It was depressing. That was the first thing Jack thought, when the small workers cottages started to frame the streets. Of course, his occupation had occasionally led him to this part of Collingwood before and he had also spent a little while living in Abbotsford. Yet, he couldn't remember ever looking at it with the same eyes as he did right now. They might have been Phryne's eyes, he realised. His wife had gone utterly silent in the last five minutes, while they sat in the back of the taxi cab, with Bert driving and Cec happily babbling on about something or other. In fact, Phryne was currently looking far into the past. It was hard to explain to anyone, even Jack, but not all the memories that tied her to this place were horrible ones. She remembered playing in those streets with her sister and numerous other children, who she had mostly gone out of touch with, either after the tragedy or latest after her parents had dragged her to England and turned her into a spoiled rich girl. Of course, all of them would look at her with suspicion nowadays. If they were still alive. Collingwood didn't tend to present an overly long lifespan to the people that didn't make it out. Gangs and Crime were just a small part of it. Mostly, people worked their fingers to the bone inside the factories that had sprouted like mushrooms over the last decades and then died either in unfortunate accidents or simply because their underfed and overworked bodies didn't like the treatment and just went on strike eventually. Then they succumbed to one of the numerous diseases and the pollution hanging over this part of the city like a blanket. Or they drowned their hopes and sorrows in alcohol, forgetting that alcohol preserved. Phryne remembered vividly the first time she had seen her father drunk. She also remembered the sound his fist made when it hit the wall. Eventually it hadn't been the wall any more, but her mother. And then herself. It had never been Janey however, she had made sure of that. And then, she, the brave guardian of her little sister had failed, the one time she would have really been needed. Completely and utterly failed.
Phryne was woken from her dark thoughts by the cab stopping. She blinked the tears away, to look at a small cottage, ducked between a row of. similar looking ones.
"That's it, Miss," Bert prompted, having the decency to look apologetic. Phryne managed a smile.
"Well, here we go then."
With fake enthusiasm she climbed out of the car, accepting her battered suitcase from Cec's hands. Jack had jumped down on the other side, paying Bert as a show for the neighbours. When he looked at her, she realised that he was worried. He needn't be. She would be just fine. Phryne swallowed the lump in her throat and allowed Jack to take her hand, while they wandered towards their new home.
"Well it's not as terrible as I feared," Phryne lied.
"I'm sorry," was all the answer she got. She pressed her husbands hand.
"It's not your fault."
She wasn't quite sure anymore if they were Mr. and Mrs. Turner or Robinson right now, but it didn't really matter. Their emotions, if moving here from St. Kilda or only Richmond would be the same. With the slight difference that Phryne had a chance to flee back to her lovely big house full of people soon, while poor Fanny would have to face a future in this dreadful place. But first, both of them needed to find the bad guys.
The house was simple, probably in good repair for Collingwood standards, the wooden floor wasn't falling apart and the mould crawling over the walls minimal. They stood in the kitchen, as soon as they walked through the door. It was just as cold as outside and Jack made a mental note to look for firewood as soon as possible. For the moment however, he opened a spiderweb-covered window, trying to get rid of the smell.
"What a stench," he grumbled to nobody in particular, under his breath.
"Leather," Phryne answered. "They ran out of wood, so they are burning the rubbish from the factories. Collingwood coke."
She looked like she was drifting in another world, he noticed with some worry. And they had only just arrived. He nodded grimly then opened one of the two doors in the back wall. The bedroom. If you could call the tiny room that. Jack had never in his life longed so much for his own aquamarine sanctuary in their St. Kilda home. No matter how many nights he spent in other places, on rooftops or in country estates, even Phryne's bedroom – nothing could quite beat the big, soft bed Miss Fisher had chosen for him when he had moved into her house. Not that it was of any importance, he realised. He would follow her anywhere she went, even to hell. Or this place. A moment longer he stared wordlessly at the dusty, grey sheets, that the last occupants seemingly couldn't be bothered to take with them, then let go of his wives hand and walked to the other side, silently starting to peel them off. Phryne seemed to snap out of whatever dream she had been floating in.
"What are you doing, Jack?"
"I'm stripping the bed."
"I'm afraid, we will have to sleep in that tonight, Jack," she said, shuddering.
"My thoughts exactly," he smiled, walking past her and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "And I'd rather not sleep in this," he added, dropping the threadbare cotton at their feet. "I think the only solution for this might be burning."
Phryne grinned.
"Well that would solve the problem how we get the oven fired up," she grinned.
"I believe," Jack said, from the kitchen, where his head was sticking in his suitcase, retrieving the plain but clean cotton sheets, Mrs. Collins had had the presence of mind to pack, God bless her soul, "there should be some firewood somewhere around. According to our little information file, we should be provided for, for a day or two at least."
