Work Text:
FROM: Rita Gumm, Telegraph office, Port Said
TO: Editor, The Argus, The Argus Building, Melbourne
Message reads:
For immediate publication [STOP] Hon Phryne Fisher has married Insp Jack Robinson of Mel Police in private ceremony on board RMS Oceania [STOP] Conducted by ship Captain Rogers [STOP] Was present will send details [END]
***
It was the sunlight hitting his face through the window that woke Jack. He groaned in protest and turned his head into the pillow. He was too tired and too comfortable to be thinking of getting up yet. His movement disturbed Phryne, and she let out a soft, annoyed mewl before burrowing her head into his shoulder and settling again.
Jack frowned into the pillow, his mind dragging him towards consciousness despite his body’s protests. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. Everything seemed fine: he was in bed, Phryne was there....
Oh. Oh.
Jack lifted his head from the pillow and blinked his eyes open. He was naked, lying on his front on one side of Phryne’s bed. She was next to him, also naked, on her side hugging his arm to her chest. She tightened her grip on him as he moved, and Jack couldn’t help a fond smile even as he winced at their predicament.
What had they done?
They’d been on the ship for two weeks, and had kept to their separate compartments all that time. It had been annoying, and difficult at times - but necessary. They couldn’t very well share a compartment on a ship like the Oceania as an unmarried couple - they’d barely gotten away with it in London, and that had only been parties and the theatre and the like. The thing was it was highly unusual for Phryne to be seen out on the town with a man more than once, and as the weeks had gone by, the London press had become more and more intrigued by the mysterious Australian accompanying the Honourable Miss Fisher everywhere. His name had appeared in the papers a few times, speculating on the nature of their relationship, and they’d got hold of his job title from somewhere too, and Jack could only hope that the news stories hadn’t made their way to Melbourne, or at least had not been brought to the attention of his superiors. Not that he was breaking any rules or anything but… well, as a senior officer of the Victoria Police he needed to look after his reputation.
And unfortunately, according to the rest of the world, Phryne wasn’t good for that reputation.
No, they had known boarding the ship that they would have to pry their lives apart a little from the glorious tangle they’d made of them in London, for the sake of propriety. They booked the separate cabins, knowing it was good practice for how things would need to be when they got home. And a good thing too, because apart from knowing at least three other members of Melbourne’s high society who happened to be on board the ship, Phryne had also identified a reporter from The Argus the first evening onboard. So the official story was that they had met in London as friends and were travelling home together.
Except here they were. In Phryne’s bed. Naked. And if the pounding starting up in Jack’s head was any indication, there had been some alcohol involved in the decision - not that he remembered drinking said alcohol.
He groaned, and forced himself to sit up. His head swam a little, and he waited for it to clear before reaching out to squeeze Phryne’s shoulder.
“Phryne,” he croaked. He winced - his throat felt like sandpaper. He coughed to clear it and tried again. “Phryne.” This time he winced from the shot of pain through his head.
Phryne rolled away from him and burrowed her head in the pillow. “Too early,” he heard her mumble.
Jack put his hand to his temple and sighed. “Phryne,” he said again, insistently.
“Later, Jack,” Phryne replied. She sighed herself and was silent for a moment, but then noticeably froze before slowly rolling onto her back again, blinking at him.
“Hi,” said Jack sardonically.
Phryne groaned and pressed a hand to her head. “Oh god, what did we drink last night?”
Jack gave her a weak smile. “I don’t know, but I think there was a lot of it,” he said.
“Is it too late for you to sneak out?”
“I’m fairly certain we’ve been in port for a few hours already, judging by the time,” Jack said. Meaning - yes, far too late. And sneaking back to his own compartment in his dishevelled black tie would have been risky at anytime, anyway… which was precisely why they’d been trying to avoid such a situation.
Phryne propped herself up on her elbows, wincing at the movement. “I suppose you could hide in here today, and come out again at dinner time,” she mused. “We’ll just have to make sure Rita Gumm doesn’t spot you…”
Jack’s eyes fell on the floor beside Phryne’s bed. Her beautifully-appointed First Class compartment was strewn with various items of their clothing, and an empty bottle of champagne was lying on the floor under the table. Jack frowned at the sight, a sudden stirring of memory waving its hand for attention in his mind. They’d been celebrating something… what?
“Jack?”
