"Found about an hour ago, sir," Hugh Collins stood poised with his pencil and notebook as Inspector Robinson crouched beside the body; they were down a small alley in Fitzroy, he didn't need to ask who found him, alleys like this were used by some of the local women plying their trade; it was dark, damp and malodorous.
The body was that of a man in his early thirties, he supposed, his once smart clothes torn and bloodied, his face beaten but it was the small dagger pushed under his ribs that the coroner would declare the cause of his ultimate demise. Jack turned back the edge of his jacket to look for any means of identification – a wallet, a letter with an address – all he found was a dog-eared photograph of a woman and four small children, he assumed this was his family, the youngest of whom was a babe in arms when the picture was taken, his heart fell.
"Jack?"
"Miss Fisher," he looked round and stood up, "I didn't expect you." It was a lie; he knew she could sniff out a murder at ten miles.
She just shrugged, "so ...?" she waved her hand over the scene.
"Another one, like the last three, around thirty, stabbed, dumped."
There had been a spate of similar murders over the past few weeks, all stabbed with a small knife, no identification, save a family photograph; two of the three previous victims were still in the morgue awaiting identification. Jack reasoned that some poor woman must report her husband or son missing sooner or later, but despite the photographs being reproduced in the city's papers so far no one had come forward – except for one. He passed the photograph to Hugh to keep safe in an envelope and let the coroner's assistants through to take the body to be examined by Mac.
"Any news on the one that has been claimed?" she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.
"In debt, pursued by moneylenders and gambling den owners. He was a sales ledger clerk but seems he fell in with a bad crowd and started leaving his wife at home and going to clubs and bars and spending more than he earned." Jack opened her car door for her.
"Poor woman, does she know which gambling dens?"
He shook his, head, "no."
She sighed.
"We need to catch these people, Phryne, for everybody's sake."
"So, how do we go about it?"
"Meet me back at the station, let's have a look at all the evidence," he nodded, it was nice to be able to collaborate with her without top brass looking sideways. The rule was that if they kept it subtle nothing would be said. Of course, this meant she did not get the credit in the papers, but she had said she didn't mind, he gave her the credit in far more interesting ways than a couple of inches in the Argus.
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"Right, Collins," Jack set the four family photographs out on his desk, "I want you to go round all the photographers and see if they recognise any of these as their work."
"Sir," Hugh nodded. "Why would the murderer take the time to remove the name of the photographer?"
"Unless it leads to them," Jack sat back in his chair, he had considered this, was the photographer the murderer, was he, or she, the one murdering these men, and if so, why? Did they run underground gambling dens? There seemed no rhyme or reason to these killings. The only connection was the photograph.
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There were a number of photographers around the city, Frederic Burn was discounted, he did pictures for the papers these were social, family, maybe weddings, not unsuspecting Inspectors and Lady Detectives or Constables and their virtuous fiancées.
Constable Collins trawled round all of them until he finally found the one who had taken all the pictures.
"Such lovely families," he smiled turning the pictures over in his hand, "all of them. Paid on time, devoted fathers ... murdered you say?"
Hugh nodded sadly, though from what he knew of the one who had been claimed devoted was not an adjective he would attach to them.
"What a shame, those poor women, left with the children and no support – this one," he pointed to the one with the four children, the most recent, "so eager to get a picture of all of them, I have a full picture with him in it – if that helps?"
"Well," Hugh hummed, "he was rather battered, it would help, we may have to issue a picture in the newspapers – to find him. Unless you have contact details."
"No, he paid when he collected the photographs the following week. He didn't want this one," he passed over the full portrait, "said he only wanted a picture of the family."
"Do you work alone?" Hugh held his pencil over his notebook.
"Yes, one man band," he shrugged, "take the pictures, develop the film, and print the pictures. I tried having an assistant, but she didn't work out." He sat down in the chair that his subjects were photographed in, "my customers want family portraits, she wanted more artistic shots, I don't make money unless I give the customer what he wants."
"S'pose not," Hugh agreed. "Don't suppose you have her address, do you? Your assistant's?"
The photographer shook his head, "somewhere in the Bay area, I think. Her name was Marcia Evans."
Hugh jotted this information down and tucked his notebook in his pocket.
