After a lovely 13 hour working day, I sadly lack the mindspace for any editing, but didn't want to deny you your goodnight story. Please feel free to ignore any obvious mistakes. ;)
Chapter 14: Relativity
Phryne's feet had sped up on their way home to their little cottage. The afternoon sun, illuminating the colouring trees along the streets, did it's best to warm her face and the meeting with Eddie Wenbrock had left her strangely happy. No, not all of her memories were terrible ones. Maybe, once this was over she could have a cup of tea with him. If he still wanted to while she was not living in Collingwood and wearing a brown cotton skirt. That thought should have dampened her enthusiasm, but strangely it didn't. Jack was probably on his way home as well right now, and truthfully she couldn't wait to talk to him. Also, there was a promise she was going to hold him to – and not only to sleep. Grinning, she all but skipped down the pavement, when loud shouting caused her to stop. A familiar male figure stood in front of a small cottage, trying currently to protect his face from an item being thrown at him. The pot bounced of his arm and onto the cobbles with loud clattering.
"Mrs. Kerby, I need to talk to you."
Something else flew. The man in the black uniform caught the broom with his hand.
"Will you please stop throwing things at me, I just want to talk!"
There was silence, for a long moment. Then a head popped through the offending window.
"Nothin' I wanna talk about with a copper. Especially not 'bout my girl!"
The cloth following her words sailed weakly down at Constable Collins feet. Hugh was wondering what to do. He was fairly certaint that Inspector Robinson would have fixed this easily. He himself, however, couldn't even get through the door. A hand picked up the cleaning cloth, holding it out to the policeman.
"Do you require help, Constable?" a smiling voice asked.
"Mrs. Ro...? Thank you, Ma'am." Hugh cleared his throat and whispered. "She won't talk to me, I tried everything. Even begging."
Phryne pulled her lips into a thoughtful gesture.
"Why do you wish to talk to her?"
"I believe we found her daughter, dead, Mrs... Ma'am."
"Well, there's your answer, why she won't listen. Nobody wants to receive a message like that."
The Constable nodded grimly.
"It's not going to go away by her ignoring it though."
Mrs. Robinson hummed thoughtful agreement, then shoved the basket at Collins and stepped towards the door.
"Mrs. Kerby? It's Fanny Turner from across the street. Please open up."
After a long moment, a bolt was removed and the door slowly opened. A woman with a half undone dark hairdo appeared. Her skin looked as grey as her blouse. For a long moment, the two women looked at each other, then Mrs. Kerby retreated, letting her guest into the house. Phryne waved a the Constable to follow. Hugh scrambled after the two women into the kitchen. A thick fog of food was hanging in the air and he almost fell over a child crawling on the floor. It laughed at him, completely undisturbed by the grim message he bore.
The woman waved a grey hand at the table for them to sit down. Hugh did as he was told, even though, now he was in, he longed to be back outside. Then she sat down herself, locking her arms in defiance of what was to come. Hugh set down his hat, collecting his thoughts.
"Mrs. Kerby, we had a visit to the station this morning by a Josh Colbert."
"The little cad!" the woman spat.
"He said, your daughter Helen, she has gone missing?" Hugh asked, ignoring her burst out. Phryne watched the scene unfold quietly. She was quite sure, that there was a child drooling onto her foot, but right now, she didn't have any head to be disgusted.
"She's just stayed out overnight. She'll be back." The woman kneaded her hands on the tabletop. "She'll be back," she repeated in resistance of the news.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kerby. But I believe, we found her dead last night near Collins Bridge. Mr. Colbert has identified her."
The woman shook her head.
"That's not true," she said. "You're lying. Coppers always lie!"
"I'm afraid it is," Hugh said, looking at her with huge, sincere eyes. Even Mrs. Kerby could not imagine this man pulling a cruel joke on her.
"It's not true," she repeated, staring at Phryne, who reached out and grabbed her hand.
"I'm terribly sorry," the lady detective whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Her opposite still seemed to be unwilling to believe what she couldn't deny any longer.
"But my Helen was hardly 19," she said, "she was in the family way too, wanted to get married. She can't just die like that!"
While she started crying, Hugh fiddled with his collar. Phryne stared at him, the truth dawning on her. There was more to this and it wasn't pretty.
"Ma'am, as things stand it doesn't look like she just died 'like that'."
Hugh gulped. Now Phryne felt the want to hold his hand, but that would have been rather odd for someone she had just met for the first time five minutes ago. Bravely the Constable pushed on.
"The Coroner believes, she has tried to... get rid of her troubles, Ma'am."
