Jack ran his fingers through his already dishevelled hair as the shrill ring of the telephone pierced his thoughts. Where the hell was Foster? The young man always seemed to be conveniently absent when calls came through at – he glanced at his wristwatch – 11:27? Where had the time gone?

NOT hearing any hurried footsteps (what a surprise), he grimaced and reached for the handset.

"City South–"

"Jack…" her voice sounded far away, and a little strange, as she cut him off mid-greeting, "I… I need you to come and pick me up…"

He exhaled slowly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

What was she up to this time? The last he had heard – communicated in a round-about way through Collins' (unasked-for) explanation of his plans for tonight with Miss Williams – was that the Honourable Miss Fisher's intentions had been to attend a dinner for the betterment of some charity whose name and purpose he could not now recall…

He had learned long ago that, where Phryne was concerned, questions rarely resulted in answers, so he asked the only one that seemed pertinent. "Where are you?"

"… Malvern Road… I'll be on Malvern Road…"

He rolled his eyes. "It's a long road, Phryne, you might need to be a little more specific…"

"Uh…" Her voice became muffled, and he waited as she spoke to someone in the background. He thought he heard her ask 'Am I still in Toorak?', and then she was suddenly back on the line "Toorak… I'm in Toorak… I… Sorry…" A muffled voice seemed to enlighten her, and the words came out in a rush, "Williams Road… Williams Road… apparently there's a hotel on the corner... but I won't be there, not near the hotel, I'll be one street further back… towards the city…"

"Right… I'll be there are soon as I can…" He was about to say more, but instead looked at the handset in bewilderment as he realised that she had hung up on him.

Resigned to another night in which his pile of unfinished paperwork would not be diminished further, he rose and reached for his coat and hat. As an afterthought he also retrieved his pistol, just as Foster reappeared at his post. "Constable, I'm taking a car and heading out… Not sure when, or if, I'll be back in tonight… Any trouble and Grover's your man tonight." At a "Yes, Sir" that was muffled by what appeared to be cake (at this hour of the night?) Jack strode out before any questions could be asked for which he had no answers.

He knew Williams Road, and the hotel to which she had been referring, so at least he knew where he was headed; but as he slowed as instructed, with the hotel in sight, he saw nothing but the empty road ahead, and darkened shopfronts reflecting his headlights beside him. He groaned impatiently, and pulled the car in to the kerb. Nothing. Where on earth was she? And what was she playing at?

With the car still running, he opened his door and stepped out to look around; movement caught his peripheral vision, and suddenly her silhouette was there, on the southern side of the road. He waved an acknowledgement of her presence, before resuming his seat and swinging the car around in a precise arc to the opposite kerb.

She remained in the shadows until he had come around to open the passenger door, but when she stepped awkwardly beside him, he knew immediately that something was seriously wrong; a realisation that was confirmed seconds later by the headlights of a passing car.

"Phryne? My God… What–"

The words stuck in his mouth as a strangled sob escaped her, and she reached a desperate hand in his direction; a hand that appeared, in the ghoulish half-light, to be smeared with blood. From where, he could not be sure; the tips of her fingers, certainly, but probably also from her swollen, split lip, and the dried trickle down her left cheek.

Whatever emotion she had been valiantly fighting until now was suddenly unleashed by his proximity. Without hesitation he stepped up to her, engulfing her in his open arms, only to have her cry out in pain as they closed around her small frame.

In horror he tried to pull back from her, but she clung to him as sobs wracked her, and he could not help but move to encircle her, more gently, once more. She didn't appear to have the ability to talk, so he just held her and spoke soothing words into her hair, as he desperately wondered how she had come to be in such a state.

Eventually, seeing two men walking through the shadows in their direction, he encouraged her carefully into the car, and started slowly down the road. "I'll take you home…"

"No!" She astonished him with her vehement rejection of his offer. "I can't go home… I don't want them to see me like this…"

He was loathe to take her to the cold and impersonal setting of the station, despite the fact that something criminal had clearly happened to her; she was upset in a way that he had never seen her before, and someone needed to at least ascertain the extent of her injuries. His suggestion of Mac had her shaking her head and gulping down another sob.