"Well, thanks," he waved the new photograph of the latest victim, "we'll have this put in the paper and hope we get a result."
The photographer smiled as he left. He had liked the little family, the three little boys were cheeky but polite enough and the little girl, the baby, her father seemed particularly proud he also had a little daughter to spoil. He hoped the wife and children would be alright, she seemed well educated, pretty and kind.
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There was a huddle of women shaking their heads and tutting at the state of the world.
"Comes to something when you can't walk the streets without gettin' murdered," one huffed.
"Young too, they say he left a wife and kiddies, had a picture in his pocket," another pursed her lips.
"Shame," a third shook her head, "oh, hello dear," she turned and smiled at Janey heading out to the market with her children in tow. "Seen this?" she waved the paper, "you be careful out there."
"Huh, Edith Hurst, it's only men that's targeted."
Janey held her hand out for the paper and read down the column until she came to the picture. It wasn't a well printed picture, slightly blurred but it was him – Noah Sinclair – her husband. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth, "no."
"Mrs Sinclair?" Mrs Hurst took her elbow, "lovey?"
"It's my husband," she swallowed, "I thought he'd just left us … oh god."
"Come on, lovey, let's get you and the little'uns back home," she started to guide her back the way she had come, "'ere, Grace Harper, you go get some veggies from the market; maybe some milk too."
"Oh, no, I couldn't," Janey blinked.
"Now, now, pet," Mrs Hurst soothed, "we help each other round here."
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Janey's small living room was as bright as she could make it and spotlessly clean, as was the rest of her tiny house. Mrs Hurst was rather impressed, especially as she had four children under eight years old. She busied herself about making tea, getting the older boy to show her where everything was kept.
"Missus," the older boy took a cup and saucer from the cupboard, "what's wrong with our mum?"
"Well, lad …" she sat down on a kitchen chair, "… what's your name, son?"
"I'm William, then there's Robert and Arthur, our sister is called Psyche – mum said it was what her sister should have been called."
"Well, William," Mrs Hurst wondered how to tell him what his mother had just found out, "you see, your mum's just found out some bad news …"
"Is it about pappy? Only we don't know where he went."
"Oh lad, William …" she stroked his dark curls, "I'm sorry."
"He's the man in the paper, isn't he? You were talking about people getting murdered, is that what happened?"
"Your mum needs to go to City South Police Station, to speak to the Inspector there … they say Inspector Robinson is a good man."
William stood looking at her, trying to take in all she had said, and some she had not said; his pappy was dead, someone had killed him, someone had taken him away from him and his brothers and sister and his mum – that wasn't right, it wasn't fair and with tears streaming down his face he told Mrs Hurst so. She gathered him into her arms and let him cry, stroking his back and telling him everything would work out – eventually.
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Janey tried to tell her children what had happened, or as little as she knew. Psyche didn't understand, Arthur seemed to understand that his pappy wasn't coming home after all, and Robert just said nothing as he tried to process this information. William had determined he would help his mum as much as he could and told her so when she tucked him up in the bed he shared with his brothers that night.
"We'll be alright, mum," he whispered, "I can get a job …"
"You, young man," she smiled through her tears, "will continue your schooling. A good education will get you much farther in life than scrubbing about in dead end jobs. I work, it's not much, but it pays the rent."
"If you're sure," he frowned.
"I'm sure, love. Now sleep, it's a good walk to City South."
She had managed to get her job back at the bookshop, the owner had never found anyone as good as her at recommending books for customers and had called on her occasionally since she had married that student who came in that fateful day. He allowed her to take Psyche and Arthur in as long as they were quiet and stayed in the back room. First thing in the morning she would send William to explain to him that she would not be able to work that day as she had to see someone about her husband. William was to tell him everything and give him a note she would write giving her apologies, and she would give him two pennies to take the tram to meet her at the Police Station.
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As she dressed the children in their Sunday best the following morning, she couldn't understand what Noah could have done to get himself murdered. He was a schoolteacher and though money was tight they never went without. But when he went missing men had come to the house demanding money to pay his debts – debts that she knew nothing about. The men had been threatening and frightened the children so she had given them what she could and shortly after sold enough to be able to rent the little house they now lived in. She was still worried the men would come back and kept a little back from her wages each week just in case. So far, she had been lucky.
