Good evening, everybody. I brought a lovely inner ear virus thing back from Sydney that is currently flattening me. So again, updates might be not in best shape for the next few days (reducing the risk of vomiting on my keyboard while editing.). Thank you though for your lovely feedback, I appreciate it. I'll try and keep the speed up, because I know you're curious. ;)

Chapter 24: Quantum Mechanics

Mrs. Phryne Robinson felt sweat trickle down her neck. The stupid needle just wouldn't do as she wanted it to. Possibly pretending to be an experienced seamstress had been a tiny bit of an overstatement. But surely she wouldn't be defeated by a a petticoat in a ghastly shade of pink.

It had been too easy to convince the other women waiting in the icy morning for a stab at this job to go home with a few pounds in their pockets. Very easy, but admittedly not overly subtle.

She'd better figure out what Gabler's was hiding before the blunt breech of her role as Mrs. Turner made the rounds and blew their cover once and for all. If her inability at stitching didn't do the trick.

Angrily Phryne sucked on her finger.

"Don't get blood on the fabric," a female voice advised her. "They'll take it out of yer wages, if ya do."

"Thank you for the kind hint," Phryne quipped.

"The first day is always bad," the woman informed her, unasked for. "It gets easier."

Phryne tried to imitate the tiny stitches she knew from Dot's handy work, without answering. She knew that the elder lady with the wrinkly fingers meant well. But she had heard the same words too often. It would get easier. But would it? Jack's factory job was for sure partly responsible for him lying in bed with a fever. But at least he had finally given up defying her attempts to keep him there.

While Phryne still felt relief about him being wrapped up in bed, his complete lack of reason in their argument lay like a glowing ball of lead in her stomach. How could he be so utterly blind to Natalija's circumstances?

'Not blind, dreaming,' a tiny voice in Phryne's head pointed out.

Chewing on her lip, the Detective threaded the prickly metal through pink fabric and the lable she was attempting to attach. When a usually boldly realistic man like Jack Robinson dreamed of a better world, it was pretty hard to hold on to anger, she found with some annoyance. Even more irritating was the urge she felt to rush home and crawl under the covers with him; hold him until he'd forget every harsh word that had slipped over her lips this morning.

Phryne huffed and kept stitching. There was little less productive than apologies. She needed to focus on the job at hand and with any luck she could hand Sanderson his Grog Baron's head on a silver platter and bring Jack safely home to his own bed and Mac's professional hands by tomorrow.

Sudden silence surrounding her, tore her from her thoughts. When she looked up, three well dressed men were walking down the isle between the working tables. Phryne stared after them, her heart beating in her throat. They looked normal enough, but the way the other seamstresses appeared suddenly very busy with their work, told her all she needed to know.

"Keep your head down," the woman beside her whispered, all friendly chatter gone.

Phryne had not the slightest intention to do as she was told. The three men vanished through a door in the back without taking any notice of curious seamstresses.

"Who are they then?" Mrs. Robinson asked when the door had closed.

"You'd do better in not asking," a younger woman, sitting to the right of her answered, her blonde hair falling deep into her face.

"Why not? The young one is rather dashing," Phryne smiled, while returning to her work.

"They say, he's killed people," a young girl, probably hardly 16, whispered. She clapped a hand in front of her mouth the same moment, as if saying it would turn her into the next target of those dangerous criminal who were stomping through factory halls in the middle of the day. Phryne couldn't help but grin to herself. The young, dark haired man was in fact rather handsome and also about as dangerous looking as a fly on the wall. The other two were much older and much more serious. Thoughtfully she stared at the closed door, wondering where exactly it lead.

"Don't even think about it," the elderly woman beside her said, glancing up at her with a faint smile. "I can tell yer curious, but the only way to make money here is by keepin' yer head down and yer eyes closed. Understand?"

Phryne nodded. She understood all too well. Sadly, she really wasn't the kind of woman who won the battle against her curiosity often.

X

It was the smell. The smell always got to him. He imagined it was the stench of death and illness, but probably it was just urine and blood. Hugh wrapped his arm tighter around his helmet and marched on. The door wasn't answered straight away. He had to knock twice before a tired voice called him in. Elisabeth MacMillan sat behind her desk, stifling a yawn.

"Ahh, Constable."

That seemed all the response he was going to get, as she returned to her paperwork without taking any more notice of the policeman. Hugh slowly edged into her office. After a long moment of rustling paperwork, he cleared his throat.

"I would like to speak to the women, Doctor."

Mac looked up as if she saw him the first time.

"Oh, that's why you're here? I'm afraid, that won't be possible."

Hugh was starting to get angry. He liked Phryne's friend, but he wouldn't be ignored!

"Doctor MacMillan, I demand to speak to the witnesses in my murder investigation. Right now!"

Mac rose, crossing her arms over her chest. For the first time, Collins realised that her eyes were bright red. She obviously hadn't slept at all in the gone night.

"As I said, that won't be possible."

Hugh nodded slowly.

"Would you like to inform me of the reasons for this?" he asked levelly.

