A/N – Poor Phryne and Jack have been out in the elements for far too long. It's time they got a little more cosy. Jack gets a little handsy (he he), Phryne enjoys the ride (he he) and they have a roll in the hay. Well, hay is involved, but probably not in the way you're thinking.
Super-duper long to make up for the random irregularity of my posts – unavoidable, I'm afraid as RL keeps king hitting me.
So, to that end … in vino veritas!
Chapter Six – A Little Night Music.
Jack cast an eye at the clouds scudding across the sky as the rain surged and ebbed with the rhythm of the wind. A few stars shone through the clouds but offered no guarantees the squall wouldn't build again. The air was redolent with the almost metallic smell of ozone. He strained unsuccessfully to see the hands on his watch, but guessed it must be getting on for about nine o'clock. The temperature had already plummeted for this time of year, no doubt due to the intensity of the storm front. A night spent in the open was not something he cared to contemplate. He turned once more to Phryne, concern furrowing his brow. "Seriously now, do you think you can walk a little?"
Phryne responded with aplomb. "Absolutely! Nothing much holds me back." She flicked Jack a sideways look, tinged with reproach. "You should know that by know."
Except perhaps this. After a few steps she was limping, and after a very few more she found herself having to stop. There was a wide patch of blood showing through the dressing and Jack called a halt to their efforts, gesturing to her injured foot. "I don't think you're going to make it very far."
She stubbornly took a few more steps, until Jack placed a hand on her arm.
"Phryne, enough. Look at your foot; the cut is obviously deeper than I realised. I should never have asked you to try."
She had tried her best to walk unaided but had to concede that progress was difficult. "I never thought a little scratch would slow us down."
"Don't be so stubborn. It's more than a 'little scratch'." He ignored the mutinous expression that settled on his companion's face and continued, "We'd be better served finding somewhere to shelter and try and keep warm. Perhaps in the morning there'll be more chance of some traffic along this road and we can cadge a lift to Nyerimilang."
"Is that the town where the Morrisons' estate is located?"
"The town, and the name of the property."
Phryne pulled Jack's coat more securely around her and tried to look unconcerned. "Don't fret, we'll just have to think of something else. If you'll just give me your arm for support I'm sure we'll manage famously."
Jack didn't look too hopeful, but acceded to her request reluctantly, wrapping an arm around her waist while she put an arm around his shoulders. It took only a few yards before she had to rethink her plan.
"Stop, stop. I feel like I'm in a bizarre three legged race that I have no earthly chance of winning." Phryne sighed, letting her arm slip from Jack's shoulders. "I can't put any weight on my foot. There must be some glass still in the cut. It hurts like the very devil."
Jack frowned, "Well, we can't stay here. There's no sign of light or life anywhere." He spun around, searching for something, anything, to offer some shelter. All that could be seen in any direction was low mangrove scrub and tussocks of sedge. "I'll have to carry you." He placed his hands on her hips and made to lift her up, but she smacked his hands away with a surprised laugh.
"What on earth are you doing Jack?"
"Standard fireman's lift, Miss Fisher." He reached towards her again with a hint of impatience. "Come along."
Jack's businesslike tone only managed to rile her more, and a defiant expression settled on her face. "You're not carrying me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Jack Robinson!"
"It's the only way we're going to cover any distance. I don't have the strength in my arms to carry you any other way."
"I've seen you in a bathing suit, Jack, and I'd hazard a guess you would have the stamina for all sorts of things." She shot Jack a look heavy with meaning, but continued in a light tone. "But there's no need to worry. I have a better idea. Turn around!"
Jack tried to swallow past his discomfiture, hesitating until Phryne placed her hands on his shoulders and spun him around, indicating with the pressure of her hands that he should crouch down.
It was his turn to be confused. "Miss Fisher, what in heaven's name are you doing?" He tried to look back over his shoulder at her but was careful not to move too quickly and accidentally knock her over.
She giggled and hopped with him, admonishing him to keep still and crouch down. "You can piggyback me! Lower, Jack. This skirt is quite narrow."
"Don't be ridiculous." Jack was referring the bizarre 'dance' they seemed to be doing, not the thought of carrying her. He waited until she stopped and then crouched slightly as directed, his mouth twisted in wry amusement. "So now I'm to be your trusty work horse?"
"More like my knight in shining armour." Phryne grunted delicately as she lifted herself onto Jack's back, settling her legs into the stirrup of his arms.
"Are you sure you can handle me?" Her question was all sweetness.
Jack's snort was derisive. "Yes, Miss Fisher, I'm sure."
"Well, then." She tapped his shoulder with her hand. "Giddyup!"
"That's enough."
"Whoa."
"Stop it, Miss Fisher." Jack employed his best detective inspector voice which, as usual, had little effect in restraining Phryne's high spirits.