"Well I am glad, they thought that far at least," Phryne stated dryly, watching her husband in amusement. She had never actually seen him do housework before. Of course, she was aware that he had lived for several years on his own, with no servants to provide for him and she had also seen the occasional tinkering. While in her house he had always rather avoided to rely too much on Mr. Butler's or Dot's help, he still had taken the changes in his lifestyle in his stride, probably somewhere deep down enjoying the luxury of not having to make his own bed before heading out for a long working day in the early hours of the morning or wash the blood out of his shirts himself after coming home late at night. And yet, here he was, making their bed. It was something oddly intimate and she found that she was enjoying the view. But she was also freezing and the air coming in from the outside really didn't help the stench. With a somewhat lighter heart, she returned to the kitchen to close the window. A fat spider looked at her somewhat confused. Phryne smiled at it, before going to inspect the destination the second door opened to. It led to a tiny backyard, including a small washhouse and something that looked suspiciously like an outdoor toilet.
"Great," Phryne grimaced. There was also some wood though, neatly stacked up against the back wall. She grabbed some, hugging it to her chest, whilst briefly wondering about her clothes, before she remembered the blue cotton dress that was about as flattering as the make-up she had brought in the end. She had forgotten about all of this and for good reason.
When she glanced into the bedroom, Jack was already busy stacking the few clothes they had brought into the single cabinet. She didn't protest that he would get dust onto her dresses. You might be able to take a girl out of Collingwood, but you couldn't really take Collingwood out of a girl. She didn't care about dust all that much. In fact, Jack's attempts to make this something resembling a home for them, was rather touching. Phryne found herself wondering how life would have turned out if she had stayed here, lived a life in this area, maybe ran into a young Constable someday, who had happened to wander down the wrong street from Richmond. Could Jack have fallen in love with her, had she worn crude shoes and an old cotton dress? Had she seen more than a bloody copper in him? She was woken from her thoughts by a kiss to her hair, realising that she was staring into the still cold oven, where she had unconsciously stacked pieces of wood onto cold ashes.
"You wouldn't happen to have some matches on you, Inspector?"
"Surprisingly I do. I feared I wouldn't get through this appointment without the occasional cigarette," Jack quipped, holding out a small book. "However, it might be advisable to not call me Inspector around here, Miss Fisher."
"Very well, Inspector," Phryne grinned, striking a match and, on the second attempt, managing to get a flame going. She pulled herself to her feet, looking around.
"So, what are we going to do with the rest of the day?" she asked, letting her eyes run over the interior of the place. Cleaning definitely came to mind. In fact, she really longed for a bath right now, but her childhood memories and the thought of the washhouse outside, let the urge evaporate quickly. She found Jack looking at her with dark eyes.
"You know, we are actually alone," he said quietly. His wife was stunned for a moment. It hadn't occurred to her that there might be an upside to this. However, Jack seemed to have given it some thought. She smiled.
His hand came up to run through her hair, before he kissed her, gently, longingly.
"So, this is why you made the bed, Jack?" she asked with a cheeky grin, when they resurfaced. He shook his head, without tearing his eyes from her.
"No matter in what terrible a place we are, I will never let my wife sleep in a dirty bed."
It wasn't poetry, it wasn't even particularly romantic, but the truth in his eyes made her toes tingle all the same. She kissed him again with a little more passion, her hands running over familiar curves covered in unfamiliar fabric. She wanted to crawl into him, escape the cold that only slowly gave way to the heat emanating from the wood-burning stove, her memories and the mould and dust. Jack's arms wrapped around her, as if he had the same thought. His body was her armour against Collingwood and all that was lurking in the shadows here. So she let him hold her, pick her up and carry her to the old, squeaky iron bed with soft cotton sheets that smelled of home and make love to her in the dusty light of the grey afternoon hanging over the city. And even though it wasn't at all where she wanted to be in the world, it was alright. Nothing could ever be really wrong, with Jack's arms around her.
X
Mr. Butler realised too late that he had bought too many groceries for dinner. It had taken him some time to get accustomed to the ever growing household of Miss Fisher and now he felt strangely bereft of his duties. He had spent the day tidying up both bedrooms, removing the dirty sheets to the washing machine, sorting his Mistress' shoes into the cabinet and ironing the Inspector's socks. Now there was little more to do than control Jane's homework and he had a fair suspicion that Dorothy might have already taken care of it.
In defiance he decided to cut up all the vegetables. He would bring the Collins some stew over once it was done, it would save Dorothy the trouble of cooking tonight. While chopping the celery, he noticed that the house was decidedly quiet. He found it rather disturbing. However, he managed to fry off the meat and bring the stew to the boil, before he succumbed to the urge to go looking for Jane. On the way through the dining room he spotted a candle holder that was starting to turn a little black around the edges. So there was his evening occupation. Now he only needed to find himself something to do for the rest of the week.
