Waifs and Strays
Rating: K+
Author: Firebird9
A very pointless bit of sweetness and fluff. Reviews will bring me joy.
In the end, they marry for the sake of the children.
It all starts a couple of months after Jack has finally given in to the inevitable and moved in with Phryne, ostensibly into one of her many guest bedrooms – a bachelor friend seeking refuge from the dreary household of the unmarried man or even drearier alternative of a cheerless boarding-house – but almost immediately, and with surprisingly little fuss, into her own bedroom and her own bed.
He arrives home late one wet and wild night with a tiny scrap of fur held carefully in his cupped hands. He presents the kitten to her wordlessly in the parlour, wearing an expression of mute pleading and apology to which she can't possibly say no. Dot towels the kitten dry, drips warmed milk carefully into its tiny pink mouth, and lets it sleep on her pillow. Within a few days Scrap, as Dot names him, has become a part of the household.
Six weeks later, Scrap is joined by three more kittens, these ones rescued from the Yarra, into which some uncaring or desperate individual had thrown the sack containing them, at the cost of one pair of men's trousers and a certain amount of dignity. Jack's eyes plead, and Phryne gives in once again.
A dog comes next, a thin, shivering creature of indeterminate breed left tied up in the yard of a hastily-vacated house. She's christened Missus and, while Bert refuses to have anything to do with such a disreputable animal, Cec happily gives up a morning to assist Jack in constructing a kennel for her.
Over the next few months, an unlikely bond of friendship forms between the policeman and the communist as they construct a series of homes for two more dogs, a magpie with a broken wing (which refuses to depart once its wing is mended, and even years later will still fly down to perch on Jack's shoulder if it sees him in the garden), an adorable baby possum, and a thoroughly ungrateful and vicious monkey which Jack claims must have escaped from somewhere and Phryne is equally adamant has been deliberately banished by a family tired of being leapt on, bitten, and occasionally pelted with faeces. That corner of the garden becomes one to be avoided by all except Jack, whom the creature clearly adores.
Jack's earnest intercessions on behalf of his foundlings are always silent; not so much as a single word of supplication ever crosses his lips, and Phryne knows that if she ever put her foot down there would never be a word of complaint, either. But she never can bring herself to say no to him. Jack's tender heart is one of the things she loves most about him, and it moves her deeply and pleases her immensely to see it making its way back to the surface after so long buried beneath the trauma of shellshock and the ruins of a failed marriage.
Nonetheless, she almost draws the line at the box of hens.
"Chickens are not pets," she proclaims, in response to his pleading eyes, this time in the kitchen.
"But think of all those lovely fresh eggs, Miss," Dot who, along with Cec, is Jack's staunchest ally in these matters, urges in her gentle yet earnest voice.
"Mmm, and all those lovely roast dinners," Mr. Butler who, like Phryne, takes a more pragmatic view, weighs in, to a cackle of delight from his mistress and looks of outrage and betrayal from Jack and Dot.
"Fine, the chickens can stay," Phryne allows. "And, Mr. Butler? They only make their way to the table after their useful laying lives are over."
And with that, Jack and Dot have to be content.
The donkey is another matter, but fortunately Phryne has a friend with a country estate and two young children who is swiftly prevailed upon to adopt the surprisingly gentle and good-natured creature. It soon becomes a firm favourite with both children, and grows as fat as butter on an endless supply of sugar lumps, carrots, apples and other treats.
But then one night his pleading eyes draw her out to a police car, where two small, grubby and unkempt children are asleep on the back seat, snugly wrapped in the warm folds of his trench-coat.
"Welfare will never let us keep them, not with our 'immoral' lifestyle," she tells him, and sees his eyes turn down to the ground in silent misery. She sighs. "So I suppose we'd better see about getting married," she adds, and watches the smile bloom across his face.