Jack climbed the stairs slowly, feeling bone-tired, heartsick, and, he wasn't ashamed to admit it, fragile.
He paused at the landing, and looked up into the inky second storey above him. He realised, with a start, that exactly one year ago at this moment, he had been lying in the warm darkness, his heart and mind crowded with the thoughts and emotions brought forth by the revelation of Phryne's pregnancy.
Tonight had been a terrible night of pain, and anger, and sorrow, but that night a year ago had been full of uncertainty, but also hope, and joy, and awe.
The next morning he had woken long before Dot came to bring breakfast, and he had lain in the greyish light and wondered whether he had imagined everything. The love of his life had murmured in her sleep, and he had wrapped his arms around her and waited for her to wake and tell him he wasn't being daft; to pinch him and confirm that the tiny life they had created was as real as he was.
Just because she had finally spoken to him about it did not mean that she was suddenly unafraid and awaiting the pitter-patter of little feet with baited breath, but in him she had found calm in the storm of her raging emotions, and together they would find happiness in this unexpected turn of events.
The first thing they had had to decide, and that morning if possible, was who to tell, and when. Phryne had still not been keen to share their news until it became absolutely necessary, and he had not attempted to dissuade her from that view; her fear that this circumstance may yet be short-lived was real, and although he hadn't told her so, he shared it.
In a way they had felt that Jane ought to be the first to find out, but in another they had not wanted to raise her hopes until they were as sure as they could be that a sibling really would be on its way.
Having heard some other women's horror stories, Phryne had considered herself very lucky that she had felt only vague nausea, which she had been able to hide, but Dot, surely, would at least begin to wonder at the length of this particular 'dry spell' in Phryne's cycle; and only two nights previously she had had to laugh and say that she ought stop eating Monsieur Anatole's French pastries for a while, as she had attempted to draw in her waistline, and Dot had hooked her into one of her tightest evening dresses.
Then there was Mr Butler. Mr Butler noticed everything. He was probably not suspecting pregnancy, but he was certainly aware that his employer was in some kind of turmoil, and now that Jack was aware, it was only a matter of time before he noticed odd behaviour on both of their parts, and put two and two together.
So, they had decided that both Dot and Mr Butler ought to be told, and at Jack's insistence, as soon as possible; he was well aware that she was capable of taking care of herself, but just in case something were to happen… for the sake of her health and safety he had wanted them to know. The disclosure of their secret that morning had been met with as much astonishment and elation as Jack had been feeling, and he had felt confident, as always, that she was in the very best of hands.
He could not really have said what he had achieved that first day at the station, the first day of his knowledge of his impending fatherhood; whilst he was well-schooled in putting personal issues aside and focusing on his job, THIS personal issue was so far beyond anything else that it had never been away from his thoughts for more than a moment. He had worked hard all of his adult life, and thankfully there had been nothing new and urgent requiring his attention, so he had delegated every possible task that day, and had indulged himself in the luxury of only appearing to be busy, pushing paper around his desk as a million questions and daydreams had scrolled lazily through his brain.
Collins had looked a little surprised, but had said nothing, when Jack had downed his pen and left the station the very instant his shift had ended. He had rushed home and swept Phryne into his arms; and discovered that three simple words, 'How are you?', suddenly held so much more meaning.
Every day thereafter, when he had enquired she would reply 'WE are…', even if she had to whisper it when others were present; and every day when she did, he had not been able to stop his heart from jumping at the thought.
Phryne's birthday had been upon them before they knew it, and to his own surprise, he had been able to surprise her. When they had been in Paris an idea had come upon him that he could not ignore, and having requested the assistance of Véronique Sarcelle (sourcing, and translation of the more obscure language in the artists' quarter) and Mr Butler (luggage space that Phryne would have no reason to sort through), he had come home secure in the knowledge that her birthday would not present him with a problem that year. Still, with Phryne one never knew exactly what she knew.
