"Phryne." Mac paused when the other woman started to open her own bedroom door. "This really isn't necessary. None of it is."
Taking her friend's hand, Phryne fixed her with a tender visage. "You've been in jail and wrongfully accused of murdering your lover. And I know you miss her. It's a traumatic experience. You're the doctor, so I know you know this. At the very least I can keep you here overnight and make sure you have a hot bath and some liquid fortification."
Mac knew that Phryne couldn't be gainsaid. She sighed and nodded slowly, her own inner fortifications – cracked when she'd been accused of murdering Gascon as well – silently crumbling completely. She followed Phryne into the room, watching as Dot bustled about getting the bath ready, as Phryne herself looked through her closet for an appropriate dressing gown.
As Phryne held up an embroidered silk dressing gown in a deep shade of emerald, smiling and doing that tiny head toss that flipped her glossy black hair neatly about her face, Mac found herself smiling as well. "I know it's not your usual smart suit, but will it do for the time being?"
Clucking, Mac eyed it. "I suppose."
"I could always get something smarter from Mr. Butler."
The look on Phryne's face assured Mac that her friend merely teased. "No, I'll wager Mr. Butler's taste in dressing gowns far exceeds my own." She tilted her head down and glanced up at Phryne with a grin. "This will have to do."
The mirthful expression shared between the two friends was broken by Dot. "Miss, Dr. MacMillan, the bath is ready."
Tossing the dressing gown over a chair, Phryne held out a hand to her companion. "Come along then, Dot. We'll leave Mac to get settled." At the threshold, Phryne paused, Dot already out the door, and turned her head to her friend. "I'll be up in just a bit with some of that liquid fortification." She whipped out and shut the door behind her before Mac could answer.
Left alone in Phryne's bedroom, Mac slowly disrobed, folding each part of her suit, her undergarments, carefully over the arm of a chair, her shoes tucked carefully beneath. She had no doubt that Dot would take great care over the laundering of each item, whether Phryne asked her to or not. Mac smiled wryly as she climbed into the bath, the scent of lavender tickling her nostrils. Dot's attempt at calming me, she thought. And as she stretched her limbs out in the steaming water, closing her eyes and resting her head on the back of the bath, for at least a moment or two, she felt calm.
Then she remembered the funeral, the photographs of the crime scene Phryne had shown her, the last time she saw Daisy's face…and she eventually realized that she'd folded herself up, clasping her legs, crossed at the ankles, to her chest and resting her cheek down on her knees. She let out a long, heavy sigh, dredged up from some unfathomable depth within her – from her soul, her heart, her bowels, her brain? She didn't know. Doctors saw so much in dissecting, in surgeries, but the seat of the emotions? Her empiricism might incline Mac to dismiss emotions, since she could not discern their origin that way.
However, as mysterious as their source might be, she couldn't completely brush them aside – hadn't ever really – because she still felt their press upon her insides and the way they could stir her affections.
"Mac?"
Phryne's voice and soft knock at the door interrupted Mac's philosophical musings.
"Come in, Phryne."
Holding the glasses carefully with one hand and one arm, Phryne sidled in and closed the door, walking over to the bath and holding out one of the glasses to Mac.
Unwrapping one of her arms from around her knees, Mac lifted her head and accepted the glass. She drank deeply as Phryne perched upon the chair across which she'd thrown the emerald dressing gown. Lightly gliding her fingers back and forth over the green silk, tracing over the embroidered patterns, the raven-haired woman glanced briefly at her friend. The dark patches under her eyes were pronounced, and Phryne guessed she hadn't sleep well – or perhaps at all – since the beginning of the case. Mac wasn't one to fold herself up and hide, so her posture caused the friend great concern. Not that she hadn't been concerned enough already.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently before sipping her whiskey.
Mac shook her head, gazing down into her glass. It was already nearly empty.
"I knew I should have brought the decanter up too." Standing, Phryne dropped a kiss on Mac's forehead, leaving a distinct red lipstick stain behind.
Grinning the tiniest bit, Mac downed the rest of her drink.
Meanwhile, Phryne had stepped over to the door and opened it. "Mr. Butler!" she called down the stairs. "Dr. Mac needs more medicine – double quick! Bring the decanter!" Continuing to stand in the doorway, her lithe body wedged between the edge of the door and the frame, she threw Mac a smile. Then she turned nearly immediately. "You anticipate me as always, Mr. Butler." Accepting the decanter, she said goodnight to the butler, then came back in the room.
"That man was made to be your butler, Phryne, I'm completely convinced. He's positively unflappable, and has a number of talents that are uniquely fitted to living in this particular house," Mac observed, extending her arm so the other woman could refill her glass. The whiskey certainly had a fortifying, warming effect.
"Yes, well, I have had excellent luck in finding the best helpers." She sank into the chair again, quietly sipping her drink.
Mac sighed. "What about you? Have you decided about Murdoch Foyle?" Training her eyes on Phryne, she, too, nursed her whiskey.
