Hello! I wrote and posted this elsewhere last year, but the recent interest in Phryne and Jack dealing with children made me think some people here might be interested as well. I hope you enjoy!

October 1932

Phryne climbed out of the Hispano, waiting for Dot before walking the short distance to their crime scene. The address was around the corner, a narrow side street she didn't want to risk parking on. Turning down it, she saw the station's newest constable, who she hadn't yet met, and just beyond that Jack. He was facing away from them and...bouncing? As they got closer he turned, revealing a toddler in his arms.

"Ahh, just who I wanted to see," he called.

"Oh no," Phryne objected. "This had better not be why you telephoned. I don't do children, Jack. You know that."

"I was talking about Mrs. Collins," Jack said, passing the toddler over to Dot. "But I'm glad to see that the universe continues its revolution around you."

"As it should," she shot back, then laughed at the red-haired constable's horrified face. She stuck out her hand. "Phryne Fisher-Robinson, occasional consultant and your inspector's...what is it this week, darling?"

Jack huffed. "Constable, this is Miss Fisher. Her household is responsible for the station's biscuit supply—"

"But not your personal stash," she interjected. "And eventually you'll stop referring to it as my household."

He gave her a reproving look. "And this is Mrs. Collins, who Hugh has no doubt told you all about."

"Hello!" Dot said with a sweet smile, looking up from the child.

The constable nodded affably as he said hello, and Phryne decided that he was rather like Hugh Collins had been when he started and therefore liked him immensely.

"So, Inspector Robinson, you can't have called me all the way across town simply to rope my companion into minding this—" she looked at the child quickly. "Boy?"

Jack shook his head. "No, there is an actual investigation. Mrs. Collins, could I possibly trouble you to wait here until Welfare arrives? We telephoned them an hour ago, but as it is a Saturday who knows when they will actually deign to make an appearance."

"Of course, inspector," Dot replied, barely looking up before turning back to the child in her arms.

"His name is Anthony, according to the neighbours," Jack said. "We'll see you upstairs once he's safely off?"

Dot nodded absent-mindedly, and Phryne smiled.

"Come along then, Miss Fisher," Jack said, tilting his head towards a set of stairs that led to some flats. Phryne followed him, walking alongside as they started up. She paused to look back once; Dot was letting the boy walk around the small patch of grass in front of the building.

"You would think she doesn't have two of her own," Phryne remarked, smiling indulgently.

The Collins children were, in their own way, the exception to Phryne's aversion to children. Agnes was two and had three speeds: fast, faster, and fast asleep. Theobald was a pudgy ball of smiles at just shy of a year. Neither of them were her idea of pleasant companions, but they were family and she loved them in her way. Which was, admittedly, quite a bit of encouraging Aggie-monster's willful nature—as if it was needed for a two year old—and waving at Theo from a safe distance.

As they reached the third floor, she noticed Jack slowing down almost imperceptibly.

"Is there any particular reason you have the new constable downstairs?"

"Guarding against journalists looking for a story."

"That bad?"

Jack sighed. "Not as bad as some, but enough to turn Mitchell green."

"Ahh," said Phryne. "And the...?"

"Found in his cot. His crying around noon is what alerted the neighbours."

"Unpleasant."

"You'll see soon enough," Jack said cryptically.

She noticed his cheek twitch and she stopped, folding her arms.

"Jack?"

"His mother was beaten."

"That's not usually enough to rattle you, darling."

"It should be," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Shall we, Miss Fisher?"

—

It was a small flat, just a kitchenette-cum-parlour and a single bedroom. The toilet was communal, found at the end of the hall. It was tidy—the only thing out of place was a pile of bloody cloth sitting by the kitchen sink; she assumed the killer had used it to clean before leaving. There were three officers, including Hugh Collins, in the small space, and all of them looked slightly disturbed. Phryne could smell the metallic tang of blood but could not see a body, so she went through to the bedroom, stopping a few steps inside the door.

It wasn't a large room. Which was, perhaps, why the blood was on so many surfaces.

"Did the neighbours hear anything?" she asked, sensing Jack behind her.

"Not that they'll say. The person directly below says that there are always arguments in the building, but nothing stood out last night or early this morning."

"Surely though, there had to have been something?"

"The speculation is that the first hit might have rendered her unconscious."

"The body?"