Jane was sitting with her back to him and for a moment, Tobias Butler considered leaving her alone. She radiated a certain unwillingness to be spoken to that was hard to overcome, especially for someone who was with all his heart dedicated to being discretion itself. But there was also something in his mind that told him she was upset and he was not only a butler, he also flattered himself being a part of this family and he had been entrusted with the girl's well being. Jane didn't look up from where she was staring at the chessboard, when he stepped beside her. As if to prove that she wasn't bored, she moved a black pawn over the field.
"Would you like a playing partner, Miss Jane?" Tobias asked politely.
Jane shook her head.
"Don't worry, Mr. B. I can keep myself occupied."
When she looked up at him with a small and completely insincere smile, she reminded him a lot of her mother. He battled with himself for a moment, then sat down, despite the etiquette that should have kept his intrusion at bay.
"I have no doubt about that, but then chess is not a game to be playing alone. It's hard to outsmart oneself," he stated with a wise smile.
Jane finally looked at him, then, after a moment's hesitance she started to set the figurines back to their position. Mr. Butler watched her in silence.
"I just miss them," she said, to noone in particular. "And they have only just gone."
"I'm sure, they miss you too, Miss Jane," Mr. Butler said, "and you are not alone."
The teenager nodded, opening the game. They played until it got dark outside and the stew had almost boiled to mush. Mr. Butler realised that he was neglecting his duties but then he guessed that his Mistress preferred Jane's sanity to perfectly polished candlesticks any day.
X
It was dark by the time, Phryne awoke. The fire had burned down since they had fallen asleep, as a brief adventure of one arm from under the sheet told her. But underneath the cover it was pleasantly warm and so she delayed getting up to throw some logs in the oven and possibly find some dinner. Jack was still asleep, his soft breathing telling her that he was dreaming. Maybe of home. She sighed, letting her head sink back onto the flat pillow. Her husband seemed to have noticed her stirring, as he turned with a small groan and snuggled up against her, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. Phryne let his warmth wash over her, the air escaping his lungs tickling her cheek. She defied the cold air to lift a hand and run it through his hair, holding her breath. Jack's eyes fluttered gently, then he opened them, looking at her.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. Phryne nodded, slipping back under the covers. For a while, they lay in silence. Mrs. Robinson's eyes were glued to the dusty window, behind which the stars were glittering on the night sky. How different they looked from here.
"I don't like being here," she finally admitted. "I can't help feeling like I've never been away. Only that it's worse, because I now know how it feels to lead a different life."
The Inspector pulled her closer, saying nothing. He knew there were no words.
" And I feel bad about not wanting to be one of them." She smiled vaguely. "I was born two streets over and yet I catch myself thinking that I don't belong here."
"You don't," Jack said, running his hand over her cheek, looking at her in the darkness.
"I could easily have ended up here. It was just a stroke of luck," Phryne answered after a while.
Jack had to think about this for a while. She was right of course. She could have been just Phryne Fisher and he had wondered today if that had happened, if things would have been different. Would fate still have led them together? Would he have fallen for her, had she been not the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective? But somehow he couldn't imagine that he could have missed her glow; that her clever mind and her kind heart wouldn't have impressed him. But would she have developed all of this sitting in a factory at a machine, day in, day out? He didn't know an answer to this and called himself silly for even pondering it. They were who they were.
"Maybe I don't want to think that I could belong here," he heard her say, her voice sounding suspiciously watery. "Cause what stops me from the gutter, but the money that fell into my lap?"
Jack started. Self-doubt was something he really wasn't used to in Phryne and he found it deeply disturbing. He leaned over, gently brushing his lips over her eyelids. As he had suspected, they were slightly damp.
He wanted to find some comforting words, but then what could he have said? He had risen through the social ranks also purely by coincidence, by falling in love with a rich, kind woman, who was happy enough to share her life and money with him. It wasn't exactly a story of personal success, even though he enjoyed it. He returned his look to the sky behind the filter of dust.
"We are all lying in the gutter, Miss Fisher, but some of us are looking at the stars."
His wife turned her head.
"And there I thought you were over Wilde since your incident with Dorian Gray."
Jack smiled wryly at this.
"It wasn't Mr. Wilde's fault that I consumed his novel just when I was overrun by my war-memories. Just a badly timed reading experience."
"Right now, I am feeling like I'm back in the War, too," Phryne whispered. "Is that a silly thing to say?"
Jack shook his head, wrapping her tighter into the blanket, when he felt her shiver in his arms.
"This is the reason, why I didn't want you to come," he explained quietly, wiping a lock from her cheek. "But you always need to get your will, Miss Fisher."
"Well, I guess that is something."
"It is everything, Phryne," Jack said. "You would have been to stubborn to stay in the gutter either way."
She smiled, wriggling out of his arms.
"That is true, Jack. And I am also too stubborn to freeze to death."
With that, she jumped out of bed, slipped a night shirt over her cold limbs and walked with swaying hips into the kitchen. Jack slipped out of bed and watched her in silence. He wasn't sure if they would have even met in a different life. But he knew that in this one, his heart was full of love for this woman, who was throwing wood into the fire with her curves moving under faded, white cotton.