02x05 - m*rder A La Mode

[bunniefuu]

(Door creaks)

You. We need to talk.

I know what you've been doing.

I know everything. The game is up.

(Groans)

(Breathes heavily)

(Gasps)

♪ Theme music Paper!

What do you think?

It's magnificent.

Miss Fisher?

Oh. Thank you.

I like this dress even better now.

Miss Williams?

(Chuckles) Thank you.

Ah, Mademoiselle Fisher, I do apologise.

We've been trying to finish a ball gown for Lady Archdale.

Ah, magnifique!

Perhaps if the slip underneath were a little more daring?

Not at all.

The slip is placed perfectly beneath the fabric, and the balance is superb.

Ah, very sensible choice, my dear.

You can be married or buried in a quality suit.

Perfect.

Excuse me, Miss Williams?

Would you mind? I'm having trouble with this last button.

Of course.

There you go.

Thank you.

Wow.

(Gasps) Fox.

Nothing like it.

In a very beautifully cut suit, Dot.

Very smart.

(Woman screams)

It's... it's Mrs Wilde!

Call the police.

Frances Wilde was a dear friend.

Not to mention one of our most loyal clients and our main investor.

Genevieve, would you please fetch some smelling salts for Madame?

Oh, of course.

Sir, are you alright?

I'm having trouble breathing.

Aubrey?

(Sighs) I should have checked on her.

She was only gone for five minutes.

(Sighs) Mr Wilde's in shock.

Here, put your head forward.

I take it you're a regular patron here.

If I went anywhere else, Madame Fleuri would k*ll me, figuratively speaking.

The fellow out there.

Is that the victim's son?

Husband, Jack.

Caused quite a stir.

Mm.

A hairpin.

Clearly not premeditated.

But convenient.

Not many victims come equipped with their own m*rder w*apon.

And a single pearl.

Only one side bloodstained.

Dropped after the m*rder.

Look at the colour.

Aubergine.

Probably highly valuable.

Treasure of an oyster.

'He kissed the last of many doubled kisses, this Orient pearl'.

Not even Mark Antony would want to kiss this one.

No.

Thank you.

No pearls on the victim.

Nor anywhere else that I can see.

Poor Frances.

Was there anyone else in the salon when the body was found?

I checked the rear door. Locked.

And anyone leaving or entering the salon would have been noticed.

So assuming the time of death was after your arrival, whoever k*lled Mrs Wilde may still be here.

Thank you.

Man: Did you see anyone suspicious outside the salon?

The victim's bag was still on the sofa, sir.

Thank you.

Madame Fleuri, do you remember if Mrs Wilde was wearing any jewellery when she arrived?

She had on a salon gown when I sat her down to approve the forthcoming catalogue.

Violet, lock that catalogue away again for me, will you please?

I think Mrs Wilde was wearing pearls.

What colour were they?

I'm not certain, but I know they picked up on her frock.

I was pressing it for her while she looked through the catalogue.

Yes, they were a shade of purple.

I'm afraid I'll have to ask everyone to remain in the building while we look over the premises thoroughly.

We'll also have to search the salon staff, Collins, including Mr Wilde.

Search?

Yes.

If you could please start with Aubrey Wilde, Constable, and if Miss Fisher and Miss Williams could assist us with the ladies.

Phryne: Gladly.

And you two can draw straws to see who searches Dot and me.

Huh. (Chuckles)

Some lovely lingerie, but not a pearl in sight.

Excuse me, Constable.

Oh.

It's elegant with a twist, wouldn't you say?

Hm? Sorry?

No, yeah, very... very nice.

You don't think it's too... too sensible?

Yes, no, I love the twisty parts.

That's a gorgeous shade of... of brown.

(Chuckles)

Thank you, Constable.

Ohh!

You might need me, Collins.

Sorry, Sir.

Madame won't like being closed during business hours.

But Miss, I thought the Inspector and Hugh wanted us at the station.

