Chapter Twelve
Phryne straightened up and pulled the sheet more closely around Miss Flitt's shoulders. The bruising on her forehead was severe, but the concussion wasn't overly serious.
Smiling at the nurse who was replacing the cold compress on the patient's forehead, she left the dormitory and joined Jack on the stairs of the San.
Taking his arm, she turned towards the green glade of the Headmistress' Walk.
"Isn't it always the same, Jack? Love and money, one or other."
He nodded. "Constance thought that she and Miss Sheppard were just having interesting discussions about philosophy in the Willow Cabin; the Bursar, on the other hand, was falling in love."
"When she realised that Constance was walking out with Andrew Menzies, she lost all reason," sighed Phryne. "Better that Constance die, than live as an inconstant lover."
"They'd been re-hanging lots of the school photographs in the corridor, so there was plenty of picture cord lying around – easy enough for Miss Sheppard to pocket some and take it with her to their next meeting, in Constance's free lesson period," remarked Jack. "The trouble was that Miss Flitt knew the Bursar had lied to us, because her window was open too when we did our interview; she'd been typing, but stopped and heard every word Sheppard said. She knew exactly when the Bursar had left her office, and hearing her lie about it made poor Miss Flitt realise what must have happened – and as soon as she realised Flitt had – well, flitted – Sheppard realised she had to be silenced."
They'd reached the willow tree, and, glancing back at Jack in question, Phryne passed between the branches into the Cabin. He followed her in, and lifted his eyes to watch the play of the sunlight on the leaves above their heads.
"You don't mind?" she asked quietly.
"No," he said. "Well," he amended, "I mind that I've lost a friend; I mind that Andrew Menzies has lost the girl he loved; but I don't mind that it happened here. I think there's too much good about this place to make one evil act cancel it out."
He turned to Phryne.
"So, Miss Fisher," Jack leaned his back against the trunk of the willow tree. "There's a question I really … really want to ask you," he said intently.
"Anything, Jack." She smiled. "Go right ahead, shock me."
He looked at her quizzically.
"Absolutely anything?"
She tipped her head back, considering.
"Ye-es?"
He noticed that the furrowed line had appeared between her eyebrows which was very rarely seen, thanks to the fact that it only appeared when she wasn't one hundred percent confident of what was going to happen next.
"You said, when we left poor old Andrew Menzies in the bookshop," the line, so far from disappearing, was becoming more pronounced, "that you'd be prepared to find a priest straight away if it meant I could hug you in public."
"I did," she agreed.
"Now, leaving aside the fact that neither you nor I is ever likely to trouble a priest for that kind of service – you because you've never taken a priest seriously in your life, and me because of my divorce," she graciously inclined her head to admit both points, "I am curious to know – what sort of promise might you be prepared to make to a man, and … under what circumstances?"
The question had been confidently uttered, but the look in his eyes was all vulnerability.
She smiled. The line disappeared.
"It's a promise I never thought I'd make, Jack – and I still don't know for sure that I ever will. But if I do, it'll probably be when it's least expected. And you should know that Phryne Fisher having sworn truth, ever will be true."
The last words were a whisper against his lips.