A/N - The incidents of the journey have left Jack and Phryne vulnerable. And there's still that little problem of being wet and muddy. What will they do? A fresh discovery takes on an interesting twist, and Phryne has an altercation with a bottle of whiskey.
I wish I could embed music to these posts – wouldn't that be fun? Any suggestions for what this chapter would be accompanied by?
Read on, Macduff … (hey, if I'm going to misquote Shakespeare, I may as well do it goodly!)
Chapter Five – An Unexpected Diversion
Jack caught up with Phryne as she approached the scene of the crime. He continued to take cautious stock of their surroundings, his eyes darting to and fro in an attempt to try and make anything out in the gloom, but the landscape was bleak and featureless. He let out his breath on a sigh. "That was close." His comment inadvertently covered the entire gamut of the last fifteen minutes or so.
"A little too close for comfort." was Phryne's measured response, accompanied by a heavily loaded look.
Jack frowned, at a loss, trying to weigh up whether she was referring to the attack or subtly underlining her complaints of a few moments ago. He presumed there was a fair proportion of both intended, with her annoyance at the way he'd held her in check no doubt still bubbling away under the surface.
He sighed again. Phryne was a delight to work with, but also a constant source of bewilderment to him. His experience with 'modern women' was pretty much limited to her, and he often found himself wrong footed in their dealings. Despite his best intentions, his expression closed down and his response was stiff and formal. "If I seemed to be 'heavy handed' as you suggested, I sincerely apologise. I was concerned for your safety, and mine."
Phryne was immediately contrite and about to apologise when Jack continued in a censorious tone, "You take far too many risks, Miss Fisher, and you are often reckless and act without suitable care for your own wellbeing."
The apology died in Phryne's throat and she visibly bristled, "I hardly think you are in a position to dictate to me on the subject of my behaviour!"
Jack flushed with embarrassment and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. There was a snap as something broke through the scrub a few yards away, and they both visibly relaxed when a small pademelon hopped harmlessly away from them.
"Yes, of course you're right. I'm sorry." His apology was stilted and he inclined his head towards her politely before turning back towards the road, setting off without another word.
Phryne watched him turn away, remorse at speaking so discourteously etched plainly on her face. To Jack, of all people. She could never stay angry for long with this serious, honourable man who only ever tried to do what was right.
"Wait, Jack, please." She skipped to his side and laced an arm through his, pulling him back to her. "You always have such a sensible approach to everything." She smiled up at him, her tone conciliatory. "I daresay it wouldn't hurt me to adopt a more cautious approach on occasion."
Jack's lips curled slightly, acknowledging her olive branch, but his response was brisk and all business. "That's as may be, Miss Fisher. Truth be told I think you'd better stay close for the time being anyway." He glanced around again, on full alert. "There's no guarantee they won't be back."
"I'll stick to your side like glue." She shot him a saucy look, her grin coming up only slightly short of cheeky.
"Just as long as you don't turn into a thorn, you're very welcome at my side." Was his sardonic response, eliciting a very unladylike guffaw from the lady in question. Equilibrium between them had been restored.
"We'd better think about finding some way of getting to the Morrison Estate. I don't know how much further it is, or whether there are any other houses on the way. I'll need to get in touch with the local police as soon as possible."
"I'd settle for just being clean and dry," she gestured vaguely at the layer of mud clinging to her clothes, before adding with a shiver "and warm."
Jack tore his gaze way from the way her clothes clung wetly to her body, something he'd been at pains to ignore until she brought it to his attention, and immediately shrugged out of his overcoat. Phryne had watched his eyes travel from her toes upwards and couldn't resist a moue of satisfaction, but her expression morphed into gratitude as he draped the garment over her shoulders to give her some protection against the chill. Still holding the heat of his body and the scent of him, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and hugged it close around her, not questioning why it made her feel so completely comforted.
"Thank you." She squeezed his arm, "Come on Jack, let's see what chaos our erstwhile assailants left in their wake."
The first shocking discovery they made was the body of the driver, who lay like a broken doll in the centre of the road. Phryne went to check for a pulse but Jack held her back before self-consciously dropping his hand from her arm almost instantly. "The bullet took him directly in the head. Definitely a rifle. Messy." Jack frowned, "Interesting that they weren't bothered about hiding the body, just leaving him here where he fell."
"A warning perhaps?" she wondered, moving slightly away to examine some shards of timber on the road. She found Jack's hat under the pile of timber and passed it to him with a smile.
Jack slicked the hair out of his eyes and settled his hat back in its proper place, looking pleased. "You could be right, but a warning for who precisely?"
"And how on earth could they know we were on that cart?" Phryne added, puzzled. The streets had been deserted when they lucked upon the questionable mode of transport.
Jack was silent, his chin pulled into his chest as he thought through the events. When he spoke his manner was speculative. "Maybe they didn't. Maybe they weren't even aiming at us."