They've got enough to keep them busy for now, Dot.

You must keep your gloves on.

Clearly Mrs Wilde's glass.

Take a look around for Aubrey's.

Dot, come here for a moment.

Take a seat.

Hope you're not going to take my photograph, Miss.

(Camera clicks)

No!

Just testing.

Mrs Wilde and her husband were on the sofa in the lounge.

I could tell you that, Inspector.

But I had sent Genevieve off to change outfits because my camera had jammed.

So I'm afraid I was preoccupied.

I'm the one who invited Frances to the salon this morning to approve the catalogue.

I do remember hearing Aubrey query whether some of the designs were too conservative.

And what would Aubrey know about designs?

Frances was delighted with the entire catalogue.

Madame.

Though very surprised that your gloomy photographs replaced some of our glorious colour illustrations.

If you'd just like to wait outside, Madame.

If Frances was so delighted, what were you two arguing about?

That had nothing to do with the collection.

Then perhaps it was about our dwindling clientele.

It's highly inappropriate for you to be discussing the state of our business, in the midst of this tragedy.

Wait, Madam. Ahem.

Did you have an argument with Frances Wilde?

It was a business discussion, that's all.

No lipstick.

Aubrey's champagne glass?

Wonderful.

Can we go now, please Miss?

Don't be a spoilsport, Dot.

We haven't done the sewing room yet, and that's your forte.

We need to telephone Cec and Bert.

I served the champagne, first to Mr and Mrs Wilde, then to Miss Fisher and Miss Williams.

Then what did you do?

I'd left the iron on to heat up, so I headed back to the sewing room to press Mrs Wilde's frock for her.

The pleating wasn't sitting right.

So to your knowledge, Mr Wilde remained in the lounge for the ten minutes between serving him the champagne and when Genevieve screamed?

Yes, that's right.

Well, he always accompanied Mrs Wilde to the salon, though I'm not sure how much notice she took of his opinions.

This must be Lady Archdale's ball gown.

No wonder it was holding everything up.

Violet didn't get very far pressing Mrs Wilde's frock.

Not that it matters now.

Looks like the pleats were the problem.

(Exhales)

It's stone cold.

So she never even heated it up.

What do you mean?

Well, it wouldn't cool down that fast, a heavy iron like that.

So whatever Violet Hopkins was busy with during the m*rder, it wasn't Mrs Wilde's frock.

Perhaps we should leave this bit out of our police statements, Dot.

Miss.

'To our prosperous future, GM.'

Interesting timing.

And who is GM?

Perhaps a satisfied customer?

It's an odd thing to write to a couturier.

Bert: Oi.

You need us for a job, Miss?

Two jobs now.

Hold this.

But that's confidential.

I'd like you to find out from the florist who ordered these flowers.

If anyone queries you, just say Madame Fleuri wants to thank the sender.

And I need these plates developed.

No worries.

That one's not bad.

Oh, it's underwear.

The term is lingerie, and it's the way to a woman's heart, once you've found your way to the rest of her, that is.

Don't you two have work to do?

Miss Fisher's right, you know.

Even a single one of these is worth a thousand pounds.

Mrs Wilde was a wealthy lady.

Whoever stole them is likely to know their worth.

It's probably the motive for m*rder.

Surely if someone wanted to steal a string of pearls, they wouldn't need to m*rder someone with a hairclip to do it.

And this wasn't premeditated m*rder.

This was spur of the moment.

Aren't you becoming the detective?

Did I say I wanted to be a detective?

No.

Is something the matter, Dottie?

Is it the tea?

No.

Well, yes, actually.

You didn't like my suit.

Or you were just too busy looking at Genevieve to pay me any attention.

Oh, no, Dottie, I...

I wasn't looking at her as much as I was looking at her suit.

Not her suit, her dress.

It had these little bits that... that sparkled on it when it... when it hit the light.