His mind worked furiously as he drove aimlessly down the road. If he had still had a home of his own, he would gladly have opened it to her, but he didn't; since it had been sold in his divorce proceedings he had been living in a boarding house, and although his landlady seemed kindly enough, she had a strict policy of 'no female company', and he wasn't in the mood for explanations.

As he reached St Kilda Road a thought materialised, and with conviction he headed for the city. Phryne was quiet now, her face turned away from his against the door pillar, and he reached out and gave her right arm a comforting squeeze. She acknowledged it with a slight curl of the fingers of her left hand across the back of his, but she remained silent as they drove through the darkness and over the Yarra, and only lifted her head as he parked the car.

He had pulled up on Spring Street, a short distance from The Hotel Windsor; light and patrons spilled from its facade, and, for the time being, he did not want to draw attention. "Wait here. I won't be long… I'm going to lock the car… If anyone comes near you, just pretend you're asleep. Here…" he fumbled his hat off the seat and placed it gently onto her head, ensuring that her face was now entirely shaded from what little light filtered into the car.

She startled him when she spoke, suddenly, "Mr Wentworth… the Manager, that's his name… If he's not in tonight talk to Peter, the Concierge… Here…" she opened her purse and, with shaky hands, produced a wad of notes equivalent to two months of Jack's wages, and one of her personal calling cards.

To his surprise, it WAS Mr Wentworth that he found, occupying a position that gave him a broad view of the lobby (and perhaps the comings and goings of some certain gentlemen who were celebrating a political win). His eyes narrowed as Jack revealed his identification, and he opened his mouth to immediately protest his presence there, but Jack cut him off; he hadn't the time to explain why he WASN'T here. "Mr Wentworth, I am looking only for your assistance." The Manager's eyes narrowed further. "I have one of your clients in my car…" he waved vaguely in the direction of the street, "and… that person… is in need of your accommodations… and your absolute discretion."

Thankfully, her card was not needed; the Manager prided himself on the hotel's reputation for discreet service, and it was not necessary for Jack to reveal the identity of his passenger, only to confirm that there would not be any future issue in settling the bill.

Having been apprised that the situation was a delicate one, and that anonymity was preferred for the time being, Mr Wentworth directed Jack to bring his car around to park near one of the rear service entrances, which he did after the requested ten minute interval.

Jack was impressed. When they met at the rear door the Manager handed him a key. "I've made a suite available on the fourth floor… You won't encounter anyone on your way in," he gave Jack a sympathetic smile, "but I'm afraid you're going to have to take the stairs…" Final directions given, and a time limit of a further five minutes before his staff would start appearing again, Mr Wentworth made himself scarce, with the Inspector's heartfelt thanks.

Jack considered for a moment. He had looked up the service stairwell as the Manager spoke and seen the three twists per floor; twelve in total to take them four floors up. He huffed out what might have been a laugh if any of this had been funny, and went to retrieve his charge.

She climbed stiffly from the car, with a pained squeak as she straightened. His hat was still on her head, and he took off his coat and draped it around the fur on shoulders, before leading her inside. They hadn't the time to beat about the bush, so, before she could protest, he bent and swept her into his arms, and started up the stairs.

Phryne was not exactly a heavily built woman, but Jack was not a labourer, and at some stage between the eighth and ninth turn he wondered hazily whether he might pass out, before finding his second wind and making it to the suite door, albeit with burning limbs and lungs (and a suit that would definitely not pass muster for another wear).

He toed open the door, which had been left slightly ajar, and they entered to find the lights blazing, a hastily lit fire burning, and a steaming coffee service waiting beside a crystal decanter of pale yellow liquid. Jack hummed his approval; the hotel's reputation was no exaggeration.

