Chapter Nine
The following morning, they decided it was time to venture forth from the cabin. A stroll on the deck in the sunshine and a good breakfast set the horrors of last night's discussion into a more bearable perspective. On returning to the stateroom, they found that George had taken advantage of their absence to do a little tidying, and a young woman was sweeping the rugs. They both apologised on being caught at work, but Phryne smilingly bade them finish up – she and her husband could easily keep out of the way.
My husband? The word caused a knot in her stomach. She idly wound a hair ribbon round her hand as she watched the woman at work. Her swift movements bespoke efficiency and experience at this kind of task in such a confined space. "You've done this before" she remarked with a grin.
"Oh yes, madam. Five years now I've been working for the line." The woman glanced up and smiled in reply, but did not pause her task. "Always wanted to travel, and I started work the minute I turned sixteen."
Phryne's interest quickened at this, and she asked idly, "I'd never really thought of all the people needed to get us from Melbourne to London, but I suppose there must be hundreds of people like you, with the sea in their blood?"
"Reckon so, madam – well, on the P&O anyway. Some of the other lines aren't so good. Sometimes seems to me the Green Funnel Line has a different crew for every sailing. The chambermaids anyway. How they get anything done I don't know, I'm sure."
And there it was. In a chance conversation with a cockney chambermaid, an answer to one of their biggest questions. Even if there were other shipping lines involved, she and Jack could almost certainly focus on Green Funnel.
"How on earth do they find these girls, do you think?" she wondered out loud.
"There's an agency, miss. Not everybody just goes straight to the shipping line for work; if you can get in with an agency, you get to be a bit more flexible about the time you put in. Money's not quite as good, but there you are – it suits some. Right, that's me done, I'll get out of your way. Nice chatting to you, madam, enjoy the rest of the voyage!" She followed George out of the door, and closed it gently behind her.
Phryne went out on to the balcony where Jack occupied one of the steamer chairs. Nudging him over, she sat at his hip.
"Did you hear?" He nodded. "That's it, isn't it? It must be an agency of some sort bringing them across." She spoke in a low voice, knowing well how readily conversation could be heard by anyone on one of the adjacent balconies, but all the same, he raised a single finger to her lips. She pursed them in frustration, but acknowledged his point; and retaliated by opening her mouth to suck his finger in. Straightaway, his eyes darkened; he concentrated intently on her gentle tasting and caressing with her tongue. Then, in one swift movement, he was on his feet with her caught in his arms. Stepping over the chair, he carried her into the cabin, pushing the French window closed with his foot and leaning against it, before bringing her face to his for a kiss that sizzled straight to her core.
"For that particularly excellent piece of detective work, Miss Fisher, I think you deserve a reward," he said solemnly. "Would you prefer a thank-you letter from the Prime Minister, one of Mr Butler's cakes, or … something else?"
She pretended to think for a moment. "Mr Butler's cakes go straight to my hips, and you know I'm not much of a one for letters … It will have to be option three, I think, Detective Inspector."
"In that case, I will have to think of a reward myself. I hope you find it …. acceptable …" he murmured as his lips worked their way from her ear down ….
