Chapter 16: Jupiter
"You know, I was actually looking forward to sleeping in today," Mac grumbled, walking into the kitchen. Phryne gestured for her to lower her voice. The Doctor seemed little convinced, but set down her hat before falling onto a chair.
"Is your precious husband asleep then?" she asked, no less loud.
"No, he isn't."
In the bedroom door leaned Jack, grinning, in pyjamas and a morning gown, which was a rather disturbing combination for the ever proper Inspector.
"But considering that we don't officially know you, it might be a good idea if not all of our neighbours found out."
"Considering that you just drew me out of bed, where I intended to spend the rest of my free day with Hazel, I believe it is not the time to give me lectures, Jack," she gave back.
"First and foremost, it wasn't me calling you but my beloved, if somewhat overbearing wife," Jack countered to Phryne's annoyance, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eye. "And secondly, what you do or not do with my cousin inside the sanctity of your bedroom is none of my concern. But do give my love to her."
Mac grinned lopsided and rose.
"Lets get this over with then. She is waiting on me."
Phryne watched the couple retreat to the bedroom with a smile on her lips, before returning to her task of making breakfast. There were some strict orders, some less strict argument and laughter that was missing any form of strictness whatsoever. Ten minutes later, they emerged.
"In my humble, but nevertheless highly professional opinion, your husband is suffering of a simple cold," Elisabeth stated, packing her bag. "I'd recommend tea, chicken soup and-"
"We tried both already," Phryne said.
"-and patience," Mac finished, rolling her eyes. "You should make an attempt at that, challenging as it may be."
"What about the fever?" her friend asked, ignoring the jibe at her lack of that certain virtue.
"Slightly above normal temperature. Hardly worth mentioning," Mac smiled, finishing up. She turned to her friend, who still looked worried, grabbing her by the shoulder.
"He's fine, Phryne. I would prefer if you both came back to St. Kilda soon, however."
"You think, Jack's at risk here?" Phryne asked.
"I was rather thinking that you are much more fun near a tumbler of whisky."
Grinning, Mac donned her hat and tipped it at her friend, before leaving. Phryne stood for a moment lost in the kitchen, before remembering to stir the porridge. She felt somewhat deflated by the doctor's diagnosis. Not that she wanted to Jack to be seriously ill, she assured herself quickly. But her concern had followed her into her dreams, had been the first thing on her mind waking up. To have it brushed off like this seemed rather rude. Also, there was little reason now to keep him from returning to his terrible job on Monday morning.
"A penny for your thoughts," his voice whispered, before a pair of soft lips kissed her neck. Phryne closed her eyes, trying to not succumb to the involuntary smile spreading over her face.
"Breakfast is ready," she avoided his question, pulling the pot of the stove. He was alright. She should be celebrating, not pulling a long face. When she turned, she spotted the slightest glimpse of annoyance on the Inspector's features. It vanished so fast that she wondered if she had only imagined things. Dishing out the porridge into the bowls, he had readily pulled from the cupboard, she watched him stir honey into his tea and wondered if she should ask what was going on in his head. And, could he tell what was on her mind?
He stared for a long moment into his bowl, his spoon in hand, as if he was battling with himself. Phryne squirmed unhappily on her chair.
"You seem far away?" she finally tried casually.
"I met a young woman yesterday at the factory," he said, lifting the spoon to his lips. Phryne stopped eating, relief mixing with curiosity. "She is expecting a child."
"Married?" Phryne asked for good measure, even though she knew the answer all too well. He shook his head.
"A bastard child and a coward father." Jack paused for a porridge filled moment. "Just like Helen Kerby."
The detective's eyes met over the table.
"You believe she might try an abortion?" Phryne asked.
"It wouldn't surprise me. Desperate women often do," Jack answered simply.
Phryne sensed that there was another argument lingering. She had plenty to say about the stubbornness with which society and church denied women the right to decide if they wanted children. And also the endless stigma attached to intimate relations out of wedlock. Neither really concerned Jack, she knew. He had never refused to sleep with her before they had been married – quite the opposite. But she also knew, that this was a painful subject for him. Nature had denied his own wish to have children and other people risking their lives to rid themselves of the "problem" must seem like a terrible irony.
"On the other hand, Natalija did seem a rather sensible woman," he stated, interrupting her thoughts. Phryne smiled a surprised smile.
"A rather odd name, don't you think?"
Jack grinned.
"That seems an interesting observation for you, Phryne."
She pouted for good measure, before continuing.
"She wouldn't happen to listen to the surname of Nowak, would she, Jack?"
