Dead Man's Chest

My sister Faith made the dress,’ said Miss Henrick, a small and bouncy young woman with a cap of curly blonde hair. ‘My other sister Charity did the embroidery. And I do the alterations.’

‘Stout work, Miss Hope

Tinker gaped. Phryne grinned.

‘You. I wouldn’t make you

The cat didn’t care what he was called as long as he was always called for dinner

Fully,’ said Phryne. Tinker beamed. ‘In fact, he was very polite about her.’ Tinker beamed again. That was a fault of which he had never previously been accused. ‘She is a ghastly old bitch and I pity the poor companion who has to endure that parrot screech all day and every day. No matter what her expectations, no gold is worth that sort of a life.’