To his gratification, she HAD been rather taken aback, and in a good way, when she had untied the ribbon and unrolled the thick, dirty paper to reveal the charcoal scene that lay upon it.
A young woman standing before an open window, her own view from there unknown, her long, dark hair a tangle down the curves of her back and shoulders. Her left hand clinging to the sill, and preventing the blanket that hung loosely around her hips from falling entirely to the ground. She was turned slightly away from the window, her left thigh pressed forward against the timber, the right leg bent at the knee, exposing the ball of her foot and her toes beneath the edge of the blanket. A cigarette perched lazily between the fingers of her right hand, where it hovered over the ears of a contented but moth-eaten looking tabby, and one pert breast was visible in the triangle created by her raised arm. Her face was in profile as she looked idly down at the cat.
It was gloriously, unmistakably, Phryne.
It was not the work of Pierre Sarcelle, but his widow had known who to speak to in order to find such a remnant of Phryne's former life; a hastily-drawn sketch made in a break from sitting for a 'great work' that had never eventuated, tucked into a sheaf of other such scratchings, and long forgotten by its creator.
Jack had not been 100% sure of how she would feel about it, given her current physical insecurities, but he had been relieved by her reaction of amazement and delight. She had had it immediately framed, and hung in their bedroom, and far from being a suggestion of how she might never look again, she had said that it reminded her that life was always changing, and that there was nothing wrong with making the most of every moment.
At some juncture in every day she would lie on the bed and let Jack inspect her belly, stroke it and kiss it, and tell her that, beyond a general thickening of her waistline, there was nothing visible yet… until suddenly there was. He was sure that that tiny curve had not been there the day before, and yet it was so obvious now that he could not have missed it. Of course it had disappeared the moment Phryne had rolled up onto her elbows to see for herself, but he had been certain.
And just a *little* triumphant. After all, she would be the first of them to experience every other first of this journey, but he had been the first to view that form, a full week before she was able to actually SEE her changing shape for herself. Once she had, though, they had realised that they could keep it a secret no longer, as it would become all too apparent to everyone before they knew it.
That night they had told Jane, and when her lip had trembled and her eyes had welled up, Jack had had a hard time swallowing down his own emotions. Phryne had given up altogether, and a couple of tears had fallen down her cheeks as their daughter bounced around, and cried, and hugged them in her excitement. She had understood their need to tell Dot and Mr Butler first, but she was very proud to be next in line, even before Aunt P.
Aunt P had found out a week-and-a-half later, when, under the guise of a get-together before Jane started university, Phryne had hastily arranged a friends-and-family gathering. When everyone had clustered around to toast Jane's future, by pre-arrangement with her parents Jane had announced that she had some news to share.
She had barely been able to contain her excitement as she had revealed that she was going to be getting a brother or sister; the reaction in the room had largely been disbelief, especially as Jane had gone on to explain that she wasn't talking about another 'stray', but an actual baby, that was already in the room; if not quite ready to make an appearance yet. Of course everyone had been over the moon, and there had been much laughter, and more toasting, and Jack's mother had held his face in her hands, and hugged him with teary eyes.
There had also been a fair amount of backslapping and innuendo thrown Jack's way over his 'accomplishment' in knocking Phryne up. In truth it had set Jack's teeth on edge just a little, but he had seen how Phryne had managed to laugh it off and shrug sympathetically in his direction. The one thing that she was not prepared to admit, in front of anyone, was that it had been entirely accidental.
They had had this discussion not long after Jack had first found out. Everyone knew, in general terms, about Phryne's aversion to small children. So, he had been surprised by her suggestion of lying, but he could not say that he disagreed with her when she had explained her reasoning.
She had told him that, firstly, she did not want the wider community to know that she was against having her husband's children, and that she had actively tried to prevent it, as people would not understand, and it would reflect badly on him; and that was certainly something that she did not want for him.