Shrugging, Phryne studied her toes that poked over the edge of the chair. She'd pulled her legs up to her chest as well, mirroring Mac. "I don't know," she intoned in a low voice, shaking her head and meeting her friend's eyes once again. She knew how Mac felt about the situation, remembered how strongly she'd objected to Phryne letting Foyle get the better of her. Mac didn't have to say it again.
They sat in silence for many long moments, drinking and sharing glances at intervals. Finally Phryne unfolded herself and took Mac's empty glass.
"The water has to be cold by now." Setting the glasses on her bureau, she went about getting her own pajamas from a drawer. "You should get out, dry off. I won't have you falling ill."
Chuckling gently, Mac said, "You do know that's an old wives' tale, don't you?"
Phryne gave her a wide-eyed, matter-of-fact look. "All the same."
She disappeared behind the screen to change clothes, and Mac stood, reaching for the soft towel Dot had set out for her. Setting this aside after drying off and pulling out the stopper for the water to drain from the bath, Mac slid the dressing gown picked out for her around her shoulders and knotted it closed, rolling her eyes at herself in the mirror.
"The color suits you perfectly," Phryne commented when she stepped around the screen in her salmon pajama bottoms and top.
"Perhaps I should get something in this color for my wardrobe?"
"Absolutely." Coming forward, Phryne smiled and adjusted the collar of the dressing gown. Then her face grew more serious. "Mac, I want you to stay in here with me tonight. I can tell you're not yourself."
"Phryne, I'm fine, really. Dot already made up the bed in the guest –"
"Mac, I won't be refused. Remember how long you said we'd known each other?"
Nodding, Mac's lips turned up slightly.
"I don't want you to be alone right now." At Mac's acquiescing sigh, Phryne indicated the chair in front of her dressing table. "Sit. You still have a lipstick kiss on your brow."
Doing as she was told, Mac's eyes followed Phryne about the room while she unpinned her hair and shook it loose. Phryne dampened a cloth with warm water and washed her own face before rinsing it and crossing the room to her dressing table. Bending slightly, she took a tender hold on Mac's chin and ran the cloth over her face gently. Mac closed her eyes and exhaled noiselessly, her heart growing full with gratitude that her friend somehow knew she needed to be taken care of. Somehow knew that, if left to herself, she'd be stretched out on her back in her bed, the room cold and dark, an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in her hand. That Phryne knew this, despite the fact that this was exceptionally rare behavior on Mac's part – being given more to sarcasm and anger as a defense and action as a method of righting wrongs and fighting injustices, rather than succumbing to melancholy…. It was a strong testament to their friendship and how well they knew one another.
After Phryne wiped Mac's forehead free of the red stain, she replaced the lipstick kiss with another – this time with bare lips – and grinned at her. "Now, I think one more nightcap before attempting to sleep."
Mac slid herself around in the chair to observe her friend, who poured them each a healthy serving of whiskey and brought one to the doctor before sitting down in a facing chair. Phryne pulled her lower limbs up onto the cushion and wrapped one around the other, her elbow upon the arm of the chair to prop up her drink.
"Do you think the hospital board will reconsider my employment?" The auburn-haired woman stared at the amber liquid.
Chortling, Phryne waved her other hand in the air. "If I can persuade Aunt Prudence, I'm sure she'll think of a way to persuade the lot of them."
Raising her eyes, Mac drank and then asked, "Do you think you can persuade her?"
Phryne merely fixed Mac with that look she had, her head tilting briefly from side to side, her lips pursed and her brows lifted.
Mac laughed. "Alright, you're right."
"Aunt P isn't an awful person. She knows they made a dreadful mistake in suspending you. The least she can do is set it right. And I'm convinced she will." Phryne took a drink, her lips curling upward. "At least, after I make her see sense."
Nodding, Mac's gaze lowered again. She finished her whiskey and studied the glass, deep in thought.
Phryne, seeing this, tossed the rest of her own drink back and set the glass down on the floor beside the chair. "Mac, do you want something else to sleep in?"
She looked up at Phryne blankly, then shook her head as if to clear it. Peering down at the dressing gown, she shook her head again. "No, this is fine." Depositing the glass upon the dressing table, she ran her fingers over the silk covering her other arm. "It feels quite nice, actually. Although I look ridiculous."
"No, Mac," Phryne said in all seriousness. "You don't. You know I appreciate a well cut pair of trousers and a fine suit as much as anyone, but you could wear anything you like and look exquisite."
Giving her a small smile, Mac tilted her head at her. "Now you're just flattering me to make me feel better."
"Believe that if you like, but I assure you I am not." Phryne got up and began turning out lamps around the room. "Tuck yourself in, Mac."
Mac slipped beneath the covers and waited on her side for Phryne to get into bed, facing her, having left on one dim lamp.
"In case you need to get up in the night. So you can find your way." Phryne smiled.
"Phryne, thank y—"
A finger to her lips muted her words of gratitude. "I already know that, Mac. Now try to sleep. It's been a long few days." Phryne moved her hand to her friend's cheek, giving it one brief stroke before turning to settle on her stomach and closing her eyes with a murmured, "Goodnight, Mac."
Rolling over onto her back, Mac drew the covers up under her chin and sighed, staring at the ceiling. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to sleep that night either. But she felt more comfortable than she had in days.
