Chapter 22: Ultraviolet
He was absent-mindedly stirring in his mash, building a little mountain.
"Hugh?" he heard his wife ask. He started.
"I'm sorry, Dottie, I was just thinking."
But Dorothy just smiled, putting her hand over his.
"The girls?"
"It seems unfair," he exclaimed. "They should be able to be happy they are having children, not die, trying to fix the 'problem'."
Dot chewed on her lip in thought, while she pierced some peas with her fork.
"It's not that easy though," she finally said vaguely.
"I know that," he said quietly. For a while, neither of them said anything, while their food went cold on the plates.
"Why do you think the Inspector was there?" he finally asked. "And Mrs. Robinson?"
His wife didn't look up from her plate.
"Maybe the racket was what they were looking for."
A small smile lit up Hugh's face. The idea of the Inspector returning soon, was a real comfort to him. Even though he was starting to like Inspector Morgan, he missed Robinson and his wife. Glancing at Dottie, he decided that he didn't want to share this with her. It would come out rather strangely.
"I hope they are back soon now," she sighed. "I miss them."
"So do I," he admitted, after a beat. They shared an embarrassed half-smile over the table and returned to eating their cold mash, when a knock came to the door.
"Are you expecting anyone?" Hugh asked, already on his feet. Dottie shook her head. The surprise was huge, when the Constable realised, who had found the way to their doorstep.
"Sanderson?... I mean, good evening, Commissioner."
Hugh cleared his throat, missing the glimmer of amusement in his opposites eye.
"Good evening, Constable. May I?"
Collins felt himself blush, but stepped aside.
"Of course, Sir," he stuttered.
George Sanderson wandered past him and straight into the kitchen, where he greeted Dot. She examined him with open distrust, before offering him a drink which he declined and a seat that he took. Hugh hesitantly sat down, feeling it was unreal to have the Chief Commissioner haunt his kitchen.
"I am terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner," he quipped, not looking sorry at all, while he set down his hat. "But the reasons for my visit are rather urgent."
The spouses shared a look over the table.
"I trust you follow the newspapers reporting on Elaine Browning's pending execution?"
"Naturally," Dot quipped, unwilling to be impressed by him. She couldn't quite forgive him for having sent the Robinsons away and she couldn't see the point in his visit as of yet. Hugh just nodded.
"So you will be aware that the case is currently on shaky grounds. There will be a hearing tomorrow afternoon. I will be frank with you, Constable, Mrs. Collins, if we do not convince the judge and dare I say it, the public, of her guilt in Detective-Inspector Robinson's capture and almost demise, we are holding bad cards."
"She will be released?" Dot exclaimed in horror, before she could stop herself. The Commissioner, who had been staring at a thoughtful Hugh, turned.
"I rather hope we will be able to prevent that, Mrs. Collins, but I will need your help."
Both spouses listened in silence, while Sanderson explained what he expected from them.
X
When Jack finally released Phryne's wrists, she collapsed into his arms in a sweaty, but satisfied mess. The Inspector held her tightly, while her breath slowed down.
"Jack?" she whispered into his neck.
He stroked her hair in response, retreating to look at her.
"I believe it is time to retrieve the pudding from the oven or we will have to starve after all."
Jack looked confused for a moment. Truth be told, he had completely forgotten the reason they had been in the kitchen to start with. But there was a delicious smell hanging in the air that caused his mouth to water. Gently, he helped Phryne onto her shaky legs, before attending to dinner. When he, cursing, set the burning hot form onto the table, before turning away to sneeze, his wife stood in the middle of the kitchen with two spoons in her hand.
"I fear, we ran out of plates, Jack," she smirked. "There is only one left. But then, I don't mind sharing."
He couldn't help but grin. Minutes later, they were lying wrapped up in bed, a warm plate of comfortably hot bread pudding between them which tasted even better than it had smelled. Jack could feel his limbs sink into the cheap mattress. It had been a long day and he was exhausted and now cold and shaky instead of glowing hot. He failed to notice that Phryne was watching him with a frown.