Jack blinked at Phryne. “Do you… do you remember last night?” He asked her.
Phryne frowned. “Not much,” she said. “We met in the bar after dinner, I was annoyed because I’d been sat with Hugo again…”
Her voice trailed off, and her frown deepened. Jack’s stomach clenched and his head throbbed - there was something they were forgetting, he just knew it. Something important.
“Did we visit the Captain?” Phryne asked him.
“I don’t know but… something happened, I’m sure of it,” Jack said.
“Yes… something…” Phryne’s eyes widened and she scrambled out of the bed. She swayed slightly as she got to her feet and turned pale, but recovered in a moment and quickly made her way across the room. To Jack’s surprise, she went straight for his suit jacket - discarded over the back of a chair - and pulled out a piece of folded paper from the inner pocket. If she’d looked pale before she looked positively green now, staring at the paper in her hand.
Jack got shakily to his feet. “Phryne?”
Phryne sank down onto the chair and mutely held out the piece of paper to him. Jack made his way across the room, stumbling slightly when he forgot about the champagne bottle, and took the paper from her. It was thick, good-quality linen paper, and just the touch of it sent Jack’s mind racing once more. He knew this paper.
He glanced at Phryne - she was watching him, her face impassive, not giving anything away. Jack sighed and unfolded the paper.
It was a marriage certificate.
Suddenly, he remembered. Not absolutely everything, but enough. They had gone to visit the Captain… and he had married them.
Jack sat down in the other chair with a thump, and ran a hand over his face. “Right.”
“We decided that -”
“Yeah.”
“And then we…”
Jack glared down at the Captain’s signature on the certificate. “What was Rogers thinking?” He said bitterly. “We were clearly too drunk to make that kind of decision.”
“If I remember correctly, he was rather inebriated himself,” said Phryne carefully.
Jack sighed. “Well, I guess that will help with getting an annulment.”
Phryne stared at him in silence, her face inscrutable. Jack looked back at her, hoping that she could read on his face that he didn’t mind. They hadn’t talked about marriage specifically, but he thought he’d made it clear enough that he didn’t expect anything of the sort from her. To be with her was enough for him - and he would never put her in that position. They never would have thought about marriage had they been sober: an annulment was the best course of action for them.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” she said eventually. “I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement with the Captain and the crew to keep all of this to themselves.”
Jack nodded, and then winced when the movement made his headache spike.
“Perhaps I should order some tea, and some breakfast,” Phryne said softly. “I’m sure everything will seem easier after we’ve cleaned up and had some food.”
Jack smiled. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “I’ll go and have a shower while you order, shall I?”
At Phryne’s nod (followed by her own wince of pain), Jack stood up, collected his clothes, dropped a kiss on Phryne’s forehead, and made his way into her private bathroom. It was a good deal more luxurious than his own, shared facilities, and the shower went a long way to making Jack feel better. His stomach had been rolling since he’d seen their marriage certificate, and he knew it wasn’t just his hangover. They’d gotten married. Phryne Fisher had married him. Part of him - the part of him that still didn’t believe that Phryne wanted him in the first place - couldn’t help but feel… not quite smug, but certainly gratified. Phryne, a woman as unlikely to get married as any he’d ever met, had married him. Yes she’d been drunk, but there must have been a small part of her that had been open to the idea.
Most of him, though, was horrified. When he’d gone after Phryne, he’d made the decision that he wouldn’t try to change her. He’d already told her that before, and had thought that the only way to keep that promise was to cut himself from her life. That hadn’t worked, so when he’d gone to London he’d gone knowing and accepting that if changes needed to be made, he would be the one to make them. It transpired that Phryne had had similar thoughts, and from the moment they’d been reunited in London their relationship had been one of compromise. They might have agreed to monogamy, but there was a big leap from that to marriage. Phryne had never given him any indication that she wanted to marry him, and he hadn’t looked for any. But now… would she think that he secretly wanted this? Did he secretly want this?
No, he refused to think that of himself. He was happy with their arrangement, he really was. He knew Phryne was committed to him, to them, and he didn’t need a piece of paper to prove it.
Though now that they did have it, he had to admit that it made things a little, well, easier… No. Jack shook his head. It didn’t make things easier, it did the exact opposite.
It was a mess.
