Chapter Text
The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher was in the kitchen with Mr. Butler and Dot when the telephone rang. Mr. Butler went to answer it, and came back somewhat perplexed. “It’s Inspector Robinson. He wants to talk to you, Dorothy.”
When Mr. Butler announced who was calling, Phryne had already started to rise. She was startled when he said that Dorothy was the one Jack wanted to talk to, but she smiled and said, “Oh. Well, Dot, you’d better answer.” Dot went to the phone. Phryne sat back down and waited to hear what the call was about.
A few moments passed, then Phryne heard footsteps running down the hall. Dot appeared in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. “Hugh’s been hurt! He’s on his way to hospital. Please, can you drive me there?”
Phryne leaped up from the table. “Of course! We’ll go straightaway.” She and Dot gathered purses and coats and pinned on hats, and hurried to the Hispano.
As they drove, Phryne tried to ferret out some details. “Did Jack say how this happened?”
She wanted to ask how badly Hugh was hurt but was afraid it would upset Dot further.
“He said he let Hugh lead an arrest, and things went wrong. He didn’t really give any details.” Dot’s lip quivered, and she buried her face in her hands. Phryne took one hand off the steering wheel and patted Dot’s shoulder, which, at the speed they were traveling, wasn’t a very good idea. Phryne replaced her hand on the steering wheel and righted the car, and they went on to the hospital.
As soon as they walked in the door, they saw Jack standing inside the entrance, waiting for them. His face was ashen. He met them halfway. “Mrs. Collins—Dot—I’m so sorry. I can take you to him.” He tried to keep his attention on Dot but as always, his eyes were drawn to Phryne, and she met his glance.
“Yes, please, Inspector,” Dot said.
He put one hand kindly against the small of Dot’s back and led her down several corridors to the ward that included Hugh’s bed. Phryne followed behind, uncharacteristically silent.
Hugh’s eyes were closed, and his face was badly bruised. There was a bandage around his head.
“What happened?” Dot said in a tiny voice.
The Inspector stated, “He was leading the arrest, but there were more members of the gang than he—we suspected. Some of them ambushed him, as well as another constable—Foster—but Hugh took the worst of it. He seems to have a concussion; and there are some knife wounds, but they seem to be superficial.” He recited all this information in a rote, clinical way; Phryne realized this must be something he had taught himself long ago. Delivering bad news would not come easy to a man possessed of such depth of feeling, and yet that task fell to him regularly. He then repeated, “I’m so very sorry.”
Dot looked at Hugh, motionless on the bed, then back at the Inspector. “He was so proud that you were letting him take charge of this operation.” Jack’s disciplined posture sagged a bit at this, but he didn’t break eye contact. “He’s always trying to impress you.” Dot was suddenly filled with anger. “You shouldn’t have let him do this! You should have known better! You should have been there!”
“Dot!” Phryne said in shock. Jack continued to stand there, silent, impassive.
Dot turned and said in a cold voice, “I think I’d like some privacy with my husband.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll go.” He only glanced at Phryne before he started down the hallway.