17 October 1960

After the tumult of emotions that had filled them the night before, after wrapping herself around him and losing herself utterly in her love for him Jean was loath to let Lucien go, but the next morning dawned bright and clear and he kissed her cheek and set off for the police station, and she was left alone with her chaotic thoughts. Lucien's confession weighed heavily upon her; she had always known he carried this grief, this secret part of his life that she was not privy to, that she had not experienced, might not ever fully understand, but his grief had a name now; Mei Lin.

Jean knew what she looked like, of course, had seen the photographs Lucien kept locked in his trunk, though he had never shared them with her. She could not fault him for that, for Lucien had never seen a photo of her Christopher, either, had no idea what he looked like, this man who had so shaped her life. It did not seem necessary, somehow; they both knew what it was to lose someone, knew what it was to struggle and weep, to finally find some piece of happiness, and so Jean was not much interested in dredging up the distant past, reopening those old wounds. Still, though, she wondered about it, sometimes, wondered what sort of man Lucien had been before the war, before the scars that laced his back. She wondered sometimes how those scars had come to be there, what exactly he had suffered, but she could not bring herself to voice those questions, to face the awful truth that another human being had inflicted such pain upon her beloved. Lucien was here, now, and she wanted, very much, to focus on their present, and not lose herself to the grief of the past.

It was a Monday morning, and Jean intended to spend it the way she did most Mondays, looking over Lucien's accounts from the previous week, taking stock of who had been seen for what. Mondays were days set aside for the surgery, for bookkeeping and, if things were slow, for poking through some of Lucien's medical journals, if there was anything there that might keep her interest for more than a moment or two. He had promised to be home in time for lunch, and had three appointments for the afternoon, and so Jean was more than content to spend a few hours alone in the peace and quiet of the surgery.

She smiled as her gaze flickered to the exam table, thinking of the day she had first sat there, Lucien's tender regard for her shining in every line of his face, in every gentle touch of his hand. He had asked that she allow him another examination at the end of the month, and she had consented because she knew it made him happy, helped to put his fears to rest. If that was all Lucien needed in order to reassure himself that he was taking care of his family, she was more than willing to give it to him. She was showing properly, now, the little curve of her stomach just visible beneath the loose dress she wore, and the news was slowly filtering out to their friends and family. Charlie had blushed like a schoolboy and refused to look her in the eye when he offered his congratulations, and Matthew Lawson had laughed so loudly that Jean heard it clean on the other side of the room the day Lucien rang him to deliver the news. The ladies from the sewing circle had twittered delightedly, and Lucien was composing his letter to Li, and Christopher had been as understanding as she could have hoped; all in all, she rather felt that things were going quite well. No whisper of impropriety had reached her ears - yet - and she supposed she rather ought to be grateful for small mercies.

As she settled herself behind the little desk she often used for administrative work in the surgery her thoughts lingered less on receipts and more on little Blake, and all the changes his impending arrival would have upon her life. Though so far everyone had been very kind the truth remained that they had been married less than two months, and anyone who had any sense at all would know that it was far too early for Jean to be showing, even if she had fallen pregnant on her wedding night. They were lingering in a grace period, at present, when a dress cut on a forgiving line could hide all manner of sins, but that would change, and rather soon. Would her friends abandon her, when the truth came out? Alice wouldn't, she knew, for Alice had known all along, and never judged her for it. Matthew and Charlie and Danny, they wouldn't think twice about it, and though Jean had not yet received an answer to the letter she'd sent to Mattie she was certain that Mattie would not fault them for their over-eager affections, either. But the ladies from Sacred Heart, all her old friends in town, her sons; there so many people, each with their own ideas of how a woman of Jean's standing in the community ought to comport herself, and she dreaded to think what might happen when they discovered she was unworthy of the esteem they'd placed in her.

It was in the midst of those rather morose thoughts that there came a loud knock upon the surgery door. Jean was out of her chair in a moment, all thoughts of her predicament vanished, a professional, welcoming smile in place and a pleasant greeting ready and waiting to be delivered. At least until she opened the door, at which point all her good graces left her for she was quite surprised to find herself face to face with Emily Cooper, one of the very same ladies from the sewing circle who had so occupied her thoughts moments earlier.

