They abandon backgammon after Phryne loses her third game in a row. Jack tries not to look smug about it, but judging by the grin Dot throws his way from where she sits embroidering, he is not succeeding.
The kerro lanterns Bert and Cec have scrounged up from the box room provide plenty of dull yellow light to the parlour. Declaring themselves famished by their treasure hunt, Bert and Cec have returned to the kitchen to pillage the last of the day's scones and jam, heartily supplemented with bread and scrape by an obliging Mr Butler. The occasional sound of betting lingo drifts from their direction and Mr Butler challenges their understanding of the odds for next week's horse races.
"Aha! I knew I'd put them here somewhere." Phryne waves a pack of playing cards triumphantly, having disembowelled the contents of a writing desk in her search. Jack can see Dot twitching as she supresses the instinct to immediately tidy the mess.
"How's your poker game, Jack?" Phryne drops into her seat and begins dexterously shuffling the deck.
"That rather depends, Miss Fisher. What are the stakes?" His lips quirk into a smile as she is momentarily taken aback. But he realises the danger he's placed himself in when her look of surprise turns to one of scheming calculation.
With a corner-of-the-eye glance at Dot on the other side of the room, Phryne leans forward. Jack finds himself trying valiantly to keep his gaze from Phryne's now very visible décolletage.
"What would you suggest, Jack dear?"
He sees her words for what they are: simultaneously a dare and an out if he wishes to take it. A hard look at Phryne's face makes up his mind.
"A dare. The loser should have to fulfil a dare of the winner's choosing." His voice is decisive but he feels silly as he speaks: expecting Phryne to dismiss the idea as childish. Clearly, he has forgotten who he's speaking to.
"An excellent idea! Let me see...should we establish the forfeits now, or wait until the winner is declared? Wait, I think. The not knowing makes it more fun, don't you think?"
When she fixes that look of false innocence at him, Jack is hard pressed to remember that this was his idea. He agrees to the terms of the game and takes the cards she deals him.
Ah. A pair of threes, two face cards and a seven. Not a good start.
Jack glances at Phryne. She returns his gaze, peeking over the top of her fanned cards with something akin to the way a lion would look at an especially tasty gazelle. It does not fill Jack with confidence.
…
A three-of-a-kind in the next hand improves Jack's hopes only for them to be dashed as Phryne slaps down a straight with an ace kicker. Looking dourly at his pile of match 'chips', Jack throws his own cards onto the table in defeat.
"Shall we say…first to three hands wins the challenge?" she asks as he deals their cards.
"Considering that you've already won two, that hardly seems fair."
"Fine then. First to five."
"I'm sure you're already plotting your winnings, Miss Fisher."
…
The score is two – three in Phryne's favour when Dot folds away her embroidery and stands.
"I don't think I can do any more in this dim light. I'll go see that there are camp beds made up for Bert and Cec for the night. That rain is still coming down something awful. And if you don't need me any further tonight, Miss, I might go to bed myself."
To be honest, neither Jack nor Phryne had heard the rain or wind for quite some time, being too caught up in their game (and that is a double entendre in itself) to notice the storm still howling outside the house. But Phryne nods her thanks and assent to Dot, who leaves the room with a 'goodnight' to Jack and Phryne.
She takes one of the hurricane lanterns with her, leaving Jack and Phryne sitting in a reduced pool of light with the room cosily dark around them. A comfortable silence tinged with anticipation falls between them as Phryne idly shuffles the deck. A rumble of thunder shakes the window glass and startles them into action.
Jack clears his throat and gains his feet. "Perhaps I should check on your household – ensure that Miss Williams doesn't need any help with those two rabble rousers. I hope Mr Butler has locked up securely. That wind could tear a window open, given half a chance."
"Yes…" Phryne seems distracted, but she shakes it off and stands as well. "I'll make sure Dot makes it to her room safely, if you would assist Mr Butler? And…and perhaps we can then relocate to my bedroom? These lanterns don't really cast enough light for a room as large as this."
The idea of being alone together in her bedroom, at eleven at night, with the household asleep and only a pair of kerosene lanterns to light proceedings – it is absolutely dangerous in the most exciting way. What can Jack do but agree?
)()(
Author's Note: Never heard of 'bread and scrape'? It's simple – whatever you're applying to the bread (jam, golden syrup, peanut paste) is scraped on then scraped back off (as a food saving measure), leaving just a thin taste of the condiment on the bread. It was common amongst households that couldn't afford to go through food too fast. I've an idea that Bert and Cec sometimes eat it out of familiarity and red-raggin' nostalgia, now that they can afford more than 'scrape'.
And….the power is back on! Can't complain, as we've had no rain for 4 months. Last night we got 33mm of rain over the course of about 5 hours, including 5mm in just 10 minutes. Yay!