Secondly, and more importantly, she did not want their child, once of an understanding age, to be told or to overhear – even from some close friend or family member who would never mean harm – that they had never been intended; she could not imagine how it would feel to think that they had never been wanted, or to think that their parents may not really love them with all their heart.
So, Jack had stood in that room and listened to her lie to the faces of their nearest and dearest – and he was proud of her. Proud, and more than a little pleased, that she had thought so far ahead to what their child's life ought NOT to be like. She always professed that, in spite of her success with Jane, she didn't really know how to be a good mother; but what better trait could a mother have than to cast her own desires aside to protect her innocent child?
Of course she had been questioned, but she had justified herself to all, even to Mac, by saying that people change, her marriage to Jack had changed her, and that she and Jack had talked about it some time ago; they had both known that it might never happen, and so it was something that they had decided to keep strictly between themselves. And wasn't that their right, as husband and wife? The happy sparkle in her eyes was real, and her justifications perfectly convincing; if he hadn't known better, he would have believed her himself.
Whatever anyone else chose to believe, aside from the two of them, the only people who could say that they knew the absolute truth were Mr Butler and Dot. Mr Butler was a paragon of discretion who would never dream of discussing any facet of his employers' private lives with anyone; and, except perhaps in general terms, Jack could not have imagined Dot discussing Phryne's use of family planning with anyone, not even with Hugh in years to come.
Dear Dot. Jack allowed himself a slight smile as he stood in the darkness. Those years ago when he had questioned her over the death of Lydia Andrews' husband he could not have foreseen the change in her, or how he himself would come to depend on her, and care about this gentle young woman who would do anything for her mistress – even delay her own wedding.
Poor Hugh. After a long engagement, he had been only months away from marrying the girl of his dreams, when that girl had asked him to wait a little longer, at least until the Fisher-Robinson baby was three months old, and the birth and the first anxieties were behind them. Phryne had been upset at Dot's decision to delay her own happiness, but also gladder than she could say, and so had Jack been; in this aspect of life Dot had far more knowledge and experience than Phryne, and everything would be easier with her around.
He wondered briefly if Dot had ever really regretted her decision, in those days when Phryne's moods had been as changeable as Melbourne's weather. No, he didn't think so; she was strong in her own way, and she had simply accepted it with good grace, as a rocky part of a journey to a wonderful destination; and after all, talking of bumpy roads, Dot was far more terrified of Phryne's driving than of her temper. Except perhaps on that afternoon…
Having been on shift until the early hours, he had slept until late morning, before he and Phryne had wandered lazily through the city, lunching and shopping, and returning home in the late afternoon.
They had been in the parlour for only a matter of moments, when Phryne had called after the retreating back of Mr Butler. "Mr B… where is the red Lalique vase?"
His mouth had moved as he had tried to form a reply, but Phryne had cut him off. "Perhaps it's a question that I ought to be asking Dot?" Her eyebrow had been arched in a manner that told both men that she had an idea of what had happened to the vase, and that she was seriously displeased. Her voice had only confirmed it. "Could you ask her to come into the parlour?" Jack had been confused; it was not like Phryne to become angry over an accidental breakage.
Dot had come into the parlour slowly, one hand clasped in the other, her eyes red-rimmed from crying; Mr Butler had remained in the entry behind her. "I'm sorry Miss Phryne… I broke the vase…"
Phryne had waited, her arms crossed, as Dot had fought down sobs. Jack had still had no idea what was going on, and had wondered whether he ought to intervene in his wife's 'interrogation' of her suspect.
"Perhaps you'd like to explain how it happened?" she had gestured in the direction of the space that the vase had formerly occupied.
"… I… I was… standing on the chair… to reach that new naked lady at the top… to dust her…"
Phryne's fingers had tapped against her arm as Dot had gulped down another couple of sobs. "It's funny, because I thought that I remembered having a discussion about this several weeks ago when I put her there… Am I mistaken?"