"You're not getting worse again, are you?" she asked.
"I am fine," he fibbed, pulling the blanket higher.
"You are and always will be a terrible liar," she said calmly, stretching out a hand to feel his forehead. He snatched up her fingers and pressed a kiss to them, before she could get there.
"So I am. But I also will live through this cold," he assured her, digging his spoon into the warm mess of bread.
"I would hope so," she grumbled, but gave up. The truth was that Phryne herself felt rather shaky and she wasn't certain if this were was only the aftershocks of their adventure on the kitchen counter. Her raw throat could of course be only the result an abundance of screaming and groaning, but then it was much more likely, that it was to do with the ice cold bath she had taken in the Yarra.
She thought of Natalija. But before she could open her mouth to inform Jack of her plans to talk to Mac about her, he broke the silence with a thought of his own.
"As much as I enjoy our little adventures in Collingwood, Phryne, we need to make some headway in finding this grog-business. I want you out of here, before you lose your mind."
His words were so sudden and bold that she was stunned for a moment. Quiet anger bubbled in her stomach. One little meltdown and he thought her incapable of taking care of herself. Phryne looked up, ready to draw her line in the sand, but the nasty words died on her tongue. Jack's eyes were dark in the sparse light of the gas lamp, watching her, waiting for her reaction. There was so much love written through them that her annoyance evaporated. Jack was done pretending that he couldn't see her pain - It was as simple as that. She reached out her hand, curling her cool finger over his forehead. This time, he didn't stop her.
"You're burning up," she said more calmly than she felt.
Jack bedded his head on the cool pillow, before answering.
"I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I do feel like I've been through the wringer," he admitted.
Phryne turned, rumbling around in her night stand for a moment, then shoved something in Jack's mouth without a warning. He frowned, pulling the thermometer from between his teeth.
"Wherever have you stolen that from, Miss Fisher?"
His wife smiled mischievously.
"I might have loaned it from Mac, while she was here."
"I'm sure, her patients will appreciate your efforts."
"She is working in a hospital, I'm quite certain they can obtain another one. Now be a good patient, Jack."
The Inspector rolled his eyes, but allowed her slim fingers to put the instrument back into his mouth. After a while she retreated it, inspecting it sceptically in the dim light.
"38..." she quinted, "...5. You are running a fever!"
It almost sounded like an accusation. The Inspector's effort to answer was cut short by an inconvenient coughing attack.
Phryne watched him, frowning, then settled the empty plate on her night stand and turned off the lamp, before she lay down on her own side.
"Maybe we should just call it quits," she said after a long moment of listening to him gasping for breath.
"Since when are you so easily defeated, Miss Fisher?" her husband's rough voice asked into the darkness.
"Jack, you are sick and I currently burst into tears at the sight of a soup pot." An embarrassed smile accompanied this statement. "That is hardly what I would call a hasty surrender."
The Inspector thought about this for a moment, watching her settle into her pillow.
"But then we had barely time of yet to investigate into Gabler's. It does seem a promising lead," he pointed out.
Phryne sighed.
"I hate to admit that you aren't wrong, Inspector."
"Those words from your mouth, Phryne?"
She rolled her eyes in mock-annoyance.
"It would be a shame to abandon our assignment at this stage. But I yearn for a hot bath and my wardrobe and for Jane and Dot and... I miss them, Jack."
It wasn't what she had meant to say, but the truth seemed to suddenly have no intention to be kept in her mouth any longer. Hot fingers twisted through her hair, gently curled through her locks.
"I miss every single one of them. Even you, Jack, I miss you."
