Thank you for your concern, even though there is no need to worry about my health. I only mentioned it because it is a damn good excuse for the doubtlessly numerous mistakes I made last night and due to it being rather persistently on my own mind. :)

On a different note I am currently considering a possible sequel and would like to invite all of you to voice any ideas that might be floating around in your brains. I do know from your reviews and PMs that some of you think long and hard about the future of our lovely couple, so now would be the time to share the love. Where are we heading? What setting have we not covered yet? And how will the relationship evolve further? I am curious to hear what is on your mind, so please don't be shy.

Chapter 25: Mercury

The door slammed shut behind him with a satisfying bang. The glass had barely had time to cease shaking in it's frame, when Inspector Morgan stuck his head through the gap.

"Since you are audibly back, Constable, would you mind bringing Mrs. Campbell to the interview room?" he asked softly.

Hugh didn't turn. He could barely manage to keep himself from kicking the desk. There had been a short, painful attempt to talk to Mrs. Binch. She hadn't spoken a word. It was hard to say if due to the fever shaking her or simply because she would never speak. The woman would rather die than admit to an abortion, it seemed. And the ones that might have talked, were gone.

"Certainly," he pressed out.

"Thank you, Constable."

The voice was too happy, too calm. Collin's shoulders shook in anger.

"Sir!?" he called out, when he heard the door click shut. It opened again and Hugh looked for what seemed the first time, properly at his superior officer. Morgan's face was just like his voice, boring, mousy. But there was a certain glitter in his eyes that the Constable had never noticed before.

"Is anything the matter, Collins?" he asked innocently, in his usual singsong.

"Please don't believe me to question your decisions, Sir, but why did you send Dahle to the hospital?"

There was a almost invisible quirk in Morgan's eyebrow before his face fell back into it's usual stance of careful boredom.

"Why wouldn't I? He is an Constable involved in the case, just as yourself."

Hugh's hands balled into fists as he repressed the urge to shake his superior officer, a slip-up that certainly wouldn't help advance his career.

"Of course, Sir. But... Constable Dahle has intimidated the witnesses it seems. They have fled the hospital."

Morgan nodded grimly. A careful observer might have noticed that the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"Has he now? That is very unfortunate for us, very unfortunate. How lucky that Mrs. Gillam has already signed a confession and we will be able to prosecute both her and her sister-in-law."

Hugh stood gobsmacked for a long moment, while the Inspector headed for the door.

"Sir?" he asked. The smile on Morgan's features as he turned on his heels, was unmistakable.

"Yes, Constable?"

"Why didn't you order me to go to the hospital? I was here first thing in the morning. They might have talked to me!"

The Inspector's smile widened.

"And that is the very reason, I didn't send you, Collins."

The Constable stood silently in the middle of Jack Robinson's office, while Morgan's steps disappeared together with the mousy face down the hall. Then he took the bunch of keys off the hook and made his way down to Nurse Campbell's cell.

X

When Dot, wearing her best dress, approached the school gates, she was deep in thought. To her surprise she found Jane chatting to a young woman, a cheeky dog hopping around them while alternatively trying to lick both girls's hands. Jane giggled when it's rough tongue once again flicked over her palm.

"Lucy!" Marion laughed, pulling on the leash. Neither form of scolding seemed to worry the bitch much. Dorothy couldn't help but smile. She had a faint idea who the two visitors were. But before she could think deeper into this, she had been spotted.

"Dot!" Jane called, waving her over.

"This is Marion DeWitt, you remember. The client?"

"Of course," Dot smiled, shaking hands with the young woman who suddenly looked rather embarrassed.

"I had better get on my way home," Miss Dewitt stated, "I really just wanted to show you that she is happy to be back."

As if to prove that, the dog attacked Dot's hand with her tongue. The maid withdrew just in time to not get bathed in saliva.

"And we had better be going too, Jane," she pointed out carefully. After a brief goodbye, a slighty flustered Marion dragged the excited Lucy down the footpath while Dot wrapped an arm around Jane, steering her in the other direction.

"If you intend to keep on sleuthing you might want to work on your discretion," she grinned. "Miss DeWitt seemed a little uneasy with you sharing her case around."

Jane thought about this for a long moment.

"Surely, there is nothing embarrassing about missing your dog?" she finally stated carefully.

"It is not up for us to decide what people should be embarrassed about," Dot argued. "Even though it is rather silly," she added, beaming.

Jane only grinned.

They walked for a while in silence, until a car stopped beside them.