Dot had shaken her head, as she had looked down at the floor. "You told me not to stand on that chair…" she had gulped again, "You told me to use the pantry step… or to get Mr Butler or Bert or Cec or the Inspector to fetch her down for me…" She had taken a deep, shuddering breath, but the voice that came out had still been of a far higher pitch than her normal one, "… because I might have an accident…"
"Mm." Phryne had nodded once. "Are you hurt?"
Dot had shaken her head again, but Phryne had looked to Mr B, who had nodded, and she had stepped forward to inspect the arm that Dot had been cradling. Her pulled up sleeve had revealed several dark bruises and a shallow red gash, and Phryne's gentle manipulations had resulted in a couple of gasps; who knew what other injuries were hidden under her clothing. Overriding her patient's protestations, Phryne had instructed Mr B that Dr Fielding was to be called to check her over thoroughly, and then had turned her attention back to the matter at hand.
"Dot… Of course the vase isn't important to me… it's just a thing… The important thing is that you weren't more badly injured… But I need you to know that this is very serious… If this had happened anywhere else – if you had disobeyed your employer's instructions, and done that amount of damage – then you would probably be expected to find a way to pay for it… which would be… almost impossible… or even worse, you might be indentured in service for life, without pay."
She had placed a gentle hand on Dot's arm. "You know that the Inspector and I think of you and Mr Butler as family… and I hope that you feel that you are treated that way… I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything that you do… but the fact remains that we *do* pay you… We have a duty to you, to make sure that you are safe and healthy… I didn't tell you not to stand on that chair because I wanted to hear myself speak, I did it because I care about you, and I didn't want you to get hurt."
Dot had nodded in resignation, "I'm so sorry Miss Phryne…" and had been sent on her way with a pat to the shoulder.
"You think I was harsh on her." It had been a statement, rather than a question, and Jack had made a non-committal movement of his head.
"What if one of your officers had acted against your explicit instructions, and then been injured?"
Of course he had seen her point of view, but he hadn't been able to help making a point of his own, although, for the sake of self-preservation, it had been accompanied by a grin "You are always acting against my instructions and getting into scrapes…"
She had not been able to help grinning back, as she had stepped up to him and given his lapels a gentle tug. "Mmmm… but that's different… I'm not your employee, so you can't stop me… Of course, as my husband you ARE within your rights to try and make me stop, but you never go too far… because I'm me… and that's why you love me…"
Whatever verbal response he had been forming had been smothered by her tongue slowly tangling with his, but when she had pulled back she had had a little more to say. "HOWEVER… I am also the mother of your unborn child, and THEIR safety is something that I take very seriously." Her huge luminous eyes had told him that it was the truth, but a truth that he had already come to realise for himself.
Sure, he had doubted that she would stop turning up at crime scenes until it was actually physically impossible; and just a few weeks earlier he had walked around a corner to see her sprinting down the road behind Foster and Collins, the three of them trailing someone they had been speaking to, who had suddenly become a prime suspect. Jack had been struck dumb as he watched her, heels clattering, coat tails flying out behind her, her gun in one hand, the other grasping her bump.
He had collected her handbag from the pavement, and her hat from the road (it had already had a near miss with a Ford), and had gone to meet her. She had been puffing a little more than usual, but she was grinning, and glowing, her hair mussed about her face, and he had had all sorts of ungentlemanly thoughts about what he would have liked to have done to her if Collins and Foster and half the street hadn't been present.
Nonetheless, when they had encountered their first really dangerous situation, he had been expecting to have to fight her to keep her away. To remind her that it wasn't just herself that she had to think about. To explain to her that he had every right to be protective of her and their child. To tell her that he couldn't have other officers watching out for her, instead of paying attention to what they should have been doing.
Instead, he had been astonished. He had asked (told) her to stay in the car, and she had nodded, and climbed in; and although she had been pouting a little at missing all the 'fun', there she had been when he had returned. Wonders would never cease.
So yes, he had known that she was not prepared to take any undue risks where the baby was concerned, and that had made him incredibly thankful and relieved.
tbc