He toweled himself off and borrowed Phryne’s comb to try and get his hair in some order, knowing it was something of a losing battle without his pomade to hand. Then he put on his smalls, trousers and was halfway through buttoning his dress shirt when Phryne knocked softly on the bathroom door and pushed it open. She had thrown on her black silk robe, and Jack realised with a lurch that he had missed seeing her like this - hair tousled, face free from makeup, just risen from bed. He’d been spoiled in London it seemed.
If they were married he would have this every day.
Jack resolutely ignored the little voice in his head and opened his arms. Phryne stepped into them, wrapping herself around him and pressing her face into his neck. Jack brushed his lips over her cheek and she sighed. Jack let himself relax in her embrace - yes, it was a mess, but they would get through it together. They would sort it out.
“I ordered breakfast,” she said into his neck. “I told them to just knock on the door and leave it outside.”
Jack snorted. “Subtle,” he said teasingly.
Phryne pinched his side in retaliation and then pulled away, mock-glaring at him. “And after I ordered your favourites as well,” she said.
Jack smiled and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Have a shower, I’ll listen out for it,” he said.
Phryne stretched up and kissed him again, and then he left her to it. He spent a few minutes straightening out the room, shaking his head as he collected various pieces of clothing from far-flung corners of the cabin. They’d clearly been in something of a rush for each other the night before - hardly surprising, as they’d had to content themselves with just a few stolen moments in various quiet corners of the ship over the past fortnight. It was just a shame that Jack’s memory of the night was so hazy - he had the basic shape of the evening, but details were fleeting at best. He remembered they’d been married in the Captain’s private parlour…
Jack sighed, staring at the marriage certificate on the table. He still couldn’t believe that the Captain had agreed to marry them, even if the man had been drunk himself. They would need to talk to him as soon as possible, before any rumours got started - if they hadn’t already. The Captain didn’t seem like much of a gossip at least, but they’d need to find out who was there to witness…
Jack froze in the act of hanging his suit jacket on Phryne’s wardrobe door. The hanger fell out of his hand and to the floor as he zeroed in on the certificate in horror as he remembered something.
“Witnesses!” Phryne exclaimed. “We need someone to watch - let’s invite everyone!”
Jack strode across the room and snatched up the paper. They had… he couldn’t quite remember but he knew that they had invited people, not members of the crew but other passengers, some that had been still in the bar that late and… oh lord. There was no way that the news hadn’t gotten out already.
Jack scanned the certificate and sure enough, at the bottom, was a place for two witness signatures. One was signed by Peter Lyons, the First Mate, and the other… Jack felt the sudden urge to be sick.
Rita Gumm.
Oh dear god.
They hadn’t just invited some random passengers on the ship to their wedding; they had invited a reporter for the Argus newspaper. And not content with just having a reporter present, they had had her be a signatory witness on their wedding certificate.
How. Drunk. Were they?
It didn’t matter, of course. What mattered was that any idea they might have had of keeping the marriage a secret until it could be annulled could be forgotten about - not only was the entire ship likely to know what had happened, but also all of Melbourne. It was late morning, they must have been in port for several hours already - Rita was a fool if she hadn’t sent off a telegram to the Argus the second they’d docked.
And Rita was no fool.
Jack dropped the certificate back onto the table and sank down into a chair. He heard the water in the bathroom shut off, signalling that Phryne was finished in the shower. How was he going to tell her?
On the face of it, he was the worse off: this was a, well, not to put too fine a point on it, a scandal that could actively harm his career, whereas it would do little to harm Phryne’s. However, he wasn’t going to pretend to himself that this was something Phryne would have no problem with. She might enjoy tweaking the nose of society but she did enjoy her place in it - as did her family, whom she loved dearly and wouldn’t want to hurt. What if this caused problems for them as well?
And, of course, it was going to be all the more difficult to untangle. Yes they’d been drunk, but considering they’d seemed to have invited half the ship and then he’d very publically spent the night in her cabin, they’d have a hard time proving that it wasn’t something they’d fully consented to and then consummated. An annulment was out of the question, which left divorce.
Jack’s stomach twisted painfully, and he dropped his head into his hand. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t, but still. The thought of going through it all again sickened him.
There was a knock on the cabin door. Jack hesitated, but soon got up and went to open it. It would be the breakfast, and Phryne had told them to leave it outside… and it seemed that everyone knew he was in there anyway.
