It is just past 9 o'clock on Sunday morning when Phryne Fisher, ever a light sleeper, is awakened by Mr Butler's cursory knock on the bedroom door. As is customary at this hour, he enters uninvited, sets the tea and toast tray on the breakfast table, and opens the curtains before withdrawing, giving Phryne only a small nod and smile of acknowledgement.
These customary entries are why Jack Robinson, still sleeping soundly next to Phryne, always attempts to don a singlet and boxer shorts before going to sleep – which is not to say before going to bed. In the early days of their relationship, Phryne found such modesty exasperatingly Victorian. Then it became a game. Could she exhaust him so thoroughly through love-making that he was too tired to care? She views the results of last night's intimacy, which has left Jack only partially covered with a deep blue silk sheet, with satisfaction. Phryne 274, Jack 91 (yes, she does keep score).
As usual, it is the scent of the toast and the sound of Phryne scraping butter upon it that draws Jack awake. He takes in his 'attire' and laughs. Jack 274, Phryne 91, with an extra one for last night (he won't ever tell her this – she likes her game too much – but usually, now he has become accustomed to the rhythms of such a wealthy household, he just chooses to fall asleep naked next to her. Why wouldn't he?).
"'morning," Phryne chirps as Jack dons his robe and pads over to join her.
"'morning," he smiles back.
Phryne likes toast first and tea later; Jack, the opposite. He pours himself a cup, adds a dash of milk and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose slightly.
"Something wrong?" Phryne enquires.
"Mr Butler obviously made the tea this morning. It's fine, but there's something about the way Dot makes tea that just can't be replicated," Jack explains. "If only she could teach Collins for the benefit of the station pot," he adds.
"True, on both counts," Phryne agrees. "Anyway, of course Mr Butler made the tea this morning. Dot has the day off, remember?"
Jack knows full well that this is the case, but plays dumb. "Oh really? Why?"
Phryne narrows her eyes, suspicious at this apparent lack of observation. "Hugh has the day off too, doesn't he?" she asks, trying to lead him to the answer – though not yet entirely convinced that she really needs to.
"So he does," Jack nods. "I wonder if they're doing anything special."
"I certainly hope so," Phryne returns quickly. Perhaps, detective or not, he really doesn't know... "It is, after all, their –
" – wedding anniversary," Jack cuts in, reaching for something in the nearby bookcase. He extracts the bound black volume he discreetly deposited there yesterday and slides it across the table to Phryne. "First anniversary is paper, yes?"
Despite herself, Phryne almost giggles. So he does remember. Hugh and Dot's wedding on a cold but clear winter's day, their own post-reception drinks by her fire, and then – after a long conversation about love, life and everything in which talking about the newlyweds allowed them to talk about themselves – finally, finally, the first time they shared their bed.
Today is their first anniversary too.
"Did you think I would forget?" Jack enquires, eyebrow raised in mock-hurt.
Phryne considers this for a moment. It wasn't that she thought he wouldn't remember, it's that she honestly didn't know if he would observe the anniversary. Theirs is an unconventional relationship, after all. Still – "I should have known," she answers warmly, picking the book up.
Because it's Jack, she expects a romantic book. Love poems, perhaps. Not Shakespeare, but something a bit more discerning, like...
She opens the cover and reads from the title page, "Criminal Science Monograph... Studies in Forensic Psychiatry."
Of course. Because it's a gift from Jack, but for her.
"How fascinating!" Phryne exclaims.
A little kernel of apprehension over the gift pops into satisfaction somewhere inside of Jack. He had considered love poems, but in the end a book of their trade seemed much more appropriate. And surprising – they're always trying to one-up each other in surprises, as in everything. "I'm glad you like it," he says simply.
After a moment's hesitation, Phryne says softly, "I went with paper too." She takes out an envelope from its hiding place under her napkin and traces the path of the book back to Jack.
He opens the fine stationery envelope to find a much less fine piece of paper folded inside. A copy of a bureaucratic form with some things printed, some things handwritten, titled...
Notice of intention to marry.
