A/N - Gardening – finally! (Just kidding – shenanigans keep getting in the way).

After a night in each other's arms (minds out of the gutter, people, it was all very innocent, gosh darn it!), our intrepid investigators reach the relative safety of the Morrison Estate and clean up – er – all around.

Humble apologies for the huge delay in posting this chapter, to those who have given me the compliment of following, favouriting, reviewing and checking in for more of this story. Life continues to bombard me with lemons, but I hope I can get my writing pace going again now and sit back and enjoy some well-earned lemonade.

Chapter 7: A Slight Increase in Temperature

With an indolent flick of the wrist, Phryne's hat landed squarely on the overstuffed sofa, followed closely by her own good self beside it, as she flopped down onto the faded splendour of the upholstery. A cloud of dust rose around her from the impact of her weight on the lumpy cushioning, a halo of motes dancing in sunlight against the jet of her hair. Jack was mesmerised by the sight and watched, fascinated, as her lips twisted in a wry smile at the barrage of grime descending on her person. Her delicate sneeze punctuated his reverie, bringing him back to the moment. Their eyes touched for a brief moment before Jack withdrew his gaze abruptly, missing the transition of Phryne's smile from amusement to tender affection.

Jack's flush of embarrassment was as involuntary as it was swift. His subconscious wasted no time in redirecting his disquiet at finding himself once again staring transfixed at his partner, to the self-assigned role of feeling somehow personally responsible for the sad state of the little cottage they'd been assigned. He picked up her discarded hat and ran his fingers lightly around the fine wool brim, brushing a fleck of dirt away as his mind flicked back inexorably to the scene in Nyerimilang's small parlour only a little over an hour ago.

Having been hastily deposited by their erstwhile rescuer into the care of a rather stiff necked butler, with a nonchalant order to "Dust these two off and take them through to Mother" the partners found their immediate fate sealed. They were led into the country house through the estate kitchen, where - to Phryne's immense amusement – they were bundled towards a tall fabric screen to the side of the massive cooking range with orders to strip and pass out their muddied and crumpled clothes for cleaning.

Jack paled and tried to stand his ground, but the matronly housekeeper, a Mrs Dora Drummond she informed them, lately of Bendigo, speared him with a beady glance that brooked no argument.

"You'll do as you're told, young fellow-me-lad. You're not going before 'her ladyship' in that state." The woman sniffed the air and pulled face, "Or smelling like a barnyard. Get behind there with your lovely missus," She beamed at Phryne who was already shrugging out of her jacket. Phryne's wide guileless smile had already charmed the crusty housekeeper, who was already feeling quite protective of her charge. "We'll have you both all tickety-boo in no time." When Jack still didn't move she gave him a sturdy push, wresting his hat from his white knuckled grip as he stumbled past.

Phryne's amusement hadn't dimmed throughout the process and although she was yet to speak a word, the look she gave him spoke volumes. Deciding that to do anything other than acquiesce would simply complicate their cover story, Jack did his best to submit to the ministrations offered with good grace, aware of Phryne's eyes on him the whole time. The fact that their luggage and any change of clothes their trunks had contained had also disappeared with the horse and dray the previous night, likewise gave him pause. At least they would be relatively clean again.

He took shelter behind the screen as far away from his companion as he could in the small space available to them, and slid his tweed jacket down over his shoulders. Avoiding her eyes, he passed the jacket to the waiting hands of Mrs Drummond. He found he couldn't look directly at Phryne without blushing like a lad, and dredged up a discreet fascination for the copper jelly molds that hung along the wooden beam directly above them, and studied their shape intently.

"Trousers?" came the disembodied edict, and a work roughened hand was thrust around the end of the screen. Jack stood stock still, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. He felt rather than saw Phryne sidle up to him, her tone teasing and meant only for him.

"Need a hand my sweet?"

His eyes locked with hers, panic obvious in his expression. He was abruptly aware of her state of undress, his gaze drawn inexorably to the expanse of flesh left uncovered now that she'd complied with Mrs Drummond's request. Only a no-nonsense black slip protected her modesty, a fact which apparently bothered Phryne not at all.