Sure enough, there was a small serving trolley in the narrow corridor outside, and no one in sight. Jack quickly pulled it inside the room, not paying attention to what was on it until it was in the room and the door was closed again, and then the first thing that he noticed was a silver top hat containing a bottle of champagne.
Phryne hadn’t actually ordered champagne, had she? His confusion cleared when he noticed a small, folded white card next to the top hat, with Mr and Mrs Robinson written on it in a flowing hand.
Jack ran a hand over his face and then snatched up the card, trying not to look at the names again. The inside wasn’t much better:
Please accept this bottle of champagne on behalf of the crew of RMS Oceania, as a token of our congratulations. As requested, Mr Robinson’s cabin will be vacated and his belongings delivered to Mrs Robinson’s rooms by lunchtime.
Jack just about managed to get back to his chair before his legs gave up on him, and his head thudded onto the table with a groan. That was how Phryne found him a few minutes later. He heard the bathroom door open and smelt the air get heavy with her perfume, but he didn’t move as she ran a hand over his shoulder and then plucked the card from his fingers.
She was silent as she read it, and it wasn’t until Jack heard her sit down as well that he lifted his head to look at her. She was in her robe again, her hair was wet, and she was toying with the card, her cheeks slightly pink. Jack decided it was best to lay everything out at once.
“Rita Gumm was at the wedding,” he told her. “She’s one of the witnesses on the certificate.”
Phryne pursed her lips together, her eyes darting down to the certificate. “Yes, I… I had this sudden feeling in the shower that she… might have been there.” She wasn’t looking at him, and was still fiddling with the card in her hand, and Jack was hit with the sudden realisation that she was nervous.
He sat up properly and squared his shoulders.
“I don’t think an annulment will be possible, but we can get a divorce,” he said.
Phryne looked at him, finally, and her cheeks went pink again. “Divorce is rather... final,” she said.
“So is marriage.”
“Not necessarily,” said Phryne. She dropped the card and reached out to grasp his hand. “Oh Jack, how could I make you go through another divorce?”
Jack sighed. “It’s not the same thing,” he said, repeating out loud what he’d said to himself. And it wasn’t - the breakdown of his marriage to Rosie had been one of the worst things he’d ever gone through, this… it would be awkward, and difficult to explain, but he wouldn’t be losing Phryne. They weren’t really married, and they would still be together.
“I know, of course it’s not, but… how will it look?” Phryne said, gripping his hand tightly. “Two divorces, and still carrying on with your scandalous second ex-wife?”
Not good, Jack knew, but he refused to think about it. “We’ll deal with it,” he said firmly.
Phryne sat up straight, but didn’t let go of his hand. “We don’t have to,” she said.
Jack’s breath caught in his throat, and he had to swallow hard to get his voice to work. “Phryne… what are you suggesting?”
Phryne ran her thumb over the back of his hand. “Well, we were worried about how we would be accepted back home… we won’t have to worry about it if we just... stay married.”
Jack ruthlessly, immediately, tamped down the fierce joy he could feel building in his chest at her words. No. She didn’t mean it - she was only suggesting it because she was worried about his reputation.
“I couldn’t do that to you,” he said after a moment.
Phryne’s eyes flashed. “What exactly do you imagine you would be doing?”
“Clipping your wings.”
Phryne huffed out a breath and actually rolled her eyes at him. “Jack,” she said, gripping his hand tightly again. “I’m already committed to you. You know that… so what if the rest of the world knows it too?”
Jack opened his mouth to argue again, but Phryne gave him an unimpressed look before he could even begin to speak. He swallowed instead, trying desperately to keep a hold on his feelings and not betray himself. “Phryne… we need to talk about this,” he said.
Phryne gave him a sunny smile. “Of course,” she said.
The look on her face clearly said she thought she’d won, and Jack tightened his own grip on her hand. “Really talk about it,” he said insistently.
Phryne’s smile softened, and she nodded. Jack sighed, trying to think of what to say, but came up short. He sighed. “My head is spinning.”
Phryne squeezed his hand one more time before letting go. “We should eat,” she said. She stood up and headed for the serving trolley. “Come on,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to say that I don’t take care of my husband.”
“Haha,” said Jack drily, as she pushed the trolley next to the table. Phryne flashed him a smile, and he stood up to help her lay the breakfast out on the table. There were juices, tea and coffee, toast with a selection of spreads, eggs, mushrooms, bacon, and sausage under a silver platter, and as Phryne had promised, some of his favourite fruit scones under another.