"I doubt I will get you out of my office without," Mac grumbled. "Mrs. Binch's condition has worsened over night. We had to operate."

Hugh deflated, dropping onto a chair.

"Is she...?"

"You might have to charge the people responsible for two murders, Constable. But at this stage nobody can tell. Now, please excuse me-"

"What about the other four?" Collins asked, just when she reached the door.

"The other four already spoke to the other Constable the Station sent over this morning. Or didn't speak to him rather."

Hugh gaped at her, his mouth open.

"Who?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"A young kid, red hair."

Collins felt his hands ball into fists.

"Dahle? Who on earth would send him to talk to anyone?!"

A bemused look ghosted over Mac's tired face.

"He certainly wouldn't have been my choice, Constable. But I do fear that the girl's opinion of the police force has not improved due to their interrogation by this imbecile."

"We shall see about that, won't we?" Hugh ground out, stomping out the door, past the Doctor, who was trying not to laugh. There was really very little more funny than an annoyed Hugh Collins. In silence she lead him to a room down the hall. She stopped, when something on the floor caught her eye. The Constable marched on, knocking briefly and loudly at the simple wooden door. When he pushed it open, however, silence greeted him. He stared at the empty beds for a long moment, then turned to a pale Mac.

"Is this a mistake?" he asked, looking at the doctor, who was holding something in her hands that looked like a faded red scarf.

"I'm afraid it isn't, Hugh. Your witnesses appear to have done a disappearance act."

To his surprise, Mac actually looked sorry.

X

Jack's cough had returned with full force by the time the men were released for lunch. Huddling around the tea pots, the workers attempted to get some warmth into their frozen bodies. The Inspector stood somewhat aside, burning his hands on the glowing cup wrapped in his fingers. He was shivering in the cold, but this was no time for regrets or worry. Tonight he would find out everything he needed to know, he promised himself and then he would never come back here again. A violent coughing attack made sure to remind him that he was being completely unreasonable. Phryne was likely to be more than vexed due to his disobedience. The thought was strangely enticing.

While his love hadn't taken the slightest crack, Jack hadn't managed to forget his annoyance with his wife. How could she care so little about Natalija's fate, he wondered? Surely, she couldn't truly believe that it was best for the world, if this innocent child wasn't born, could she?

Jack was attempting to be reasonable. Of course, the tiny cottage Natalija lived in with her father wasn't a place to raise a child. But that could be changed. And there was Eddie...

As much as he twisted it, the Inspector couldn't help that he wasn't feeling reasonable at all. He couldn't shake the thought of Jane. What if her mother had decided to not have her - that it was too hard? He held his breath as the dull pain spread through his chest. Carefully he dragged cold air into his lungs, trying to be sensible. Jane was home, safe and sound with Mr. Butler and Mrs. Collins. It wasn't her life at stake here. Just a faceless child. But a child nevertheless.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Jack took a sip of his tea when things suddenly became crystal clear. He had gotten it wrong! For Phryne to even consider dragging her best friend into an illegal procedure, she would have to care deeply. He swallowed the hot liquid so fast that he burst into another cough, as the tea burned his throat. Dear God, he had gotten it all wrong. A hand fell heavily onto his shoulder, startling him so badly, that he spilled hot liquid over his fingers.

"Turner?"

Cursing, the Inspector turned to look at Eddie Wenbrock.

"You alright?" his friend asked, noticing the accident he had caused.

"Just fine," Jack grumbled, wiping his fingers onto his pants. "You scared me. What's up?"

Edward threw a look at the rest of the men, busying themselves with conversations or their sandwiches.

"Are ya certain that it is a good idea? Ya goin' to the pub tonight and all?" he finally asked quietly.

"No offence, but ya look like ya've been chewed up and spat out."

Jack cleared his throat.

"Thank you for your concern," he finally stated. "But I don't think, it is necessar-"

He didn't get to finish as another violent cough took away his voice, forcing him to set down his cup in order to not drench himself in warm beverage.

"Yeah, I can see that," Eddie stated grimly. "Mate, why don't ya go home and listen to yer wife, before ya catch yerself death?"

"It will be fine," Jack gasped, with some effort dragging air into his stinging lungs. Eddie was frowning when the Inspector finally managed to look up.

"I wasn't gonna go there," he whispered, "but yer too stubborn to let it rest. Ya shouldn't..."

He didn't get any further.

"So ya two are comin' tonight, aren't ya?" a happy Oliver Cromms interrupted them.

Eddie glanced at Jack, who nodded.

"I'm sorry, Cromms, but I have to take care of my family," he said, to the Inspector's surprise.

"Spoilsport," Oliver quipped. "What bout you then, Turner?"

"No ten horses could stop me," Jack said dryly, picking up his cup. Cromms laughed inappropriately loud. The sound drew more curious men over. Eddie had no choice but to swallow down what he had wanted to say, battling with himself, as he watched the sickly Jack sip his tea and chatter along with the other workers. He didn't like this, didn't like it at all.

