazine, and drew out the garden backdrop. Hugh's lads painted that too, from a miniature guide she gave them." Phryne also suddenly recalled a 'bloodstained' shirt from the previous morning, and realised that it wasn't only Hugh's team that had participated in that monumental task. No wonder he'd fallen asleep at his desk, the dear man.

"The silks were from Lin and Camellia, of course," at this, Phryne could at least nod understanding of one thing she'd already half-guessed.

"What … what did you mean about publicity?" she asked, in increasingly gruff toness. Her eyes were becoming unaccountably damp.

"That was all Elizabeth's idea. I told her on Saturday what you were doing and she asked who was going to come and see the play. I said I didn't know, and she said that if I wrote out all the details very carefully," he couldn't suppress a smile at his daughter's instructions, even now, "on lots of bits of paper, she would get Gid and Meggie to help her give them out – after church, or Mass in their case, and at the nursery, and at the tea party they all went to on Monday, and so on."

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, calculating. "Yes, I think that's about it."

She gazed at him, and chewed her bottom lip; then shook her head.

"No, it isn't. You forgot someone."

He looked at her, and she could see him recalculating all the immeasurable gifts that had been made to the project by their friends and family.

"No, I think that's everything. Jane helped on the box office, and Dot on the costumes but you knew that. What else was there?"

She traced a hand up his lapel to his cheek. "You."

He flushed. "What do you mean, me? I was at work. I didn't do anything until stepping in tonight – apart from hearing your lines."

"You made it all happen, even if it was mostly from the end of a telephone." His flush told her she'd hit the mark.

"You know me so well, Jack. You know that I prepare everything, or nothing. And in this case, I'd prepared nothing, and stood the chance of falling flat on my face as a result."

"It's a nice face, all the same," he offered bashfully. "Worth saving."

There was no need for them to rehearse the fact that the problems had been miraculously solved almost as soon as she'd articulated them to him – sometimes before she'd even realised they were there. Even the most clueless sleuth could make the connection, and he'd all but admitted it.

She reached down, and took both his hands in hers, bringing them up to her face to kiss his knuckles.

"I'm going back in there now, to thank all these lovely people, who I don't deserve to call friend. I don't deserve you either, Jack, darling; but I'll say thank you to you properly later."

Her smile recovered its usual wickedness. "Once they've gone."

The spark in her eyes lit his, and he turned to lead her by the hand back to the parlour. As they came to the threshold, her glance landed on Prudence, who was holding court in the best armchair. Mitton was leaning over her with the bottle of champagne in hand, topping up her glass with a cheery smile; she made an arch remark to him at which he laughed and nodded vigorously, before stepping back to turn and exchange a swift aside with Mr Butler. It was almost as though the two men had known each other for years …

She shrugged; the man seemed to know his work, and Aunt P was happy. It could be a question for another day.

She picked up her glass and girded her loins to re-enter the fray. One last, backward glance at the man by her shoulder inspired some imp to make her ask a question.

"I have to say, Inspector, you continue – even after all these years – to reveal new sides to your character of which I would never have guessed. Aren't you worried, as a leading member of the State of Victoria's Finest, that you might be accused of displaying a tendency to dissemble?"

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned in to deliver a sotto voce response that she felt as much as heard.

"On the contrary, Miss Fisher. I am more than ever aware of the vital Importance of Being Jack."