Chapter 17: Poppy
Jack Robinson was too enthralled in his reading material to pick up on his aunt still hovering. Or at least, he pretended to be. He could imagine, why she was here. He had been going through the conversation again in his head numerous times. He had overstepped lines. There was no denying it.
Finally, she sat down. In anticipation of the scolding, he stubbornly stared at the numbers swimming in front of his eyes.
"Did your mother ever tell you that I was with her, when she got the telegram?" Olivia Morgan asked into the rainy silence. He looked up, questions in his eyes.
"We sincerely regret to inform you..." she began flippantly, then trailed off. "It didn't sound overly sincere, for a letter telling your parents that their son might be dying."
Jack gulped. He had to admit, he hadn't thought much about the effect his battle-wound would have on his parents at the time. A knife in your stomach had a tendency to render you rather uncaring for anything but the pain and the fear it brought along with it.
"She never talked about it", he finally replied quietly. "Not once."
"Yes, that is what I thought." Olivia stated calmly, leaning back in her chair. "Anna never talked much about the things that hurt her. A bit like you."
Jack smiled at this.
"I believe, she went into a cleaning frenzy, scrubbed the whole house till everything gleamed. But she didn't say a word about being scared to death that you might not come home."
The Inspector's eyes clouded over at this. He hadn't known and yet, he had. He had known it from the letter he could hardly decipher, because her hands had been trembling when she had written it, from the over enthusiastic words that had always given her true emotions away, from the way she had held onto him, when he had finally walked off that ship, dirty, tired and broken. He had seen it in her eyes that day. The endless nights she hadn't slept and the days she had spent worrying and praying that God would not take either of her sons away from her. It had probably not even occurred to her that he might not come home the same man he had left. Olivia's voice ripped him from his painful memories.
"Your father didn't share her frenzy though."
Jack locked his eyes with his Aunts, wondering what she was trying to tell him. That his father hadn't even cared back then what happened to him? The next words she said, hit him into the heart.
"He sat down and cried."
Jack shook his head slowly, wondering if he had misheard.
"I think it was the only time, I ever saw John Robinson weep. Even after your mother's death, he would not show his pain in public. But I will never forget the picture of your father sitting on this old wooden kitchen table and crying bitter tears of fear, Jack."
The Inspector was too deeply shaken to answer. His tongue was lying in his mouth like lead, unable to move, his brain fuzzy with images, his chest crowded with emotion. It was impossible, yet there was only truth in Olivia's eyes.
"But... why?" he pressed out, still unable to comprehend the meaning of this. It was too big to wrap his head around.
"Oh, Jack," Olivia sighed, "are you really asking this? Because the old fool loves you, despite being incredibly good at hiding it. You are his son!"
Olivia Morgan watched her nephew sit behind the desk as if he had frozen in time. She wasn't certain weather to laugh or cry at the expression of disbelief displayed on his features. As if it had never occurred to him before, that his father might be deeply attached to him.
"Jack?" she asked, after a while, trying to make sure that he hadn't forgotten to breath.
The Inspector awoke from his stupor, rubbing both hands over his face and getting to his feet. Suddenly the room was too small, the whole house claustrophobic, with the storm outside turning it into a prison. Jack's insides had fallen into chaos. Even the argument with his father, while painful, had not managed to confuse him as much as the picture his aunt had painted him. He needed to be alone. To think. Blindly he stared out into the pounding rain, wishing for Olivia to leave. He was aware of his own rudeness, she meant well, was trying to soothe his pain. But she couldn't. Nobody could. Jack realised with a start that he was lying to himself. Someone was able to and the longing burned inside him with sudden intensity. He didn't need to talk to her, just be held in her arms for a little while and he would be all right.
"Excuse me, please."
Jack noticed that he was stumbling over his words, that his aunt looked gobsmacked. Obviously she had expected her revelation to have a different effect on him. But he couldn't explain right now. It was as if she had ripped a blindfold away and the light was burning in his eyes. Before his aunt could utter another word, he had rushed past her, thinking feverishly of where in the house there was a chessboard to be found. He almost crashed head first into the person who had just raised her hand to knock. Esmeralda stared after her nephew in wonder, before turning to her sister-in-law.
"Is he all right?"
"I believe he is taking after his father," Olivia Morgan stated.
"The poor boy."
The two women shared a smile.
"You wouldn't happen to care for a cup of tea?" Esmeralda offered after a moment of thought.
"I think I am in desperate need of one," her sister-in-law answered and pulled herself upright. With Olivia taking her host's arm, the ladies walked down the stairs in companionable silence. They had done what they could; now it was up to them.
