I apologize for the late posting and every mistake I have left. I had a couple of very long days and am pretty fried. But I'll try to keep up with the usual speed.

Chapter 3: Saturn

Inspector Robinson was the first to resurface from the breathless silence that had spread over his office.

"You must be joking!?"

Commissioner Sanderson, who had watched him, leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

"I am, as it so happens, completely serious. It is an undercover appointment and you will have to fully involve yourself. I'm sorry if that meddles with your comfortable lifestyle."

Jack straightened his back, ready to defy his ex-father-in-law.

"We are not your puppets, George!"

"What exactly is this job about?" Phryne asked, recovering from her initial shock.

Sanderson glanced at her. She was strangely pale, but seemed curious nevertheless.

"The trade in sly grog in this city has significantly picked up over the last half year."

Jack opened his mouth, but George talked right over him.

"And while some of that is likely due to the recession, there are hints that it's not all bootleg. In fact, evidence points towards a, let's say Grog-Empire being built somewhere in Collingwood. We have done raids, interrogated pub-owners and minor criminals, but with no results. Nobody is spilling the beans on where it's coming from and who is making it. But there is a variety of alcoholic beverages being produced and sold right in my city."

"And what are we supposed to do about it?" Phryne asked sarcastically. She was used to a lot more exciting things than sly grog, but that was not what was bothering her. "Rip illegal bottles from old ladies hands?"

Sanderson shifted his full attention to her.

"I want you to go in there and find the rat's nest. They must be somewhere there, in some basement, some falling down cottage. They are hiding. As soon as they see a badge or a uniform they vanish like cockroaches in the light. I have the boot to flatten them, but first I need to find them. And that is where you come in."

Jack's glance brushed over Phryne's pale cheeks. He could only imagine what was happening in her head. Collingwood of all places!

„Surelywith all the officers of Melbourne at your disposal, you don't need a homicide detective for that, George. There is no shortage of actual murder to be solved in this city," he protested.

Sanderson sighed, fishing a photograph from his pocket and shoving it over the table.

The Inspector picked it up, staring at the obviously dead face of a young man.

"Simon Barner," Sanderson stated casually. "One of three young men who died of alcohol poisoning after consumption of illegal grog in the last month. You want murder, Jack? Whoever is producing this crap, is killing people."

Inspector Robinson realised that he was running out of steam. Trying to figure out what to do, he rubbed his hand over his lips. He knew he couldn't get out of this, but dragging Phryne into it seemed an incredibly bad idea. There were too many of her shadows lurking in Collingwood for her. His wife had spent most of her childhood in the place and few of those memories were happy ones. Returning there, living the life she had escaped, even for a pretence... no.

"I'll go," he said. "But Phryne stays out of this."

He didn't dare look at his wife right now. Explaining to Sanderson why he didn't want her on this job was out of the question, but Phryne knew his reasons without a doubt and she didn't like being told what to do. But to his surprise, she didn't protest, instead picking up the photograph, looking at the young man. Sanderson took his glasses off.

"I'm sorry, Jack. But that is not the deal. I need you both to go undercover as a married couple. A single, middle aged man moving into the neighbourhood is more than suspicious. Those people aren't stupid, far from it in fact."

Jack opened his mouth, ready to fight this to the bone, but to his surprise, Phryne was faster. She sounded calm, collected, if still upset.

"We will do it."

Her husband looked at her, trying to convince her with his eyes that this wasn't right, but she gave him a thin smile that managed to shut him up.

"But I will hold you to this partnership, Georgey," Phryne stated, getting to her feet and handing the photograph back to the Commissioner.

Sanderson took it, then pulled himself up, extending his hand. Phryne's gloved fingers wrapped around his.

"Of course, Mrs. Robinson. When I get results."

"You wouldn't have asked us, if you didn't expect results. Now please excuse me, it seems I have packing to do."

Phryne flashed Jack a grin that was lacking any sincerity and left the two policemen for silence.

Jack rubbed his palms over his face, finding George watching him intently when he looked up.

"I hope you are aware that you just opened Pandora's box?"

A half smile on the older man's face answered his question.

"I am rather counting on it," the Commissioner stated, storing the picture in his pocket. "And despite what you are currently inclined to think, Jack, this is not a punishment for your wedding with Miss Fisher. Even though I will admit, that I am not thrilled."

"The thought had crossed my mind," Jack quipped.