"You took your time," Dot scolded, but Bert only grumbled something unaudible, tipping his hat and the girls climbed into the cab without further greeting. Grey streets flew past as they made their way towards the city. Nobody spoke. Even Cec seemed not in the mood for friendly chattering. Finally the motorcar stopped in front of an impressive grey building.

"Are you coming along?" Jane asked, but Cec just shook his head.

"Nah, mate, things to do. We haven't got time for this nonsense," Bert grumbled. Neither of the women protested, even though they knew that the Cabbies were never too busy to do attend anything they wanted to attend. Which left only the conclusion that the comrades were worried. Bravely, Jane climbed up the stone steps that lead to the massive entrance of the courthouse, then stopped. A warm hand slipped into hers, wrapping gently around her fingers.

"It will be alright."

"Of course."

Jane's smile was as glued on as Dorothy's confidence was, but they stepped through the door and dug further into the maze of corridors and stone, passing important looking people, until they finally reached the door to the courtroom where Elaine Browning's fate would be decided upon. They were early, there were all of three people littered through the dark wooden chairs. Dot wanted to slip into the last row but found that a strong hand was pulling her right to the front. She could feel Jane shiver with nerves, when she managed to draw her attention from her own revolting stomach.

Pictures were back, pictures of a ruined shirt that she had nevertheless scrubbed with bare hands until the water had turned a dirty red shade with the Inspector's blood. Anything to not think about him not pulling through the night. To not worry about her Mistress's heart cracking into a million pieces. As long as she had things to do, there had been no time for this nonsense.

Dot wanted to run, join Cec and Bert on their trips if she'd have to. But a strong, shaking hand held onto hers, dragging her onto a seat where she waited for Hugh and the Robinsons and destiny.

X

Phryne decided that she couldn't wait any longer. As she'd anticipated, Benett and his three companions hadn't returned from their outing and Mrs. Robinson harboured the hope that they might have ended up in a pub somewhere. She vividly remembered the stories Adelheid had shared, between giggling fits, about him stumbling drunk through his factory, once relieving himself into a carton filled with a fine fabrics. The workers having to wash up the mess had been a lot less amused than Phryne's neighbours, she was quite certain.

Right now, however, she appreciated his like for booze. But nevertheless she knew that with any minute she let slip by the risk that the missing key would be discovered, rose. She might have tried sooner, but Arabelle seemed in the mood to chat now and hadn't let up for a minute in the last two hours. Truthfully, Phryne was more concerned about the reticent elderly woman to her left, who had withdrawn into a thick, grumpy silence. Her warning words echoed in the Detective's ears. She probably knew more than she let on, but Mrs. Robinson didn't dare asking.

She would just have a little look into the 'offices'. There might be paperwork or stored goods to be found that would serve as prove, once and for all, that Gabler's was involved in the the sly-grog trade around here. Enough to satisfy Sanderson.

Phryne hadn't lied to her husband about not being particularly interested in illegal grog. To a woman who enjoyed her drinks, the Temperance Union appeared a laughable organisation. Stiff-lipped puritans, attempting to restrict other people's freedom in an infuriatingly righteous manner. And they were responsible for more crime and chaos than alcohol by itself could have managed.

Had there not been those unfortunate cases of young men underestimating the potency of their drink and the fact that Phryne truly didn't want to give up her partnership with Jack, she had dismissed Sanderson's approach at ridding "his city" of this particular crime.

But, as things stood, she was trapped in the expectation of solving the case and she had every intention to succeed as swiftly as circumstance would allow her. Truthfully, she was simply burning to leave Collingwood behind before it could do any irreparable damage.

Her argument with Jack in the morninghad been an admonition to not venture any further into the darkness if they were to remain married. After pondering their quarrel for hours while her needle had danced over variously shaded undergarments, Phryne's mixed feeling had settled for deep regret. So, they disagreed about Natalia's future, yet, what was it to her? Or Jack, for that matter? Surely it wasn't worth losing him over a girl they both hardly knew? But if she was honest, the root of the fight had been another one. She could still feel the liberating rush of hurling every cruel thought on her mind at him.

It scared Phryne that she was capable of such brutality, yet, the feeling was familiar. With the same notion she had continued to throw herself into a variety of dalliances right in front of his eyes, long after she had been aware of the effects. She wasn't quite certain anymore what had caused her instinctive cruelty, but she suspected that it had been a mixture of trying to shake off her own restricting feelings and an attempt to prove to Jack how much his reluctance hurt both of them if it continued. Possibly she had even hoped to force some sort of reaction from him.