"What do you mean? It felt very personal to me." Phryne sounded affronted, but then shrugged as she conceded his point. "They didn't try very hard to find us, did they? You could be right. In the confusion of the storm, and under that tarpaulin, they may have not even noticed we were there. It's not impossible."
Jack didn't disagree, but he still looked worried. With a sigh he bent and gripped the body under the arms. "I can at least get him off the road. When we get to the Morrisons' I'll let the local boys know and they can retrieve the body."
Between them they dragged the corpse to the side of the road, and Jack covered the man's face respectfully with a scrap of cloth he'd found caught amongst the debris that was nearby. The side of the road was littered with broken timber from at least one smashed crate and several other nondescript articles that had fallen from the cart when the horse had bolted. Jack found the discarded tarpaulin that they'd used as shelter, grabbing it before a strong gust of wind could send it tumbling into the scrub. He folded the cloth absently and stared at the dead man again, as if the lifeless body held the answers. His sombre musings were interrupted by the sound of glass breaking, followed by a cry of pain from Phryne. He spun towards the direction of the sound, alarmed.
"Phryne? What's wrong?"
She was standing on one foot, a little unsteady, and he quickly closed the gap between them and put an arm around her waist to support her. The smell of alcohol was strong in the air.
"I think I've cut my foot. I tripped on something -"
"Maybe if you'd been wearing more substantial footwear instead of those silly open things." Jack snapped, concern lending an edge to his voice.
"Well I was hardly expecting to have to walk any distance, or tramp through a sea of broken glass." Phryne waggled her injured foot gingerly, displaying the shoes to better advantage. "And you have to admit they're very pretty."
Jack kept his eyes studiously averted from the shapely legs brandishing the said shoes, and nudged the glass on the roadway with his foot. The distinctive shape of the bottle, even in pieces, easily identified the brand.
Phryne did a double take at the broken glass. "That's some particularly fine whiskey soaking into the dirt. What a waste!"
They exchanged a quick grin, and Phryne tentatively put her foot to the ground. Her fleeting wince, quickly concealed, didn't escape Jack's notice. She kept a hand on his shoulder for balance while he crouched down and slipped off her shoe to more easily examine the damage. She had a nasty cut on the side of her foot and blood had already dripped off her shoe onto the ground. Using a clean handkerchief from his pocket he deftly bound the wound and replaced her shoe to hold the dressing in place. "How does that feel?"
"Perfect." Despite his clinical touch, there was something unexpectedly intimate about Jack's hands on her foot and ankle. Phryne found her mouth suddenly dry. She cleared her throat, and tried for light-hearted. "I feel I could dance all night."
Jack caught her mood, one side of his mouth quirking in amusement. "Are you suggesting we partake of some roadside revelry?" He watched a wicked grin light up her face and rolled his eyes. "I believe you would. You are incorrigible, Phryne Fisher."
"Well," she said, looking pleased at what she perceived as a compliment, "There was apparently enough booze on the back of that cart to keep a horde of very thirsty Barbarians happy, if all these broken bottles are anything to go by." She part limped, part hopped to the side of the road, her eye catching on something glinting in the weak moonlight. A grin spread across her face when she realised that, nestled in a tussock of grass, there was a full bottle of whiskey that had escaped damage.
"Jack! Come and see what I've found." She called out, delighted.
He followed her direction and knelt to examine her discovery. When he stood, he was holding not only the bottle she'd seen in one hand, but also a different bottle full of dark liquid in the other.
"The Morrisons must like to party." Jack examined each of the bottles as well as he could in the dim light.
Phryne leant close to read the labels but couldn't make much out. "Mmm. Makes me feel all cosy and warm just looking at that whiskey." Her eyes darted to the second bottle, widening in surprise as she recognised the familiar label. "And, do my eyes deceive me … Absinthe? I haven't seen any of that since Paris. Wasn't there a move to have it banned here, too?"
Jack shook his head, "No, it didn't come to anything in the end." He held the bottle up and the contents shone a deep green in the available light. "Completely legal to produce and import." Despite his words, doubt lingered in the look he gave her.
"What's bothering you, Jack?"
He held the bottles towards her again "You can't see much in this light, but the labels on both bottles look amateurish, and the seals are poorly finished."
"Not something you'd expect to see on either of those brands. Sly groggers?" Phryne suggested.
He shouldn't have been surprised that she followed his thoughts so well, and he nodded in agreement. "That's my guess. What I'm wondering whether there may be some connection to the business we came here to investigate in the first place."
Phryne took the bottles from him and slipped them into her bag without a word. A sudden gust of wind sent a shower of rain in their direction, a reminder that they were exposed both to the elements and the possibility – whether they had been targeted or not - of another attempt on their lives should the murderers return.
Jack shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, absently rattling the loose coins there. "Come along, Miss Fisher. I think it's time we got a move on and see if we can't find a slightly more hospitable neighbourhood."
"Lead on, Inspector!"