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Jack eased the bedroom door closed and inched down Wardlow's main staircase as quietly as possible, his shoes in one hand, last night’s bottle of Italian red in the other. With any luck he’d make it out the front door at this early hour without disturbing any members of Miss Fisher’s household.
Miss Fisher, for her part, woke only momentarily as Jack left the bed, offering him a quick kiss and a promise of a visit to the station at a more reasonable hour.
As significant as last night had been, from tentative declarations in the parlor to lovemaking upstairs, Jack’s primary thoughts this morning revolved around how normal this felt – it was inevitable, it was right. But that didn’t mean he wanted to run into Miss Williams in the foyer at four a.m.
Entering the kitchen, Jack flipped on the light and tilted the wine bottle into the sink, emptying the last few drops of liquid. As he turned on the tap to rinse the sink, Mr. Butler entered with a cheery, “Good Morning Inspector.”
“Mr. Butler,” Jack replied, as evenly as possible. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”
“Nonsense. Some nights I have a touch of rheumatism and don’t sleep all that well. But it gives me an early start on the baking.”
“Very well then. I’ll be off,” Jack replied quickly, heading for the kitchen door and thinking he might escape further interrogation.
“Shall I take that for you, sir?” Mr. Butler asked.
“Hmm.”
“The bottle. Shall I dispose of it for you?”
“No, I,” Jack stammered as he searched for a reasonable answer of why he wouldn’t give up the object.
“We could steam off the label if that’s what you’re after,” the eminently practical butler replied, taking the bottle from Jack's hand. “To preserve the name of the vineyard." Jack strained to follow along as the man continued. "Is this a particularly good vintage? We keep so little red on hand, I’m afraid I’m not well-versed on Italian varietals. I do have a very good Australian white in the cellar.”
Jack realized he needed to stop the man before he launched into a detailed monologue on the virtue of Australian vintners. He interrupted and gently retrieved the bottle.
“Thank you, Mr. Butler. My interest in this bottle is of a rather more sentimental nature.”
“Aahh,” the older man replied, remembering that the Inspector had arrived with it the evening before. “In that case, Inspector, if I may make a different suggestion…” Now Mr. Butler hesitated, not wishing to overstep a personal boundary.
"Please," Jack assented.
“Many years ago, there was a bottle of wine that held great sentimental value for Mrs. Butler and I. Mrs. Butler turned the bottle into a vase and placed it in our bedroom, filling it with fresh flowers from our garden on anniversaries and such. The memory is a great consolation to me now, especially on nights when I can’t sleep.”
Jack nodded, grateful that Mr. Butler would share that remembrance with him.
“If you’d like,” Mr. Butler continued, “I’d be happy to fill the bottle with a few stems from our garden here and deliver it to Miss Fisher’s room before she wakes.”
“Yes,” Jack replied warmly. “That’s a lovely idea.”
“Perhaps you’d like to write a note?” Mr. Butler produced a card and envelope from the recesses of a kitchen drawer.
Jack sat down at the table and scrawled, “To future memories. All of my love. Jack.” He placed the card in the envelope, sealed it, and tucked a corner of the envelope under the base of the bottle.
Mr. Butler moved on to his baking tasks, sifting flour into a large bowl.
“I’m truly off now, Mr. Butler,” Jack said. “Thank you.” Jack hoped his tone conveyed the sincerity of that thanks, beyond the simple pleasantry.
“You’re welcome, Inspector,” Mr. Butler replied with a smile. “See you tonight.”