Chapter 35: Smell The Flowers

"Quick, she's around the corner," Jane hissed but Dot was already halfway past her, hurrying after Nora Aberville. Their plan, forged over a cup of tea in the Robinson's kitchen yesterday afternoon, was more than simple: they would follow the nurse on their morning walk with little Tommy and find out where she was truly headed. Well, it had been easy in theory, but Miss Aberville walked the way she lived: completely erratic. Once or twice she had just barely missed walking in front of a cart with her pram in tow and Jane had to hold her friend back from charging at her and firing her on the spot. Now they were racing down another road and realised where they were headed.

"The park?" Jane asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment at this less than thrilling conclusion of their chase.

"She did say so," Dot pointed out, spying around another corner to where girl and pram were just disappearing behind a row of trees.

"Yes, but thieves aren't supposed to be honest," Jane pouted.

"We don't know that she is one just yet," Dot answered absent-mindedly, before running across the road, almost being hit by a cart herself if her friend hadn't grasped her arm just in time.

"Do be careful," Jane scolded. "I don't want to explain to Hugh why you were run over while spying on your nurse."

Dot hummed agreement, but hurried on into the park. A couple of chattering women walked past them, greeting friendly, but there was no sign of either Tommy or Nora. She turned on the spot, thinking unladylike words that she wouldn't express, especially not in front of Jane.

"Over there!" the girl panted, already on the move again. Dorothy couldn't see anything, but followed her all the same. Behind a tree she caught up, staring at where indeed Nora had halted, bent over Tommy's pram and talking to the little boy.

"Shall we see if we got anything, little man?"

Apparently her charge agreed to this, as she stood, trailing her eyes up and down the path. The two sleuths pressed themselves against the bark, holding their breathes. They weren't spotted.

"What is she up to now?" Jane whispered, as Dot spied around the corner, giving herself a headache by straining her eyes.

"It's strange... she's fumbling around on the tree trunk."

"What? Let me see."

Dot was shoved out of the way by an impatient friend and moments later Jane was glued to a spot she had stood in, hugging the tree in order to see what Nora was up to.

"She's reading," she mumbled.

"Reading what?"

"It appears to be a letter of some kind."

Dorothy frowned.

"There was no mail for her this morning."

"I think... she pulled it from the tree trunk."

The two girls looked at each other, both confused.

Nora smiled in the distance before shoving the letter into her pocket and retrieving another envelope from it. She let her eyes sweep over the area again, forcing her followers to retreat. When they dared peek again, she was already halfway down the path.

"Lets have a look," Dot hissed when the nurse was almost out of sight. With their eyes glued to the back of the retreating Miss Aberville, they approached the mysterious tree and found a small hole where Nora's arm had disappeared moments earlier.

"A secret hiding place then? Maybe she leaves the jewellery here."

"Exciting," Jane grinned, her fingers venturing into the cave just to be withdrawn a moment later with a disgusted sound. "It's damp in there," she protested.

"What did you think the inside of an old tree would be?" Dot asked with some amusement. The girl shrugged, sticking her hand back in and retrieving an envelope which had suffered a little bit under the mistreatment of being shoved into a dark hole.

They huddled over the letter.

"Dear stranger, It seems hardly fair that you will not tell me who you are," Jane read aloud. "You use such sweet words, yet, as my father told me..."

Dot's frown deepened.

"A love letter to a complete stranger? That is ridiculous."

"And so very romantic," Jane sighed.

"She doesn't even know the man. How can she write him sweet nothings?" Dot protested. "A man who is too much of a coward to step forward and ask her to go out with him can only be a cad."

Jane tilted her head.

"If I remember correctly, you had to invite Hugh to the Policemen Ball yourself," she grinned. Dot was enraged by this implication.

"He was being shy, not a coward. Just like your Harry."

Jane huffed at this. She had still not gotten a hold of her sweetheart, had by now been informed that he was out of town. He hadn't said a word of being away.

"Surely he's just trying to woo her before approaching her," she stated wisely, returning the letter to where she had found it.

"Either way that doesn't help us figure out if she is a thief," Dorothy sighed, sitting down on a bench. She was starting to feel the strain of doubting someone she was meant to entrust her son to.

"I wouldn't say that," Jane said, sitting down beside her. "What if the necklace wasn't stolen at all?" she grinned.

Dot's mouth fell open.

"You mean..."

Jane nodded. "A gift presented by a secret admirer, trying to reveal his identity?"

Dorothy couldn't help the relieved grin spreading over her features.

"We had better drop by the bakery then and deliver a letter."

X

Phryne let her reading material sink onto Jack's chest.

"So, Vos was right, Harper was trying to move the railway station away from Woodend. No wonder Packard was furious. He would have to fear for his business."

Jack picked up the protocols again.

