It's been a long day, but I'd like to thank you quickly for sticking around and writing me so many lovely reviews. It's appreciated. And now, off to the next chapter for you and bed for me.

Chapter 4: Wild Grass

So, this was actually happening, it dawned on Jack Robinson by the time the sun sank, turning they gloomy day into a darker shade of grey. He was going to Daylesford with Phryne and the whole entourage, to take part in the Robinson-Cox-Stafford's annual meeting. A part of him was more than amused at the thought. The rest of him was fretting. He wasn't sure if Miss Fisher was quite aware, what an icy wind might come towards her. And while she wandered the earth wrapped in an aura of nonchalance, he knew that she was also vulnerable. And Jack didn't want her to get hurt. In the light of this, he should probably have fought harder to keep her from going. But the truth was also, that he missed his family and deep down, the hope lived that even his father would have to see reason once he met Phryne and found out about their wedding plans. Jack Robinson folded his shirts into the suitcase with mixed feelings, when he encountered a pair of arms snaking around his chest.

"You are done already?" he asked, surprised. He was quite sure that Phryne would have packed about three times as many clothes as himself.

"Dot is finishing the packing for me. She needs distraction, I think she's a little upset about leaving Hugh behind."

The Inspector smiled vaguely at this, without stopping to shove socks into the corner of his case.

"Well, someone has got to make sure, that the city isn't overrun by crime, while we are waltzing through Victorian forests, Miss Fisher."

"True." She mumbled, leaning her cheek against his back, which rendered his attempts to keep packing impossible. Jack stopped, wrapping his hands around her wrists.

"Phryne, are you sure, you are up for this? It's a beautiful countryside I grant you, but the company might get a little rough."

She didn't answer for a long time and he started to wonder, if she had fallen asleep leaned against him, when she stirred.

"I am your future wife, Jack." It was said quietly and seriously, with none of the usual teasing in her voice. He turned to face her.

"I'm not trying to hide you, Phryne. I'm trying to hide them." The Inspector's wry smile accompanied his words.

A soft, warm hand was extended to stroke his cheek, without her tearing her eyes from his.

"You have hidden them long enough, Jack. It's time for us to face them."

He nodded. So she understood. And she didn't want him to hurt either.

Whatever Jack might have said or done in this moment, it was lost, as a girl that had suddenly turned into his daughter, stuck her head through the door without knocking. Possibly, he would have to put down his fatherly foot there – he did remember the last time someone had shown unannounced in his bedroom. It had been his former wife and Phryne had just been wrapped around him in a state of undress that equalled his own. Jack shuddered at the thought of the trauma that sight could leave in a teenage-girl. Then again, she wasn't ten anymore and God knew, what she had gotten up travelling more or less alone through Europe. The Inspector wondered briefly, if this was, what parents did all day long? Worry about their children. Then he realised, that his future daughter was actually speaking.

"There is a woman down there who looks awfully like Doctor Mac. I think she found the Whisky decanter by now," the girl stated, grinning broadly.

"Oh dear," Phryne sighed, "So I guess the new doctor turned out to be as terrible as she feared."

Miss Fisher slipped down the stairs, with Jack and Jane following from safe distance, to find Mac was indeed pacing with a glass of amber liquid in her hand. She looked more angry than upset, and Phryne breathed a sigh of relief. Anger she could deal with.

"Good evening, Mac," she said sweetly, leaning in the door frame.

"That bastard!" the doctor spat, instead of a greeting, "Spoiled rich kid, not even dry behind the ears yet, but got the whole board wrapped around his little finger. I want to... Gahh." According to her gestures, she either wanted to strangle or beat him. Miss Fisher didn't ask which of the two. She personally preferred not to watch Jack arrest her best friend for murder – yet again.

"He actually told a patient about my 'unnatural behaviour with women' and he now refuses to be treated by me!"

Hot anger started to bubble in Phryne's stomach at this. Discrimination against anyone for who they chose to share their life or bed with, made her blood boil, but Mac was not anyone. When she had regained enough calmness to address her friend, she found her having sunk into an armchair, deflated.

"I work hard to help those people and now this little shit is trying to turn me into a persona non grata," she said, draining her drink.

Miss Fisher crouched down at her side and grabbed her hand.

"That's awfully unfair."

"And you know, what is the worst part? I am not even enganging in behaviour of any kind, natural or not. I haven't been with anyone in a year and a half!"

Mac slammed down her tumbler with so much vigour, that the little side table shook.

"Everything always turns around this and I'm not even getting anything out of it."

Miss Fisher stayed silent, rubbing calming circles onto her friends arm. There was really little she could have said. It was just not fair. Elisabeth rubbed her flushed face with both hands.

"I think I just need a break."

An idea appeared in Phryne's head, but a calm, male voice behind her caused her to turn around, before she could form it into words.

"Have you ever been to Daylesford, Mac?"

Miss Fisher stared at the Inspector, who stood in the door, smiling a tiny smile.

"Because I really think, we need an attending doctor for our plans."

X

The brooch glittered quietly in it's nest of strawberry blonde curls, as the woman inspected herself in the mirror.