Now he was the one looking surprised.
"You know her family?" he asked after a moment. Of course, that would make sense. But she shook her head, chewing for an annoyingly long time on her oats.
"I found her name on an envelope last night. I believe it was left by a friend of mine."
Briefly, she filled in Jack on her two odd meetings with her old school friend. When she had finished a deep crease had appeared across his forehead.
"He recognised you?"
"He did. But not to worry, I lied convincingly," she quipped, getting to her feet to collect the bowls. "Doubtlessly one of your many talents," Jack grinned, realising that most of his porridge was still left. She ignored his comment.
"However, I do wonder what he has to write to our mother-to-be."
"Maybe he is said coward fathering her child, although I don't see Wenbrock as the type really."
Phryne shook her head, leaning against the table and watching Jack slowly chewing his way through his porridge with interest.
"Eddie has been many things, but a coward? No." There was a fond smile crossing her features that Jack missed, staring miserably at the rest of his breakfast. "One of the girls once hid a frog in Miss Barnet's bag. When she threatened to punish the whole classroom, he got up and took the blame – and the beating to go along with it."
"And you didn't set her straight?" the Inspector asked.
"That would have rendered his heroic sacrifice pointless, Jack."
"It also would have saved him from a severe beating."
Phryne shrugged.
"That was his choice, not mine. However, he was not a boy who would have let a girl take the fall for his own failings. So, I doubt very much that he would leave a woman alone with a child."
"But then you haven't spoken to him in over 20 years, Phryne."
She looked at the Inspector.
"Not in their honour. And you said it yourself, Jack. He doesn't seem the type."
"Yet he writes unwed women anonymous letters and is worried about being caught," Jack said slowly. "Maybe we should have a word with him."
"That should be hard without drawing suspicion on us. And he already is considering that I might be Phryne Fisher."
Jack pondered this, rubbing his forehead.
"It will have to be me, then. Maybe I can coax something out of him during work."
Phryne hummed under her breath.
"Very true. And till then, we will have a closer look at your friend."
She checked his watch, while he stifled a cough.
"I think, we should still be in time."
"In time for what exactly, Miss Fisher?" Jack asked.
"Church of course, Jack. Now eat up."
Her husband gaped at her openly, then obediently finished his porridge.
"I believe we are Catholic, Mrs. Turner."
"And there I thought we were Anglican."
"According to our little folder, we have converted."
Jack grinned, bravely swallowing the last spoonful. He currently wished he could go back to bed, but he wasn't going to tell Phryne. The truth of the matter was that he was more than relieved. Her willingness to let him take part in the investigation meant that she had given up on worrying that his cold would kill him. Had he known it to be this easy, he'd have asked her to telephone Mac on the first sign of a sore throat.
The Inspector smiled to himself, wandering into the bedroom to get dressed. She joined him at the time he was fastening his braces. They were the thing he really hated about his change of dress, even more than having lost the protection of his three-piece and coat. A belt had been one of the first things he had willingly accepted from Phryne's hands as a gift and he had never looked back. Yet, here he was again, buttoning braces to his trousers. He glanced up at Phryne, currently standing in front of the cabinet in a piece of underwear she probably wouldn't be caught dead in under normal circumstances. How much she must miss her own wardrobe.
He sat down at the edge of the bed to slip his socks on, pondering.
"So, where do we head for a Catholic Church around here?" he asked casually.
"St. Joseph's is the only one I can think of," Phryne answered, while pulling her dress over her head. He sneezed.
"And what do you hope to achieve there?" Jack asked, glancing longingly at his cooling pillow.
"You said it yourself, Jack," his wife smiled, stepping to him and starting to fiddle with his tie. "We need to listen to rumours. Churches are almost as good as kitchens in that respect."
Jack grumbled something under his breath, shrugging into his coat.
"And there I thought, people in churches would be only sitting and praying."
The Inspector completely missed his wife's quizzical stare, as he turned away for a cough. Phryne forced a smile, convincing her reluctant self that she was overreacting.
"I believe there is also a lot of kneeling and standing going on in a Catholic church, Jack. But you would know that better than me."
He groaned. She never forgot anything he told her. He should remember that next time he spilled the beans on some minor detail of his childhood. But most likely, he wouldn't.
"True. But then I only know St. Ignatius and that one I fear is a bit of a walk from here."
A humorous rolling of eyes was the only answer Jack received.
X
Dot and Hugh Collins hadn't walked. They had chosen to take the tram up to Richmond, where Dorothy Williams had gone to church since she was a little girl. The impressive bluestone building lay calmly in the morning sun. Among the people currently heading for the entrances, they spotted a familiar face.
