Chapter 1: What Cannot Be Said
It lies in the nature of a good butler to keep his head in every situation. Needless to say that Tobias Butler's abilities in that particular area had been challenged at times in the years working for Miss Fisher, but then he was a master of his chosen occupation.
When he opened the door on this warm January evening, however, there was a brief flicker in his iron-clad composure. It only lasted a split second.
"Good evening, Inspector."
Jack nodded, stepping through the opened door.
"Mr. Butler."
He let the servant take his coat while he wondered where the familiar melody was coming from. And more importantly, who was playing it?
"Would you like me to fetch some bandages, Sir?"
"That might be a good idea. I will head upstairs and have a wash."
There was a brief pause in the piano music as someone hit the wrong key. Gentle laughter sounded.
"Mrs. Walker is waiting in the parlour when you are ready, Sir" Mr. Butler added, but his explanation came too late. Jack had changed his intended direction and taken the few steps towards the door before the servant had finished his sentence or managed to warn him about his appearance.
A picture of utter harmony greeted the Inspector between the aquamarine coloured walls. His wife was laughingly refilling the glass of their guest while Iris stood behind Jane, chattering at her. His daughter sat at the piano, completely ignoring her while feverishly attempting to find the right keys. Jack halted in the door frame, committing this scene to memory.
A clash of keys marked the moment all three women looked up at him and halted in their activities. There was a pause - Jane was the first to find her voice.
"What on earth happened to you?"
Jack shrugged, absentmindedly wiping some blood from his chin.
"I had a slight disagreement with a drunkard regarding me taking him in," he explained.
"Did you convince him?" Iris asked, the hint of a smile around her lips. She had grown up with Jack and seen him fall off trees and get into fights with bigger boys more often than she cared to remember. He was a hardy plant. The Inspector attempted a grin which his sore face protested.
"He came around eventually."
"Jack?"
The laughter died in his throat when Phryne appeared in front of him, looking uncharacteristically worried. He flinched when her hand reached out to touch his bruised cheek.
"Very good aim, Miss Fisher," he quipped, gently peeling her fingers from his face. His grey eyes explained in all honesty that there was nothing to be concerned about. Hers replied that she didn't care for his opinion on the matter.
"Mr. Butler...!"
The servant appeared with a bowl and some other utensils before Mrs. Robinson had a chance to finish her request.
"Thank you," she said, finding her composure and escorting her husband to an armchair where she started to take care of his wounds without waiting for an invitation.
"Now, dear cousin, I hope you didn't get yourself beat up in the hope of getting out of our weekend trip," Iris quipped from where she was leaning against the piano, watching the scene with wide-awake eyes. Jack pulled a grimace.
"Don't worry yourself, Phryne won't give me a chance to avoid this particular piece of entertainment. In my estimation she purchased about twenty hats in preparation for the big day."
Some enthusiastically dabbed on iodine caused him to hiss as it burned in a small cut on his chin.
"I have done nothing of the kind," Phryne grinned grimly, "there are barely any more than three."
"Five actually," Jane called in from where she was still sitting at the piano, playing idly with the keys. "I've counted."
Her mother huffed at this, placing a piece of plaster underneath Jack's eye. She had to admit that his injuries had looked a lot worse than they were. After wiping away the blood there were only a handful of tiny cuts and a bruise on his left cheek. Most men could do worse to themselves using a razor after a night of heavy drinking. But there was something unsettled in her stomach that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"It's really impossible to let you out of my sight," she scolded, only half-joking. A moment later she felt her fingers being pried from the scissors she had been using. Jack's hand was warm, strong, reassuring. His eyes were glued to hers, wondering.
"I'm sure you're attendance would have scared Mr. Brenwitch sober," he grinned.
Phryne rolled her eyes at him, slamming the small box shut. They hadn't had a murder or even any interesting case in several weeks and the Lady-Detective had had decided that she didn't need to haunt City South for the occasional petty theft and drunk and disorderly. An obvious mistake.
"I'm serious, Jack, you should have taken some help," she continued. "Confronting a drunk man alone was just reckless."