Jack pointed towards the bed, and Phryne moved around it. The woman laid between the bed and the child's cot beside it and Phryne hissed and turned her eyes away. As she did so they slid over the cot, noticing the stuffed dog covered in blood. A sudden suspicion struck her.

"Where was the child?"

"In his bed," Jack said quietly.

"Those weren't towels by the kitchen sink, were they?"

Jack shook his head.

"Just the ones used to clean him, once the photographer was done. Based on the—well, it looks like he might have slept through the event itself. Small mercies."

She shook her head, unable to find the words. Aggie had slept over one night, a few months earlier. Little Theo had taken suddenly ill and the Collins family's cottage was only just around the corner from Wardlow; Hugh had called, rather frantic, and asked if they could take Agnes in for the night. Phryne cut him off before he launched into an explanation of why their families couldn't, immediately agreeing; she had converted one of the servant quarters by the kitchen into a playroom/nursery after Dot had told her she was expecting, and it was no trouble at all. It had gone perfectly well, until the next morning. Aggie had woken up, and at the absence of her mother proceeded to scream and cry for mumma until Mr. Butler finally distracted her with some fresh scones. Phryne had not forgotten the franticness of the girl's cries, and it made it very easy to imagine what the child downstairs must have sounded like in order to alert the neighbours there was something wrong.

Phryne looked around the room, seeing no signs of a male presence.

"Is there a father in the picture?"

"No," said Jack. "Neighbours say she was widowed before Anthony was born."

"We'll want to confirm that," she said absently, still surveying the room. "Other visitors?"

"Not that the neighbours noticed."

"Did the neighbours give us anything of use?"

"Just the name of her employer. Worked at a restaurant a couple of streets over. One of the neighbours watched the child when she did. We'll go over there next."

There wasn't anything else to get from the bedroom, in Phryne's opinion, and the blood and claustrophobia was getting to even her. No wonder the men had all been in the other room. She gave herself a shake and turned to Jack, forcing a small smile.

"Coroner?" she asked.

"Should be here any minute," Jack said. "We'll have him come in and remove the body; hopefully they can tell us more when they get her back to Mac."

This wasn't Mac's territory, strictly speaking; City South was, Phryne assumed, called in because it was a Saturday and Jack was the nearest DI, but it should have fallen under another morgue's purview. For Jack to have called in a favour to have Mac on the job... he was rattled. The pile of bloody clothes by the sink flashed in her mind again, and she had an image of Jack—she knew, somehow, that it had been Jack—carefully cleaning the boy, smiling to set him at ease but his eyes dark.

"Alright," said Phryne, trying for a hint of her usual levity. "We'll see what Mac says. Until then, you can take me for either a very late lunch or a very early supper."

—

Jack wanted to get out of the room. It was absurd, but when he'd arrived at the scene, he'd found that the responding constable—not one of his men, thankfully—had left the child in the cot, afraid to disturb the scene or possibly unable to cope with the sight. By the time Jack and Hugh had arrived the boy was so far beyond hysterical he'd had to restrain Collins from taking a punch, and Jack himself had given the constable a very thorough reminder of his priorities while Collins took the boy into the other room. The constable was suitably cowed, but Jack couldn't help but wonder when they started letting kids too young to shave into the academy.

One of his men, responsible for photographing the scene, had stood the child on a table to document the state of his clothing; when it was done, Jack, by virtue of being the closest officer with free hands, had taken him to the sink. Collins had found a spare set of clothes on one of the arm chairs, before retreating to telephone Welfare and then Phryne and Mrs. Collins. Jack had washed the child as quickly as possible, planning to pass him off to a constable while he investigated. The boy had clung to him instead, face still blotched red from his tears and utterly exhausted. Even Collins had given him a look when he came back in and then shrugged.

"Sometimes you can't argue with the little mites," Hugh said. "Aggie once clung onto Dot's great uncle for three hours straight. She'd never met him before."

And that was how Jack ended up carrying the boy from door to door, speaking to the neighbours. The victim was Helen Fox, a widow in her early twenties who had moved into the building before the child—Anthony, the first neighbour supplied—was born. Anthony had turned two a month before and was cared for by the neighbour Mrs. Bowen when Helen was working. Both mother and child were considered good neighbours; quiet, polite, and Anthony was always well turned out despite his mother's limited funds. No known difficulties were mentioned. One of the neighbours offered to take the boy in while they waited for Welfare's arrival, but he had fallen asleep on Jack and even unconscious was still whimpering and clinging to him whenever he tried to put the child down.

