Recap: Evil, abusive barrister Rich Watson was found dead in a fountain, covered in dust and odd bits of leaves. It looked like he returned from a night of drinking and walked into a robbery, but his wife's missing wedding ring was suspicious. His drinking mates didn't want him dead, but his family apparently couldn't have killed him. Phryne and Jack have decided to investigate that claim.
Chapter 10
Phryne stood at the top of the Watsons' stairs and surveyed the hallway, hands on her hips. Through the doorway to her right, she could see the armchair where Edward Watson had been reading the night his son was killed. Further down the hall was the nursery, then an open sitting area with a door to the veranda, and three more doors leading to the family bedrooms. There was simply no way either Rich's brother or his wife could have reached these stairs without passing by the elder Watson.
"The Watson children must have been terribly boring adolescents," Phryne commented.
"How so?" Jack asked. He was leaning on the newel post beside her with his hands buried in his trouser pockets, a stance as familiar to Phryne as his face.
"It would next to impossible to sneak out for any midnight debauchery." Phryne waved a hand at the study and the bedrooms down the hallway.
Jack blinked, tilting his head in agreement. "I suspect an overabundance of adult supervision would only encourage some defiant young ladies," he added.
"And I suppose even the thought of disobedience never occurs to some young men."
Jack shrugged noncommittally, but a sparkle had appeared in his eyes.
"Don't tell me your upstanding reputation is a sham! What could possibly tempt the dutiful young Jack Robinson into breaking the rules?"
Without answering, Jack began to meander down the hallway, hands still in his pockets. Phryne grinned, happy to have found another Jack mystery to solve.
"Perhaps, you liked to steal away to the nearest bookseller for some extra study?" she asked, following him.
Jack ignored her, sweeping the fingertips of one hand across the top of the hallway table. Phryne copied him, and found her fingertips coated with yellow dust.
"The Watsons could do with a better housekeeper," Phryne said, pursing her lips, which were a done up in a shade of raspberry that perfectly complimented her floral blouse.
"It looks like the dust on Rich's jacket," Jack said.
"Then we have definitive proof that he was, at some point, in his own house."
Jack rolled his eyes at her. He reached across his body awkwardly with his clean hand, looking for the handkerchief in his trouser pocket, but Phryne beat him to it. She shoved her hand into his pocket, squeezing the hard muscle of his thigh.
"You wouldn't happen to have a handkerchief, would you Inspector?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes as she began to feel around in his pocket.
"Behave," he told her, looking at her over the rim of his invisible spectacles. A night of (mostly) sleep in Phryne's arms had lightened the circles under Jack's eyes and erased some of yesterday's tension from his face, easing Phryne's heart considerably in the process. She grinned, pulling out his handkerchief with a flourish and inadvertently spilling the loose change in his pocket on the floor. Her shrug was as unrepentant as his sigh was resigned.
"Perhaps young Jack had a sweetheart, and snuck out for moonlit walks along the foreshore?" Phryne asked, as they both knelt to pick up the scattered coins.
"I agree with your assessment of the housekeeper," he said, as if she hadn't spoken. "This floor is on its way to being ruined by carelessness." Jack pointed to a plate sized water ring, half on the hallway rug and half on the bare edge of wooden flooring nearest the wall.
"There are at least a dozen stains here," Phryne said, standing again and pacing the length of the rug to the end of the hallway.
"They must bring in the ferns on the veranda during the winter. The pots would leave rings like these," Jack said.
Phryne crouched beside the last water mark, running her fingers along the buckled wood. This stain was different from the others. In addition to the ring, a dried trail of water led to the wall, disappearing beneath the baseboard. She straightened and took a step back to study the elaborate frame molding on the wall.
"These old houses almost always had a servant's stairway," Phryne commented.
Jack rapped on the wall with his knuckles. It echoed hollowly.
"A secret passageway!" Phryne said. "Now, if only it proves to be haunted, we'll have a fine Gothic romance on our hands."
"I vehemently hope not," Jack said with a shudder.
After fifteen minutes of pushing, pulling, and wiggling pieces of molding, Jack finally happened on the right section, and the wall creaked open to reveal a constricted passageway. Phryne and Jack took a simultaneous step forward to enter it, and hopelessly wedged themselves in the narrow doorway.
"Lead the way," Phryne said when they'd pried themselves loose and stumbled back into the hall.
"No, no, I insist, after you," Jack said, bowing. Phryne curtseyed with a coquettish smile before ducking into the passageway. Jack crowded in behind her, and the door drifted shut. The muffled click of the latch sounded very loud in the close space.
"Dark in here," Jack whispered a heartbeat later.
"Don't worry Inspector, I'll protect you from the darkness," Phryne said just as quietly.