"And that from you, Miss Fisher?" he smiled, accepting a drink from Mr. Butler who had entered the room like fog and disappeared just like it a moment later. "And Jones was there with me. But he is 20 years my junior and a lot faster when it comes to dodging pieces of furniture," he added between sips.
Phryne started as it occurred to her that she was being ridiculous.
"No, that's a G. This key here."
Both Detectives looked up to discover that Iris had joined Jane on the piano stool in an obvious attempt to give them some privacy. Jane rolled her eyes with a broad grin and tried again from the start. Her parents watched the two of them work for some time in silence.
"You know, teaching a policeman's daughter the song of a sheep thief may be considered slightly inappropriate," the Inspector grinned. Iris turned her head to look at him.
"It's a classic, Jack. And also," she added after a minor pause, mischief glittering in her dark blue eyes, "we might as well get into the mood of the bush, considering we are going to be surrounded by it tomorrow."
"We are heading for a horse race; that's hardly what I'd call rural life," Jack stated dryly.
"But said horse race is sat in bushland," Phryne grinned, bouncing back. "And a very mysterious piece of bushland at that."
A clashing of keys announced that Jane had given up on learning piano for the night and decided to rather focus on the conversation. Iris's fingers barely escaped the slammed down cover.
"Mysterious how?" Jane asked. So far she had considered the four days trip with rather mixed feelings.
"You mustn't listen to the ghost stories," Iris said, emptying her glass. "I've been there for my honeymoon, more than a decade ago now. We do grow old, don't we, Jack?" She grinned at the Inspector, who frowned. "It is a marvellous place. The views are astounding."
"But the locals do insist that the 'Hanging Rock' is haunted," Phryne added. "There are many legends attached to it."
"Which of course are utter hogwash," the Inspector stated dryly while the Whiskey burned down his throat. He could feel sleepiness crawl into his bones. And he still had to pack.
Jane couldn't help the little niggle at her mind and opened her mouth to voice a question that she instantly regretted.
"I believed you only married Rupert three years ago?"
Silence fell. Jack and Phryne traded a look at the rather uncomfortable turn in what had been a humorous conversation. Jane was just about to utter an apology when Iris answered with a strained smile: "I was talking about my first honeymoon. A long time ago."
"Oh," Jane made, seeking out Jack's eyes who slightly shook his head. It was an unnecessary measure. His foster daughter was certainly clever enough to not dig any further.
"Now," Iris said, regaining her composure and getting to her feet, "I had better head home. I have packing to do and a hat to choose of the dozen I bought myself." She winked at Phryne, who smirked back happily.
When the Lady Detective returned from escorting their guest to the door, she found Jane sitting beside Jack on the sofa, whispering with him. It wasn't hard to guess what their conversation was concerning.
Phryne left the two of them to see if Mr. Butler had run a bath for Jack yet. She was quite certain that the Inspector could handle his daughter's curiosity on the matter on his own. Hot, stale air greeted her upon entering her bedroom and she stepped to the window, flinging it wide open. It wasn't much help; the city still hadn't cooled.
A throat being cleared tore her from her musings on the weather.
"I took the liberty of making some arrangements for packing, Ma'am."
Mr. Butler stood behind her with a pile of the Inspector's clothes on his arms that he now laid down on the bed before opening a small suitcase. Phryne smiled thinly, ignoring the dark feeling in her stomach. It had to be the heat and talk of ghosts which was playing tricks on her mind.
"I'm sure he will appreciate it, Mr. Butler. Thank you."
She started riffling through her drawers while listening to her butler run a bath and lay out towels and a pyjama that was most likely not going to be worn. He lingered a moment longer than necessary.
"Is everything all right, Ma'am?"
Phryne started at the question but didn't turn around.
"Fine, Mr. B."
She forced herself to look at him and smile. Of course, there was no chance that he might believe her, but he left all the same when Jack entered. The Inspector lost no time in unbuttoning his shirt while Phryne pretended to be busy filling her own suitcase, stealing only the occasional cheeky glance.
"I fear even Mrs. Collins cannot save this," he mumbled. Phryne stepped closer, taking the torn fabric from his hands.
"Don't underestimate Dot's gift, her hands are magical," she smiled. A fleeting touch of his cheek and she returned to where she had been sorting through her stockings. „I believe Mr. Butler has done your packing," she called to where Jack was stripping out of the rest of his clothes.