She put Psyche in the old stroller, told Robert to hold tight and took Arthur by the hand.
"We have a long walk, children," she stepped forward, "and I know you are only little, but we can do it, and we shall use the tram to come home."
"Where's Will?" Robert looked up and frowned.
"Will is doing an errand and will meet us there," she smiled. "Come on now, best foot forward."
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It wasn't an easy walk, at one point she had Arthur in the stroller and Psyche on her hip and Robert kept going, refusing to admit his feet hurt and he was thirsty.
"I'm sure you will be able to have a drink of water when we get there, Robert, sweetheart," she squeezed his hand, "you are such a good boy, walking all this way."
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They stood outside City South Police Station; Janey took a deep breath and Robert stepped closer to her.
"Come on, in we go," she pushed the door open.
"Hey, mum!" William got up from the bench and went to help her with his siblings.
"You got here quick," she smiled, glad he was safe.
"Mr Simons wouldn't let me come on the tram – here's your tuppence back" he handed her the two coins she had given him that morning, "he brought me in his motor car." His eyes were wide with surprise.
"That was very kind of him," she looked around for the bookshop owner.
"Oh, he went back to the shop, left me with the Constable here. I've had milk and a biscuit," he grinned.
"That was very kind of you, Constable," she looked across at the young officer behind the desk.
"My pleasure, Mrs Sinclair," Hugh stepped round and helped her with the stroller, "now, let me see if I've got it right, Master William …" he looked at each child, "this must be Master Robert," he held out his hand and shook the small boy's, "this is Master Arthur, and this must be little Miss Psyche?"
Janey smiled, he seemed such a nice young man.
"My wife's expecting our first," he grinned, "now, the Inspector asked you be brought straight in and I'll arrange tea, and milk and biscuits for these young 'uns, shall I?"
The last time Janey had been in a Police Station it was with her mother and her sister to collect her father. They hadn't been offered tea or milk and biscuits, then. When she had gone to her old house in Collingwood, thinking she might find her family she had been told they had gone to England. She wondered how much time her father spent behind bars there, did they offer children milk and biscuits?
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After introductions were made and seats found for everyone, though Psyche preferred her mother's lap, Jack asked her a few questions.
"No, I wouldn't have seen the paper, Inspector, it's a luxury I don't need. It was just some neighbours were reading it when I was going shopping and made a remark that I should take care." She sipped her tea, freshly brewed not the usual stewed drink Jack and Hugh had, and wiped a crumb from Psyche's mouth with her finger. Jack watched her, there was something strangely familiar about her. She was fair, had blue-green eyes and when she turned to Robert there was a shape to her face that was reminiscent of a certain female he was very close to.
"Tell me your story, Mrs Sinclair," he leant his elbows on his desk, 2how did you meet your husband?"
So she told him about how she was looking for work one day when he came into the bookshop. How she and three other girls had been abducted and kept in relative comfort …
"… more comfortable than I was at home, Inspector, though I always wondered what my sister was doing. Trouble is, none of us were allowed out of the house, all supplies were delivered, so we didn't know how to get back home. I suppose I might have tried harder if home was nice, if my father was kind, but he wasn't – so I didn't. Then when he died suddenly we had to look after ourselves and then, when I found work I also found the need to go home, or at least to see how my sister was."
"And …?"
"They had gone to England. Apparently father was elevated to the peerage."
"Mrs Sinclair," he frowned and looked closer. Murdoch Foyle had given up the places the girls he had abducted were buried but none of them were Janey Fisher. Phryne had been devastated, she still didn't know what had happened that fateful afternoon, and now Foyle was dead. She kept a file in her study, any tiny nugget of information that came her way, that could lead to finding her sister was kept in there.
"I'll find her, Jack," she said, often, "she's somewhere out there."
Had he, by happenstance, found Janey Fisher?
"Mrs Sinclair, what was your sister's name?"
"Not what it was supposed to be," she smiled, and it was the same smile that he saw across the dinner table, or in bed, or, or anywhere around his crime scene, their home, his office, "she should have been Psyche, like this one," she gave her daughter a quick squeeze, "but father was drunk and named her Phryne."