A thumb was stroking her cheek. Phryne realised that she was crying – again! She wanted to apologize, for being weak and for insulting him. But somehow, through nothing short of a miracle, he understood her meaning. Neither of them had really been themselves, since they had arrived here. They had tried their hardest, but somehow the desperation of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Turner had overtaken them all the same. Maybe it was the acting or the the place or all the shadows lurking wherever the moonlight couldn't reach, but somehow they had forgotten how to be happy.
As if drawn in by an invisible force, the spouses moved closer to each other, wrapping their bodies together under the warm covers, until it was hard to tell which limb belonged to whom. Phryne buried her face in Jack's neck, giving up on being ashamed of her tears.
After some time, a salty drop fell onto her forehead. She didn't say a word, just crawled deeper into his embrace. Jack felt like an idiot while hot tears burned in his eyes. He had tried with all his strength to push on and protect her from the despair in his heart and all he had achieved was to build a wall between them.
"I miss my chess matches with Jane," he whispered. He could feel her smile against the tender skin of his neck and took it as an encouragement. "This mattress is giving me back pain. And I am furious and scared out of my mind in equal amounts at the prospect of Elaine Browning walking. I fear that if I ever met her on the street, I might pull the trigger, before my head catches up."
There was silvery silence for a long moment, with the moon dipping the wrapped together bodies into its pale light. Stifling a cough over his wife's head, Jack wondered if he had said too much. But her arms seemed to wrap even tighter around his back. He shivered in her embrace.
"I can't stop thinking that my parents blamed me for Janey's disappearance," Phryne said quietly, her voice rough with emotion. "That my father always knew that I was a terrible child and his behaviour was my punishment."
Jack felt his heart stop. He was aching to talk this nonsense away, but it was not the time, he sensed. This was just baring their souls; there was no room for comforting words. So he silently stroked her hair and felt her cool tears tickle on their way down his neck, before they sank into the pillow.
"I despise porridge," he stated calmly, after a pause. Her laughter tickled and lifted a weight from both their hearts.
"How do you think about us giving this until Tuesday?" Phryne proposed after they had lain for a while in comfortable silence. "If by then we haven't made any progress, Sanderson may find his Grog Baron himself. "
The reason why she had picked the day after tomorrow she didn't mention, but it wasn't necessary. They both knew that it was the day of Elaine Browning's execution. They then should be fine to return home, with or without success in their assignment. But of course, they were both too ambitious to just give up a case as lost and also, they wouldn't hand Sanderson the chance to destroy their partnership without a fight.
"So, what is our plan," Jack murmured sleepily.
"If you should, despite the odds, be in any state to do so, you could try and retrieve some information from your co-workers," Phryne smiled. "I am quite certain, you will find any support from Eddie, you could need. He seems to have overcome any distrust."
"Saving his sweetheart will do that," Jack mumbled. But Phryne wasn't listening. She was plotting.
"And I will head up to Gabler's and convince them of my qualities."
"Which ones would that be then, Phryne?"
His wife pretended to pout, an effort that was completely spoiled by the fact that he couldn't see her face in their current position.
"All of them, naturally, Jack. But mostly I will pretend to be in desperate need of a job, which should hopefully enable me to infiltrate the company."
Jack's eyes snapped open.
"You intend to sneak through the factory? On your own?"
"Shhhs, Jack," she made into his neck, more amused and flattered, than annoyed at his worry.
"Just some harmless sleuthing. Now go to sleep, we have plenty of work to do."
"Nothing you do is ever harmless," the Inspector grumbled. But really, he was too tired and comfortable to argue with her. Soon his breath evened out. Phryne lay awake for a long time, pondering and planning the next day. The moon looked on, smiling, when she finally, gently retreated from the embrace of her husband, who groaned in his sleep at the loss. She pressed a kiss to his hot forehead, before rolling over. Just a little fever and only two more days to go. They would be alright. The moon vanished behind a dark cloud, leaving her in darkness. Phryne closed her eyes and sent a little prayer to whoever might be listening. 'Dear God, please let us be alright.'