"Emily!" she said, not even trying to hide her surprise.

"Sorry to just drop in unannounced," Emily said with a genuine smile. "I was hoping you might have time for a chat."

"Of course," Jean answered at once, stepping aside and gesturing for her to come in. "Come into the kitchen, and we'll have a cup of tea."

"That's wonderful news, Lucien," Frank told him earnestly, reaching out to offer him a hearty handshake.

"Thank you," Lucien answered, grinning. "It's rather unexpected, but we're pleased."

"You don't waste any time, do you?" Frank asked with a knowing, cheeky sort of grin. Lucien grimaced; he had no idea how to respond to those ribald sorts of comments. No, he and Jean had wasted exactly no time at all, falling into the bed together the very same night he proposed, conceiving a child before they'd even announced their engagement. Engaged for three months and announcing a baby six weeks later; he knew exactly how that must look. It must look, he thought, exactly like what it was.

"Yes, well," he grumbled, but before he could explain himself further they were interrupted by the arrival of Bill Hobart.

"Oh, good, doc, you're here," he said. "Someone to see you."

From the expression on Bill's face it was clear that he didn't appreciate having the role of Lucien's butler foisted upon him, but to his credit he remained civil. Since the wedding, Bill had been very nearly friendly towards Lucien, and secretly Lucien suspected that might have something to do with the lady friend Bill had brought to assist with the cleaning of the studio, who he had danced with at the reception. Whatever the cause for the sudden improvement of his manners, Lucien was grateful.

"Of course," he said, straightening his jacket absently. "Who-"

"An old friend of ours," Bill said. "Major Alderton."

"I do appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, Jean," Emily was saying as Jean handed her a teacup before settling into her chair.

"Really, it's no trouble," Jean insisted. "Lucien isn't seeing any patients this morning, so I was at a bit of a loose end, if I'm honest. What can I help you with?"

"Actually, Jean," Emily said, taking a sip of her tea. "I want to help you."

Jean's heart sank; there was no malice in Emily's voice, and in fact her expression seemed rather sincere, but Jean liked the sound of those words not at all. Their friendship was tenuous at best; Emily had not been in town for very long, had moved to Ballarat with her family perhaps two years before, and she had not really established herself in any one social circle. She was a clever, observant sort of woman, a few years younger than Jean though her children were still young and living at home. She kept her blonde hair in a neat, rigid set, and her dark brown eyes never missed a trick. When Jean had first invited her to the sewing circle, seeking to reestablish that sense of community she'd lost when her previous friendships had fallen apart, Emily had agreed with some enthusiasm, and she often made Jean and the other ladies laugh. Still, though, they had not spoken to one another very earnestly of their lives, their situations, choosing instead to focus on lighter topics, husbands and home and mass. Whatever her intentions were now Jean could not fathom them, and that made her uneasy.

"Oh?" she said, as delicately as she could, bracing herself for the worst.

"I just wanted to say, I think it's wonderful news about the baby. And you can say whatever you want to Evelyn and all the rest, but I think you and I both know this wasn't a wedding night surprise."

Jean almost choked on her tea. She had never, not once, not even for a moment, considered that someone might approach the subject of her sudden pregnancy with her. Gossip and rumors and whispers she was prepared for; she had heard them all before, after all. This direct, utterly crass sort of searching was far beyond her experience, and she wasn't entirely sure was prepared to deal with it. For a moment she sputtered, trying to think of something to say, but then Emily was speaking again, reaching out to place a comforting hand upon her forearm.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Jean," she said quickly. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it and I don't give a damn - pardon my language - when it happened, and I certainly would never dream of talking to anyone else about it. If you ask me it isn't anyone's business what you do in your own home."

"Oh," Jean said, having swung from fear to anger to bemusement in the span of sixty seconds, and feeling a little dizzy as a result. "Thank you." It sounded more like a question, for in truth it was. She wasn't entirely sure she could trust that Emily's motives were as kind as she'd made them out to be, and she wasn't entirely sure why, exactly, this conversation was happening. At least, not yet.