The woman's head rose in shock, a hand flying up to her mouths. Phryne's grip around her hand tightened, hoping that she wouldn't jump up to strangle the traitorous copper any moment.
"But... my Helen wanted the kid. Josh was gonna marry her."
Constable Collins swallowed. He knew what Colbert had told him an hour ago. That he couldn't have married Helen, his father wouldn't have allowed it. And that he had told her just that the last time he saw her, before she had disappeared. He had had troubles to keep himself from punching the man for not standing up for his mistakes, but right now he feared that he was going to cause a murder if he told the whole story.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, that's what the Coroner says."
"So, someone butchered my girl?!"
Hugh and Phryne traded a look.
"We believe so, Ma'am."
Mrs. Kerby jumped to her feet.
"So, what are ya sittin' in my kitchen for? Get out there and find the scoundrel who's done it."
The kid underneath the table started to cry as if it had finally understood that something terrible had happened. The crying mother pulled him out and hugged the little boy tightly to her chest. The Constable and Mrs. Robinson rose in unison, upset, but glad to escape.
"Good day, Ma'am," Hugh said.
"Hardly," the woman grumbled, without looking at him. At the door Phryne picked up her basket that had been left on the floor. One of the apples had a child sized bite taken out of it. Gently, Phryne laid the piece of fruit onto the kitchen table before leaving the house. Under the howling of the boy and the gentle berating of his mother, they stepped back out into the bright sunlight.
"So, your coroner is certain that she died of an abortion, Hugh?" Phryne asked quietly, while they stood, rather shaken, staring into the street.
"We found her wrapped in a blood-soaked bedsheet," the Constable answered, keeping his voice low. "Her fiance had broken off the engagement yesterday."
"Coward! Any evidence to where she came from?"
"None."
There was silence for a long moment.
"Is everybody alright at home?" Phryne whispered.
"Perfectly fine, Ma'am."
Mrs. Robinson smiled.
"Keep it that way, will you?"
"I will try my hardest, Ma'am."
A curious head was stuck out the window on the opposite side of the road and Mrs. Robinson realised that it was time to move or they would start to look awkward. Luckily, Hugh had the same thought.
"Thank you for your help again, Ma'am," he said loud enough for the whole street to hear. "I am not certain, if she would have let me in without your interference."
"Just being a good neighbour," Phryne answered. "It's too tragic. The poor woman."
She shook her head in sorrow.
"Good day, Constable."
She turned on her heels and stalked off, feeling the loss of a chance to reconnect with home, with Jane and Dot, in her heart. But it was calming to know that they were safe. And Jack should be back from work by now, waiting for her return. She had plenty to tell him.
When she pushed through the door only a few seconds later, she found the Inspector at the table, flicking through a newspaper. He looked up, smiling, when she entered, then rose to take the basket from her hands.
"Emptying the shops, Miss Fisher?" he asked grinning. "I was wondering what took you so long, but this explains it."
Phryne sank onto a chair, watching as he unpacked the goods. He looked positively haggard, she noticed with concern, but right now, she didn't want to start another argument. There was also an empty plate sitting on the table, a promising trail of breadcrumbs strewn over it's surface. So he had been listening after all.
"Actually, I just stumbled into Hugh and a murder," she said. Jack stopped in the middle of detangling the carrots from the celery and turned.
"How is it, that murder follows you everywhere, Miss Fisher?"
Phryne grinned and shrugged.
"Poor girl across the street bled to death after someone attempted to get her out of the pudding club with the help of a sharp object."
The phrase caused Jack's memories of his talk with Natalija to resurface. He sat down.
"An abortion racket?" he asked.
"Looks like we got another one on our hands," Phryne sighed. "And little we can do about it while we are playing Mr. and Mrs. Undercover."
"The girl across the street? Three houses down?" Jack asked, the eavesdropped words from the other night returning and making him shiver. He had been wrong. There had been murder lurking.
"Her sweetheart got cold feet, it appears."
"So her mother was correct in thinking that he wasn't marriage material," Jack mumbled darkly, then turned away to sneeze. Noticing Phryne's curious look, he explained in brief words what he had witnessed. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, where his pulse was beating a tad too fast.
"You couldn't have known," she said gently. Jack looked at her, less surprised than he should have been. Phryne had mastered the art of reading his thoughts some time ago. Carefully, he peeled her fingers from his arm and rose to finish the unpacking.
"Oh, there is some news to our sly booze case as well," Phryne casually stated, while picking up his paper. "I had another chat with your friend Adelheid this morning."
Jack swallowed down a cough, before answering.
"Phryne, I am not certain if this contact is well advised. I know you said she didn't recognise me, but she might eventually. And if she does, it could endanger everything."