Really?

Yes.

And these other bits that wafted when she moved... when it moved, when the dress moved.

That doesn't mean I didn't like your suit.

What colour was my blouse?

Your blouse that...

I wore underneath my suit.

What colour was it?

Mm. It was... like a...

I think I'll wait for Miss Fisher in the car.

Dottie, I...

(Door opens, closes)

Frances was demanding I dismiss Genevieve.

Your house model?

Genevieve Lemaire has French heritage and has modelled for the best fashion houses in Paris.

She was head model for La Lune boutique before she agreed to join us, and we are very fortunate to have her.

Did Mrs Wilde say why she wanted her dismissed?

She claimed Genevieve had designs on her philandering husband, which is absolute nonsense.

The Inspector informs me that your argument became quite... passionate.

When I refused to dismiss Genevieve, Frances started on about other concerns.

It was insulting.

I became angry.

And, yes, I slapped her.

What kind of concerns?

After pointing out her financial stake in the salon, she questioned the time and trouble we devote to our clients.

And then she threatened to sack me... from my own salon.

Mr Wilde?

She suspected he and I of having an affair?

Have you any idea why, Miss Lemaire?

Probably because he was a blatant gold digger and completely untrustworthy, but... Mr Wilde, he barely spoke to me.

And everybody knows I have a boyfriend in Paris.

Jack: Oh.

Did you have much to do with Mrs Wilde?

She was very generous when I first arrived in Melbourne, and I'm sure mostly because of my French connections.

And more recently?

She seemed more aloof.

Changed her mind about using me for a gala parade on Oaks Day, last race season.

I can see why now.

Did it upset you?

(Scoffs) Of course.

But I blamed her husband.

Why do you say that?

When I began at the salon, Mr Wilde told Violet that he thought I was too old for modelling, which surprised me considering he had no reservations about the age of his wife.

Lady Archdale's ball gown.

If you don't allow Madame Fleuri to reopen, it may never be realised.

Now, that would be a crime, wouldn't it?

Aubrey Wilde's doctor seems to think his turn was only heart palpitations due to shock.

Perhaps someone else at the salon was making his heart b*at a little faster.

It's unlikely Frances imagined the whole thing.

What, and this affair is motive enough to do his wife in?

If she found out and planned to divorce him from her fortune.

What about Madame Fleuri's inclination towards v*olence?

She's not violent, she's French.

Half-French.

Genevieve had reason to resent both the Wildes and Violet lied about whatever she was up to in the sewing room.

What about the sister?

Renee is definitely hiding something.

The camera wasn't jammed at all, as far as I could see.

The cracked plate that she told you she removed was perfectly fine, apart from my own portrait of Dot.

Oh, yeah.

This tension between the Fleuri sisters?

They have spats all the time.

Simone believes in classical fashion, custom design.

Renee is on the side of progress.

Modern reproductions, pret-a-porter.

Ready to... to carry?

Close. Ready to wear.

Ah, my wartime French never made the distinction.

Well, in the world of haute couture, it translates as 'certain death'.

But murdering Frances Wilde wouldn't make financial sense for either of the Fleuri sisters, would it?

No.

But stealing her priceless pearl necklace would.

Stunning, isn't it?

(Chuckles)

They'll see you coming.

That's what my mother always said when my sister wore anything too showy.

Surely that's a good thing.

If nothing else, to avoid a collision.

(Chuckles)

Well, I wouldn't want to go completely unnoticed, but I wouldn't want to attract too much attention, either.

Doesn't that depend on whose attention you're attracting?

I suppose so.

Dot... a woman should dress first and foremost for her own pleasure.

Having grown up in second-hand flannels, there is nothing quite so divine as the feel of silk underwear.

(Chuckles)

The touch of soft fox, the slither of a satin skirt.

If these things happen to appeal to men, well, that really is a side issue.

So, tomorrow we're going to the House of Fleuri to order you a ravishing and utterly frivolous evening gown.