"Excuse me a moment," he stood up and went to the outer office.
"Collins," he whispered, "get Phryne. Just, just tell he we have a lead."
"Sir," Hugh lifted the phone and dialled Wardlow.
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Back in the office he sat down and looked at her again. Was he clutching at straws? Could this hurt Phryne even more? God, he hoped not; like her he believed that without a body they couldn't declare her dead.
Mrs Sinclair didn't read the papers, she wouldn't have seen the photographs of Phryne, or read the articles, the columns about her escapades.
"Do you have any other relatives, Mrs Sinclair?" he asked lightly.
"I had an aunt, Mrs Prudence Stanley, Arthur is named after our cousin, but I expect she's long gone, she was older than mother."
This was definitely Janey Fisher, there was no way she could have taken on another identity.
"Poor Arthur," she sighed, "he wasn't quite right, you know …"
He stopped himself from saying he did know.
"… born wrong, but Phryne defended him from our other cousin Guy …" she seemed to be enjoying talking about her family, the one she had before she was abducted. "… Guy was a pig," she tossed her head just the way Phryne did. "We played with Arthur, and his toys, swam in Aunt Prudence's pool … we had some lovely times there."
Jack looked up as there was a knock at the door.
"Yes?"
"A visitor, sir," Hugh opened the door and showed Miss Phryne Fisher in.
"Ah," Jack stood up, now wondering how he should introduce the two women. "Miss Fisher, may I present Mrs Sinclair? Mrs Janey Sinclair – who I have reason to believe is your long lost sister."
Janey stood up, Phryne stared.
"It is you," she whispered, "Janey?"
"Phryne? It can't be …"
"It is, oh, Janey …" she opened her arms to hug her, Jack deftly caught Psyche as she began to slide from her mother's arms and watched as they hugged, laughed and cried and practically danced around the small room.
"Mister?" William tugged Jack's jacket.
"Ah, well, William," he grinned, "has your mother ever spoken about a sister she had, who was brave and reckless and probably a bit naughty?"
William nodded, "she sounds fun, though."
"Well, boys, and Psyche, that is her, your aunt, Aunt Phryne – who is still reckless and naughty, and brave and … well, she's the kindest person I have ever met."
"What are you doing here?" Phryne finally stopped hugging her sister, but continued staring into those familiar blue-green eyes.
"I came to see about my husband, his picture was in the paper."
"Your husband?" Phryne looked shocked, "you mean, oh Janey, darling, I am so sorry." She hugged her again. "So, you're the wife left with four children? Four!"
"It would seem so," she sniffed, Jack passed her his handkerchief, "this," she beckoned William forward, "is William, then there's Robert, Arthur and lastly … Psyche."
"Psyche?!"
"Yes," Janey laughed in spite of the reason for her being in Inspector Robinson's office, "at least Noah managed to register her name correctly."
"Noah, that was his name?"
Janey nodded.
"Where are you living?" Phryne didn't think her sister looked as if she was living the life of an 'Honourable'.
"Fitzroy," Janey sighed, her sister looked so well-dressed and wealthy.
"Not anymore," she huffed, "Jack, what do you need Janey for?"
"Well, formal identification, but …"
"You want me to look at him, to make sure?" Janey straightened her shoulders. "Lead on Inspector, Phryne you are in charge of your nephews and niece."
Jack burst out laughing then apologised for his inappropriate outburst.
"You see, Mrs Sinclair, Miss Fisher is not … she's not one for children."
"I think I can manage, Jack," Phryne tossed her head looking at the four small persons before her, hopefully there was a lot of Janey in them and not much of her.
"As you wish," he inclined his head and smirked.
"I'll get you later, Jack Robinson," she glared.
"I have no doubt about it," he waved as he escorted Janey from the room.
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For a few minutes they walked in silence, Janey thinking on what she had seen between the Inspector and her sister, and Jack wondering how it had come to this. He had no doubt Janey would be moving from Fitzroy that very afternoon, if not sooner; Mr Butler would be in his element and Dot would be delighted to have four small children to look after.
"Inspector?"
"Mrs Sinclair."
"You seem to be rather familiar with my sister."