Sanderson was back to staring at him with deep sincerity.

"Jack, I am sending you in there, because you are a damn good policeman and because I trust you. I need to dig out this new grog baron before he gets a footing in Melbourne. If we let new people get away with the same crimes, we have brought down the Brownings for nothing."

The Inspector nodded grimly, surrendering to his fate.

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

George pushed a closed folder towards the DI, who took it, but didn't open the lid.

"All the details are in there. Your fake papers, your contacts, your address. I'll stay far, far away from you, while this is happening."

"Of course."

Jack didn't look up, while Sanderson got to his feet, heading towards the door.

"What about 'The Butcher' and Elaine Browning?" the Inspector asked, just when George was about to leave. His former father-in-law turned, a certain sparkle reappearing in his eyes.

"Don't worry, I will take care of things."

The Inspector knew that he would - it didn't reassure him in the slightest.

X

"So, I'm afraid, we will be gone for a while," Phryne Robinson said with a wry smile, looking at her daughter, who was chewing her lip.

"What is this about?" Dot asked. Her Mistress shrugged her shoulders. "I do not know much detail yet, and even if I did, I couldn't tell you."

"So, it's all secretive then?" Bert asked, from where he was standing with a cup of coffee in one and a biscuit in the other.

"Nicely spotted, Bert," Phryne grinned, without turning around. Again her eyes locked on Jane, who was utterly silent. The girl was thinking hard.

"But..." she finally uttered, then closed her mouth again. She had wanted to ask who would play chess with her. Since discovering that they shared an interest, Jack had brought out the board several nights a week for a game or two after dinner, while Phryne usually loitered in a suspiciously close chair, hiding behind an alibi book and threw in random comments and suggestions that were as fun as they were completely uncalled for. Jane enjoyed those quiet nights with her foster parents more than she would ever have cared to admit. The idea of them stopping didn't sit well with her. But then again, she wasn't a child anymore and she had picked herself two dedicated detectives for parents. Surely she could deal.

"Jane?"

She looked up to realise that Phryne's eyes were still glued to her, obviously waiting for a reaction so she forced herself to smile.

"Sounds like you are going to have fun," she said. Her mother's hand fished for hers, holding her hand over the table.

"We are going to be back soon," she promised. "And I expect everything to go on as it normally would," Mrs. Robinson added louder, for everybody to hear. "Mr. Butler and Dot will make sure you are clothed and fed and going to school. No excuses."

Jane nodded bravely.

"Cec, Bert, I will need you to run some errands for me this afternoon. And I will need your help for a suitable wardrobe, Dot. I'm afraid, it has been a few years since I've been familiar with the fashion there."

Phryne frowned. She really did not look forward to this. It wasn't so much the lack of comfort that she feared, even though the loss of her silk sheets and expensive Scotch were certainly drawbacks. It was the memories lurking in Collingwood, that really scared her. She snapped out of it, realising that Jane had turned the tables on her. The girl was watching her, looking as if she could read her mind. She smiled thinly and pressed her hand, half-heartedly listening to Dot's vague speculations on what she needed. She would be fine. Jack was coming with her. She would be absolutely fine. Phryne swallowed hard, when she remembered that she had lost her ability to lie to herself convincingly.

X

A trail of sunlight illuminated her dark hair, giving her the appearance of wearing a halo. She didn't turn when he entered. The young man stepped into the room, but stopped dead in the middle. Still the woman did not move. Only her changed breathing suggested, that she had noticed his arrival.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. It wasn't cold, not angry, just a question.

"I am paying you a visit."

She turned away from the window, a small smile on her lips, then stepped towards him, raising her hand to run it over his cheek.

"That is rather silly of you," she said. He shrugged. The realisation how much thinner she had become since the last time he had seen her, cut through his stomach like a hot knife. What had the bastard done to her? But he would pay, the young man swore to himself. There was hell to pay and he would make sure every single shilling would be collected.

X

"You are home early," Phryne smiled, when she heard the bedroom door open quietly. Jack let go a frustrated breath. His wife was impossible to sneak up on. He had disturbed her though, he realised with a start. She turned on the stool in front of her dressing table.

"You look... quite different," Jack stated carefully.

"I'm trying the plain look, cheap make-up. Rather ghastly," Phryne explained, returning to applying some sort of blusher.

"You know, most people probably can't tell the cost of your make-up just from looking at you," the Inspector pointed out, sitting down at the edge of the bed. "Why don't you just transfer some of your usual things into cheap pots?"

