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Hugh told his mum that he and Dot don’t see much of Miss Fisher or her household. It’s not really a lie - they have their own bedroom and sitting room at the other end of the hall to Miss Fisher’s. His mum doesn’t really approve of their living arrangements.
It’s not what he pictured married life would be like. Hugh had imagined a little house of their own, Dot leaving her job, him coming home at the end of the day to Dot and the kids and tea on the table, just like his mum and dad. But Dot loves her job as Miss Fisher’s companion, and doesn’t want to give it up. At least not yet. He will admit it’s more exciting than staying at home looking after the house and children, even if Hugh worries that it puts her in danger too often. He does sometimes wish that Dot was more traditional, not so much influenced by Miss Fisher’s modern ways, but he doesn’t need Miss Fisher to tell him it’s selfish of him to think that, so he keeps those thoughts firmly to himself.
They eat dinner with the household, which is usually noisier and less formal than what he grew up with - his dad at the head of the table, the kids seen and not heard. It took some getting used to, but he finds he likes Miss Fisher’s family dinners better.
Sometimes he and Dot have breakfast in their room, if they want peace and quiet before they start their day, but often they go downstairs to the kitchen. Hugh doesn’t tell his mum that. He doesn’t mention that Mr Butler joins them at the table, that sometimes Bert and Cec turn up for a feed; she doesn’t approve of Miss Fisher’s staff making themselves at home like that. She doesn’t think it’s proper.
Today it looks like it’s all of them for breakfast, though Miss Fisher is yet to make an appearance. There’s an investigation going on at the moment, so she’s bound to be down shortly. Hugh tucks into his bacon and eggs, letting the conversations wash over him. Janey’s barely touched her breakfast; she’s excitedly telling Dot about a book she’s reading for school. She says she’ll give it to Dot to read afterwards. That’s another thing that Hugh hadn’t expected, that Dot would become such a big reader. She tells Hugh about the ones that she likes, he’s not about to become a bookworm himself but he sees how much enjoyment she gets from them and he’s proud of her.
“Bloomin’ cheating bastards!” exclaims Bert, just as Miss Fisher wafts in, and jabs at the sports results he’d been reading. Hugh feels the invisible weight of his mum’s disapproval. Miss Fisher isn’t bothered by Bert’s language though, and it’s not like Janey’s a delicate flower either. Dot doesn’t even seem to notice.
About ten minutes later Inspector Robinson appears in the doorway. He takes a seat next Miss Fisher’s usual place, helping himself to a piece of toast and pouring a cup of tea for himself and then, without asking her, a cup for Miss Fisher. Hugh doesn’t think anything of it at first. The Inspector likes his food and generally helps himself if any’s on offer. It’s not unknown for him to arrive in time for breakfast of a morning when Miss Fisher’s involved in one of his cases. But something about the way the Inspector tugs at his collar catches his eye, a hint of discomfort maybe, and Hugh watches him out of the corner of his eye. The Inspector tugs at his collar again and there’s a tinge of colour in his cheeks as he looks at Miss Fisher and then down at his plate. Hugh blinks and looks at Dot, who lowers her eyes demurely over a small smile and Hugh feels his own face warm because he gets it. The Inspector hasn’t just arrived after all. He and Miss Fisher…they…no wonder Hugh didn’t hear the front door.
Hugh clears his throat and takes a sip of his own, nearly cold, tea. He wonders how long they’ve been carrying on and if everyone knows except him. He’s not shocked at Miss Fisher really; he’s long since become used to her ways, but he does feel a bit shocked at Inspector Robinson.
God knows it’s none of his business, but it nags at Hugh and he can’t leave it alone. He cares about them both and he can’t help worrying about what people will say. One night he and the Inspector are alone at the station, finishing up the report on an arrest they’ve made. Hugh can’t hold his tongue any longer. He’s going to say something. He’s not sure how to phrase it though. The Inspector won’t take kindly to his asking if he thinks Hugh is just being nosy, prying into his private affairs. He doesn’t want to get his head bitten off.
Hugh takes a deep, fortifying breath and hovers in the doorway of the Inspector’s office. The Inspector doesn’t look up.
“Sir?”
“Hmm?” the Inspector says, not taking his eyes off the statement he’s reading.
“Are you and Miss Fisher getting married?” Hugh asks, wincing as his voice squeaks a bit.
Inspector Robinson does glance up at him then, but then looks back down at the paper, but Hugh doesn’t think he’s reading it. He’s silent for long enough that Hugh thinks he’s not going to answer, and Hugh’s sorry he brought it up, but then the Inspector says, maybe a bit too casually, “Miss Fisher’s not really the marrying kind.”
“Because she’s a modern woman, sir?”
“I suppose so.”
Hugh’s emboldened by the Inspector’s mild response. “But you would like to?”
Inspector Robinson shakes his head a little, but in a way Hugh thinks means yes.
“Well, sir,” he says, trying to sound reassuring, “if anyone can change Miss Fisher’s mind about marriage it’s you.”
The Inspector looks up at him, and his face as serious as it ever is, but Hugh gets the impression he’s amused. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Constable,” he says.
Hugh doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just smiles awkwardly. The door to the station opens and Hugh turns, glad of the distraction, to see Miss Fisher stride in, elegant in a purple and white floral dress that flows around her stockinged legs, a white fur stole over her shoulder, carrying a covered basket.