"Nobody but Packard and O'Neill seem to be worried about that though. In fact, Torres and Ferguson appear to very readily mould their ideas to his in the continuation of this discussion."

"Odd," Phryne stated under her breath.

"Not if they wanted the new railway line to happen," the Inspector mumbled. He looked up and found his wife staring at him curiously.

"Well, obviously Harper was stalling. He was going to use his influence and money to convince people. And the easiest way to get him to agree totheir plans was to give him what he wanted. Ferguson and Torres don't seem to care much about where the train line would run, only that they would get one."

"To what purpose though," Phryne pondered aloud. "They had no land to sell as Harper did, and no hope for more guests coming to Woodend like Packard."

"That is the question," the Inspector stated calmly, slapping the folder shut before stretching out in bed. He felt rather content. He had managed to investigate without getting dressed and currently was considering a break from the case to take advantage of the convenient lack of clothing his wife provided. But Phryne had other ideas, fishing for the document again.

"There must be some clue as to what they were up to," she grumbled, flicking to the last page and starting to read again. Jack's fingers gently stroked her shoulder. There was something near irresistible to a sleuthing Phryne. He wasn't certain if it was her brilliant mind or her excitement that made his heart beat faster but he never tired of watching her do her magic. Right now, however, he wished she would pay a little more attention to him. His thumb trailed over her breast and she shot him a warning glance.

"The last sentence is odd," she finally breathed, just when his hand reached her navel. Jack sighed, but removed his fingers from her in order to grasp for the offered protocol.

"The matter shall be discussed further after-"

"It's Monday's date," Phryne cut in, giving him no time to finish. Jack frowned.

"Racing Day? That can't be a mere coincidence."

"Especially considering Ferguson's reaction to Mrs. Harper's win," Phryne added. "A man of his prejudices standing up for a female champion struck me as suspicious straight away."

The Inspector bit his lip.

"That makes a whole lot more sense if he really needed the Harpers to win, rather than Luke O'Neill."

"You think they may have forged a little bet away from the field?" Phryne asked, positioning the folder onto Jack's nightstand.

"A wager to decide the fate of this town? Doesn't sound like very faithful politics to me."

"Which fits the description of most of the men involved perfectly. Do you believe Grace Harper knew what she was riding for?"

"Maybe. It would explain the risk she took in order to decide the race for her husband."

"But not why Aidan was furious about her decision."

"True."

Phryne let the folder sink to look at her husband, who had wrapped the sheet around his hips, baring his chest to her in the late morning light. A small bump near his heart reminded of another of his close brushes with death. She tore her eyes from it with some difficulty and instead concentrated on the soft curls, slowly trailing her fingers through them until she reached one of his nipples. Jack watched her, his breath held, as she leaned in to press her lips to it, continued to pepper small kisses to his chest and stomach. Her fingertips followed his side, brushing the sheet from him, then she stopped in sudden hesitation.

Jack, who had endured her gentle caress with his lashes closed, opened them to enquire after her change of mind.

"Am I going to hurt you?" she asked, aiming her eyes at him in question. He had to think a moment about her meaning, then shook his head with a small smile.

"Not unless you intend on repeating the treatment," he whispered hoarsely, pulling her into a kiss.

"That would be more than silly, considering I am very attached to those parts of your body," she returned, her exploring hand aiming to prove her fondness.

"I am excessively glad to hear it," he murmured, squirming underneath her touch while his own hand slipped up her thigh. They sank into another kiss, losing themselves in it while Phryne wrapped her leg over his hip, joining them without any build up. Jack groaned in surprise and for a long moment neither of them moved, as they lay, feeling their hot breathes brush over their faces, his palm warm and heavy in her back.

Then Jack's hand moved, stroked along her spine, trailed up her neck before gently drawing along the lines of her face with his fingertips. An artist painting his masterpiece.

Phryne would have been terrified by his thoughts in this very moment, but there was nothing that could compel Jack to share them with her.

"What's on your mind?" she whispered, her blue eyes huge from this distance. A tiny smile spread over his features.

"That I am a happy man."

"You are a terrible liar, Jack. You hate this case and this town."

His smile broadened.

"This holiday has not quite played out as hoped. But that doesn't trifle with my happiness, Miss Fisher."

His hand had stilled, his fingertips lying tenderly against an artery in her neck where the lifeblood pumped in even beats against her skin.

"Thank you," he whispered in sudden resolve. A frown appeared on her features.

"What for?"

Instead of an answer he brought his lips to hers, his tongue demanding entrance that was granted. His taste never failed to sweep her away and when he moved his hips against hers, drawing a soft moan from her throat as his arms carried her through the gentle morning, she forgot to ask further after the meaning of his words. She didn't have to. Deep in her soul Phryne knew that he was saying goodbye.