Jack thought that was an understatement; he'd been so familiar with Phryne that morning he had nearly been late for work, as it was he had had to make do with a sandwich on the way to the station swiftly prepared by Mr Butler and handed to him as he walked out of the door.
He cleared his throat, "we have a closeness, we work cases together. She'll explain, later."
"Ah," she nodded.
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"Dr Macmillan," Jack swung the door to the morgue open, then realised Mac probably knew Janey as well; after all she was Phryne's oldest friend. "Mrs Sinclair is here to formally identify her husband."
"Mrs Sinclair?" Mac hummed, "ah, yes, the latest. I'm so sorry, Mrs Sinclair, for your loss."
She went to the fridge and pulled out the body, covered in a crisp white sheet, and wheeled it into the middle of the room.
"I'm afraid your husband …" she looked up at Janey, "… er, do I know you?"
"Mrs Sinclair is Phryne's sister, Mac," Jack shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Janey? Is it really you?"
"I am, or was, Janey Fisher," Janey smiled, "hello Lizzie."
"God, no one's called me that in a millennia; oh Janey," she sighed, "Janey, he's taken a bit of a …"
"So the paper said," Janey interrupted her, "can we …" she waved her hand, "I've left Phryne with four children under eight, and the Inspector says she's not keen on little ones."
"Four!" Mac gasped, "now that I would love to see."
She lifted the sheet and let Janey look at the battered face of her husband.
"That's Noah," she turned away, "dear god, what did he do to deserve this? I had men come around asking for money. They said he had debts. He was a teacher and though he didn't make much we were ok. We had a small house in Richmond and I had long ago learned to be frugal, and I had a small job. We made ends meet, he was kind, he never hurt me, not physically …"
We'll find out why, Mrs Sinclair," Jack nodded to Mac to put the body away. "Phryne won't let this drop, neither will I."
"If you're going to call my sister by her first name, Inspector, you might as well call me Janey."
Jack just tipped his head and gave a small smile.
"I expect we shall see you later, Mac," he opened the door.
"You try and stop me," she signed off the paperwork on Noah Sinclair. "Anyway, I'm coming to see how Phryne is coping with your kiddies, Janey."
"Three boys and a little girl, Lizzie, Noah loved them all." She sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do now."
"You don't have a thing to worry about," Jack stepped beside her, "Phryne won't have you in Fitzroy any longer than it takes her to drive you there to pick up anything you have."
"She's probably got the raggers ready and waiting," Mac agreed.
"Oh I couldn't," Janey shook her head.
"You are Phryne's sister, she got lucky …"
"I heard they went to England, father got a title?"
"Baron Fisher of Richmond-upon-Thames," Mac laughed, "though he's run that into the ground. Sold the estate, lives in a townhouse in London with your ma, came over to Melbourne a year ago to buy a magic show for Phryne, tried to borrow money off her, tried to charge a room at the Windsor to your Aunt P …"
"Aunt Prudence? Is she still going?"
"She is, but, well Arthur … his heart was always weak …"
"I know, poor lamb, I named my third after him, you know?"
"Awh, she'll love that."
"My little girl is Psyche."
"Four, you must have been a child bride."
"Sixteen. Noah was the first man I knew. We met in a bookshop, he courted me and as there was no one to ask for my hand we got married. I didn't know any better, I had to use a book to find out what he would do to me on our wedding night."
"Must'a worked," Mac muttered.
Janey giggled. "Sorry, I suppose I should be the grieving widow, but I thought Noah had left us, and really, now I know the truth I am sorry, but I guess I've got over being left to bring up the children on my own. I want to know what he was doing to run up the debts, what secrets did he keep from me, Inspector?"
"That is something we shall find out when we find who did this, Mrs … er … Janey."
"Good, maybe then I shall be able to grieve."
"Perhaps, now, let's see how Phryne is getting on, shall we?" He pushed open the office door to see Phryne with Psyche on her knee and Hugh playing on the floor with the boys and the supposed nephews' cars he had used to demonstrate a previous case. Hugh hastily scrambled to his feet and brushed down his uniform.
"Sir, Mrs Sinclair," he blustered.
"Alright Hugh, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised Miss Fisher drafted in reinforcements." Jack grinned.
"It's him, Phryne," Janey sighed.
