If you haven’t seen her, you don’t know what you’re missing.

She wasn’t meaning to be critical, because she really liked the post about Captain Hastings and the End of the World, but she had an obvious question: What about the women?

I floundered for a long time by my reckoning, tossing out three names in 20 seconds, and then as the clock was ticking ominously toward the half minute mark I came up with the answer.

Miss Fisher. She’s like a female Hastings with a brain. Not to mention a sex drive. She’s like this rich Australian flapper detective trollop. Meaning no offense. Her wardrobe is perfect. She has an Hispano Suiza that would look nice in bed with Hastings’s Lagonda, and she carries a golden revolver in her garter. What more do you need? Oh, right. Champagne every day, if not every hour, and she has her own Hastings, a police inspector who is traditional and handsome, but not at all stupid, because attracted as he is to Miss Fisher, he is not suicidal. Which is where the End of the World comes in. Why the hell not ravish Miss Fisher?

Think about that as you enjoy these photos. Make up your own captions after this first one.

This portrait of Miss Fisher from her wilder days was the maguffin in one of her mysteries. She liked making her police inspector blush at the sight of it.

You know, I’m thinking Hastings could handle it. He may be dumb as a fence post, but he’s a man’s man and Miss Fisher likes that.

Thus, our End of the World couple.