Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and Almonds
pastry, though she made excellent soup and was an angel with
anything involving yeast. Jane, rescued from far darker bondage,
was thinner and paler, and clever in an offhand vague way which
alternately exasperated her adoptive parent and astonished her.
As long as someone was around to make sure that Jane got on the
right tram with the right change and then got off at the right stop
for her examinations, Phryne was convinced that all available
academic honours would be hers. The boarding school, which
also housed princesses and diplomat’s children, had accepted the
orphans without surprise; after all, their background might be
dubious, but they were the adoptive children of the Hon. Miss
Phryne Fisher, well known to be extremely rich and exceptionally
well-connected, being the daughter of a Duke. She was also
socially adept to the level of Ipsissimus and not to be crossed by
any organization that wished to remain in the mode.
Therefore Ruth the slavey and Jane the whore’s daughter
mingled with the daughters of the upper classes, and quite liked
each other, each side considering the other unbearably exotic.
And although the north wind scoured the unreliable spring
outside, inside Miss Fisher’s parlour everyone was getting on
splendidly.
The girls had settled down on the hearth rug. Ember the black
cat had walked in, sniffed the canine scent, hissed briefly, then
analysed it as a small dog with no immediate desire to chase cats.
Ember had ascended to Phryne’s knee with a precise leap and was
now sitting in sphinx pose, nose to the fire, blinking occasionally
and looking, as Jane said dotingly, perfectly Egyptian.
‘Nice to see you, Hugh dear, are you off duty or have you
left the force?’ asked Phryne. The large man grinned. He owed
Phryne a lot. Because of her he had entered for his detective’s
exams with his Sergeant’s recommendations and was on the way
to becoming Detective Constable Collins.
‘No fear, Miss Fisher, I’m on nights. Just dropped in for a
word with Dot and one of Mrs. B’s ginger biscuits when the girls
came in with that poor little mutt. I’m glad you’re going to let
them keep her, Miss Fisher. Nice little stocky body, I reckon she’s