Mr. and Mrs. Crossley-Scott sat huddled together on the sofa in their parlor. Mrs. Crossley-Scott's pretty face was pinched with grief and wet with tears, her blonde hair coming loose from its chignon. Mr. Crossley-Scott looked simply stunned, as if he had found himself in the midst of an awful dream from which he desperately wanted to escape.
It had been no small feat to get them seated quietly. When Phryne and Jack had arrived the household had been in an uproar. Mrs. Crossley-Scott was in fits over her child's disappearance while the older two children sat huddled in their nightgowns on the stairs with their nanny, watching their father trying to calm their mother's hysterics. The two constables who had preceded Jack and Phryne to the house were having very little luck managing the situation.
"Talbot, take the children upstairs with their nanny and keep them there," Jack had instructed one of the constables, who looked particularly relieved at his superior's appearance. "MacMillan, stay with Mrs. Crossley-Scott in the parlor. Miss Fisher, with me." To Mr. Crossley-Scott, he said, "Please show me your daughter's room."
They followed the father upstairs and down a corridor to the last bedroom on the right. It was a charming space, pink and trimmed with satin and lace, filled to the brim with toys and dolls. The room was a little girl's dream, and it was clear to Phryne that this was a child for whom no expense was spared.
There was nothing at all disturbed in the room, nothing to indicate that a child had been torn from the safety of her home except for the window hanging open, its pink satin dressing billowing despondently in the night air.
"Were the windows kept latched?" Jack asked Mr. Crossley-Scott, who seemed unable to cross the threshold into the room.
"I—I think so. We've always felt so safe here, it's possible that the children opened them while playing. But Giulietta should have checked them—Christ, no, I should have checked them. But I never thought—" His sentence was bitten off by a wave of grief, which he stifled with a clenched fist.
"You cannot blame yourself for feeling safe in your own home," said Phryne, trying to offer comfort where there was little to give.
A cursory examination of the room turned up nothing. The open window and empty bed were the only indications of a disturbance. Jack and Phryne looked together out of the window, examining the sheer drop to the ground. There were no balconies, no pipes or vines to climb on...how had someone climbed up, let alone climbed down bearing a sleeping child?
"We need to question the family and staff. We can examine the crime scene when the other officers arrive," Jack muttered to her, both of their heads still poking out of the window.
"Perhaps I should interview the nanny while you speak with the parents?" suggested Phryne.
"No," he replied simply. "Together."
Thus, a few moments later, Phryne had settled herself at a safe distance beside the inspector on the sofa facing the Crossley-Scotts, relinquishing control to him but poised to ask whichever of her own questions came to mind.
"When was the last time either of you saw your daughter?" Jack began steadily, his voice solemn yet gentle.
The girl's mother muffled a sob in her already-sodden handkerchief. Mr. Crossley-Scott answered, "At bedtime. Giulietta, our au pair, brought the children to us for a goodnight kiss, as is our ritual. Lily was tucked into bed promptly at seven o'clock, like every night."
"Tucked in by Giulietta?" Phryne cut in, to clarify.
It was the wrong thing to say, for Mrs. Crossley-Scott's crumpled and she let out a moan. "I didn't even tuck my own children in their beds. What kind of mother am I? What if we never see Lily again, and I didn't even put her in bed myself—"
Her husband cut her off by pressing her face gently to his chest. "Hush now, Mary, let's not get ahead of ourselves. And don't be foolish, you are a wonderful mother." He turned to Jack, "Might my wife retire upstairs? We will give the same answers anyway. She needs rest."
Jack nodded his consent and Mrs. Crossley-Scott was given into the care of a maid, who escorted the distraught woman out of the room.
"Yes," continued Mr. Crossley-Scott once his wife had gone. "Yes, Giulietta tucked all of the children in, as was routine."
"And when did you notice she was missing?" Jack asked.
"Our eldest, Henry, was awoken by a noise in Lily's room. She falls out of bed sometimes —" Mr. Crossley-Scott swallowed hard, forcing down a wave of emotion, "And Henry takes good care of his little sister. He went in to make sure Lily was all right. That's when he discovered her bed was empty."
"With your permission, we'll need to speak with Henry later on," Phryne said softly, trying to focus her mind with the myriad questions that where spinning about in her head.
"Of course."
"Have you noticed any strangers lurking around your family or house? Or have you hired any new staff recently?" Jack continued.
"No to both. Although Giulietta would be the one to ask about someone lurking. I'm at the factory most days and Mary has various projects that keep her occupied. If someone was hanging round, Giulietta would know."