“Good evening, Hugh,” Miss Fisher says brightly, and slides past him into the Inspector’s office, closing the door in his face with an impish grin.
Hugh turns and nearly jumps out of his skin, because Dot is right there, smiling up at him. He opens his mouth to tell her not to creep up on him like that but the smell of fresh baked scones and the sight of a covered basket over her arm distract him. Dot leans up to give him a kiss, and he should tell her it’s not seemly for her to kiss him at work, where anyone could come in, but she’s turned away already, unpacking the basket onto the counter. There’s a pot of jam and a dish of cream to go with the warm scones, cutlery and crockery and a flask of tea, and no one makes tea as good as his Dottie, so Hugh takes the cup Dot is holding out for him. It’s probably all right, he decides. After all, they are married.
.
It’s a sunny day in Melbourne and the stained glass windows of St Paul’s Cathedral are aglow. Hugh gazes around at the lofty arches and friezes, filled with awe. He looks over at the sea of faces gathered for the occasion – the bride certainly does know a wide variety of people – and for a moment he wonders how he got so lucky, to be here today.
So much has happened: his promotion, children and the home of their own he’s always dreamed of. They’ve been lucky, the depression hasn’t hit them the way it has so many people, partly because of his Sergeant’s salary but, Hugh doesn’t kid himself, the money Dot earned working for Miss Fisher has been a huge help. It hadn’t taken them long to save up enough for a deposit on their own place, a cottage just around the corner. It was surprisingly affordable, even with the downturn in the market. Hugh has his suspicions about that, but when he mentioned it to Jack, Jack had suggested he think about which was more important, his pride or Dot’s happiness. Once he thought about it, the answer was obvious.
Dot still goes over to ‘the big house’ most days. The children are terribly indulged by Aunt Phryne and Mr Butler, even Aunt Prudence dotes on them, and they all have tea there more often than not. At some point along the way Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson became Phryne and Jack and became…family.
The organ chimes the opening notes of the Wedding March, and Hugh straightens and pulls his thoughts firmly back to the here and now. He smiles reassuringly at Jack. Jack returns the smile for a moment, then pulls his shoulders back and stands straight, staring down the vast aisle. Hugh remembers how nervous he was on his own wedding day, not that Dot might change her mind or anything, but that something might go wrong.
His son takes his responsibility as ring bearer seriously, his little fingers clenched hard on the pillow as he carries it slowly up the aisle. He’s nearly five now, looking all grown up in his smart suit, and sometimes Hugh can’t believe how fast the time has gone. Bert gives the boy the thumbs up as he goes by, and Bluey’s face breaks into a proud grin in response. Dot isn’t keen on the nickname, but as Phryne points out, with Bert and Cec as honorary uncles, they shouldn’t have had a red-headed boy in that case. Little Sarah follows him, tripping over her delicate white linen dress as she clutches her posy of daisies.
Behind them, effortlessly elegant and gorgeous as always in a Madame Fleuris beaded wedding dress that shimmers and sparkles all the colours of the rainbow when the light catches it, the Honourable Miss Fisher glides up the aisle. Her eyes are fixed on the man next to him and Hugh thinks he’s never seen her look more radiant. He glances over at the groom.
Jack is looking at Phryne like he still can’t believe his luck, but Hugh can’t remember a time when that wasn’t the case. Even in the early days, before she became his girl, Jack and Phryne had always looked at each other as though no one else existed. Dot’s never doubted that they’d get married one day. Hugh’s not sure that Jack and Phryne are going to have the sort of marriage that society expects. Phryne’s still as free-spirited as ever she was, but Hugh’s watched their relationship over the years and seen how much they adore each other. He truly believes that they will be happy together.
Hugh looks over at Dot, who is wiping away happy tears with a lace handkerchief. Her apricot dress is carefully tailored to cover her tummy. They’re expecting their third child in just under four months. Janey is next to her, pretty as a picture, all grown up now and attending university. Mac stands next to Janey, in a trouser suit with a tie the colour as the bridesmaids’ dresses, the same colour as Jack’s and his own ties. She and Phryne joke that she’s Phryne’s Best Woman. There was a time when Hugh found Mac’s unconventionality disconcerting, now he’s used to her ways. He may not understand it, but he recognises that there is a bond between Phryne and Mac. Dot smiles over at him, and then gestures to Bluey, who is holding up the ring pillow. Hugh takes the ring and ruffles his hair. Bluey waits solemnly for Sarah to join them and then takes her hand importantly and leads his little sister over to their seat between Cousin Arthur and Aunt Prudence.
Jack and Phryne stare into each other’s eyes as they recite their vows. Their voices are clear and confident but Jack’s hand trembles just slightly as he takes the ring from Hugh and Phryne’s eyes glisten as Jack slides the ring on her finger. The minister pronounces them man and wife and they kiss, not like lovers of five years, but with joy.
After the ceremony they pose for photographs on the steps of the cathedral while the sound of the bells ringing out in celebration fills the air. Hugh takes his place beside Jack, and Dot beside Phryne. No solemn wedding poses for the Robinsons. Phryne snuggles into Jack’s arms, beaming up at him.
“About time you made an honest man out of me,” Jack tells her, deadpan, and leans down for a kiss, looking happier than Hugh has ever seen him.
No, it’s a far cry from anything he’d ever imagined, but he’s part of Phryne’s family now, and Hugh wouldn’t change his life for quids.