"Sister Magdalene?" Dot called out to her friend. The nun turned, a smile spreading over her face.
"Dorothy, how lovely to see you. And Hugh," she nodded. "We have been missing you lately."
"I fear I had to work last Sunday," the Constable fibbed.
"I'm sure you did," Magdalene said, winking at him. Hugh couldn't help the blush spreading over his ears. The nun, however, didn't seem inclined to dwell on the subject and little later he followed two chattering women down the aisle that he only half a year ago had walked with his bride. A strange feeling of calmness came to him, as he watched the sun fall onto the familiar stone pillars.
They were greeted by the usual picture: the cheerful ocean of colours to the left of the nave, the benches to the right filled with a monotonous sea of grey.
Hugh glanced at his wife, who was still chattering happily with Magdalene, before veering off to the right to join the ranks of men. It wasn't that he disliked being Catholic so much, as that he always felt a little lost. This was Dottie's crowd. His friend, his family went to their church - the one he used to be part of. Not that he regretted having converted. He had wanted to marry his Dottie and this was what it had taken. It was worth it, he realised, looking over to where she sat, laughing, with a happy glow to her cheeks. Absolutely worth it.
While he pondered this a woman walked past, that looked vaguely familiar. Hugh started, resisting the urge to jump up and stop Nell from proceeding. But she seemed to have found what she was looking for. Dot looked up at her and her smile disappeared.
"Nell? What are you doing here?" Hugh heard her ask quietly. He was sweating. And just now, the elderly man beside him was trying to begin a conversation. And so the Constable missed the answer. When he looked back over, Nell had found a place beside her sister and both stared seemingly enthralled at Father Grogan, who was starting his ceremony. Had he been a little closer he might have heard them whisper.
"I am allowed to go to church, you know. You don't have a monopoly on it."
"I didn't say that. It just seems rather odd, considering your choice of occupation."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Nell asked.
Dot bit her lip. She was not quite sure how to answer that. Glancing at Sister Magdalene, she wondered what she must be thinking. Then she remembered the nun's own brother, who was currently spending time in gaol for trying to kill her, amongst other things. She guessed that in direct comparison, she had won the sibling lottery.
"So, you just wanted to listen to Father Grogan preaching about mortal sin then?" she asked after a pause. Now Nell seemed to not know what to say.
"Maybe not," she quipped, turning to her sister. "Honestly, I just wanted to know how you are and if you smoothed over things with your husband. But I am currently wondering, if that was a great idea."
Dot stayed silent for a long moment while Father Grogan broke into something resembling song.
Nell moved to the edge of the bench to get up, when a hand flew up to lay on her arm. Dot turned to her.
"Stay," she said quietly. "Please."
Nell battled a moment with herself, then settled back down. For some time, the sisters just followed the Mass in silence. Dorothy's eyes swept quietly over the crowd of hats. Should she confess to Nell that her reason for coming wasn't all about hearing Father Grogan preach either?
"Have you seen Valerie Wright lately?" she whispered, turned in Magdalene's direction.
"No. I believe there was some trouble," the nun said enigmatically. Dot's curiosity was woken.
"What sort of trouble?"
Someone expressed her anger at the continuous chattering with a "Shhhs," that was a lot louder than any of the whispers shared between the three women. Heads turned. Dot felt a blush spread over her cheeks and decided not to follow her sleuthing till the Mass was over.
"She left her husband."
The voice answering her, was matter-of-fact and not Magdalene's. Dot turned to Nell in shock. Her sister faced her, grinning and shrugging. "Her brother is quite good friends with Bell," she answered the unasked question.
"I don't want to know what kind of friendship you are referring to," Dot grumbled under her breath, before she could stop herself.
"Friends. You must have heard of them, Sis," Nell grinned. "Strangely it seem to be always the most straight-laced people that have their mind the deepest emerged into the gutter."
Dot didn't say anything. The blush was intensifying and she felt that she was losing ground as well as track of the investigation.
"Why did the marriage break up then?" she asked after a pause, while pretending to care about what the priest had to say about mortal sin.
"The word is that she refused to carry his child and he got rather rough with her."
Dorothy nodded. For a while Father Grogan's impressive voice washed over his flock.
"I need to talk to her," Mrs. Collins finally said, with some resolve.
"Nobody knows where she is," Magdalene cut in from the other side. "She has disappeared."
"Make that almost nobody," Nell grinned.
"Amen!" all three women said, rising to their feet.