"I would know, Jack. And if I am to fool people as a plain woman, I will have to play my part properly. French Rouge won't do the trick."

The Inspector contemplated this for a while, watching her apply and rub off make-up in silence. She was right, of course. It would take some acting ability for Miss Fisher to pull off being a poor working class woman. If Sanderson had taken into account that the glamour she radiated went far beyond her expensive dresses and bright lipsticks? Probably not. He didn't know how Phryne Fisher looked with dishevelled hair and missing make-up, the wrinkles of her pillow impressed in her skin, thirty seconds after waking. He had never seen her drenched from the rain or shivering in an intense moment of passion. Jack had. Phryne had many faces and not a single one of them was plain. He woke from his thoughts, when she repeated her question.

"So, who am I, Jack?"

The Inspector cleared his throat.

"I didn't know that you are playing an amnesic plain woman, Miss Fisher."

Phryne rolled her eyes at him, snatching the folder from his lap.

"I assume this holds our secret identities?" she said, flicking through the pages, till she found the desired information. Jack watched the frown on her face in amusement.

"That's hardly fair, Jack." She closed the papers with a disappointing little thud and put it down onto her dressing table.

"You get to keep your name? And I am to be 'Fanny'?"

Jack slipped to his feet and stepped behind her, laying his hands onto her shoulders.

"I would recommend a written complaint to your parents, Miss Fisher. There might be two Phryne's in the whole of Melbourne, while Jack is about as special as loaf of bread. And sadly there aren't many glamorous yet common names that are close enough to not turn a little slip of the tongue into a disaster."

He kissed her on the hair, while Phryne pulled her lips into a pout, grumpily admitting to herself that he was right. She picked up the papers again.

"So we have been married for ten years, had to sell our house in Richmond after you lost your job. Unable to keep any of our children alive. Your former father-in-law seems determined to pretend you are a failure, Jack," she stated casually.

"Or possibly, he is just trying to explain, why we might not quite fit into the environment and still were desperate enough to move to Collingwood" the Inspector stated casually, searching for something in his pocket. "Also, I am quite certain, that he didn't bother to fabricate the details himself."

"You probably should avoid quoting Shakespeare all the same, Jack," Phryne teased.

"I will remember to not spontaneously burst into Hamlet, Miss Fisher," the Inspector gave back, finally finding what he had been looking for.

"I picked this up on the way home," he said, extending his hand. Phryne stared at it for a moment, recognition dawning on her face.

"You're right. It would be rather silly to wear those in Collingwood," she admitted, looking at the two rings that never left her hands.

"In the middle of a recession, nevertheless," Jack urged gently. "Desperation makes people do stupid things and we don't want attention."

Phryne nodded, battling with herself. The idea of taking off her engagement ring or wedding band met a lot of inner resistance. But Jack had a point. Running through Collingwood with diamonds and gold on her fingers would be more than stupid and the chance of 'losing them' the one or other way, was great. She couldn't risk it. Nevertheless her throat was tight, when she slipped them off her fingers with some effort. She looked up to Jack, who was contemplating his own wedding band, obviously with similar thoughts.

"Come on, Inspector, it's just a symbol," she smiled, opening a small drawer. Jack nodded and swiftly slipped the ring off, before he could change his mind. He felt the cold that he had almost forgotten about, when air brushed over the spot of suddenly bare skin. Gently he laid his band around Phryne's in the red satin lining, and threw one last look, before she locked the drawer.

"Right," his wife said, staring at the simple silver band he had bought her as a replacement. It looked a little tattered, probably likely for a cheap wedding ring that had been worn for a decade. Jack, noticing her hesitance, took her hand, spinning her around to face him and smiled.

"Will you be my wife, Mrs. Turner?"

"I believe it is a decade too late to ask that, Jack."

He grinned, slipping the band over her waiting finger.

"You know, Fanny Turner might have actually sworn me obedience," the Inspector grinned, leaning down to kiss his wife.

"You wish, Jack."

Their lips met and for a moment, their worries melted away. When Jack resurfaced, he looked at her flushed face, still covered in unusual make-up, realising that it didn't matter at all. She was still his Phryne and still absolutely breathtaking.

"No," he whispered, brushing a strand of her hair from her face without moving far enough to stop feeling her breath on his skin. "I really hope she didn't."