Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK) Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
Raisins and Almonds ‘Well, what did you make of that?’ she asked the black Tom Ember, who had been reposing as usual at the foot of her bed. Ember really appreciated silk sheets. He had looked up when Phryne had moved, but appeared uninterested in whatever had been at the window. The wailing noise, however, galvanized the cat. He ran to Phryne’s door and demanded to be let out immediately and not a second later, and when she opened the door he leapt down the stairs and vanished out of sight. Phryne followed more slowly. She knew what the howling was. A small puppy had woken up and missed its mother, its siblings and its nice warm nest, and was telling the entire house that it was really unhappy. She hoped to get to the as-yet-unnamed beast before Ember, who appeared to be seriously displeased. Phryne paced down the staircase into the parlour and turned on the light. The grocer’s box padded with an old jumper was still in the chimney corner, but there was no warmth left in the ashes. She knelt down and looked in, and a small desperate creature tried to fit itself into her hand, stopping in mid-howl and whimpering. ‘Poor little pest,’ said Phryne, lifting the puppy and cradling it to her silky breast. ‘I’ll bet you’re hungry and you are certainly cold. Let’s go and warm you some milk, shall we, and we’ll put your box next to the stove.’ It was one thirty by the kitchen clock. Phryne stoked the slow-combustion stove with chunks of red gum, lowered the lids and waited for a while until the firebox began to roar. Then she found a saucepan and heated some milk and water, half and half for a dog. She poured it into a saucer and watched the little dog wriggle and lap, reflecting how strange it was to be sitting in her own house at such an hour on such an errand. The rest of the house was asleep. Dot was asleep in her tower, and the girls in their bedroom under the jazz-coloured comforters. Phryne could hear Mr. Butler snoring in the Butler’s suite, beyond the pantry. It was strange to be awake, Phryne thought, when everyone else was so firmly in the land of nod.
40 Kerry Greenwood Ember walked into the kitchen and sat down at Phryne’s feet, tail curled around black paws, looking inscrutable as was his wont. The clock ticked. The electric light banished the darkness but made the garden outside Phryne’s house as black as a pit, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable, as though someone was watching her. She pulled the creamy silk close at the front, swore and stood up, taking the poker. Action, she reflected, was always better than unease. She unlocked the back door with its huge key and stood in the doorway, scanning her own domain. One tree, tall. One shed, whitewashed. Three garden beds, grey in the darkness. One small patch of lawn. Nothing else, no sound but the wind and no movement but the trees bowing under the wind. She stared out into the night, poker raised, for some time before she closed and locked the door again and returned to the puppy. It had clambered back into the grocer’s box, and was washing itself inefficiently with a small pink tongue like a scrap of ham. Ember, watching it with close attention, cleared the box lid with one complicated leap which took him into a reclining position with the puppy snuggled up to his side. He dipped his gaze and licked the top of its ragged black and white head, then began to wash its milky face. ‘Ember, it’s a dog, canis, you know, not felis,’ Phryne informed him. Ember appeared unenlightened by this news. The kitchen began to warm. Phryne, fascinated, made herself some Dutch cocoa from the tin with the lady in a white cap on the front and sat sipping it, her bare feet on the hearth stone, the uncurtained windows as black as black glass, and listened to Ember’s rising purr. She put herself back to bed half an hour later, and the night seemed to have quieted so that she fell easily asleep. All of which went close to explaining why, when Phryne woke suddenly to voices at her own front door, she was annoyed. ‘Eight of the clock on a Sunday morning, what an hour!’ she exclaimed, as Dot tentatively enquired if Miss Fisher wanted to see the apologetic young man now downstairs with a bunch of hyacinths (white) in his hand?