Jack looks from the paper to Phryne and back to the paper again. Notice of intention to marry. Miss Phryne Fisher and Mr Jack Robinson. Actually, he does this several times, and Phryne makes a mental note that this should count for several goals in the 'Surprises' score. Notice of intention to marry. Miss Phryne Fisher and Mr Jack Robinson. With today's date – today's! Perhaps double the several, for the way Jack is opening and closing his mouth without speaking.
Finally he manages, "Are you proposing to me, Miss Fisher?" the moment bringing back some of their old formality.
She is nervous, but she raises her chin in some defiance regardless – or perhaps because of.
"Yes, Jack. Will you marry me?"
Jack's eyebrows quirk in a truly delightful fashion. He is, again, lost for words, except the "But you don't believe in marriage" which bursts out of him.
Phryne reaches across the table to remove the half-eaten piece of toast held still held aloft in surprise in Jack's hand, places it back on the plate, and takes his hand. "But you do," she says, searching his eyes. Then she adds impishly, "Don't you want to marry me?"
The question quickly brings Jack back to himself and he snorts. "Is that a trick question?"
"No."
"Well, then... If I was me – "
"You are you," Phryne interjects.
"Yes, well, if I'm me, and you were... someone else – "
Oh, how she'll toy with him now. "You don't want to marry me but you'd marry someone else?"
"Please be serious, Phryne. We entered into this relationship with a compromise. I am yours, you are mine, but in trust only. You would not consent to the bond of marriage and I would never ask you for it."
"You are correct, Jack. That was our compromise. But over the past year I've realised that I am yours – and that I want you to be mine – forever. Forever, Jack. Which we may's well call marriage, which is important to you. I want to love, honour and protect you, as my husband. Will you let me?"
"And I'm to love, honour and obey you?" Jack quips, bringing Phryne's hand to his mouth and kissing it.
She laughs. "If you like!"
Jack takes a breath to steady himself and then says softly, "Ask me again."
Phryne leans forward and takes both of Jack's hands into hers around the breakfast setting. "Jack Robinson, will you marry me?"
Their hands never break as Jack stands up, hoists Phryne into his arms and carries her back to bed. "Yes, yes, yes," he says between kissing her, and promptly they are naked again.
Afterwards, Jack props himself up on one elbow and strokes Phryne's face as he asks, "We're getting married today?"
"Now that you've said yes – we are. 4 o'clock at St Paul's."
"You do know you're meant to lodge notice of intention to marry a month beforehand. How did you work that?"
"Oh, I called in a favour. Reverend Knight."
Former Captain John Knight, chaplain, Australian Imperial Force. Jack's friend from the war: two men bound together by the shared experience of watching soldiers go up to the front line to fight when their own duties lay elsewhere, John's with the wounded during a battle, Jack's in intelligence.
"I guess that explains the beer he wanted to have, oh, about a month ago. And all the questions he asked about you," Jack grins.
At 4 o'clock Miss Phryne Fisher and Mr Jack Robinson walk down the aisle of St Paul's Cathedral arm in arm. She wears a beautiful ivory gown that hugs her a little too well for a church, he wears his best suit. Gathered around the altar to witness their vows are their family – Jane, Hugh and Dot, Mr Butler, Bert, Cec and Alice.
They both promise to protect. Jack wonders idly if she has a knife in her garter ready to do just that. Neither promise to obey.
They leave the church as Mr and Mrs Jack and Phryne Fisher-Robinson. Jack thinks they might have to compromise on how he'll refer to himself at work. Getting "I'm Detective Inspector Fisher-Robinson and you're under arrest" out after chasing down a suspect might be a bit too much.
"Congratulations Miss!" Dot enthuses on the stairs. Phryne observes that she might be glowing even more than her own first wedding anniversary and her employer's wedding day might justify.
"Thank you, Dot," Phryne beams. "And thank you for taking the time to get my dress and Jack's suit ready yesterday, and for coming on your own special day."
"You're most welcome. Hugh and I are so excited for you. And now we'll share our wedding anniversary weekend."
"Indeed we will," Phryne answers, with some calculation. "Perhaps we can take a double date trip to celebrate next year? Imagine the crimes we could solve while away...!"
Fin.
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