X
Rain flooded the yard, when the dark car halted in front of the villa. The woman climbing out of the backdoor pulled her coat over her head for protection; yet, she was drenched by the time she reached the main door. A lady with snow-white hair answered, before she had a chance to knock.
"Abigail, dear God, child you will catch yourself cold. Where is your husband?" Miss Rucci babbled, following the young woman down the hall like a shadow.
"Joseph is still in Sydney. We met Lord and Lady Gregories the other day and he is buttering them up at the moment, hoping to get invited to their annual hunt. That would certainly do his business connections a world of good. And you know that we could do with that."
Miss Rucci hummed acknowledgement at that, watching her Mistress towelling her hair that the water had left in a darker shade of red than usual.
"So, you decided to come back without him? Travelling all alone is not good, my dear, it is a long way from Sydney."
Abigail Barton laughed at this.
"I have a business appointment tomorrow morning that would have been very rude to post-pone. You are always concerned about us, but you do sometimes forget that we are not five anymore. Madelyn and I can take care of ourselves now, Miss Rucci."
She didn't notice her former nurse's face falling, till she turned from disposing of the damp towel.
"Ma'am, I have to tell you something," the old lady said gravely, "you have to be very strong now."
X
Inspector Robinson had concluded that the library was the most obvious place for a game of chess. As it turned out, his investigative skills had let him down. When ripping the door open, expecting to see Phryne and Walter bent over a board game, he found himself instead confronted with Fred. A furiously blushing Fred, who shoved a piece of paper into his pocket in a hurry, stammering something inaudible in a scene that reminded Jack of a silent movie. The Inspector came to a screeching halt, wondering if he should enquire into this. But for once the lover won over the policeman, nodding at his cousin's husband and politely shutting the door behind him. Whatever Fred had to hide in his pockets, it was none of his business. Possibly he should have cared more, but the truth was that he had been never overly close to Laura. He even wondered, if she had neglected to invite him to her wedding or if he had just forgotten about the letter altogether. Either way, he suddenly felt guilty. Jack attempted to shake the feeling off. Maybe one couldn't be close to everybody in a family, just because one shared a blood line, he mused.
A female figure came towards him in the hall. The hope that it might be Phryne was dashed quickly. Iris looked at him with an expression that he knew.
"Have you seen Miss Fisher?" he asked in a vain attempt to escape his cousin's attack.
"No. But I would like a word with you."
Before he had a chance to protest, she had ushered him into a small salon and sat him down into an armchair, while she paced the room.
"Why didn't you tell me, your father didn't approve of Rosie?" she asked.
Jack buried his face in his hands. He had no patience right now for Iris's worries about her friend.
"What would that have changed?" he asked with fake calmness. "And father didn't disapprove of Rosie so much as he did of the fact that she is Sanderson's daughter."
Iris stopped in her aimless wander across the room to stare a her cousin in confusion. Jack felt the need to explain.
"He thought that the connection with a high flyer like Sanderson would discredit my work as a police officer. That's why he warned me off marrying Rosie. And as far as I am aware, he has never said a word to her face. I believe, he was rather fond of his daughter-in-law actually, if it is any comfort to you."
Jack couldn't help the bitterness tinting his voice. He didn't want to talk about Rosie right now, not about Sanderson, not about his father. He was done talking. But to his surprise, Iris suddenly crouched on the floor in front of him and clutched his hands in her's.
"Why on earth didn't you share this with me? I was so proud to have introduced you to the woman you wanted to spend your life with. And I was even prouder to be someone you would confide in. Yet, you never said a word!"
Jack held onto his cousins hands, battling the tears climbing his throat.
"Rosie is your friend," he finally choked out.
"Yes, but you are my cousin and my friend. And the annoying big brother I never had."
"You are older than me", he pointed out, with a teary half-smile.
"Three weeks doesn't count", Iris pouted.
Jack straightened his back, but didn't let go of Iris's hand, despite the knot of fingers turning sweaty.
"I didn't want to hurt by telling you father was being his charming self about your friend," he explained, after a pause.
"So you rather suffered on your own? You are rather daft sometimes, Jack."
"I am slowly reaching that conclusion myself."
"About time."
There was just silence and rain, two pounding hearts and a knot of sweaty fingers. After a long moment, Jack cleared his throat, looking into a pair of eyes that hadn't changed since they had been 12, lying in the enchanted garden, reading silly poems to each other.
"I need to ask you for something."
"Anything. Despite, you know, immoral things, murder, oh and chess is definitely out of the question," she quipped. "I hate chess."
He tightened his grip on her hands, looking serious.
"Iris, I really, really need you to not hate Phryne."