"No thank you." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat self-consciously, adding in a hoarse undertone. "I've been managing to undress myself for years now." He tilted his head at her defiantly, aiming for cool detachment but fearing he failed completely.

"Oh but Jack, a dutiful wife should always assist her husband in any way she can." She whispered, and placed a hand lightly on his waistband as if to follow through on her pronouncement, but he slapped it away testily.

"Stop it, Phyrne!" Exasperation raised his tone and volume, and girlish giggles from two young kitchen maids on the other side of the screen reminded him that they were truly not alone. They stood nose to nose for several seconds, her spontaneity vying with his reserve, before he placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her around until she faced the wall.

Jack leaned in close to her ear, his breath fanning the back of her neck, and growled softly. "Don't move a muscle or I will arrest you."

Jack didn't think he'd ever be able to recall the precise moment when his undercover operation descended into farce, but he rather thought it may have been when he found himself eating a full cooked breakfast behind a tasteful fabric screen in a grand country house kitchen with The Honourable Phryne Fisher, in their under garments, while the residue of their night's misadventures was deftly steamed, brushed and pressed from their outer clothes by a veritable army of competent domestic workers.

Try as he might to inject some gravitas into the situation, he found he was enjoying himself far too much to try too hard.

When they finally emerged from behind the screen - fully clothed - the housekeeper put her seal of approval on their appearance with a nod of satisfaction, which somehow made everything all right.

Jack offered his arm to Phryne, his humour now restored in tandem with his dignity. A hearty breakfast always set him up ready to tackle anything. Including Phryne Fisher. "Ready Mrs Robertson?"

"Ready Mr Robertson." She retorted, her eyes sparkling with the mischief she was no doubt plotting. Jack gave her a narrow look; a mild caution to her to behave, and she rolled her eyes in response and looped her arm through his. The way she leant into him reminded him that she was still favouring her injured foot, and he silently berated himself for forgetting her discomfort.

"Are you all right?" He indicated her foot with a glance.

"Never better, love." Her accent was pure middle class Australian and she grinned back at him. She gave his arm a tug. "Come along, we shouldn't keep the lady of the house waiting any longer, Mr R."

A maid ushered them into a small, albeit sunny room, its dimensions rendered even more claustrophobic by the sense of overwhelming busyness. A massive collection of paintings depicting every known species of flora garnished every flat surface, leaving only a fleeting impression of the lolly pink that had been chosen to grace its walls. Fresh flowers filled a dozen vases of different shapes and hues, their scent heavy in the air.

The woman who greeted them was short and stout and very pretty. Dressed in flowing silk with a long strand of pearls that bounced on her ample bosom as she walked towards them, she offered a delicate touch of her soft fingers by way of a handshake to each of them, and led them to a sofa near a handsome pair of French doors with a view across the hills to the sea beyond.

Adele Morrison noticed Jack inspecting the collection of paintings and offered breathlessly. "I've been trying to capture the quality of light M'sieur Monet manages in his art. Not very successfully, I'm afraid." She glanced at her efforts and regret flickered across her face before she brightened and continued. "But I've just discovered Margaret Preston – so much simpler to imitate! I love her covers on Woman's World magazine. Such a sensible publication and such charming pictures."

Mrs Morrison leant towards them, an excited smile lighting her face. "John – may I call you John? – I don't believe in all that old fashioned surname nonsense. So much nicer if we can all be friends, regardless of our station, don't you think? What was I saying? Ah yes," she clapped her hands together like a little girl. "I have such grand plans for the east garden! I'm so pleased that you've come to us at last. Such a lovely recommendation came from your last employer." She allowed herself the briefest of pauses to take a breath before the words tumbled on with an extravagant gesture of her tiny hands. "Flowers everywhere, a veritable sea of colour. Peonies, wallflowers, hollyhocks, whatever you feel would be suitable. I will trust your judgment implicitly. Can you do all that for me?"

Jack nodded, ready to launch into a well-researched, credible dialogue on floral species and the value of sheep manure for optimum growing conditions, but Mrs Morrison didn't give him a chance to do more than open his mouth in response before she went off on a conversational tangent that took him into far more dangerous ground.