Phryne catalogued the details in her mind. Absent parents, children raised by the nanny. Not at all unusual for an upper class family, making them an easy mark for a predator. In these large homes the nursery was generally placed far from the parents' suite, ensuring that a child crying in the night awoke the nanny, not its mother and father. It also meant fewer people to hear an intruder creeping through a child's window.
Jack asked a few more questions, collecting details about the family's habits and anyone who might have a motive to take their youngest child. But Phryne knew the truth just was well as Jack did. Lily had not been taken the aggrieved business partner or the mentally unstable aunt. She had been captured by a monster and the clock was ticking. Suddenly a week felt a very meager amount of time indeed.
Young Henry, a boy of eight, was next to be questioned. He was wretched over the loss of his youngest sister and couldn't seem to bring himself to look Jack or Phryne in the eyes as he answered their questions. "I heard a thump. I thought Lily had fallen from bed again," he said, his little face solemn. "I saw her bed was empty so I ran to wake Giulietta. But I should have looked out the window! I should have, I should have run to the window and looked, I might have seen who took her."
"No, Henry. It isn't your fault," Jack consoled the boy. "If he had seen you he might have hurt you. You did the right thing. If you had not gone in to check on her no one would have noticed her absence until morning. You gave us a good head start."
Henry nodded in acceptance but continued to look miserable.
After Henry it was a seemingly ceaseless line of staff to cross-examine, the first and most important of which was the au pair, Giulietta. Young, plain, dark-haired Giulietta had arrived from Naples six months ago and spoke passably good English. She was as distraught as Lily's mother over the abduction of the little girl.
"Little Lily, she went down to sleep all right. I read her a story and kissed her good night. I always, always make sure, keep the windows locked tight. Children fall from unlocked windows. Window was locked, I know I locked. Always."
"So the intruder not only climbed a flat wall but unlocked the windows," Jack muttered, mostly just to Phryne. "And you said you haven't noticed anyone lingering about, acting suspicious?"
"There is no one. Well, maybe not no one. One man, maybe, but I'm probably being silly…"
"Tell us, Giulietta, even something that seems unimportant can be vital," Phryne coaxed.
Giulietta sighed and furrowed her brow as she scoured her memory. "It was so small a thing. I took the children to the carnival. We walked home, and he noticed Lily drop a prize, a little stuffed toy she won. Stopped us and gave it back to her. It was just odd, I am thinking."
"What was odd about it?" asked Jack.
"He...he was odd. He smiled but—" she feigned a shiver, as if to demonstrate the feeling the man had given her. "I did not like him."
"Did he speak to Lily? Did he stop you for long?"
"No. Say only 'Little girl, you dropped your toy,' and then gone. Like I say...odd."
"Do you remember anything about him?" asked Phryne. "Anything at all?"
"Short. He had a hat on his head, I don't know the color of his hair. Oh! But I remember now. Here—" she drew a line with her finger from her nose to her upper lip, "A scar."
"Like a cleft lip that had been repaired?" asked Phryne with rising interest.
Giulietta nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, like that. I think so."
It was better than nothing. The shiver that Giulietta had acted out in reference to this strange man made him a suspect just that quickly in Phryne's eyes. Any man that provoked that sort of feeling in such a brief encounter was worth looking into.
By the time the two of them had finished questioning Giulietta and the rest of the staff, the night sky was paling in deference to the rising sun. A fresh set of constables and inspectors had arrived to relieve them, and it was not a moment too soon. Jack, who had just passed his second night without sleep, looked practically ill and was swaying ever so slightly on his feet.
"I'll drive," said Phryne, and he didn't argue. "Come along, I'm taking you straight home. You'll have to give me directions."
"Can't go home," he muttered as he climbed into the car, his voice suffused with exhaustion. "There's too much to do."
"No arguments, Jack, I won't hear of it. You'll be no use to anyone until you get some rest. Look at you, you look like you've crawled out of an opium den. I'm taking you home, and that's final. Now. Where do you live?"
He grinned despite himself. "All this time and you don't even know where I lay my head at night."
She gave him teasingly reproachful look. "Tut-tut, Jack Robinson, it's not as if you ever invited me over."
"It's not exactly a place for entertaining," he admitted with a shrug.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Right or left?"
Before long they had arrived on a lane of terraced houses, quite a bit finer than what she had pictured when she imagined his living space. "Park here. That's my garden level flat just there."
"Very nice, Jack. I thought you must live in some tragic boarding house full of mopey divorcées."
He lifted his chin in an exaggerated nod. "Thanks for that. What are you doing?" he asked as she got out of the car with him.
"What do you mean?" she replied, her face suspiciously straight.
He gave her a scolding look. "No need for you to come in, Miss Fisher, I'm quite capable of putting myself to bed."