To his astonishment, his cousin burst into laughter.
X
"Checkmate."
Phryne smiled wryly at the winner of the game. She was well aware that she had made it too easy on Walter Cox-Stafford. But the acute absence of Jack worried her.
"Something tells me, that you are usually better at this particular game," the grey man stated, collecting his pawns from the board.
"I fear, I cannot deny that," Miss Fisher sighed, leaning back in her chair.
"Things will work out, don't you worry your pretty head."
Usually a sentence like this would have brought Phryne's blood to boiling point, but it was said with so much good natured sincerity, that she decided to let the "pretty head" slip. He spoke to her like to a member of his family because, she realised with a start – that was what he truly considered her. What surprised her even more was, how much she longed to be part of Jack's family. Even though she could have done without her father-in-law, but then, her Inspector couldn't.
"I do not want to be the reason for Jack losing his father."
The truth was out, before she had time to even consider it and who she was sharing it with.
"You aren't", Walter said, while she watched him replace his figures onto their fields. "I rather believe they have lost each other some years ago, they just started searching again now. And that is going to be a bit of a painful process with two pig heads like theirs," he smiled, his moustache twitching in humour.
A knock interrupted their conversation, before Phryne had a chance to enquire further into this process of losing. In her opinion it was rather hard to lose parents as a general rule. Mostly, they stuck like glue. The maid standing shyly in the door had order to call the Master of the house downstairs to figure out something or other about dinner with his wife and sighing, Walter obliged.
"I do hope, we continue this soon," he smiled to Miss Fisher, leaving open if he meant the game of chess or their conversation. She stayed behind, leaning back and staring out into the storm with unseeing eyes. Did she have a right to get involved in Jack's battles? Was it possibly even her responsibility now, as his future wife? Miss Fisher was really not very good at the etiquette of being anyone's wife, but something told her that she should stand by her man's side in time of war. She got to her feet in the resolve to search out the battlefield and her man on it, when the door flew open.
X
Jack's heart was still pounding in his chest, when he picked up his search for Miss Fisher. The longing for her had intensified during his conversation with Iris.
The world may have ended for all he cared, if only he could crawl into Phryne's arms right now. The world outside, slowly slipping into darkness, indeed seemed to have every intention to do just that. Instead of letting up, the storm had only grown heavier over the past hours. Lightning dipped the corridor into blinding light for a second. Blinking into the following darkness, Jack ripped a random door open.
X
A half knock was the first thing John heard of his visitor, like someone tapping on the door, while trying not to drop something occupying both hands. The first thing he saw, was a bunch of sunflowers sneaking through the gap.
"I come in peace," Jane quipped behind a tray that held beside the flowers, also a cup of tea and a plate with biscuits.
"What are you doing here?" John asked suspiciously, but not as harshly as he had intended.
"I am, quite obviously bringing you some tea and biscuits," she stated. "But I am also curious."
She sat down, without being invited and Mr. Robinson didn't protest, despite wanting to.
"Curious about what, young lady?" he asked instead, inspecting the contents of the cup. Esmeralda knew exactly how he drank his tea and that he loved shortbread, which made it so much harder to resist her peace offering.
"About you, of course. I never had a grandfather before."
His eyes flew up, surveying the girl sitting opposite him with a policeman's eye. She was pretty, he realised, very pretty actually and quite young, but with oldness to her eyes. This girl hadn't had an easy life, but she was happy now. So he had to admit, Miss Fisher couldn't be all that horrible.
"You are aware, that I am not really your grandfather?" he grumbled, taking a biscuit, despite himself.
"I am not stupid," Jane stated calmly. John shook his head. That she definitely wasn't.
"So, what do you conclude then?" he asked, between bites, not even admitting to himself that he actually cared about what the girl thought of him. She raised an eyebrow, sizing him with clever eyes.
"Not bad," she finally said, stealing a piece of shortbread from his plate. "Bit rough round the edges maybe, but workable."
"Much obliged," John replied sarcastically, but had trouble fighting back a smile.
"This whole family thing does however work better, if the people involved do talk to each other," she continued casually.
"If you are trying to convince me that I should apologise to Jack, get in line," John mumbled under his breath.
"I don't think that's necessary."
Mr. Robinson couldn't hide his surprise at this.
"You know yourself, that you will have to do that, so what's the point?" she shrugged, smiling and fishing for the last biscuit.
"If you are to be my granddaughter, you have to learn one thing, girl."
He grabbed the shortbread before she could get a hold of it, biting into it with a soft crunch. Jane watched him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, as he chewed grinning, before stating:
"The last one is always mine."