X

Phryne's tried to ignore her growling stomach. It was lunch time, yet there was no lunch to be had. She hadn't had a chance to pack any food other than porridge. Currently she wished she had taken that. Pushing her way through the crowd to the busy tea lady, she asked for milk and two pieces of sugar, which were granted, if with a raised eyebrow. Her cup in hand the Lady Detective retreated to a quiet corner, watching the secretive door in the back of the hall. The men hadn't reappeared as of yet.

"Would you like to share mine?" a friendly voice asked beside her. Phryne started. The blonde from earlier was holding out half a sandwich.

"Thank you," Phryne smiled, feeling immensely grateful for two half-slices of dry bread with cheese wedged between. After they had chewed a few mouthfuls in silence, she asked conversationally: "So, tell me, who are those men?"

The girl, who had introduced herself as Arabelle or Anabelle earlier, Phryne wasn't quite certain anymore, swallowed, then shrugged.

"They come here several times a week. The word is that they are the true owners of the factory. Old Gabler hasn't been seen by anyone for months."

"What are they doing here?" Phryne asked, her mouth full.

"Well, they're certainly not interested in table clothes and trousers," the girl laughed, then stopped when she realised that her voice had drawn some attention. "Their supposedly just offices back there, but nobody really knows. We are forbidden to even knock at the door. Rosa MacAllen tried to look through one of the windows once and was laid off the next day. She has 9 children at home and a man without a job. They said, she's stolen some money, but I know for a fact that she'd tried to look."

"Did she see anything?" Phryne asked, holding her breath. To her disappointment the girl shrugged.

"Just some boxes and men, nothing worth writing home about."

The Lady Detective's head was working feverishly. So, Gabler's was definitely the backdrop for something illegal and with any luck it was just what Sanderson was looking for. But she still needed to get in there and find proof. Briefly she thought of Jack but dismissed the though of bringing him along. Dragging his fever ridden, coughing body out of bed to help her investigate was a silly idea. Not only because it would make it harder to hide. She would do this on her own.

"Mind you, the young man is quite nice," she heard and turned to find Arabelle's eyes glazed over. "He had a chat with me once. Wonderful manners, I must say and he asked how we were doing here."

"He didn't happen to mention a name?" Mrs. Robinson asked gently.

"Not to me. One of the other men once called him Jacob. I think that's a rather pretty name, don't you?"

Phryne mumbled a non-committal agreement, deciding to withdraw. Women with a wild crush on criminal subjects weren't the kind of company she was trying to keep. Just then the heavy steel door, leading into the back, opened again and the three men in company of a fourth, exited.

'Jacob' was currently laughing, looking particularly unthreatening as he easily chattered along with one of the others. Phryne hadn't taken much notice of his conversation partner before. He was rather short, with dark hair and olive skin. His eyes slipped briefly over the room of women who had fallen silent once again, before he flashed a small smile in the direction of Phryne and Anabelle, who blushed furiously. The third stranger was already starting to grey and might have shared a slight resemblance with the second, possibly brothers or cousins. Number four wasn't really what Mrs. Robinson would have called handsome and also familiar. Joe Benett was a rough man, not overly friendly and known to be leading this factory with an iron hand. Getting yourself on his bad side, so had Adelheid explained, meant instant dismissal. He didn't see his factory workers as much more than flies on the walls.

Phryne imagined she could see it in his eyes, as he squinted at her questioningly before turning to lock the door behind himself, as if he had just remembered that he couldn't trust the women working here. She bit her lip in annoyance. The Lady Detective had rather hoped to be able to slip through the door while the men were distracted. Then a smile lit up her face as she marched right back towards the tea lady. It took some persuasion to convince the older lady to give her a refill, while there were enigmatic men to worry about. But finally Phryne was holding another steaming cup in her hands. It was high time, as the men had already made their way down the hall, having reached the middle of the factory hall. Rushing was not on option, but Phryne had been long enough the Honourable Miss Fisher to divide the sea of workers for herself without so much as lifting a hand.

Nevertheless, she was running out of time. Almost at the door, the olive man came to her rescue. Turning abruptly, he almost caused her to run into him. Phryne made a complicated sidestep backwards, flinging the contents of her cup with an artful gesture over the trousers of Mr. Benett. A string of cursing poured over her as the hot tea found it's way through the expensive fabric.

"Oh, I am so sorry," she exclaimed for everybody to hear, dropping to her knees and ripping the hastily produced handkerchief from her employer's hands in an attempt to pat him dry. The man's face had turned bright red, chatter picked up around them with the occasional giggle thrown in. Mrs. Robinson barely bit back a telling grin. A man was just a man and a beautiful woman fiddling on this particular speciman's trousers had exactly the effect she'd anticipated.

"That's enough," Mr. Benett finally exclaimed, all but yanking her back to her feet. "Thank you, Mrs..."

"Turner," Phryne quipped.

"We will talk about this later!"

With a huff he followed the other men, who looked suspiciously amused. Phryne slipped a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around cool metal before, with a satisfied smirk, returning to her work.