Oh no, Miss, I couldn't possibly...

It's not a gift, Dot. It's an order.

We need a pretext to return that catalogue and do some further investigating.

And I've decided you're it.

So you remained in the salon lounge the whole time your wife was absent?

Yes. Where else would I go?

Oh, your champagne glass ended up in the corridor, Mr Wilde.

Why don't you just tell me what you're angling at, Inspector?

Madame Fleuri said your wife suspected you of having an affair with one of the staff.

Well, that's not only insulting, that's preposterous.

You think I k*lled my wife because of that?

If I wanted to do that, Inspector, surely I could push her down some stairs or poison her.

Why would I risk murdering her in a salon powder room?

Can you think of a reason why anyone else from the salon would want to harm Mrs Wilde?

Had she fallen out with anyone?

No more than usual.

She was a strong-minded woman.

She had her opinions.

Ah, sir. The cancelled cheque in Mrs Wilde's handbag.

Was the bank any help?

Yes, they told me it was issued to a real estate agent in Fitzroy who wasn't very happy when the bank refused to honour it.

What was it for?

A deposit on an apartment.

Royal Astor Court.

Sold to the Wildes one week ago.

Well, I must say I was surprised when the bank called and said they'd cancelled the cheque.

His wife, apparently.

She seemed quite taken with the place until then.

Did you hear anything from Mr Wilde about it?

Not a peep.

Did he say what the apartment was for?

I assumed it was a first home for him and his wife.

They did insist on one on street level, though.

Lovely building.

Bay windows, tall ceilings.

Mrs Wilde.

Can you describe her for me?

Very... very easy on the eye.

Thank you, Mr Hargreaves, but it would help if you were a little more specific.

Good morning, Miss Lemaire.

Miss Williams would like another appointment.

Of course.

I'm sure we can find somewhere.

That is a lovely frock, Miss Lemaire.

You're so lucky to wear such beautiful clothes, even if they're not yours.

Yes. Like being a walking dressmaker's dummy.

No!

No, all I meant was everything looks lovely on you.

Everything looks... perfect.

That's my job. It's all show.

Now if you'd like to come through, I'll check if Madame Fleuri can see you now.

You're not happy with the suit?

Oh, no, the suit is perfectly lovely.

So, what, you need evening wear?

Perhaps something full-length?

More glamorous, in a satin or a silk?

Oh, no, I don't go to... things like that, and I wouldn't want anything extravagant.

The fabric doesn't need to be expensive.

We could use art silk instead.

Perhaps something for day wear, not too showy, just...

More a la mode, perhaps.

Modern?

You mean a dress with gimmicks that wax and wane?

A woman must know her style.

Style is what endures, and your style, Miss Williams... is a suit.

(Door creaks)

Only me.

(Exhales) Miss Fisher, sorry.

I... I must have fallen asleep.

Is that why you hadn't ironed Frances Wilde's frock yesterday?

You told Inspector Robinson you'd heated the iron, but I don't think that was true.

I don't want Madame Fleuri to worry that I'm falling behind, but I've been working long hours.

It's been very busy lately.

And yet Renee Fleuri said that business was dwindling.

But just one frock can be so time-consuming.

I've been trying to finish the beading on this ball gown.

Yes, lovely work, very intricate.

And I suppose you have postal orders to fill.

Oh, yes, I still have to make this afternoon's mail for Mrs Norton's day dress. Ahem.

Is there something I can do for you, Madame?

No, no.

Just clearing up my confusion.

Don't take it personally, Dot.

You know what sisters can be like.

Add fashion to the mix, and it's diabolical.

(Distant laughter)

Now, I need Cec and Bert to follow Violet to the post office this afternoon.

She was behaving very suspiciously about a large parcel.

There was no-one with the initials GM in the book, but I did find a pile of unpaid bills and a number of very lucrative clients with their names struck out.