His wife didn't look up, seemingly enthralled in the paper.
"I don't think it will be easy to avoid her dropping by. She does live next door and is determined to be a good neighbour. In fact, her visit this morning was very interesting."
Turning her attention back to her husband, she found Jack holding up the raw chicken by it's neck, staring at it in disgust.
"Are you battling the urge to burst into Hamlet, Jack?" Phryne smirked.
"I am merely wondering what you're dinner plans are entailing. You were saying?"
"Adelheid happened to bring by a bottle of this this morning, as a remedy for you."
Saying this, Mrs. Robinson had slipped to her feet and fished the brown bottle from it's hiding place in the cabinet. Jack let his arm sink, seemingly forgetting about the chicken.
"Is that...?"
"The potion of our Grog Baron," finished Phryne happily. "She is still a little reluctant to tell me where she is getting it from, but I think I might be able to persuade her to share her little secret, given a little time. She is not exactly discretion itself."
Jack nodded, dropping the chicken onto a chopping board and wiped his hands on a towel, before sitting down. His eyes were burning and his head still throbbing, but currently he didn't want to succumb to the urge to collapse into bed, just yet. Thoughtfully he rolled the bottle between his hands.
"What makes you think that she knows where it's coming from?"
"A little bird tweeted in my ear that Adelheid and her husband seem to have a little more money at their disposal than his job warrants."
"So, you believe, she is has joined the business?" Jack asked, unsure how to feel about this revelation.
"Well, she wouldn't be the first. Children want to be fed. Her husband Terry is working up at Gabler's. They're not known to pay the world up there and the depression would have made it worse."
"There is other ways than selling illegal grog," the Inspector prompted.
"Is there, Jack?"
He felt anger flare up, while she was glittering at him in defiance.
"There is laws for a reason, Phryne. And this," he lifted the bottle, slamming it back down, "is poison."
"There is people starving here! Maybe the law should worry more about keeping those children fed than what their fathers drink. Then their mothers wouldn't have to sell sly grog for a living."
For a moment they glittered at each other angrily, until a sneeze ended their quiet stand-off.
"Excuse me," Jack choked out, fiddling for a clean handkerchief. To his annoyance he found that they were all in an abominable state. His last good one had gone to Natalija. He needed to tell Phryne about her, he realised, needed to share what had left a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Here," his wife said, handing him a lacy piece that was definitely not his. Jack took it gratefully, as another sneeze cut through the kitchen.
"Thank you," he rasped.
"I believe, Inspector, it is time to stand by your word."
He looked at her, his eyes watering. She seemed to have forgotten their flaring argument, instead there was a mixture of guilt and worry edged on her face that scared him. He opened his mouth to say something, even though his brain seemed to have returned to it's state of cotton wool stuffing within the last minute.
"Bed, Jack!" she said firmly, her expression changing and got up to stretch out her hand. Obediently he stood, realising he was still holding on to a bottle.
"As long as you don't make me drink this," he smirked, setting down the sly grog. "Anything you want, Miss Fisher."
There was a smile ghosting over her face that relieved him beyond measure, while he grasped her hand and let her pull him into the bedroom.
"Anything?" she asked, while she helped him get changed. He felt somewhat silly, being treated by her like a child. Also, this was dangerous territory, he realised. It was easy to be lulled in by her innocent demeanour, but she was Phryne after all.
"Anything within reason, Miss Fisher," he stated carefully. Her only answer was a mischievous smile. She gently pushed him down on the bed, but to his disappointment she retreated, pulling the covers up to his neck.
"In that case, I demand that you attempt acting with some reason and stay in bed until you have regained your health."
Jack opened his mouth but was cut off before he could utter a syllable.
"And please do not try to argue this with me, Jack. I do know where you are hiding your handcuffs and I am not afraid to use them."
The Inspector felt his stomach flip at the blatant threat and the memories it woke. Falling into Phryne's hands when she felt particularly cheeky, was dangerous and also highly arousing. His reaction must have been obvious to her, as she grinned at him, already standing in the door.
"I will join you later, Jack," she promised. "But first there are things to take care of. And you would do better in getting some rest," she added, watching him stifle a yawn.
"What exactly do those 'things' entail, Miss Fisher?" he asked, feeling heaviness crawl into every fibre of his body. It wasn't particularly calming for him to know her running about while he was asleep and unable to chase after her. But then, he did feel incredibly tired.
"Oh, just a little harmless sleuthing," she smiled.
"Please be careful," he begged of her, while his eyes fluttered shut.
"Always am," Phryne lied, stepping beside the bed and pressing a kiss to her husband's lip. Soft breathing was the only answer she got. Inspector Robinson was already asleep.