Phryne had to swallow the retort that was just begging to be said—that he would enjoy being put to bed by her much better—but she had sworn to make him sleep and seducing him was not in line with that goal. Besides, weary and distressed was not how she wanted to have Jack Robinson for the first time.
So she stowed her flirtatious instinct and attempted to sound stern instead. "I have absolutely no faith that you'll actually get into bed without my supervision. But don't be nervous, Jack. I do intend to make you sleep. I'll see you as far as your pajamas, then I'll leave you in peace."
He attempted a scowl at her, but it ended as more of a repressed smile. "Nervous. I'm not nervous of you, Miss Fisher."
"Brilliant. Shall we go in?"
With a grunt he lead the way down to his front door, fumbling a bit with the lock but eventually gaining access. Phryne followed him inside, taking in her surroundings with great interest.
"You have a handsome home," she complimented him. And it was true. Jack was not much of a decorator, but he had filled his home with dignified furnishings of leather and wood, a few choice paintings adorning the oak-paneled walls. It made the space masculine, warm, comfortable. It was not a large flat by any means—there was a small eat-in kitchen and modest sitting room, with only one bedroom and washroom from what Phryne could tell. But she knew it was probably just enough space to make him happy.
One corner of his mouth quirked up as he fixed his inky blue eyes on her. "Such a tone of surprise, Miss Fisher."
There was a moment of charged silence while they regarded each other curiously. It might have been tonight. If not for their mutual emotional and physical exhaustion, there was little keeping her from having her way with him at long last. Even with those obstacles, the temptation was there. She was filled with a piquant little thrill just at the fact that they could, if they wanted to.
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to clear the amorous cloud that had settled over her thoughts. "Off you go, then. Pajamas."
"Will you sing me a lullaby as well? Read me a bedtime story?" he taunted lightly.
"I'll read you the dictionary if you keep giving me cheek," she responded, arching an eyebrow at him.
He sighed resignedly and disappeared into his bedroom. There were a few bangs that made her nervous, not confident that he could even keep himself standing long enough to get undressed, but a few moments later he emerged, looking endearingly youthful in a set of blue-striped button-front pajamas.
"Jack," she said with gasp of delight. "You are adorable."
He gave that smile she loved so much, the one that made him look like a boy, as if he was doing everything he could to resist the urge to smile and failing miserably. "It's time for you to go home now, Miss Fisher."
"No, no, not until I see you under the covers." She really should go. She wasn't sure why she was lingering. Well, no, she took that back. She knew precisely why.
Obediently, Jack returned back to his bedroom and fell heavily into bed. With a silly grin on her face, Phryne tugged the covers up to his chin and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. She willed positive, peaceful thoughts to flow from her lips to his mind, which was undoubtedly full of troubling things. "Sleep well, my sweet inspector," she whispered, dipping her head so that their mouths mere inches apart.
"I'll do what I can," he replied, looking for all the world as if he wanted nothing but to reach out and pull her to him. How nice it would be to shed her dress and climb into bed beside him in her slip, nestling close to his warmth while they both drifted off to sleep.
"Jack…"
He watched her for a long while, clearly fighting some sort of internal battle. But he waited until she started to walk away before tightening his hand about her wrist, preventing her departure.
His voice was almost inaudible as he murmured, "Stay, Phryne. Stay with me, can you?" He looked half ashamed as he said it, letting his eyes meet hers only to dart quickly away. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep, left alone with my thoughts."
His weary, yearning look would have been enough to melt her, but his reluctant plea clutched at her heart like a fist. She couldn't dream of denying him. Nor did she want to.
"Just to sleep," she clarified sternly.
"Honestly, Miss Fisher, do I look capable of anything else at the moment?"
So Phryne did precisely as she had contemplated only moments before, kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her dress and crawling into bed beside Jack in nothing but her white silk slip. His arms were open, waiting for her, and he scooped up her body with his own, pulling her eagerly against his firm, warm chest and enfolding her snugly within his arms.
She gave a sigh of drowsy satisfaction, curling her fingers around his own. "Sweet dreams, Jack."
She got no response, for he was already completely asleep, his breathing slow and heavy against her back. Phryne gave a small shiver at the pleasure of being cradled in his large, strong limbs. It was only moments before she had joined him in sweet oblivion.
Parting Note: Not sure how this chapter ended up being so damn long! Thanks for sticking with it! I hope you all will continue to let me know what you think, it's so incredibly helpful. Please feel free to point out anything you feel is out of character...I'm trying hard to stay true to Jack and Phryne but they're both pretty complex people! Any insight is welcomed. As always, thanks SO much for reading!