So the salon is definitely losing business.

Maybe those clients had their reasons.

And I'm about to find out what they are.

Looking over this list, I'm afraid our best chance of finding out will involve a long afternoon at the Melba Cruise Salon of Beauty.

(Birds tweet)

It's an awful business.

Well, at least Frances won't have to worry about keeping up with that dashing young husband of hers.

That is some consolation.

Did you see a lot of the Wildes, Mrs Carlyon?

Oh, not in the last six months.

I was denied an appointment one too many times.

I suspect it was my attitude to the younger Fleuri.

All her new ideas just seemed like excuses for skimping to me, so I took my business elsewhere.

If you ask me, I'd say Renee was touting for financial support.

I'm not sure what she had in mind, but it made my daughter and I very uneasy.

When was the last time you visited Madame Fleuri's salon, Mrs Tippet?

Well, not since my lemon silk charmeuse dress.

In September, Madame Fleuri was abroad so we couldn't get in.

Oh, it was a terrible month for us.

A robbery, cr*ck in the swimming pool.

Then Deirdre and I both were left with nothing decent to wear to Ladies' Day.

I was having Madame make me a gown to go with some jewellery my husband had given me for our silver anniversary, then I lost the necklace.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Rupert.

Such beautiful sapphires.

So you cancelled the gown?

Of course.

But when I tried to make an appointment for an alternative outfit, they couldn't fit me in, me, Melba Cruise.

I'm one of their oldest customers.

So I haven't telephoned to them since.

I was under the impression you called me here for a dress fitting for Miss Williams.

We thought it would be more discreet to have this discussion here.

Just answer the question, Miss Fleuri.

Inspector, I am passionate about my designs.

But I would not play mistress to a man like Aubrey in order to realise them.

The Inspector has evidence that Aubrey tried to buy an apartment with a woman of your exact description.

(Sighs)

House of Fleuri is meant to be a partnership.

But Frances was loyal to my sister.

They were old friends.

Aubrey understood my ideas.

Jack: Go on.

He was buying the apartment so I could set up my own pret-a-porter salon.

Aubrey and I planned to become business partners.

Did you know Mrs Wilde had cancelled Aubrey's cheque?

Did either of you confront her?

No.

In the ten minutes leading up to Mrs Wilde's death, are you certain you both remained in the lounge area?

I told you, I was preoccupied with my camera.

There was nothing wrong with that camera, Renee.

After Aubrey told me the apartment had fallen through, I...

I became too upset to do anything much.

And Mr Wilde?

I don't believe he k*lled his wife.

But, yes, he... he left the lounge.

I don't know where he went.

I don't have time for this.

I have funeral arrangements to attend to.

Right now, Mr Wilde, you have some very serious questions to answer.

The fact that you deceived your wife about your business arrangements, the fact that you were going to spend significant amounts of her money...

That was a joint cheque account.

I did nothing illegal.

But your wife had just thwarted your plans.

I tried to reason with her.

I was doing it for both of us.

And then you have no witness as to where you were at the time of her death.

Alright!

Alright.

Yes, alright.

I was in the sewing room when my wife was m*rder*d.

And I have a witness.

Who?

Fleuri's head seamstress, Violet Hopkins.

It was a mere dalliance, nothing more.

Which means I have an alibi.

It also means you both have a motive for m*rder.

Do you really think that I would k*ll my wife for a girl like Violet?

(Sighs)

(Tyres screech)

(Gasps)

What's wrong with you, mate!

Here, let me give you a hand.

Cec: I didn't see you!

Thank you.

You OK?

I... I think so.

Your packages.

Oh, I didn't... I didn't see you.

I'm sorry.

Violet: That's alright.

You were meant to follow Violet to the post office to see where she was sending it.

You weren't meant to steal the package.

It fell into our laps.

Well, it evidently fell somewhere.

It's completely smudged.

I can't make out a thing.