"You look beautiful," the man said, kissing her shoulder. She frowned.

"No, it's not quite right. It needs to be something particular."

She pulled the jewellery from her hair and handed it back to the man.

"Oh, don't look like that."

He cleared his throat loudly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You look like I just shot your dog. It's just not the right piece."

The man nodded, running his fingers over the brooch.

"Of course, love."

He retreated, while the redhead flicked through the dresses of her wardrobe again. There had to be something that fit. Anything at all.

X

"So, he is actually attending?" Esmeralda Cox-Stafford asked the newspaper, that was currently shielding her husband from her view.

"The telegram said he is. I'm quite surprised personally, considering the tantrum John has been throwing at the poor boy," the paper mumbled in return.

"And he is bringing his girl?"

Now the paper finally dropped, revealing the big, friendly face of Walter Cox-Stafford. His grey moustache twitched, when he spoke.

"Well, she is hardly a girl. Quite the lady I heard. But then, Iris is the only one who has met her and she is rather biased, given she is thick as thieves with Rosie Sanderson."

His wife rose from the lunch table.

"I better tell Mrs. Roman then to ready another room. Or two? I'm not quite sure which is rude to offer in their case."

"Sit down, woman. They aren't staying with us."

Obediently Esmeralda dropped back onto her chair, looking with some confusion at her grinning husband.

"Jack's girl has rented the villa over at the lake, old Wimsey told me this morning, when I fetched the paper. Apparently she is bringing her staff."

"Oh dear," Esmeralda sighed, gripping her tea cup, "I wonder how our Jack is dealing with someone who can't leave her staff behind for a few days? He used to blush even when the maids made his bed here."

"Well this Miss Fisher must be quite something," Walter stated, ruffling the leaves of his paper. His wife wasn't listening anymore. She lifted her teacup to her lips, wondering how Jack had ended up with a woman like this Phryne Fisher. She only hoped, the poor boy wasn't in over his head.

X

The Inspector currently felt like he was in way over his head. The reason for his despair was for once not the Honourable Miss Fisher though. It was however related to her. Mrs. Prudence Stanley had spent the last ten minutes instructing Mr. Butler exactly what to do with her luggage, while her driver had piled one box after the next around the pale looking servant. She was not taking any of her own staff and she had obviously decided, that Phryne's would have to do. The Inspector resisted the urge to throttle her, when he stepped closer, smiling in a way you could have cut a knife on.

"Mr. Butler, would you be so kind as to walk a few metres with me? There is something I wish to discuss with you," he urged, taking a hat box from the butlers fingers and very decidedly putting it down onto a pile of suitcases that shook dangerously. Mrs. Stanley opened her mouth but was silenced by a single look. The Inspector spoke to murderers quite frequently and some aspects rubbed off, his eyes promised and the lady retreated.

"Certainly, Sir."

The men walked along the platform in silence for a while, before Jack Robinson had found the words he wanted to say.

"Mr. Butler, I am aware that it is none of my business. But as a detective I could not miss the fact that Mrs. Santi is not here to take her farewell from you. And while I also understand that the chances are slim that you would confide in me, I would like to assure you that I am all ears, if you should feel the urge to," he said calmly, looking into the distance rather than at the flustered butler.

"Thank you, Sir," the man said stiffly, starring down into the tracks, where wild grass between the rusty metal,moved in the breeze. His voice sounded suspiciously rough.

"Don't mention it," Jack answered. Silence settled back in.

"I fear Mrs. Santi might not be as deeply involved in our bond, as I am," the servant finally stated quietly, conversationally. Jack Robinson pondered for a while about this.

"In my experience, these kind of discoveries can be quite deceiving, Mr. Butler."

He thought of his own pain at finding Miss Fisher's lipstick on a dead man's collar. As it had turned out the encounter had been a whole lot different than he had ever dreamed and he was deeply grateful, that Phryne had had a chance to set him right then. He glanced at the pale face of the silent servant. Then again, it could of course be the case that he was right. Maybe he himself was just lucky that Phryne had changed her mind about her wish for independence. They had turned somewhere in the conversation and were now approaching Mrs. Stanley again, who had been joined by her niece and the other the ladies. While Aunt P. still looked slightly miffed, the rest of the group was in a state of giddy excitement that didn't even leave her wholly untouched. Even Mac seemed like she had gotten over her spell of despair and now looked forward to their trip.

"Wherever have you two been?" Miss Fisher asked, turning to straighten the Inspector's hat in one of those casual, intimate gestures, that always made him shiver with joy.

"Just having a walk and a chat," the Inspector answered, holding still. Recognition dawned on the lady detective's face, as she went on to fix his collar too.

"Not about the absence of a certain artist, by chance?" Phryne whispered, after Mr. Butler had returned his attention to sorting the luggage.

"About just that," the Inspector answered, taking one of her hands from his neck and pressing a kiss to it. "There have been certain developments, I will tell you about later," he explained, with a look at her curious face. He didn't know if Mr. Butler would want him to talk about his private affairs but then again, nobody could expect him to keep secrets from Miss Fisher. Her butler certainly wouldn't. The incoming train ended his musing for the moment.