"You are such a handsome couple! I can see the light shining from both of you. I read auras, don't you know, and I can see the love surrounding you both." She stopped suddenly, frowning a little and peered keenly at Phryne. "You are such a spectacular shade of clear red, my dear. Remarkable."

"Red?" Phryne asked sweetly.

"Clear red, dear, it's quite different to just plain red."

Phryne looked suitably chastened and enquired politely. "What does it signify?

Mrs Morrison looked chuffed at her interest and responded enthusiastically. "Oh it's a very powerful colour. Those of us who are blessed with a clear red aura are energetic, competitive, sexual, passionate. But your husband's aura fascinates me, too."

"Oh really?" Phryne adopted her ersatz employer's demeanour and leant forward, fascination animating her face. She felt Jack shift uncomfortably on the cushion beside her but couldn't help herself. "Do tell."

The older woman studied Jack for a few moments while he struggled not to look anything other than pleased at her attention. "Deep, deep red." A frown creased her brow. "With a smudgy grey overlay, almost like a border along the edge. That's unusual."

"And what does all that mean?" Phryne asked, riveted despite her deep-seated scepticism.

"Well, deep red signifies that John is very grounded, realistic, active, with a strong will-power. And survival-oriented. A good man to have at your side, my dear. You've chosen well."

"And the grey?" Phryne flicked a sideways glance at Jack and let a tiny grimace pull the sides of her mouth downwards. "Sounds a bit boring."

"Not at all my dear, it means guardedness, blocking energy." She looked earnestly at Jack. "You must learn to be more open dear boy, and follow your heart. You can make yourself quite ill by continually blocking energies. It's potentially dangerous." The little woman appeared quite distraught for a moment before her smile returned and she stood abruptly.

Jack followed suit, giving his hand to Phryne as she too rose, their audience apparently at an end.

Mrs Morrison confirmed this by crossing to a small bell pull near the French doors and tugging enthusiastically. "Off you go then, and please make yourself at home here at Nyerimilang." She closed the gap between them with surprising speed, and shook Jack's hand again, this time with gusto. "I have high hopes of you my dear John. But please, don't even think of starting anything today. I understand that you both had a rather disconcerting trip last night, so you must rest up and settle into your little cottage." She turned to Phryne, continuing. "And that you are only very recently married, I hear?"

Phryne slipped her hand into the crook of Jack's arm possessively.

"Yes, indeed, Mrs Morrison. I couldn't bear to be apart from my John for months at a time so I … sort of forced his hand. In marriage, that is." Phryne cast a sidelong look at Jack, whose lips twisted wryly at her remark.

The two women laughed together as women sometimes do at the funny ways of their menfolk, until Mrs Morrison sighed happily, no doubt remembering her own nuptials "I hope you'll be very happy here Frances. Such an auspicious start to your new life together."

The door opened and the stiff necked butler entered, his expression of polite enquiry as much a part of his uniform as the shine on his shoes.

"Frederick will take you to your quarters. I'm sure you'll be very comfortable there. It's a charming little house, perfect for newlyweds, far better than the room here at the house we had earmarked for you as single man, John. Welcome, both of you." With that she wandered through the French doors onto the terrace, eyes focussed on the horizon, and disappeared abruptly from view into the rose garden.

"Perfect for newlyweds?" Phryne scoffed from her position on the sofa. A quick inspection of the rest of the cottage had showed one bedroom with, it had to be said, a very generously stuffed feather bed. The kitchen obviously also served as the bathroom, a large metal tub and another fabric covered screen tucked into one corner. A fine layer of dust covered most surfaces.

"Well, it is very … cosy." He ran a finger around his collar nervously, the thought of living at such close quarters with the lady detective quite overwhelming.

"I've owned pocket handkerchiefs that were bigger!" Phryne jumped to her feet in exasperation and flung out both arms, waggling her fingers. "If my fingernails were slightly longer I'd be able to touch both walls at the same time!"