- Page 1 and 2: Raisins and almonds A Phryne Fisher
- Page 3 and 4: Books by Kerry Greenwood Cocaine Bl
- Page 5 and 6: Copyright © 2002 by Kerry Greenwoo
- Page 8: Beneath my little one’s cradle St
- Page 11 and 12: Kerry Greenwood required no masculi
- Page 13 and 14: 4 Kerry Greenwood Here, thought Phr
- Page 15 and 16: Kerry Greenwood Market. I am the la
- Page 17 and 18: Chapter Two cis 1.4. polyisoprene D
- Page 19 and 20: 10 Kerry Greenwood swear that this
- Page 21 and 22: 1 Kerry Greenwood ‘I take your po
- Page 23 and 24: 14 Kerry Greenwood The escorting wa
- Page 25 and 26: 1 Kerry Greenwood doesn’t read no
- Page 27 and 28: 18 Kerry Greenwood myself an egg an
- Page 29 and 30: 0 Kerry Greenwood Phryne moved to a
- Page 31 and 32: Chapter Three Nigredo is called the
- Page 33 and 34: 4 Kerry Greenwood She hadn’t actu
- Page 35 and 36: Kerry Greenwood a crossbreed, not t
- Page 37 and 38: 8 Kerry Greenwood Dot, suddenly con
- Page 39 and 40: 0 Kerry Greenwood pleased to see bo
- Page 41 and 42: Kerry Greenwood looked equally vill
- Page 43 and 44: 4 Kerry Greenwood the stone ceiling
- Page 45 and 46: Kerry Greenwood ‘Hmm. Two passpor
- Page 47: 8 Kerry Greenwood Jew hands, organs
- Page 51 and 52: 4 Kerry Greenwood ‘For spring,’
- Page 53 and 54: 44 Kerry Greenwood ‘The Bulletin
- Page 55 and 56: 4 Kerry Greenwood ‘Well, gentle l
- Page 57 and 58: Chapter Five Rubedo is the ascensio
- Page 59 and 60: 0 Kerry Greenwood on the window. Sh
- Page 61 and 62: Kerry Greenwood freshly wiped by on
- Page 63 and 64: 4 Kerry Greenwood embroider, but al
- Page 65 and 66: Kerry Greenwood plate of biscuits,
- Page 67 and 68: 8 Kerry Greenwood the highest, the
- Page 69 and 70: 0 Kerry Greenwood ‘Certainly. Is
- Page 71 and 72: Kerry Greenwood the delicate draper
- Page 73 and 74: 4 Kerry Greenwood ‘It is,’ said
- Page 75 and 76: Kerry Greenwood and Phryne reflecte
- Page 77 and 78: 8 Kerry Greenwood bought a big trun
- Page 79 and 80: 0 Kerry Greenwood the river, the
- Page 81 and 82: Kerry Greenwood She nodded and said
- Page 83 and 84: Chapter Seven Without counsel purpo
- Page 85 and 86: Kerry Greenwood go to the convenien
- Page 87 and 88: 8 Kerry Greenwood ‘The dead are w
- Page 89 and 90: 80 Kerry Greenwood glad when the ra
- Page 91 and 92: 8 Kerry Greenwood ‘It is a number
- Page 93 and 94: 84 Kerry Greenwood He seemed dazed
- Page 95 and 96: 8 Kerry Greenwood ‘No, well, it
- Page 97 and 98: Chapter Eight I ever conceived that
<strong>Raisins</strong> <strong>and</strong> Almonds<br />
‘Well, what did you make of that?’ she asked the black Tom<br />
Ember, who had been reposing as usual at the foot of her bed.<br />
Ember really appreciated silk sheets. He had looked up when<br />
Phryne had moved, but appeared uninterested in whatever had<br />
been at the window. The wailing noise, however, galvanized<br />
the cat. He ran to Phryne’s door <strong>and</strong> dem<strong>and</strong>ed to be let out<br />
immediately <strong>and</strong> not a second later, <strong>and</strong> when she opened the<br />
door he leapt down the stairs <strong>and</strong> vanished out of sight.<br />
Phryne followed more slowly. She knew what the howling<br />
was. A small puppy had woken up <strong>and</strong> missed its mother, its siblings<br />
<strong>and</strong> its nice warm nest, <strong>and</strong> was telling the entire house that<br />
it was really unhappy. She hoped to get to the as-yet-unnamed<br />
beast before Ember, who appeared to be seriously displeased.<br />
Phryne paced down the staircase into the parlour <strong>and</strong> turned<br />
on the light. The grocer’s box padded with an old jumper was<br />
still in the chimney corner, but there was no warmth left in<br />
the ashes. She knelt down <strong>and</strong> looked in, <strong>and</strong> a small desperate<br />
creature tried to fit itself into her h<strong>and</strong>, stopping in mid-howl<br />
<strong>and</strong> whimpering.<br />
‘Poor little pest,’ said Phryne, lifting the puppy <strong>and</strong> cradling<br />
it to her silky breast. ‘I’ll bet you’re hungry <strong>and</strong> you are certainly<br />
cold. Let’s go <strong>and</strong> warm you some milk, shall we, <strong>and</strong> we’ll put<br />
your box next to the stove.’<br />
It was one thirty by the kitchen clock. Phryne stoked the<br />
slow-combustion stove with chunks of red gum, lowered the lids<br />
<strong>and</strong> waited for a while until the firebox began to roar. Then she<br />
found a saucepan <strong>and</strong> heated some milk <strong>and</strong> water, half <strong>and</strong> half<br />
for a dog. She poured it into a saucer <strong>and</strong> watched the little dog<br />
wriggle <strong>and</strong> lap, reflecting how strange it was to be sitting in her<br />
own house at such an hour on such an err<strong>and</strong>. The rest of the<br />
house was asleep. Dot was asleep in her tower, <strong>and</strong> the girls in<br />
their bedroom under the jazz-coloured comforters. Phryne could<br />
hear Mr. Butler snoring in the Butler’s suite, beyond the pantry.<br />
It was strange to be awake, Phryne thought, when everyone else<br />
was so firmly in the l<strong>and</strong> of nod.