Chapter 12: Starburst

When Jack Robinson returned to the house, 15 minutes later and in a much cleaner state, he found his wife sitting at the table with two steaming cups in front of her.

Seeing him step through the door, she pulled herself to her feet and filled a couple of bowls with a brownish glob. Jack sat down. His relationship with porridge wasn't a particularly loving one. His mother as well as his first wife had insisted on feeding it to him most mornings as they'd believed it to be the nutritious meal he needed. Jack had never had the heart to point out that he'd have rather found his nutrients in a piece of toast.

His stomach reminded him that it wasn't the time to be choosy. Phryne had made him breakfast rather than sulking, that was something not be spat at, considering he had simply ignored her wishes. Jack was determined not to show her that he wanted nothing more than to stay home, preferably in bed with her, a good book and a cup of tea, until his head stopped feeling like someone had stuffed it with cotton wool. He had a job to do and he would do it. The quicker he managed to find Sanderson's man, the faster he could take Phryne back to St. Kilda. Bravely he picked up his spoon and tried his breakfast. After a day of hardly any food, the mess of shredded oats tasted heavenly.

His wife was pale, Jack realised, when he looked up. But she smiled and also started eating as if she was also trying to hide just how she felt. The Inspectors heart ached. He wanted to apologise for keeping her awake, for not finding the right words to soothe her dark memories away, for having dragged her into this mess in the first place. But nothing would come to his foggy mind. So he just ate his porridge in silence.

"You've cleaned up," Phryne finally said, her voice unreadable.

Jack nodded, his mouth full.

"So I did," he smiled, after swallowing.

"You didn't have to, Jack," she said. Her husband glanced at her in confusion. He hadn't missed the hint of blame swinging in her voice. She smiled a wry smile. "But thank you."

Jack nodded lightly, still not sure what that had been about.

Phryne watched her husband finish his breakfast like a starving man, stifling a cough here and there. Guilt announced itself, mixing with her annoyance. Of course, it was completely impossible for Jack Robinson to come home like a normal tired human being and just get some rest. He was bound to save the world first, even if it just rode on some dirty dishes.

Mrs. Robinson was quite aware that she was being unjust. Jack was trying to deal with their grim situation as well as he could manage. Not a word of complaint had slipped over his lips about the mess she had left for him and she guessed she should have been grateful. But she wasn't. He was not her butler but her husband, and she didn't need him to clean up after her, working himself into a state of fatigue that she then had to worry about. God, how she hated his lack of reason when it came to his own health! Vexed, she collected the empty bowls from the table, when suddenly a hand snatched up her wrist, Jack turning her to face him.

"Phryne?" he asked, his voice thick with worry.

His wife realised that there were angry tears in her eyes. Her first impulse was to brush him off but his intense, grey eyes holding her gaze, wouldn't let her do that. But then again, her throat was too tight to say anything. So she just froze, starring back at him in defiance.

"Phryne," he said again, getting up and pulling her close. Reluctantly she allowed him to, then struggled out of his arms before he had a chance to suffocate all of her annoyance with his warmth.

"You need to take better care of yourself, Jack. I can't always be there to save you!" she said and regret her choice of words the same moment. Even though he didn't move, she could feel him withdrawing.

"Right," he finally said. "A perfectly good point."

Phryne wasn't sure if his voice was rough with his cold or suppressed emotion, but she was quite certain that he had misunderstood her, causing in her the desire to set him straight. But there was still anger raging all through her stomach that made her fear, she would make matters worse if she tried. So she just watched him in silence as he put on his coat and hat, interrupted by another coughing fit.

"I'll see you in the afternoon. Try to not get us into trouble," he smiled, kissing her on the forehead, where she still stood, silently. Then he was gone and Phryne continued to collect their dishes with the sinking feeling that she had just broken something.

X

An impatient knock at the door ripped Mr. Butler from his sweet dreams. Startled, he blinked into the morning light, before inspecting his alarm clock. A second later he was standing beside the bed in his Pyjamas. Dear God, he had slept in! That hadn't happened to him in over 20 years and he couldn't remember...

Of course. When he had stumbled up the stairs sometime around two in the morning, with too much champagne and too much happiness to be held by a single head, he had simply fallen into bed, without setting his alarm. How very embarrassing and what a lucky coincidence that his Mistress wasn't home to witness this. Her daughter however was currently belting against his door and there was faint giggling to be heard from the other side.

"Good morning, Mr. Butler," Jane quipped, when he finally pulled the offending piece of wood open to face her and his slip-up. Behind her, with a mild smile to her face, stood Dorothy, a washing basket in hand.