"No-one asked you to come, Phryne." Phryne looked taken aback and Jack immediately regretted his outburst. His voice when he spoke again was softened with apology. "It will be fine." He looked around doubtfully, misgiving lingering in his voice, "A bit of spit and polish is all it needs. I'll get it looking tidy in no time."

Phryne gave him a droll look, "Really, Jack, I may look like merely decorative, but I'm quite capable of domesticity in the right circumstances. I just choose to exercise those skills as little as humanly possible."

"I know you're not decorative –"

"Jack! I'm crushed." She didn't look particularly crushed. In fact she looked like she was enjoying the verbal game with him.

"I mean - I wasn't suggesting - !"

Jack was flustered by her teasing, which increased exponentially when she followed that up with a pout, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly, and quipped in a sultry tone, "You never do."

Thoroughly discombobulated, Jack could only stare at her open mouthed.

A knock on the door saved him from further teasing and he swung away from her to open it. A young girl, a kitchen maid by the look of her copious apron, was on the stoop. The wicker basket she carried weighed her down and Jack stepped forward hurriedly to relive her of the load. Her sigh of relief was almost comical and her smile of thanks was pure gold, adding sparkle to a somewhat plain face. She gave a little bob.

"With Mrs Morrisons' compliments, sir." The maid's curiosity got the better of her and she peered around Jack to inspect the cottage, her eyes colliding with Phryne's, who waved at her gaily. The maid's smile faltered and she looked down at the basket, stumbling over her words.

"It's a- a- a- hamper. For dinner and such. There're some lovely things in it, just wait and see. And Mrs Drummond sends her apologies for not being able to have the cottage cleaned properly before you arrived." She screwed her hands together, looking harassed. "We've just had a houseful of guests, you see, only got rid of the last few this morning." She looked up at Jack a little wistfully. "We didn't know you was bringing a wife until last night."

Jack tried to put her at ease. "Please don't upset yourself, Miss – er."

"Drusilla, sir." She gave another little bob, and her shy smile peeped out again.

"Drusilla. Everything is perfectly fine. Please thank Mrs Drummond for the hamper."

"Yes, sir." She started to turn away then swung back around, scrabbling in the large pocket of her apron. She held out a bundle wrapped in cloth. "I nearly forgot. For the missus, for her sore foot. Mrs Drummond said to soak it in Condy's crystals and then use the Moore's ointment as a salve. And wrap it up tight overnight. There's some Aspros in there too, for the pain."

Jack's smile of thanks as he accepted the package had the maid giggling and backing away, before she turned and ran back towards the main house at full speed.

Jack hefted the basket through the door, handing the cloth bundle to Phryne. "Is everyone here a little odd or do I just need a good night's sleep?" he asked, distracted, eager to inspect the contents of the wicker basket.

"I believe you may have bowled that maiden over, Jack."

He pulled out a jar of some sort of preserve and examined it closely. "What are you talking about?"

"Our love struck little maid. I think you've won a heart."

Jack's replied with a signature eye roll and turned his attention back to the hamper. "There's enough food here for week."

"I'm saved from your famous fry up then?"

His lips quirked into a wry smile. "For now." He glanced at his watch, pushing the hamper to one side reluctantly. "I'm going to do a bit of a reccy, see if I can find anything out."

"Like what?"

"Who the house guests were, for a start. I'll have a chat with some of the other estate workers and see if any names crop up regarding that shipment we were sharing a ride with last night. And I need to tell the local boys about the driver's murder, if they're not already aware of it."

"How will you do that?"

"They know I'm here. There's a young lad in the stables by the name of Harry who's the son of the local copper. He knows to keep his mouth shut and can take a message in to town."

"I'll have to get in contact with Dot at some stage and ask her to send some more clothes seeing as we only have what we're wearing now."

"I can do that, and Collins can do the same for me."

"Excellent! In that case, I'm going to take the redoubtable Mrs Drummond's advice and soak my poor foot. I may even manage to be a dutiful wife and throw a duster around our lovely abode."

Jack slid a hand through his hair and put his hat in place, tugging the brim down securely. "Don't strain anything."