Well, that wasn't our fault.

Yeah, not completely.

Hello!

G'day, Miss.

Found out about those flowers for you.

Ordered by telegram.

Well done.

Yeah, the girl in the florist told us who it was.

Here, I, ah, I wrote it down for you.

Gary and Molly Nex.

Maybe regulars at that saloon place.

Salon, Bert.

I've met most of them and Nex doesn't seem to ring a bell.

And that parcel you wanted us to track...

Oh.

You... intercepted the mail.

Even better.

Well, this doesn't look like Mrs Norton's day dress to me.

But it does look almost exactly like one of those evening dresses in that confidential catalogue.

If this is a G at the beginning, and that's an M, perhaps it's our mystery flower senders.

I'll dry it out and see if I can brush off some of that dirt.

Meanwhile, I think we need a private word with Madame Fleuri.

Yes.

There are three of them, all the same.

These are exact copies of our design, with modernisations in very poor taste.

But these dresses have not even been made yet.

How could this happen?

Perhaps one of your staff?

Never.

You trust them all?

Of course.

The designs are all under lock and key and I keep the patterns at my home... Oh, this is all a disaster.

And word is out.

Lady Archdale has just cancelled the order for her ball gown and others have already fallen away.

And now this sabotage.

And none of this explains what happened to poor Frances.

I am sure that we'll get to the bottom of it.

I'll inform the police first thing in the morning.

Your car is waiting, Madame.

Madame Fleuri, do you know a Mr and Mrs Nex?

They sent some flowers to your salon.

Oh, I've never heard of them, but at least somebody's happy with us.

There's no point upsetting Madame Fleuri before we know the full story.

But how do the copied dresses tie in with Mrs Wilde's m*rder?

I'm not sure, Dot.

But Violet has obviously been moonlighting, so I think this calls for some nocturnal investigation.

(Knock at door)

Your blouse was pink, Dottie, and I do pay attention to you.

Sit down and I'll pour you some cocoa.

(Door creaks)

Miss Fisher having an early night?

Must be.

Thank you.

So...

What's your favourite outfit, then, of mine?

The one you like the most?

I like everything you wear, Dottie, because you wear it.

Just pick one.

If I had to pick, the day we met.

What you wore then.

The day we met?

That's my favourite.

So I go to all that trouble, and you like me best in a maid's uniform?

Yes.

No. No.

You're confusing me.

Miss Fisher's right about one thing.

Dressing to please a man is definitely beside the point.

(Footsteps)

(Gasps)

(Sighs)

♪ SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC

(Door closes in the distance)

(Running footsteps)

(Grunts)

(Car engine revs, tyres screech)

Is that who I think it is?

Afraid so, sir.

Oh. Evening!

Whoever it was was extremely agile, remarkably efficient, lethal.

And almost a match for me.

Almost?

They didn't stop me.

Well, you're still guilty of breaking into the salon, and the theft of one bolt of peacock and floral print cotton worth one hundred pounds.

I'm happy to pay for the fabric.

Luckily, it's my style.

Poor Violet.

She obviously knew whoever was with her, but she didn't see it coming.

Neither did Frances Wilde.

Our k*ller is no amateur.

How do you know it's the same k*ller?

Because they knew exactly where to come back to to retrieve Frances Wilde's missing pearls, buried in a bowl of pot pourri in the sewing room.

Except... they missed one.

The head wound from the iron wasn't lethal.

The Coroner's report sways the victim was smothered to death.

In a bowl of beads.

So these dresses that mysteriously turned up at your back door.

Do you think Violet was manufacturing them?

It's not called manufacturing, Jack.

Violet was a dressmaker, but, yes.

And it looks as if she was getting paid generously for her work, judging by these additional amounts on top of her wages.

Madame Fleuri would be devastated.

Unless Madame Fleuri caught her in the act.

From what I heard last night, Violet had a partner in crime.

Who?