"I am truly embarrassed, Miss Jane," Tobias began. "I'm not sure what happened-"

"No time for apologies, Mr. B," the girl cut him off. "It is almost 9 o'clock and we need to leave and find Lucy."

Mr. Butler stared at her in confusion.

"I was of the belief that we had exhausted all possibilities yesterday?" he asked after a beat. "Has any new information come through?"

"Not quite, Mr. B. But I will tell you in the car. Please do hurry!" Jane laughed, already on the way back to her own room. The butler looked at Dot, who smiled at him.

"I fear she had a revelation last night."

"Ahh," Mr. Butler made. "Well, we certainly wouldn't want to let that go to waste," he grinned on afterthought, and retreated to get dressed.

X

Mrs. Robinson found her inner balance in a hot bowl of water, while soaking their breakfast dishes. During cleaning up the washhouse and dumping some buckets of water into the privy, she had come to a conclusion. She would corner Jack in the afternoon, clear the air and straighten all crossed wires. She was certain by now, that he had gotten her meaning completely and utterly wrong this morning - which she grumpily admitted, was mostly her own fault. Jack had never been weak, yet right now she needed him to be strong, simply because she wasn't. Phryne felt overwhelmed - overrun by memories and fears that she had all but forgotten. In the light of this it was probably not particularly helpful to berate him for trying to take weight off her shoulders.

A cup slipped through her fingers and fell into the washing bowl, splashing her with soapy water. Cursing, Phryne took a step backwards and tried to brush the drops of her blouse that hadn't soaked straight in.

"Don't you dare laugh at me," she warned Albert, who was looking at her smugly. The spider just shook his head, slowly crawling to a further edge of the window frame.

"Why would I do that?" a friendly voice behind her asked, causing her to jump. She turned to look at Adelheid, who had the decency to look embarrassed to have barged into her house without knocking.

"I'm sorry, but your door was open," she said in way of explanation, before Phryne had had time to make up her mind whether to be angry or swallow down her annoyance. That would explain the cold draft Mrs. Robinson had blamed on the flimsy build of the house, but intensified her worry. Jack not pulling the door shut properly didn't bode well for his state of mind. His habit of fleeing when he got hurt or confused was thoroughly infuriating, even though she knew that he had been late for work in the end.

"Please come in," Phryne said, trying to keep her voice level, when she realised, that her neighbour was still waiting in the door. Just then her eyes fell on the bin on the floor beside her working bench. Gently she nudged it behind the firewood, hoping to hide the fact that the disgusting cake had come to an untimely end. She turned and found to her relief that Adelheid Willis wasn't watching her at all, but instead busy sitting down the same basket on her lap as yesterday. Phryne feared another round of well intentioned home made goods, but decided that she would deal with the problem once it was revealed.

"Do you mind me finishing?" she asked, offering a seat. "I am almost done."

"Oh please, don't worry about me," Adelheid laughed. "I just sent my children off to school and decided to drop by. Your Jack sounded terrible last night, I thought. So I brought some remedies. The factory work is hard on him, is it?"

Phryne smiled thinly, wiping her wet hands on a dish towel.

"It certainly isn't what I was wishing for him," she admitted honestly, sitting down across the other woman. "But he's got to do what he must."

A warm hand was laid over hers and Phryne started. So it was that obvious, was it?

"He'll be just fine, trust me," Adelheid said, her rather beautiful eyes turning serious. "When my Terry started working, he was sore for a month and he'd come home every night complaining. But he's gotten over it. Now it's just a job."

Mrs. Robinson nodded solemnly. The idea of her husband getting used to being a human machine exploited for profit, didn't comfort her in the slightest. The clever, funny, wonderful Jack, trapped in a mindless job full of nothingness. Of course, the chances were slim. They would find the Grog Baron, Sanderson was after and then they'd return home to Jane and Dot and Hugh and Mr. Butler and the Cabbies. She really missed even Cec and Bert, Phryne realised with a start. Adelheid's fingers tightened around her hand, before she suddenly withdrew.

"Now, no time for sad faces, Fanny. I brought you some things to fix up that man of yours and then things will get easier."

"That's lovely of you."

Another forced smile. Phryne really was getting the hang of this friendly neighbourly chatting. Quite simple really.

What if they would never find the man? She hadn't figured out anything yet, nothing at all. And Jack was only chasing after some vague rumours. What if they were stuck here? Of course, they could always leave, the rational part of her brain protested. But the little Phryne in her, the one that was scared out of her mind right now, wasn't sure if it was that easy at all. Their investigation hadn't brought any results of yet and Sanderson could probably force them to stay here forever. A second later, everything changed.

