Chapter Eight

Towards the end of their second day together their hunger for each other, while not waning, became more manageable. As long as no more than a few minutes elapsed between the touch of hands, or lips, or glance, they found themselves almost able to readdress the outside world. They bathed and, to a degree, dressed. While they waited for dinner to be served in their room, they took the opportunity of all the other guests once again being at dinner to relax on the balcony in the still evening air, and discuss the case. There were two perfectly serviceable steamer chairs available, but only one was required; Jack reclined upon it, and Phryne reclined on Jack. Her proximity was useful for his new project, which was to memorise precisely the course of her hairline at the back of her neck. She proved amenable to the study. Mostly.

"Hold me, Jack," she said, as a preamble. Again, the withdrawal behind a wall of shock or hurt – he didn't know which, but didn't question for a moment her honest need for reassurance. His hands left off their play at her collar and warmly encircled her waist, linking together around her and, with a gentle squeeze of his arms to draw her in, relaxed there.

With a shuddering breath, she began her recitation.

"I've only got parts of the story – there are some big gaps that still need to be filled."

"It started late one night. I was driving home through Soho – the fog was thick, so I was taking it pretty slowly – for me," at which Jack's lips twitched a little. For breakneck, substitute hell-for-leather, he thought.

"I went to cut down Frith Street but as I came round the corner, a girl was stepping out into the road. She jumped back, but fell and hurt her ankle. I stopped, to see if I could help."

Phryne paused. "She was a whore, of course." No judgement in her words – just statement of fact – that time of night, that part of town, a woman alone and on foot. The relevance of her profession wasn't in any of those factors.

"She was painfully thin, and visibly bruised. And terrified, Jack. Absolutely terrified. That wasn't remarkable except that it became clear very quickly, she wasn't afraid of being on the streets of Soho at that hour of the night. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, I found out she was Australian. Not just Australian, she was from Melbourne. Her name was Kitty."

He noted the past tense, but forbore to interrupt.

"I tried to find out what it was she was afraid of. I even tried to get her to come and get in the car so that I could take her home with me."

How very Phryne. No question of taking the girl to the authorities; handing off the responsibility to someone else as soon as possible. His Phryne took on such burdens without so much as a thought, and indeed, to describe this woman as a burden would, he was sure, have been met with sheer astonishment from his lover.

His lover. His heart thrilled momentarily and he kissed her hair absently, then returned to the matter at hand.

"She wouldn't come. She said they would kill her and another girl as an example, but she wouldn't say who was doing the killing. All she could say was that she was working off a debt. She cried, and said she didn't think she'd ever pay it off."

Phryne knew only too well what it was to be trapped in poverty – this girl's story was painfully close to home.

"Then, I heard a footstep, and someone backhanded me on to the pavement, from behind. The fog must have deadened the sound – I don't know how I could have missed his approach otherwise. He didn't knock me out, and it could only have been seconds before I came to – but by that time Kitty was gone."

His arms tightened around her. Would he ever be able to accept Phryne's capacity to tempt risk?

"I don't know how she got there, Jack, but she said "we" – it's not just Kitty, there are more girls like her. Somehow, I think there are a group of Melbourne girls in London, working the streets and in debt to someone – I don't know who.

Then there was the body."

Another pause. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped a couple of tones. This story was hurting.

"I started keeping an eye on the papers. When a death of a young woman was reported, I went to the morgue. The first time I was none the wiser, but the second ..."

"Kitty?" he guessed.

"No." She was muttering into his shoulder now. "Worse."

How could it possibly be worse?

"Not Kitty. But a girl of about the same age, in the same kind of grey smock with green trim. And I didn't have Mac to hand for the expert view, but I would guess about four or five months pregnant.

Drowned."

He hugged her more tightly and kissed her brow. Not one death but two. Had the girl taken her own life? Or had some scum of a pimp seen no further than a whore who couldn't do the job, and an extra mouth to feed?

"That was when I wrote to Bill Cooper. He didn't open up to me much; we may have got wonderfully drunk together at Aunt Prue's dinner table, but he's a professional. I didn't open up much to him either, to be fair. All I said was that I needed help solving a Melbourne crime in London, and could he spare someone."

She tipped her head to glance at him sidelong. "I may have suggested a particular individual. I may have suggested a few aliases for that person if they happened to be travelling under cover, to help me make contact. It's not my fault if you're the most useful member of the police force of the State of Victoria."

Her voice emerged again from the depths of his embrace. "I don't know anything about the gang behind it. What they're called. How they are getting the women on to the ships. And I definitely don't know how the money gets back to Australia. But it must. Because if it wasn't worth their while, they wouldn't be putting new sex slaves on boats. And that poor girl would still be alive."

His heart was heavy at the enormity of the task they faced, but he was in no doubt that between them, they would find a way to resolve it. They sat there for a little longer, and he felt her shoulders relax as she gradually became calm again. George tapped on the door, and Jack let him in to lay out the meal. Only once the steward had left, did he rouse Phryne to come and eat.