"I was pregnant with my oldest when I married Harry," Emily said, somewhat shyly, and then it all began to come together. "And some people were oh...just awful, about it. My mother cried all the way through the ceremony. She thought I could do better. Which was absolute nonsense, if you ask me, especially considering she'd been harping on me for years about not finding a husband."

"Oh, Emily, I'm so sorry," Jean said earnestly. And she was; though she had no intention of telling Emily how eerily similar their stories were, she did know a thing or two about mothers who disapproved of the men their daughters had chosen, knew what it was to carry that burden. And she knew, too, what it was to rush into a marriage, uncertain but facing no other option. Jean had been quite happy with her Christopher, and she rather hoped in that moment that Emily had found her happiness, too.

"Oh, it was sixteen years ago, she's gotten used to him by now," Emily said with a laugh and a dismissive wave of her hand. Sixteen years, Jean thought sadly; sixteen years before she'd been all alone on the farm with two young sons to look after. Christopher had been dead for a year, when Emily first wed. Strange, she thought, how they could have so much in common when their lives had charted such different courses. "I just wanted you to know, no matter what anyone else might say, you have at least one friend. I'd like to be here for you, Jean, if you need someone to talk to. And I won't hear a single negative word spoken about you in my presence. You've always been so kind to me, and I want to be able to do the same for you."

It was the sincerity of her voice, more than anything, that convinced Jean that Emily was being quite genuine in this offer of support. Emily was looking at her expectantly now, and she knew she had to be careful in how she responded, would have to be kind and grateful without offering up too much of her own story, lest this tenuous connection turn sour. It was strange to be so caught between the hopefulness of a newly deepened friendship and the fear of consequences, but Jean would do her best to muddle through.

"Thank you," she said again. "Really. Lucien and I are...quite pleased, about the baby. He had already proposed, before it...happened." Half an hour before, she added in her mind. "We never expected this, of course, but…"

"No one ever does," Emily said, and the sound of her laughter was so infectious that Jean found herself smiling despite her uncertain heart.

"Would you like a biscuit?" she asked then. She could do this, she told herself, could talk quietly to a friend about her hesitant joy, about how she loved her husband, could open her heart, just that little bit more, and make room for one more person who seemed to genuinely care about her. Perhaps this was a sign, she thought, that all her worrying would be for naught, that perhaps the response of her friends to her news would be more positive than she had ever dreamed. It was a hopeful thought.

"Derek," Lucien said, reaching out to shake his old friend's hand somewhat warily. They had not parted on good terms, after the incident with the poor dead soldier on the base. Derek hadn't left Ballarat, Lucien knew, but he likewise had not sought Lucien out, and they had not seen one another since. The sudden change in the state of affairs between them, from blood brothers to tenuous enemies, had been difficult enough for Lucien to bear in solitude, but now that he was face to face with the man he found his emotions in a riot. He wanted to punch him, to shake him, to damn him for a betrayer, to ask him when he had turned into exactly the sort of officer they used to curse when they were young soldiers fighting an impossible war, but the corridor of the police station was hardly the place for such a confrontation, and besides, Lucien wasn't entirely sure Derek would hear him, anyway.

"I wanted to offer my congratulations," Derek said, and Lucien paled. "I heard you got married."

Inwardly Lucien breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to know that news of the baby had not yet reached Derek. For some reason, that thought did not sit easily with him.

"Thank you."

"I was hoping you might have a moment to talk."

It seemed that Derek was through with pleasantries, and Lucien found himself caught between loathing and curiosity. What could possibly have brought Derek off the base and into the police station this morning?

Nothing good, he thought grimly.

"Of course," he said aloud. "If you'll follow me, there's an empty room down this way."

And so he led Derek along the corridor towards one of the rooms they used for interrogation, his mind spinning, dread swirling in his gut. It seemed an ill omen, coming on the heels of his terrible dream. His past had sunk its teeth into him once more, and he could only pray that he would survive whatever trial was to come, for Jean's sake if nothing else.