"Bless him," the Inspector grinned, slipping into the hot soapy water with a contented sigh. He wasn't quite certain how he had ever lived without servants and the part of him that was still very much a simple policeman scolded him for the thought. But the bare truth was that while he would never allow a paid help to wash or dress him, he had begun to enjoy that someone else was stitching up his clothes and cooking his dinner. Jack had never been particularly good at either and often it had been quite strenuous to come up with the required enthusiasm to scrub a floor after a long day at work. And then of course, both Mr. Butler and the Collins were part of the family, as irreversible as his own presence in the house. Drawn in by the magnet that was the Honourable Phryne Fisher.
With a smile he stretched his sore limbs in the bathtub, glancing at his wife who was weighing up two dresses at present. It seemed to be a toss up as both made it into the sizable suitcase. He wondered briefly why she hadn't packed with Dot's help earlier, but something else was distracting him. A small shadow above her brow, like a lingering doubt. It was hard to notice really, but Jack had spent years studying every line of her face. For a long time it had been all he's had. He fished for the soap, pondering how to approach this.
„What's on your mind?" he heard himself ask. She turned, two blouses in hand.
"Mostly I am currently pondering which one is better suited for those shoes," she pointed out. Jack decided to let her get away with it. She would talk when she was ready.
"The blue one," he smiled therefore, soaping up the sponge.
Finally Phryne closed the lid of her case and sank onto the edge of the bed, watching her husband spread foam over his chest. His arms were glimmering wetly in the dim light and the urge to end this teasing and just ravish him was overwhelming. But she resisted. Like a connoisseur twirling a good red wine, taking in the rich colours and deep aromas, she observed, waited. Finally Jack was sufficiently happy with his state of soapiness and slipped underneath the water level with a small splash. By the time he had wiped his eyes and gotten ready to climb from the tub, water dripping off him, his wife was waiting with a towel. He gulped.
"You're clothes seem to have disappeared, Miss Fisher."
She cocked her head, wordlessly extending the soft fabric to him. The Inspector accepted and started to dry himself without taking his eyes from her. Phryne had a hard time keeping her own from straying. She suspected Jack had sensed her resolution to restrain herself. His strokes where slow and teasing, the soft towel sensually slipping over his chest, his stomach. By the time he reached his thigh her willpower was crumbling. Phryne sucked a shuddering breath through her teeth and extended her fingertips towards his neck. But the Inspector had felt her movement and caught her hand before she had a chance to touch him. Abandoning the towel on the ground, he closed the gap between them and Phryne held her breath in expectation of a kiss. But instead he lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin of her wrist. Phryne's pulse jumped at the touch.
The next kisses were pressed to the inside of her elbow, her shoulder, her neck. A tiny sound escaped Phryne's lips then and Jack withdrew briefly to look at her. Her eyes were closed, shutting out the world, everything but the sensation of his touch. His thumb brushed the outside of her breasts as his hands trailed down her body, her scent intoxicatingly sweet in his nose as he returned to his slow seduction. The elevation of her collarbone was the next target for his exploring mouth and he felt her fingers regaining some life, weaving into his hair, a shiver running through her body as he moved lower, tracing the dip of her navel with his tongue. She uttered a delicious sound then, a moan mixing with his name that sent a tremble through the depths of his stomach. A gust of warm night air swept through the open windows; played with the curtains; caressed their exposed bodies; teased their already buzzing nerve-endings.
Despite his undeniable arousal, Jack had stilled, his eyes turned upwards to where Phryne was threatening to burst of anticipation. He found her looking down at him, a smile on her lips as he placed a small kiss on her stomach with the tenderness that was so undeniably Jack that her heart ached. Her fingers untangled from his damp hair, gently stroking over a small cut. The plaster had come unstuck during his bath, baring the dark line of dried blood and bruised flesh.
"Don't do that again," she insisted quietly. He nodded, barely visible.
"There are currently other things I'd prefer to do, Miss Fisher," he smiled, the obscene promise held by his warm voice causing her knees to weaken. Phryne had to steady herself by grasping onto his shoulder. Then he dipped his head and for the time being the dark thoughts dissolved.