"Are you alright?" Phryne stood and offered her the little girl back.
"I will be, eventually," she hummed, "now I have to get these four home …"
"I've got the raggers on standby to bring back anything you want from your house, you and the children can ride in my car …"
"It's beautiful, mum," William's eyes were wide, "Aunt Phryne let us have a look while you were with the Inspector."
"Phryne?"
"You're coming to stay with me, Mr Butler is readying rooms for you, and probably baking and cooking to feed an army, you dining with us Mac?"
Mac just nodded.
"I can't," Janey shook her head.
"You are my sister, the Honourable Mrs Janey Sinclair …"
"Honourable?"
"Aha," Phryne nodded, "father's a Baron, so we are Honourables. William will inherit the title when father goes."
"He will?"
"No one else, and he's bloodline," she confirmed.
"Oh."
"So you are coming to live with me, and we shall sort everything out as we go along."
"Don't argue, Janey," Jack hummed, "it will only give you a headache, believe me."
Janey looked at him, just how familiar was he with her sister?
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It was quite a sight to see, the red raggers in their shiny taxi cab, Phryne and Janey, and the children in her even shinier Hispano Suiza rolling down the street in Fitzroy and parking outside Janey's little house.
"You keep it nicely," Phryne hummed.
"Of course, mother had standards, so have I," she tossed her head and unlocked to door.
"Suitcases, boys," she chivvied them up, "just like you did when we left the last house!"
"Cec, Bert, would you …" Phryne waved her hand, "my sister will tell you what needs to come with her."
"Right y'are," Bert mumbled round his cigarette. "Furniture?"
"No, Mr Johnson," Janey shook her head, "that was here when I arrived. It's just clothes and the few toys the children have, and my books. Some ornaments."
Phryne looked round, she so wanted to investigate her sister's life here, but she wasn't a 'case'.
"Kitchen?"
"Oh, yes, there isn't much, some milk, bread and veggies that Mrs Harper got for me from the market yesterday …"
"Perhaps she'd like it, as a thank you?"
"I'll see, we all look out for each other here, Phryne, people have been kind."
"Good," Phryne smiled.
"Oh, maybe she'd like the cake I made, unless …"
"Mr Butler will be baking like one possessed, together with Dot they conjure up magical dishes in the kitchen."
"Mr Butler? You've mentioned him before …"
"He's my butler/housekeeper and cook. Dot is my companion, my right hand and Constable Collin's wife."
"So you have a butler called Mr Butler," Janey laughed.
"I know, and he's more than that, he served in the AIF, nobody gets across my doorstep without his say-so."
"Not even father?"
"If the old reprobate shows up again I expect Mr B will consign him to the garage or outbuildings and well away from my expensive imported scotch whisky." Her sister huffed.
"I've never had whisky, just a little sherry – we did have wine when we married."
"And you shall try everything, darling," Phryne put her arm round her, "all the things you should have had will be yours."
"How?"
"We both had a legacy from grandmother, I got mine when I turned twenty-five, they tried to give me yours but I asked that it be kept for another ten years, while I looked for you. Where were you, Janey?"
"It's a long story, but I wasn't hurt, Phryne, in fact I was better treated than father ever treated me, or you."
"We have time to talk, later perhaps, after dinner when the children are in bed."
"How big is your house, Phryne?"
"The boys will have to share, Psyche can have the dressing room off the guest room, which will be yours for however long."
"Phryne?"
"Yes."
"How close are you and the Inspector?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because he says things that make me think you aren't just work colleagues."
"Ah," Phryne nodded. "I see. Let's just say the only thing we haven't gone through are the legalities."
"Phryne!"
"I had a bad experience, after the war; I won't be tied down, Janey, I won't be controlled – Jack understands. His first marriage failed because he wasn't the man his wife expected after he served in the war … we are both damaged but we would do anything for each other."
"I see. Noah was the only man I met. I helped him find some reading material for his university course. We courted, he asked me to marry him and as there was no one to ask it was my decision. He had no family, neither did I, I was sixteen when we got married, seventeen when William was born."
"Was he gentle? You know … when you first …"
"We both only knew what was in a book I found, we must have got something right – we had four children together."
"Mmm," Phryne wondered.
