Murder on a Midsummer Night by Unknown

bought for her own delectation in the old days, she fell into a light doze.
    She woke to a growl of thunder outside and went down under paw as Ember crossed her body on his way to her wardrobe. Ember had been found by Jane as a mere slip of a soaking wet kitten, lost in a tempest, and this had evidently caused the feline equivalent of shell shock. As far as Ember was concerned, the only place from which to watch a good thunderstorm was inside a closed mahogany wardrobe within a stone-built waterproof house, preferably with a few crushed silk blouses to repose upon. If they weren’t crushed silk to begin with, he was happy to provide that service. Phryne heard the ping as the shirt parted company with its hanger and the click as the door closed behind the fleeing black tail. Ember was earthed for the duration.
    Phryne rose and dressed and pulled back her curtains. She opened the window. A louder growl muttered across the horizon. The hot air outside was as heavy as wet velvet and full of expectation. There was a flutter of sheet lightning across the sea. Phryne turned off the lights and the electric fan.
    With a high explosive thud and a crash the storm arrived. Water impacted the window as though thrown from a bucket. The skies lit, once, twice, with fierce actinic light. Trees thrashed under contrary winds. The vine raked the window as though desperate to get in out of the wind. The temperature dropped twenty degrees, flooding the house with the scent of hot asphalt doused in rainwater, one of the premium scents in the world. The flies that had been tormenting Phryne all day whisked away and vanished. Rain poured down in a constant stream.
    Phryne laughed, wrestled the window closed, bade Ember to stay where he was, and went downstairs. Now that someone mentioned it, she was hungry, and that was the dinner gong sounding in the hall even now.

    Mrs Butler opened the kitchen door and ordered Mr Butler to put out all the house plants so that they could get some refreshing rain. She herself added a tub to catch rainwater for washing her own hair. Then she modified her menu. The cold salad dinner was transformed into a thunderstorm change-of-temperature dinner by the simple expedient of heating up the cold potato and leek soup and the vegetable hash to go with the rewarmed corned beef. Phryne’s family sat down to an ideal dinner for the change, with both cold and hot components, and sweet, sour, salty and bitter elements. Mrs Butler had never heard of the theory of the four humours, but she knew what made a good table.
    And when in the middle of the soup course the lights went out, Mr Butler lit branches of candles and continued serenely on his butlerine way.
    ‘Isn’t it romantic?’ breathed Ruth.
    ‘It’s a lovely light,’ agreed Phryne. ‘My great-grandmother was a beauty in her day, and she always refused to have the electric lights on when she came down to dinner. She said that women over a certain age should never allow themselves to be seen in electric light. Far too harsh, like the Australian sun.’
    ‘Bit difficult to manage now,’ commented Jane.
    ‘And an awful lot of work,’ said Dot. ‘Someone has to clean and polish all the candlesticks and pare, snuff and replace all the candles.’
    ‘Yes, I imagine there was a candle boy,’ said Phryne airily. The soup was superb, the corned beef in its blanket of mustard sauce was just the ticket, and she was feeling refreshed. ‘Before my time, of course. No, thank you, Mr Butler, just some more lemonade. Well, we have advanced in our case, with the help of Jane doing the Sexton Blake and me doing the distracting. Did Dr MacMillan allow you to watch the tests, Jane?’
    ‘Oh, yes, in the hospital laboratory, it was so interesting! She let me do the testing. She’s wonderful,’ said Jane dreamily.
    ‘And after dinner you shall tell us all about it. Dot, dear, are you well?’
    ‘Just a bit off-colour, Miss. I got a headache and then I fell asleep. I’ll