"Stop what?" Phryne's tone was innocent, the wicked smile on her face lost on the back of Jack's head. He didn't deign to answer, but paused to loosen the stranglehold she had around his neck.
Not one to be averse to supplying sound effects if circumstances allowed, Phryne blew her breath out through her lips in a very good imitation of a horse nickering, a soft, breathy whinny that effectively put paid to conversation for some time, at least from Jack's point of view. With one last harrumph from Jack, they set off down the road, his back ramrod straight evidencing his determination to get them to shelter. By contrast, Phryne was enjoying every second of her ride, her face shining with pleasure. Every now and then she would make a comment in Jack's ear, mostly met with silence but interspersed with the occasional chuckle at her antics he was unable to suppress.
After half an hour or so of progress this way, Jack began to relax and his almost military pace had slowed to a more comfortable walk. Phryne fell silent, her cheek settling on the comforting strength of his shoulder, her eyes almost lolling closed as she revelled in the warmth they generated from such close physical contact.
Moments later she straightened without warning, causing their curious caravan to falter.
"There, Jack." She pointed to a spot at the bottom of a low hill. Her excitement transferred itself to Jack and he stopped short, following the line of her arm as she continued with jubilation. "Surely that's something there, some sort of house?"
There was the merest outline of a structure, a darker patch against the gloom behind it that could be a building. He made a beeline towards it. As they came closer, the moon broke through the clouds and they could see it was a small shed, well maintained, with a fence around it, a few hundred yards from the road.
Jack eased Phryne to the ground and she leant on a handy fencepost for balance.
"Stay here, I'll check it out." He told her, keeping his voice low so the sound wouldn't carry.
She nodded and watched as he vaulted the gate, landing softly on the dirt of the track leading towards it. He hunkered down and approached the shed cautiously, and Phryne lost sight of him as the gloom swallowed him up. Several anxious minutes later he was back, a grin brightening his face.
"Clean, dry and as far as I can tell, unoccupied. Well spotted, Miss Fisher. I think we can finally get out of this rain."
This time he lifted her into his arms without discussion and strode across the distance to their shelter, setting her down inside the shed as he dug around in his pocket for the small tin of wax vestas he always carried. He used a thumbnail to flick a match alight to inspect their surroundings. It was surprisingly well appointed for a shed out in the middle of nowhere. Phryne used her flint wheel lighter to better illuminate their refuge when the match puttered, and the smell of naphtha overtook the acrid sulphur of the vesta.
"Well, I must say this is several steps up from a night spent outside under a bush." Phryne took in the brightly painted interior, and what looked like veterinary paraphernalia hanging from nails on the wall. There were several large animal stalls along one side, all standing clean and empty, and a head high stack of sweet smelling bales of hay against the opposite wall. The wind still managed to find its way through a few gaps but on the whole it was weatherproof.
Jack busied himself inspecting every corner. "It looks well used; there must be a farmhouse nearby. Shall I see if I can find it?"
"Oh Jack, I'm too tired to worry." She perched on a bale of hay. "Let's just camp out here and get dry."
"Look what I found." He presented her with a stub of a candle as if it were a bouquet of flowers, and she grinned with pleasure as he lit it, sending a flicker of light that glowed between them. Phryne took one look at him and a comical expression crossed her face. "I'm not sure I want to see myself. If I look half as bedraggled as you I must look a fright."
Jack gave her a steady look and answered in the serious way he had. "Considering we've been shot at, rolled in mud, rained on and generally maltreated, you look lovely, as I'm sure you're aware. I don't know how you manage it."
Pleased surprise shot across her face. "A compliment, Jack? You spoil me." Her smile took any sting out of the words.
"Yes, you look … very glamorous, despite the mud." He quirked an eyebrow and frowned slightly, "Perhaps not your typical workman's wife, but you'll do."
"A good gardener is more artisan than labourer, Jack." she said by way of defence of her fashion sense.
"That's as may be …" Though the slow scrutiny he gave her ensemble was filled with doubt, it still caused a flush of awareness to stain her cheeks and for the first time in a great while she was unsure how to respond. But only for a moment.
Phryne chose to looked affronted. "I think I'm dressed perfectly appropriately! I'll have you know Dot and I put a lot of care into choosing my wardrobe for this sortie. Besides, just because the clothes are cheap, doesn't mean I have to be. Style is available to everyone, regardless of the disparity of arm length to pocket depth." She ran her hands down the material of her skirt. It clung to her thighs and the mud – now drying – fell off in clumps as she did so. "This top dressing of dirt is perhaps overegging the pudding."
Jack concentrated on undoing the wire on several of the bales of hay, spreading a thick layer on the floor with quick efficient movements. Using another bale as a backrest, he managed to fashion a fairly basic divan so they could rest comfortably. He helped lower Phryne onto the ground, and she sighed with relief as she relaxed into the sweet smelling hay.
