Flighty Phyllis

by R. Austin Freeman

Chronicling the adventures and misadventures of Phyllis Dudley, Richard Austin Freeman brings to life a charming character always getting into scrapes.

From impersonating a man to discovering mysterious trap doors, 'Flighty Phyllis' is an entertaining glimpse at the times and trials of a wayward woman.

144 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1928

About the author

Richard Freeman was born in Soho, London on 11 April 1862, the son of Ann Maria (nee Dunn) and Richard Freeman, a tailor. He was originally named Richard, and later added the Austin to his name.

He became a medical trainee at Middlesex Hospital Medical College, and was accepted as a member of the Royal College of Surgeons.

He married Annie Elizabeth Edwards in 1887; they had two sons. After a few weeks of married life, the couple found themselves in Accra on the Gold Coast, where he was assistant surgeon. His time in Africa produced plenty of hard work, very little money and ill health, so much so that after seven years he was invalided out of the service in 1891. He wrote his first book, 'Travels and Life in Ashanti and Jaman', which was published in 1898. It was critically acclaimed but made very little money.

On his return to England he set up an eye/ear/nose/throat practice, but in due course his health forced him to give up medicine, although he did have occasional temporary posts, and in World War I he was in the ambulance corps.

He became a writer of detective stories, mostly featuring the medico-legal forensic investigator Dr Thorndyke. The first of the books in the series was 'The Red Thumb Mark' (1907). His first published crime novel was 'The Adventures of Romney Pringle' (1902) and was a collaborative effort published under the pseudonym Clifford Ashdown. Within a few years he was devoting his time to full-time writing.

With the publication of 'The Singing Bone' (1912) he invented the inverted detective story (a crime fiction in which the commission of the crime is described at the beginning, usually including the identity of the perpetrator, with the story then describing the detective's attempt to solve the mystery). Thereafter he used some of his early experiences as a colonial surgeon in his novels.

A large proportion of the Dr Thorndyke stories involve genuine, but often quite arcane, points of scientific knowledge, from areas such as tropical medicine, metallurgy and toxicology.

He died in Gravesend on 28 September 1943.

Reviews

[Jay Rothermel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Phyllis Dudley, young and single and with the Slade behind her, takes over her cousin Charles Sidley's lease when he goes into hiding from a Jewish moneylender.

(If you are squeamish about age-old Jew-hating stereotypes, this may not be the novel for you.)

Invited to a fancy-dress party, she dresses as cousin Charlie, using his wardrobe. It's a night of mistaken identities and narrow escapes from debt collectors. And Phyllis finds she loves it.

She has visiting cards made out for herself in the name of Philip Rowden, and takes the male gaze out for a walk.

[....] having carefully parted and brushed my closely-cropped hair, began to change into one of Charlie’s smart lounge suits. By half-past six the metamorphosis was complete, and, taking the precaution to put both latch-keys and a sufficiency of change in my pockets, I took Mr Shylock’s umbrella from the corner, let myself out quietly, ran down the stairs and slipped unobtrusively out into Fetter Lane.
I don’t mind admitting that I found something very exhilarating in walking through the streets in my borrowed plumage. It seemed to me that not only was I presenting a different exterior to the world, but that the world also presented a different exterior to me. Especially interested was I to observe with what singular unconcern the men whom I encountered passed me by, and by what strange coincidence I seemed to catch the eye of every woman. Then it was a new and quaint experience to be bawled at and addressed with strange epithets by a cabman as I crossed the road, or to be beckoned into a secluded corner by a seedy stranger and offered a pawn ticket at a knock-down price. I surmised dimly that I should probably pay for the entertainment before the evening was out, but meanwhile I found the experience quite amusing, even when I collided with a butcher who happened to be looking in the opposite direction, and who informed me with a wealth of allegory that I was “a fat-headed dude,” and that I ought not to go abroad without a tin-pot and a dog.
With such pleasing adventures was the journey beguiled between Fetter Lane and the neighbourhood of Regent’s Park, in which locality, at eight o’clock precisely, I mounted the doorstep of Mr Moses McDougal and rang the bell.
After some trifling delay the door was opened by a buxom and decidedly handsome housemaid who seemed to be of a cheerful and amiable temperament, for she saluted me, with a smile which struck me as exceeding the necessities of her office.
“My name,” said I, “is Sidley—”
“Get along” said she; “you don’t say so.” I stared at her in consternation, on which she smiled more broadly than ever, and finally shattered my self-possession into impalpable fragments by finishing up with an undeniable wink.
“You needn’t stand on the doorstep,” said she. “Mo’s having his dinner, but he won’t be long. Come in and sit down in the drawing-room.”
I stepped falteringly into the hall and was about to explain my business, when the housemaid, having softly shut the door, reduced me to utter stupefaction by creeping close up to me and saying in a wheedling tone:
“Aren’t you going to give me a kiss?”

* * *

Very queer, as they used to say.

R. Austin Freeman is all-round a refreshingly droll author. This goes both for Thorndyke tales and Flighty Phyllis.

Delightful.

[Sem · Rating 3 out of 5]

The fluffiest bit of fluff in Fluffdom (except for the multiple kidnappings, violent deaths, and ill-advised cross-dressing). The story, with its references to Mary Anns, is a little dated for 1928, but twenty years earlier it might not have been publishable.