Miss Fisher chewed on her lip as she recalled his face falling in those moments, remembered the pain she had felt and the satisfaction. She didn't like to delve into the thoughts too deeply. There were memories that she didn't embrace all that much and her own cowardice was certainly one of them.

Now she feared that she was returning there. She was hurting Jack in a futile attempt to struggle out of this suffocating feeling of self-pity and helplessness. And it wasn't working.

Phryne resurfaced from the dark sea of her thoughts and realised that the sun on the horizon had turned into the a big, pink grapefruit hanging outside the steel framed windows. She needed to act and soon, if she was to stop their destructive little dance. Surely Jack wouldn't leave for one single slip of her tongue - but he was right. She needed to get out of Collingwood before she lost her mind. Phryne drew stuffy air into her lungs, darting her eyes over the busy factory hall. It must have been less than an hour until knock-off time, but she couldn't wait around for the forewomen to reappear. Or worse, Bennett. In the corner she spotted a quiet, hasty argument between two workers. One of them left her machine, nudging the other one in the side with her elbow in something that could have looked like an accident to someone who was not a detective. A thought sparked in Phryne's head.

"Where do I find more labels?" she interrupted the steady flow of words coming out of her neighbour's mouth. She had not the slightest idea what Arabelle had talked about over the last half hour, but her lack of response didn't seem to deter the young woman in the slightest.

"Over there in the corner." the old lady said instead of the girl, her wrinkly finger pointing vaguely into a direction without her looking up. Phryne nodded, taking another deep breath. It was the right end of the room. Hurrying across, she reached the angry woman she had watched. At first she had a hard time getting her to listen, the smouldering conflict was getting the better of her. But a quick flick of some banknotes overcame the first reluctance. The girl glanced over her shoulder.

"I'll lose my job," she protested weakly. Phryne pulled her deeper into the dusty corner and pressed the bundle into her hands.

"That should see you over for at least two months," she whispered. "And if not, there is my card between those. You come see me and we'll figure something out. But I am in need of your help."

A pair of big, grey eyes stared at her quizzically.

"So, that's all?"

"That's all."

The young woman shoved the notes into her skirt pocket and stalked off. Phryne couldn't help a simper as she grabbed a box and wandered back towards her working bench, where the garments were piling up. Her sewing was not quite as fast as she had hoped, but then her talents lay in different fields. She set the box down on the last one, careful to cover up the remainder of labels and waited. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then all hell broke lose.

X

"Miss Walters, would you deny the accusation that you are well acquainted with Detective Inspector Robinson?"

The young redhead gulped. Whispers spread through the room like wildfire.

"I do not consider this an accusation, Sir," she said stiffly. "The Inspector has ki-"

"A simple 'yes' or 'no' will be completely satisfactory, Miss."

"No," Amber said, staring daggers at the grey suited solicitor.

The young medicine student had long since gotten over her involvement in the kidnapping of Jack Robinson. That was not only due to the fact that Miss Fisher had convinced the police to set the former maid of the Browning household free in exchange for her having kept Jack alive during his time in imprisonment and the promise to witness in the trial. Over time a strange, fragile sort of friendship had grown between accessory and victim and Amber cherished the loyalty of someone whose kindness she wasn't sure, she deserved. Right now she felt she needed to make certain that he received justice.

A grey back was turned to her, obviously satisfied.

"I might add though that this acquaintance was forged during his kidnapping and did not evolve until long after his recovery!"

The solicitor, who had just reached his table, spun, obviously not happy. But the words had been clear and loud, to be heard to the last row of the large court room. There was a smile playing around the lips of Judge Banks, too weak to notice for anyone who wasn't carefully watching him.

"So you deny that you lied for your friend Detective Inspector Robinson in an attempt to forge his capture?" the man asked coldly. Amber didn't answer for a long moment, as a grin spread over her features.

"I deny that very much!"

"So, it is not true that you joined the household of Mrs. Browning merely to take revenge for the death of your brother?"

The grin faded, the pretty redhead turning even paler than usual. Her eyes swept over the courtroom. There was no help to be had.

"Yes or no, Miss Walters?" Boyd urged. Amber rose her chin in defiance.

"It is true. Mr. Browning has murdered my brother."

The whispering grew in volume while Sanderson extended a look with the Judge. He had been sitting in many trials led by his old acquaintance. This wasn't going well. George inspected his watch, then glanced past Dot and Jane who were holding nervously onto each other's hands, before his eyes wandered to the door. Where was Jack, where Miss Fisher? Something had gone wrong! The Chief Commissioner rose to his feet, hoping to reach a phone, when the door flew open. Out of the bright light into the darker room stepped a man, holding a helmet pressed to his black uniform.