"I'll have another look at your foot." His hands were gentle as he removed the now blood-soaked handkerchief. He used an old tin lid for a candleholder and inspected her wound. "Now that I have some light, I can see a piece of glass still in there. No wonder you couldn't walk. Do you think you can stand it if I try to get it out?"
Phryne nodded, "Make it quick."
With a few deft moves, he had the large sliver out. Phryne let out the breath she didn't realise she was holding.
Jack was still holding her foot, and looked around hopefully. "Now if there's some fresh water here, it could really do with a clean-up."
"Who needs water when we have whiskey?" Phryne responded with good humour, pulling the rescued bottle out of her bag with a triumphant grin.
"Are you sure you want me to use that? It'll hurt like hell."
Phryne shrugged. "Better than footrot." She glanced around. "God only knows what germs are lurking in this place." She uncorked the bottle and doused one of her linen hankies, passing it to him with exasperation when he hesitated. "Just get it over with. Please, Jack."
"Here goes." Jack gritted his teeth, pulling a face as if he was the one about to be hurt. He swabbed the area quickly and Phryne's gasp of pain ended on a groan as the alcohol burned the wound. She eyed the bottle in her hand and shrugged, taking a decent swig of its contents. The fire in her throat almost matched that in her foot and she dismissed Jack's startled look with a gasped, "Medicinal."
Jack kept silent as he carefully re-dressed her foot with a clean hanky from her bag. When he finished, she patted the straw next to her and he shifted to her side and made himself comfortable.
Phryne held up the whiskey bottle to him. "Here. I think you could do with a swig as well. You've gone quite pale."
He accepted the bottle without comment and considered it for a moment before raising his eyebrows with a shrug that matched hers. He took a gulp, coughing as the liquor hit his gullet.
"That's …" he cleared his throat and tried again. "That's …" The fumes made his eyes water.
Phryne laughed at his reaction. "Godawful is the adjective you're looking for. It definitely does not live up to the promise of the label." She held her hand out, demanding with a gesture that he pass the bottle back to her. "But infinitely warming and welcome, regardless of the quality."
Jack wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he passed the bottle back to her. "Technically we shouldn't be drinking it. It's evidence, after all." he felt honour bound to point out.
"There's plenty of evidence on the roadside back there, if that's what you're worried about Jack." She took a slightly smaller mouthful than last time, vainly attempting to suppress a shudder, before passing the bottle back to him. "Perhaps this can be considered part of our investigations?"
"Perhaps." He smiled, and took another swig. When she shook her head at the offer of another drink he jabbed the cork back into the neck of the bottle and propped it up between them.
"I'm still cold, even if the whiskey is doing an excellent job of warming me from the inside out."
"I think I can fix that. If you'll give me my overcoat?" She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and handed the garment over with a moue of regret. Jack wasted no time in spreading it over them both before pulling great mounds of hay on top of it again. "There, that should do it."
"Very ingenious, Inspector." Despite the dampness of their clothing, the thick insulating layer of hay worked very successfully to keep them warm. Although Jack really hadn't thought it through and jumped when Phryne edged closer under their 'blanket'. He froze as her arm crept around his waist, the warmth of her body already seeping into his chilled flesh.
"If we share body heat, we'll be so much warmer." Phryne made the proposition sound very ordinary, and Jack did his best to pretend exchanging body heat with Phryne Fisher was an unremarkable event. When that didn't settle him down, he gulped and attempted light conversation as a distraction, his voice even huskier than usual. "Did you learn that when you were trekking in the Himalayas?"
"No, The Boys Own Book of Adventure when I was ten."
Jack didn't know where to put his hands and he eventually settled on one arm along the hay bale that served as their headrest, and the other hand in his pocket. "I gather you must have been a bit of a tomboy?"
Phryne grinned at the memory, lapsing back into the broad Aussie accent of her childhood to reply. "Not half."
Jack tried to create a little physical distance between them but Phryne was too intent on getting warm, and burrowed against him with renewed enthusiasm. In the process, the bottle of whiskey dug into his side and he grabbed it in desperation. "Er … another drink?"
That got Phryne's attention and she sat up straight away. "Excellent plan, Jack. More whiskey."
He passed her the bottle with a sigh of relief. He found her closeness was becoming impossible to ignore and his first instinct was to divert her attention. The nearest thing to hand was that dwindling bottle of whiskey. Which in this case may have been a strategic blunder.
"And when we run out of whiskey, there's still the bottle of absinthe." Phryne was starting to feel a little lightheaded, and hung on to Jack's arm as she took another drink.
Jack looked alarmed, and attempted to fill the ever narrowing gap between them with words. "You know what Ernest Dowson said about absinthe, don't you Miss Fisher?"