The dresses weren't exact copies.

They had certain refinements of style, which suggest a more modern approach.

What's going on? Why do you need to question Renee again?

It's alright, Madame.

The police just need to go over some details.

Simone will find out, so she may as well know.

Know what?

I was seeking Aubrey's help to establish my own salon.

You would set up in competition with the House of Fleuri?

With your own sister?

(Scoffs) What choice did I have?

You never let me have my way with my designs.

There is one of my designs in our entire new catalogue.

Well, there is reason for that.

Yes, and it's you.

I want to make beautiful garments for women who can't afford couture.

Aubrey understood.

But Frances was always going to favour you.

Mesdames, please.

Violet is gone.

How could you argue like this?

I'll do whatever I can to help find out what happened to Violet.

I'll get my things.

If you could find my hat please, Genevieve.

Jack, look at the floor, under the camera.

Rosebuds.

Don't touch that, Miss Fisher.

You'll expose the plate.

Frances's pearls!

Is my business the only thing I should be worried about, or do you have blood on your hands?

If you need to ask, then you are clearly not my sister.

Where did you get those?

The parcel was waylaid and ended up being delivered to the police.

It had the initials GM written on it, like the mysterious congratulatory flowers that were delivered to your salon.

Initials that the florist told us indicated Garry and Molly Nex.

(Chuckles)

Until you put that together with Rue de la Paix.

Here, you can just make it out if you brush off some of the grime.

I'm sure you know the street.

One of the most fashionable streets in Paris.

And home to the new grand department stores, including Galeries Molyneux.

Those dresses are our second sample range.

Seems Galeries Molyneux were very happy with the first and were about to place a full order.

Simone has no interest in pret-a-porter, so it was the only way to finance a new salon.

So did Violet Hopkins thr*aten to tell your sister?

No.

No, you can't think that I'd hurt Violet.

I've laundered and dried these as much as I can, Miss.

Well, at least enough to go back into police custody.

Thank you, Dot.

If Frances Wilde knew nothing about the dresses Violet was making, how was she found out?

Was that really worth k*lling someone for?

That depends, Dot, on how valuable the dresses are.

They're so sparkly.

They certainly are, Dot.

You'd almost think they were real sapphires.

Melba Cruise said she lost a sapphire necklace, didn't she?

And Mrs Tippet had a terrible month because of a robbery.

I wonder what was stolen.

People usually steal jewellery.

I think we might have a closer look at Salon Fleuri's disgruntled clients.

Hugh: Miss Fisher was right.

Mrs Carlyon was robbed as well.

All six clients from the salon were robbed over the last six months.

Whoever our jewel thief is, looks like they have a professional pedigree.

Yes, sir.

And in the six months previous to the Melbourne robberies, there was a string of similar crimes on the North Shore in Sydney.

None of them with obvious sign of break-in, all highly valuable and distinctive pieces, none of them have turned up in pawnbrokers or on the black market.

Interesting victims.

Gordon Walsh.

The Standishes.

Someone called Lady Grainger.

Annabelle Grainger is one of THE most elegantly dressed women in Sydney.

Whoever we're looking for targets the fashionable end of town.

And has outsmarted at least half a dozen police investigations.

Ah, it's time they met their match.

Is that you or me?

I know nothing gets past you, Jack.

But I'm the one who holds the bait.

Have I ever shown you my Columbian emeralds?

The new lining is just enough to pick up on the green of the necklace.

What do you think, Aubrey?

I know Frances always trusted your taste.

Yes, it's fine.

I'm sorry, I'm still not quite myself.

There's a lot to sort out with Frances's affairs.

I'm sure, but I do hope you'll stay on as investor.

I know both the Fleuri sisters would be most grateful.

And I'm sure it's what Frances would have wanted.

Yes, you're right.

And your necklace looks divine.

Thank you.

We're all off to Daylesford for the weekend to take the waters.

A special treat for Dot and Mr Butler.

