Chapter Four

"Poor Dot," said Phryne. She might not understand those who signed up to the responsibilities of babies, but friends were friends, and compassion second nature.

Dorothy smiled wanly.

"Oh, Miss, please don't think it's that bad. They're ours, you see? No matter how badly you want them to just feed, or rest, you can't resent them for it." She glanced into the pram. "I know you don't see it this way, but they're our miracles, these two."

"But isn't there anything you can do to get a few hours off?" asked Phryne. "I know Hugh's mother's still angry, but they're her grandchildren – and what about your mother?"

"They both have long families of their own to take care of, Miss," sniffed Dot, "and they disagree on just about everything, I think, except the idea that Hugh and I have to cope just as they did."

At that, even Phryne was stumped. The temptation to tell Dot to have a snooze in the sun while she, Phryne Fisher, took the twins for a spin around the block in the pram was immense; but she felt her own ability to cope was about as remote as the possibility that Dorothy Collins would entrust her revolver-wielding, fast-driving, morally-flexible employer with her precious babies.

"Leave it with me, Dot, I'll think of something. I've got to – you're my strong right hand and I can't be without you."

Dorothy really did smile at that. "Oh, Miss, you did without me for years – surely a few weeks until the twins are sleeping through can't be too bad?"

Phryne sent up a silent prayer to St Jude in the face of such artless confidence in a hopeless cause. Weeks? Oh, Dot.

They were interrupted by two off-duty police officers striding around the side of the church. If warm glances had been an undersupplied market, said company would have instantly created a glut.

Jack spoke first.

"We've reported to the Diocese, who are going to get in touch with details of Father Ryan's next of kin. Had he been here long, Dot?"

"No, Inspector," she replied. "Only about six months. We're his first parish since he arrived in Australia, from Ireland."

"I don't suppose you know where the rectory is?" asked Jack.

Dot nodded. "It's just round the corner in Napier St."

Jack smiled his thanks. "I should go there now – care to join me, Miss Fisher? Oh, and we're invited to receive Dr Mac's version of events on Monday morning, first thing."

Instantly, Gid – or possibly Meggie, only a fond parent would have known – started to wail; and Meggie – or otherwise, Gid – joined in.

Phryne looked approvingly at the twins.

"I'm delighted to see that there are at least two other members of the population of God's earth who feel about the phrase 'first thing' the same way that I do." She fixed the Inspector with A Look.

"Let there be no doubt, Jack, that 'First Thing' in this case is going to require at least one gasper and a Turkish coffee, or it won't occur."

Jack gave a small bow.

"I will make sure that Mr Butler is thoroughly briefed, Miss Fisher." He offered her his arm.

They walked down the path to the gate of the church, followed by Hugh, Dot, and the squalling children, and anything that Phryne might have had to say about the need for briefs First Thing on a Monday morning was lost to the infant chorus.