"As a matter of fact, I do … he very infamously said 'Absinthe makes the tart grow fonder." Phryne delivered the quote on a deep chuckle, her delight at the sentiment evident. "Are you calling me a tart, Jack Robinson?"
He sputtered, the combination of rotgut alcohol and Phryne Fisher robbing him of cogent thought and thus a coherent response. This time he needed no prompting to have another drink and took the bottle from her without apology. As the straight alcohol hit his stomach, he rolled his eyes and swore under his breath, frustration at his lack of composure lending heat to the word.
The expletive sounded odd on Jack lips and Phryne swung around to give him a look, half puzzled, half amused. "Jack, language!" she chided softly. "That's not like you."
The look he gave her was diffident, the corners of his mouth barely curling into a restrained smile. "My apologies."
She gave a throaty chuckle, "No, Jack, I take no offence. That's not what I meant." She didn't elaborate, instead yawning widely, and then settling against him once more and closing her eyes ready for sleep. Jack relaxed, his arm falling without conscious thought to drape around her shoulders. "But," Phryne added, sleep tingeing her voice, "never let it be said that there aren't one or two situations where some basic Anglo Saxon might be … appropriate."
Jack harrumphed at her suggestive tone and jerked his arm away self-consciously, but Phryne snuck a hand up and put it back around her shoulders, squeezing his wrist reassuringly. "Don't be so worried, Jack. There's no-one here to see us."
"Are you trying to provoke me, Miss Fisher?" He asked with mock severity, resolutely moving his arm for the final time. He refused to be drawn into the little game she was fond of playing.
"Yes, and apparently I'm having no success whatsoever." Was her ironic rejoinder.
He shook his head at the pout he could hear plainly in her voice. "Don't be so sure."
Although the words were muttered in an undertone, his face averted, Phryne caught the gist. She examined him through slitted eyes, trying to gauge how far she could push him, and reluctantly decided she taken things as far as she dared on this particular occasion. The flicker of the candlelight danced across the planes and angles of his face in a way that captivated her, but she sighed and let her body relax. "You win, Jack. No more teasing. For now."
He huffed with satisfaction, and determinedly shifted further away from her until there was a modicum of space between them, at least just enough to preserve his sanity. "Why don't we let the alcohol do its job and get some sleep, hmm? We may still be up for a long walk in the morning." Jack snuffed the last of the candle and the whistle of the wind surrounded them. What moonlight found its way into their refuge lacked the strength to cast even the barest shadow. Only then, under the cover of darkness, did Jack let a Cheshire cat grin ease over his face, confident in the fact that he couldn't be observed. Despite what he'd said he thoroughly enjoyed their sparring.
"I, for one, am going to sleep like a baby." Said Phryne, inexplicably piqued and wanting to get in the last word.
Jack's smile stayed in place as he stretched out his lanky frame and made himself comfortable for the night, still preserving the semblance of distance from his exasperating companion. "As am I, Miss Fisher. As am I."
Not another word was spoken. And neither of them got a great deal of sleep at all that night.
Jack woke first, the sun warming his face. The slow realisation that he had a warm, soft and very female body pressed against him, one leg wrapped around his, an arm flung over his chest, filled him with pleasure. The events of the previous evening flashed into his mind and brought him relentlessly back to earth, but he ignored the imperative to move as a hint of French perfume charmed his senses.
He could definitely get used to this.
He played possum for a minute or two more, eyes closed, enjoying the tranquillity of the moment. His peace, however, was short lived.
"I say, are you two all right?" A male voice boomed from the direction of the door, and Jack eyes snapped open. "You wouldn't happen to be Mr and Mrs John Richardson?" At Jack's bemused nod, the other man laughed heartily. "Well, I'll be blowed. The entire estate staff have been searching for you all night, and here you are virtually on the doorstep, cosied up in the nursery farm shed!"
"Do you mean we're near the Morrison's home?"
"Well of course! The house is just over that rise behind us, about a quarter of a mile away as the crow flies."
Jack and Phryne exchanged dazed looks. So close, and yet … so far.
Their 'rescuer' merely sniffed, mistaking their expressions for something other than stunned disbelief. "Hmph. Newlyweds. I s'pose I should count myself lucky I didn't stumble on you going at it like bunnies. Now that would make a story to regale mater and pater at dinner this evening."
Phryne watched the dark red of his blush move up Jack's face and reacted in typical Phryne fashion. What started as a giggle found purchase as a full belly laugh, the sound echoing in the hay strewn shed.
Perhaps in other circumstances Jack would have found her laughter amusing. Perhaps in other circumstances he may even have joined in. Instead, his eyes rolled skyward as his lids fluttered shut, and his chin sunk down to his chest. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was struck dumb with embarrassment. Which only made Phryne laugh all the harder with delight.