But I won't be needing emeralds, so the coat can wait until my return.

Jack: So where did you send Dot and Mr Butler?

Phryne: Daylesford, of course.

I always lie as little as possible.

(Sighs)

It's after midnight.

How much longer did you want to stay here?

Why? Aren't you enjoying yourself?

Try some of Dot's cottage pie.

Er... Do you have a fork?

You'll have to use your fingers.

(Phone rings)

What if it's Collins?

It won't be.

It's them, checking to see no-one's home.

(Phone rings)

(Car engine)

So, what else do you have in there?

I should put you on rations.

(Door opens)

Visitors.

I'm going after them.

I'll take the back stairs.

(Gasps)

(Women grunt)

(Gasps)

(Women grunt)

(Banging on door)

(Glass shatters)

Police!

(Groans)

(Panting)

Your robberies were so coolly planned.

Finding jobs in all the best salons, so you could lay your eyes on the clients' jewels without anyone suspecting.

All you needed was a way to smuggle such distinctive jewellery out of the country.

How did you persuade Violet to help you?

Did you thr*aten to tell Madame that she was moonlighting for Renee?

But in the end, you couldn't trust her to keep quiet about what had happened to Frances.

What kind of greed leads to the k*lling of two innocent women?

What about Frances Wilde?

Why did you k*ll her?

You think I'd k*ll someone over a strand of pearls?

She said she knew everything.

Frances: You.

The game is up.

But she wasn't accusing you of theft, was she?

She thought you were having an affair with her husband.

As if I'd throw myself at that fool.

Miss Lemaire, you're under arrest.

(Chuckles)

Genevieve, real name Smith, was an expert burglar.

She cased La Lune boutique in Sydney just like she cased Salon Fleuri.

She had all the jewels intercepted at a port in Paris by another paid lackey, the so-called boyfriend.

Not even French ancestry?

So, this is the end.

We will close down the salon.

You can't do that, Madame Fleuri.

You have clients who rely on you.

You have your sister.

Who was sneaking and scheming behind my back.

Because you won't budge.

Not even an inch.

Most of our clients would no more buy a garment off a rack than jump off a cliff.

It would spell the end of haute couture and good taste.

Madame Fleuri, I hope you consider me a woman of taste.

Of course, Miss Fisher.

Then I have a confession to make.

I like to wear well-cut trousers.

What's more, I have been known to buy clothing in department stores.

But...

But I will always love the glamour and attention of Salon Fleuri.

If you give your sister her head, she'll have no reason to set up another salon.

How could we possibly continue?

Even if Aubrey deigns to help us, my... my head seamstress is gone.

I have dozens of unfinished garments.

I have lost my most distinguished clients and my house model is headed for the noose.

Phryne: Well... I'm sure we can solve all those problems.

Madame Fleuri: Thank you so much for coming.

(Indistinct chatter)

(Laughter)

Wearing the first piece in our forthcoming pret-a-porter range, an affordable evening gown for the modern young woman, Miss Dorothy Williams.

(Applause)

(Indistinct chatter)

What do you think, Collins?

Hugh: Pretty as a picture, sir.

Just between you and me though, please sir.

Decided it's safer to keep my opinion to myself this time.

(Applause)

How gloriously modern.

Oh, yes, at House de Fleuri, we aim to be 'tres moderne'.

And next, in a classically elegant couture designed gown, Miss Phryne Fisher.

(Applause)

(Audience exclaims)

(Audience exclaims)

(Camera clicks)

(Applause drowns out speech)

(Knock at door)

The police photographer's finished with your necklace.

Didn't suit his outfit?

I'll never again dismiss the fashion world as frivolous.

It all looks harmless enough, but you never know what lurks beneath.

Usually lingerie.

Equally dangerous.

And just one dress can be lethal.

Nightcap?

Perhaps another time.

At a less dangerous hour, in a less lethal dress.