He set Phryne gently down, taking his coat and hat and hanging them, and directing her to the welcoming comfort of a leather sofa before the fire. She lowered herself gingerly into the plump cushions, before drawing her knees up and to the side, and tilting her head back, eyes closed.

He left her for a moment, taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves; he was feeling a little warm after his exertion, and, unlike most people, Phryne certainly wouldn't mind him taking such a liberty in her presence. He ventured into the bathroom, and washed his hands and face with the cool water; he would have liked to have at least given her a cloth to clean up with, but at this stage he was still wondering whether the police photographer might be required.

He poured each of them a coffee, hers with a decent measure from the decanter – now confirmed as brandy. Once it was cradled in her hands he hovered over her indecisively.

He tried to assess her dispassionately, as he would have a complainant at his station, but he couldn't; this was the woman who infuriated him, challenged him, and made him laugh (if only usually on the inside). The woman who now daily occupied his thoughts, and made him crazy, and whom he adored with everything in him.

In the bright light of the room her condition was all too apparent. She was dirty and dishevelled, the sparkling brooch in her hair hanging at an odd angle, the usually immaculate black strands wild about it. In addition to the cuts at her mouth and cheek, a black eye was forming on the same side. There was little colour left of her lipstick, and her dark eye makeup was smudged and had left runnels where tears had fallen down her cheeks.

The fingers that held her cup were red, two of her fingernails torn and caked with dried blood. Her fur coat was dirty, and the front of her dress that peeked out from beneath it was damaged; several of the many lengths of tiny beads, that had formed a scalloped hem of sorts, now hung forlornly down her legs. Her shoes were scuffed so badly that he doubted they could be repaired, and her stockings were torn, the skin beneath grazed.

A suspicion was forming in his mind that sickened him; but he had to hear it from her, and he made a silent plea, to whoever was listening, that his fears were unfounded. Taking a seat beside her, he reached for one of her hands, and she pressed two of his fingers in her small palm, the ghost of a grateful smile quirking her bloodied lip; but she would not meet his eyes. He gave her a moment more, before he ventured the question in a quiet, low voice.

"Phryne… What happened?"

She did not answer, but shook her head, her eyes closing.

"Please… Tell me what happened…"

Another shake of her head.

"If you were doing something… outside of the law… at the time… it doesn't matter. It's not important. You can tell me…"

She shook her head again, but this time in a slightly different way; a denial that she was doing anything she shouldn't have.

He tried another tack. "WHO did this to you?"

At that tears threatened again, and she squeezed her eyes shut, and turned her head away. "I can't tell you…"

"Of course you can…"

A headshake.

"Phryne, you can tell me. Tell me who did this to you."

Headshake.

"Please… Please tell me who did this…"

Her lip trembled, and she bit down on it, wincing at the resulting pain. His thumb stroked a slow circle on the back of her hand as he waited.

"Telling you won't make any difference…"

He was incredulous. "Phryne, I will do whatever–"

"You don't understand..."

"Then HELP me to understand. TELL me what happened."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and he modified his tone as he realised that he would not get an answer from her by force. "Phryne… Whatever has happened, whoever has hurt you, you can tell me…"

For the first time she turned to look at him fully. Behind her huge, watery eyes he saw her trust in him warring with fear, anger, and shame. "If I tell you… it can't go any further…"

His protestation was cut short. "Promise me, Jack… that it won't go any further…"

He closed his eyes for a moment, and rubbed at his temples. He had to know.

As she watched him he rose from the chair and placed their cups back on the tray. He put his hands on his hips and let out a long, slow breath as he tilted his head back and stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

A crime had obviously been perpetrated against her; could he break a promise to her later? He was a man of his word… She constantly acted against HIS wishes, but had she ever actually PROMISED him something and then broken that promise? He had to know what had happened. Right in this moment he could make this pact with her; he would deal with the consequences later.

He returned to his place beside her, and took her battered hands, so small in his. He nodded decisively at her. "It won't go any further."

Her eyes searched his for a moment, then she returned his nod, and began.

tbc