She could hear his eye roll. "Thanks, but I'm more concerned about gathering evidence. So unless your luminous personality can literally light up the room…"
"Where is your torch, Detective Inspector Robinson? Perhaps I need to search your pockets for you?"
"Maybe later. The maid took my torch when she took my overcoat."
"I'm sure it wasn't deliberate."
"And where's yours, Miss Fisher, Lady Detective?"
"The maid took it when she took my handbag."
"I can agree to never speak of this again, if you can."
"Definitely," Phryne agreed immediately. They began edging sideways through the dimly lit passage. Dust motes danced in the cracks of light that managed to penetrate the wall, and as Phryne's eyes adjusted, she could just make out the plaster coated slats only a few feet in front of her face. She took a particularly ambitious step and would have fallen when her foot met nothing but air, but Jack caught her elbow, anchoring her.
"I've found the stairs!" Phryne said.
"You're an unparalleled explorer," Jack said, pulling her back from the incline.
"I can hardly imagine Dot carrying a tea tray up through here."
"They must have walled the stairs up when they did the most recent addition to the house."
The descended carefully, feeling for each step beneath them. Phryne's legs were protesting by the time they reached what was presumably the ground floor, and a dead end. With the hand closest to the wall, she began to search for a latch or handle.
"This would be easier if we had light," Jack commented, toe tapping. "If the family is sneaking out this way, the latch would be well used."
"I thought we were never speaking of our poor planning again. And for the record, I blame you."
"Me? For your unpreparedness?"
"Oh yes. You had me quite flustered this morning. And last night. And the night before."
Phryne was sure Jack was blushing, though the darkness hid his expression. "Perhaps you've hit your head? It's not usually so easy to muddle your wits."
"Who said it was easy? In fact, I'm fairly certain it was hard." Phryne let her free hand drift back towards Jack's thigh. She suddenly ran her fingers lightly up the inner seam of his trousers, and Jack twitched, banging his head against a low beam in front of them.
"And now I've hit my head," Jack said, as rubbed his forehead.
Phryne winced. "How bad is it? Here, let me see." Phryne curled her shoulders and managed to turn to face Jack. She forced herself between his body and the wall, her face so close to his that his breath ruffled her hair. Even at this distance, she could barely see his features, let alone any injuries.
"It's not bad," Jack said.
"Kiss it better?" Phryne asked, rising onto her tiptoes to kiss his lips. Jack only hesitated a moment before kissing her back.
"I'm fairly certain that's not how it works," Jack observed when they broke the kiss.
"Maybe not for head injuries, but it is more fun," Phryne replied, raising a hand to Jack's hip.
"Your way usually is. But Phryne…" He covered her hand with his, but didn't push hers away.
"You're right, Jack. We should be more discreet. Someone might see us." She shifted her feet, intending to press even closer to Jack, and stepped on something that grated loudly against the floor.
"That sounded like metal. Maybe a loose nail, or…" Jack said.
"Or it could be relevant to the case. Allow me, Inspector." Phryne slid down Jack's chest slowly, drawing a startled breath from him, and pressed her cheek to his thigh as she knelt between his legs. Her fingers quested through the dirt on the floor for the mysterious object, and bumped into something cool and round. She climbed her way back up Jack's body to her feet.
"It feels like a ring." Phryne said.
"Rich's wife reported her wedding ring stolen," Jack reminded her, his voice almost even. But his breathing was just a bit too quick, and standing pressed together as they were, Phryne could tell why. A smile spread across her face. She had never enjoyed having an effect on any man as much as she enjoyed getting a rise out of Jack Robinson.
"It could be her wedding ring," Phryne said, rolling the ring around in her hand.
"But it's impossible to tell. We need to get out of here."
"Immediately. And just when things were getting interesting."
"You're insatiable," Jack told her, voice tinged with admiration.
"And what are you?" Phryne asked, rubbing against him.
"Tortured." He replied, before finding her lips with his again.
Phryne swept up her arms to wrap them around Jack's neck and knocked her elbow on the low beam. Cringing away from it instinctively, she pushed them both out of balance. Jack staggered into the wall behind him and kept going straight through the plaster, taking Phryne with him as he fell backwards. They landed on the floor on the other side in a cloud of dust and a spray of plaster, still completely entangled.
Coughing, and rubbing her streaming eyes, Phryne pushed herself up.
"Ah. Here they are," Edward Watson said.
"Indeed," a familiar, harsh voice responded. With a growing sense of dread, Phryne blinked the room into focus.
Phryne was straddling a disarrayed, lipstick-smeared Jack, on the floor of the Watson's parlor, at the feet of Edward Watson and Jack's father.