By silent agreement, they left the champagne where it was.
Jack started by downing an entire glass of fresh orange juice, and then tucked into the food with gusto. The food helped to settle his stomach and ease his aching head, though it didn’t help to stop his mind racing. He was trying not to think about what Phryne had said. He still found it too impossible to believe that she really wanted to… to be his wife.
Phryne ate as well, though not nearly as much as Jack, and then stole half of his toast just after he’d finished spreading marmalade on it. He gave her a mock-glare, which she replied to by taking a big bite of toast.
“Before I left, Mr Butler and I were discussing the possibility of fitting out the hallway closet with rails for my coats,” she said musingy. “It would free up a lot of wardrobe space in my room.”
Jack stared at her blankly. “Alright.”
Phryne smiled at him. “It would leave plenty of room for those suits of yours.”
Jack gave her an actual glare. “Phryne.”
Phryne took another bite of toast and reached forward to pour herself some more coffee. Jack turned his attention to the scones. She was trying to just trap him into agreeing with her, but he couldn’t do it - not because he didn’t agree, but because… well, he was sure she didn’t.
“I’ve been meaning to move Jane into one of the larger bedrooms before she comes home,” Phryne said after a few minutes of blessed silence.
Jack sighed, not wanting to know where this one was going.
“Her current room is the perfect size for a study for you,” she said. Jack couldn’t help catching her eye, and she tilted her head to the side, smiling. “You would need your own space. Somewhere for all of your books.”
Jack looked down at his food, his hand curling against his trouser leg. The thing was, he could imagine it so easily. Truthfully, he had already imagined it. Not in any seriousness, but he’d thought about what it would be like, to live with Phryne back in Melbourne, to not have to worry about reputations or what anyone else thought.
And now it seemed like Phryne had been thinking about it too. She couldn’t possibly have come up with all of this right now. And if she’d been thinking about it, maybe she really did mean it about…
“And of course you would take charge of the garden,” she added airily.
Jack’s mouth twitched, and he looked back up at Phryne to find her watching him with a knowing smile on her face.
Jack swallowed. “It is woefully underused,” he said.
Phryne grinned. “We’d need to throw an enormous party to celebrate, of course,” she said. “If I’m going to be a wife I expect to be shown off.”
Jack tried in vain to fight back his smile. “Phryne…”
“And I’m not so keen on dropping my name,” she added. “How does Phryne Fisher-Robinson sound?”
Jack held her gaze in silence for a moment before answering. “Would I be Jack Fisher-Robinson or Jack Robinson-Fisher?”
Phryne laughed delightedly and jumped to her feet. “I’ll flip you for it,” she declared, rummaging in her purse for something and coming up with a coin. She sidled back to the table and slid onto Jack’s lap - one of his arms automatically went around her lower back and the other rested on her thigh. She held up the coin, her eyes sparkling.
“Heads - Fisher-Robinson, tails…”
Jack nodded, and she flipped the coin, expertly plucking it out of the air and slapping it onto the back of her hand, before revealing the head of King George, who looked rather disapproving.
Jack swallowed. “Fisher-Robinson it is.”
Phryne tucked the coin into Jack’s trouser pocket with a smile. “It has a nice ring to it,” she said, trailing her hand up his torso. “Speaking of…” She drummed the fingers of her left hand against his chest.
Jack laughed and covered her hand with his. “Phryne - are you sure about this?”
“Not in the slightest,” said Phryne cheerfully. Her smile grew soft and her eyes serious. “But I am sure I don’t want the alternative. I want you in my life without worrying about what everyone thinks. This gives us that.”
Jack reached up and brushed back her hair, still damp from the shower. He could see nothing but love and sincerity in her eyes. He took a steadying breath.
“Well then, Mrs Fisher-Robinson,” he said teasingly. “I suppose that makes this our honeymoon.”
Phryne’s eyes sparked with mischief. “Do you know, Inspector Fisher-Robinson, I believe it does…”
***
FROM: Phryne Fisher-Robinson, Telegraph office, Port Said
TO: T. Butler, 221B The Esplanade, St Kilda, Melbourne
Mr B will be needing wardrobe space after all [STOP] Check Argus for details [STOP] Home soon [END]