Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries

Alice!

Alice!

You don't understand, Dot.

You don't understand at all.

Help me...

If it isn't the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher!

About time!

How are the Antipodes?

They've missed you desperately. So they damn well should.

Oh, travelling light again.

Must be some advantage to a sea voyage

otherwise I would have joined the Avro air race.

Paper!

Paper!

What are your intentions? You've had three months at sea to ponder.

Well, I intend to leave my family as far behind as possible.

I think you've managed that. Next?

Well, I could learn Abyssinian.

Or perfect my barefoot dancing.

We both know why you're here.

Darling, you can't bring Janey back.

But I can stop him doing it again.

Premier Hogan is a regular guest of this establishment.

Straight to the top, then.

Miss Fisher?

Thank you.

A luncheon. Today?!

With Lydia Andrews. How lovely.

Oh. And Aunt Prudence.

Shame I have to perform an urgent bowel operation.

Miss Phryne Fisher to see Miss Lydia Andrews.

She's expecting me.

Sorry, Miss... Fisher.

The luncheon's been cancelled due to a family tragedy.

What kind of tragedy?

Mr Andrews passed away this morning.

Oh, Phryne!

Awful this, all this.

It's alright.

If there's anything I can do.

He just collapsed.

Well, we thought it was his heart

but then the police have been here all morning.

Poor darling man.

Dear, we need tea.

Aunt Prudence. Phryne, dear.

Hardly recognised the child in you.

Apart from the length of your skirt.

Whereas you haven't changed one jot, Aunt Prudence.

Smooth passage? So far.

Have you seen a doctor? You look terribly pale.

I've felt dreadful, even before John collapsed.

As if I knew something was coming.

Excuse me, madam.

That detective wants to speak with you again.

So what on earth happened?

Now, you know I'm not one to pry

but I couldn't help overhearing in the hallway.

It seems that John collapsed suddenly

after a light breakfast of tea and cumquat marmalade toast.

And the maid found him purple in the face and cold to the touch

on the bathroom floor.

The police obviously suspect his death had a helping hand.

I'm sorry, the inspector would like all visitors to leave

so that he may question the household.

Very well.

Excuse me.

Uh, excuse me, miss. Your...

Ta, then. Uh, excuse me, miss!

You can't... Oh! I just need the powder room.

I... No, I'm sorry but my instructions...

No-one's to pass this point.

I understand perfectly.

Though, my bladder may not.

I'll just... I'll just check with the inspector.

Just...

This lavatory's fully occupied!

Police! Open up.

You must be the inspector.

Apologies for my urgent call of nature.

This is the scene of a crime.

Well, lucky for you, I'm wearing gloves.

Miss Phryne Fisher.

I assume you weren't close to the deceased.

Never had the pleasure but by all accounts he was charming.

Do you think it was poison?

Most likely... We are yet to determine the cause of death.

Miss Fisher, I appreciate your curiosity for crime.

Well, every lady needs a hobby. But please...

Given the lack of blood stains, I assume it wasn't a violent death

unless of course it was strangulation

but the foetal position of the victim outline,

although not terribly well executed, indicates a degree of pain

rather than the flailing limbs one might associate with a struggle.

And then of course there's the fact that death occurred after breakfast

according to Mrs Andrews which suggests something ingested?

Oh, wild surmise, of course.

Of course. Now... Do you have a card?

In case I need to call the police.

Because I'm a woman alone.

Newly arrived in a dangerous town.

I plan to make this town less dangerous, Miss Fisher.

Good.

I do like a man with a plan.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

Taxi!

Richmond. She'll give you any directions.

Keep the change.

Where do you live, sweetheart?

Hey, wakey-wakey.

Wake up, love!

Oh, no, Bert. She's bleeding all over me bleeding upholstery.

Telephone, Dot!

Dorothy!

Sorry, madam, the caller stopped calling.

Let me know if I can help with the funeral arrangements.

Thank you. I can highly recommend the people who lay down Edward.

Lydia. Sasha!

I heard the terrible news.

Oh. Apologies, Mrs Stanley.

My manners, well, they have deserted me.

Oh, it's quite alright, Sasha. We're all distraught.

May I present my niece, the Honourable Miss Fisher.

Pleased to meet you. Enchante.

My God! The soiree. Oh!

Lydia has planned a charity soiree for tomorrow evening.

Sasha is engaged to dance for us. Uh, yes, but now I...

No, everything must be cancelled of course.

If only the hospital committee weren't absolutely depending on it.

Tell them Lydia's just been widowed.

If only she weren't so good at raising thousands of pounds.

And goodness knows how we're to contact the guest list in time.

Her guests will understand.

John would want us to go ahead with it.

I know, Phryne and I will take over all the arrangements

and host the entire evening on your behalf, won't we, Phryne?

Thank you, Prudence.

I feel so...

Oh, my... Lydia! Maid!

What's her name? Maid!

Get her to bed. I'm going to call a doctor.

Lydia! Attend to her at once.

Goodness.

You said the husband was fatally poisoned at breakfast.

Well, that's one theory.

Do you think Lydia could have been slipped something too?

Headache, palpitations, vomiting and...

You said she looked a little blotchy?

Could be caused by anything. Including Aunt Prudence.

Medicinal? As it comes. Thank you.

I mean, the old favourite's arsenic of course

but half a gram of strychnine will do the trick.

I found these in the bathroom cabinet.

Hmm.

Looks like a nerve powder, usually prescribed for women of course,

the hysterical sex, for nervous exhaustion,

emotional collapse, wandering wombs, that sort...

Why on Earth would a womb wander?

Unnatural behaviour will do it according to Hippocrates.

Like celibacy. Oh, good. Mine's not going anywhere.

Hmm.

Excuse me. Dr Macmillan, the Women's Hospital telephoned.

They need you urgently.

Where's the patient, sister? I've put her in Maternity.

These two gentlemen picked her up in their cab.

Good thing you came straight here by the sound of it.

Will she be alright?

Uh, no men in the wards. Thank you.

That's good.

Some amateurs tried to take away her troubles.

She's just a child.

Got herself into some grown-up trouble, eh?

I'm sure Dr Macmillan will do her best.

How much to the Windsor? 5s should do it.

Nice try. I'm prepared to pay you two and six.

Reckon it was that bloke we saw?

What, there was someone with her?

Just some dumb egg told to get shot of her.

No, no, the other joke around the corner.

He's a lofty beggar, around 6', I reckon.

And something flashed in his paw as he tucked his head down,

maybe a ring on his finger or something?

Forget the Windsor, we need the police.

And I've just met a rather civilised detective.

You and your strays - lost cats, injured mongrels

and now it's fallen bloody women.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.

City South Police Station.

Yeah, we know him.

That's him.

George Fletcher.

Butcher George? That's the one.

Miss Fisher. And if it isn't the Red Raggers.

Still fighting the capless menace?

Your time will come. Oppressor of the widow and orphan.

I hate to interrupt the class war, but who is Butcher George?

George Fletcher was a doctor. Once upon a time.

But now we suspect he's behind a local abortion racket.

If you know so much about him, why haven't you arrested him?

If you delivered him tied up in brown paper and string,