Adelheid took the cloth off the basket, revealing a colourful collection of items. Mrs. Robinson spotted a half empty jar of honey, some suspicious looking herbs and bottle of cough syrup. But the first thing Adelheid pulled from the basket's midst was a big brown bottle, without any label.

"This should fix him up in no time at all," she prompted, while Phryne curiously took the medicine from her hands and removed the cork to take a whiff. It was exactly what she had expected and her eyes squeezed shut on their own accord.

"Bootleg?" she asked. Adelheid laughed. "Nah, this is better. This stuff's purely Collingwood. It's strong, so don't give him much. But it will scare every illness straight out of here."

Phryne laughed and this time it was real. Adelheid laughed along, even though she had no idea, why her opposite looked quite so happy.

X

Hugh Collins walked through the Station door with blurry eyes. It was barely 10 o'clock and he hadn't gone to sleep until 4.30, but the young girl soaked in her own blood wouldn't let him get any more rest. With a quick greeting, he walked past Jones, who was currently holding down the front desk, picked up a dark green folder and slammed the door of Inspector Robinson's office shut behind himself. Silence welcomed the Constable and specks of dust glittering in the sparse light falling through the closed window. Hugh had had a realisation last night. What the DI would want him to do right now, was not bide his time while he was gone and wait for his return. He'd tell him to step up to the plate and be a proper help to Inspector Morgan. And somewhere around 7 am, when Hugh had been wakened by Dottie crawling out of bed as quietly as possible, he had realised, that that was exactly what he was going to do.

So what if half the town was laughing at him? He had helped bring a serial-killer down. Surely it didn't matter, how exactly that had happened. And he would make certain that Inspector Robinson's name would stay clear from everything that had to do with the "Butcher"-Case. While Hugh really thought that all praise was due to the Robinsons for their hard work and the great risk they had taken, he had to agree with Mr. Butler. It was too dangerous right now to throw any twilight on the Inspector. The Constable vividly remembered the day last autumn, when his superior officer had dropped off the edge of the planet. And the sight that had greeted him upon stepping through the door into the basement of the Browning mansion after they had finally found the place that DI Robinson was held in, had burned itself into his brain, never to be forgotten.

Hugh had spent the rest of the day, the following night and the next two days interviewing people, comforting the crying Dottie and waiting. He couldn't remember ever having waited this hard in his life. It had been more than uncertain if the Inspector would ever wake up again. When his fever had finally broken and Doctor Mac had announced that he'd pull through to the collection of people assembled at Sanderson's house, Hugh had come to a decision of his own. A week later, over lunch, he had explained to his mother that he was in love with a Catholic girl and intended to marry her. Life was too short to waste it on compromises.

Hugh had never talked about that time with anyone, least of all the Inspector himself. He felt that nobody wanted to mention it. Almost as if, as long as nobody said it out loud, it hadn't really occurred at all. They all just happened to have had the same nightmare. Hugh had no desire to stir up the doubtlessly painful memories of everybody involved. But the pictures were burned into his mind and they would stay there for the rest of life.

So, no matter how many people would laugh at him, he would do anything to keep Elaine Browning safely locked up for remainder of her existence. If she was hanged or not, he couldn't really bring himself to care much about. Hugh wasn't a great supporter of killing people, just or not. But that she didn't walk free, mattered a great deal to him.

The papers started to print more and more stories that cast doubt whether Jack Robinson had been kidnapped at all. Maybe Sanderson had made the whole thing up, they said, to get rid of his predecessor. After all it was more than convenient that his son-in-law of all people would be his main witness, a victim and the investigating police officer all at once. Hugh couldn't help but wonder if Sanderson had made the right decision by sending the DI away just now. It was politics, all politics. And he didn't know anything about that.

But he did know his police work, the Constable decided and sitting down behind the Inspector's desk, he flipped open the missing persons folder. He only reached page three, before the door was opened.

"Here you are, Constable," Morgan said mildly. "Have you found our girl yet?"

Collins looked up and shook his head.

"I'm afraid I've only just begun, Inspector. But I will find her."

In the same moment, there was a knock at the other door. Jones pushed his head through the gap, as if he needed to beg permission to enter the office, even though Collins was of the same rank. It was a somewhat awkward situation and Hugh almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"What is it, Jones?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"There is a young man here. I think you might want to speak to him."