When Anthony had woken up Jack had headed downstairs; the boy didn't need to see the crime scene again, and Mrs. Collins and her unnerving skill with children of all ages was due very soon. By the time she had, the child was calmed and more than happy to go to the smiling lady and Jack had gone back upstairs with Phryne. He had been unable to shake the unsettled feeling permeating the small flat though; even Phryne was oddly subdued, though she tried to hide it, and she had not been on the scene in the beginning.

"Alright," she said, taking a final sweep of the room. When her eyes fell on him she smiled, and half-hearted though it was it was a welcome sight. "We'll see what Mac says. Until then, you can take me for either a very late lunch or a very early supper."

They exited the bedroom. Jack left orders with his constables to finish with the scene, check back with the few neighbours that had not been home during their first interviews, and wait for the coroner's van to arrive. Then he followed Phryne back downstairs; once outside they found Mrs. Collins still watching the boy. The sky had darkened considerably since they had gone in, and rain was imminent.

"Mitchell," Jack said, pointing out his young constable. "Telephone Welfare again, see where they've gotten to. Mrs. Collins, thank you for minding the child. I'm afraid we might need to rely on you a while longer."

"It's absolutely fine, inspector," she replied. "Anthony and I are having a lovely time, aren't we darling?"

The boy nodded solemnly, his dark curls bouncing as he did.

"Jack?" Phryne asked, touching his arm. "Could you perhaps take young Anthony for a walk while I speak with Dot?"

He realised that she wanted to fill Mrs. Collins in on the details of the investigation, and either astutely realised the child was old enough to understand bits and pieces, or just didn't want to deal with him. Possibly a combination of the two. Either way, he found himself walking the child to the corner and back while Phryne spoke with her friend.

While he walked he talked to the boy about the trees and the flowers and the motor cars that passed on the busier road ahead; it was preferable to the child's silent stares, at least. Anthony was only a little younger than Aggie Collins, but other than her Jack had spent very little time with children that age in recent years; there had been his brother's daughter Ivy, before the war, and Rosie's nieces and nephews, but they were all older now and he hadn't seen the latter in years. Aggie was a whirlwind of a child, verbally precocious and loud and perfectly charming, but she had not prepared him for the unnerving experience of a silent toddler. The only thing the boy said the entire journey was when Jack pointed out a lorikeet; Anthony had pulled himself upright to get a better view, straining out of Jack's arms.

"Keet! Keet! Where keet?"

"Just there, young man," Jack had replied, shifting him so he had a better view of the tree. He presumed the new angle helped, because Anthony nodded and fell silent once more. "Do you like birds?"

The boy was staring at the tree, watching the brightly coloured bird and seemingly oblivious to the question. When the bird eventually flew away he wilted again, and Jack could not nudge another word from him. When he got back to the building, Constable Mitchell was back.

"I spoke with Welfare, sir, and they say they have no one to come out for hours yet."

Jack sighed. They could have told him that the first time; he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly.

"What about a neighbour?" Phryne asked. "You said that one of them watches him regularly?"

"Can't," Jack said. "Regulations forbid it. He'll have to go back to the station and wait."

"That's no place for a little one, inspector," Dot interjected. "He'll want something to eat soon enough, and a distraction."

"He needs to be in the care of a member of the constabulary."

To his surprise, it was Phryne that spoke up.

"If Mitchell were to drive Dot and the child back to Wardlow and stay with them until Welfare arrives, would that be acceptable? Ivy's watching Aggie and Theo there, and at least there's a bed and food and a place to contain him," she said, then cast a look at the sky. "And it will be out of the rain."

Jack considered it; it was not, strictly speaking, proper procedure. There were no rules against it though.

"Mrs. Collins?" he asked, turning to Dot.

"I'd be happy to do it, inspector."

He nodded to Mitchell.

"Please telephone Welfare, give them the new address," Jack told him. Phryne produced a card from her decolletage and poor Mitchell's eyes nearly bugged out his head; Jack tried not to chuckle. "Then escort Mrs. Collins back and wait with her until the child is collected."

"Yes, sir," said his constable.

"Now, Miss Fisher, I believe I owe you some lunch."

—

Returning to Wardlow that evening, Jack noticed one of the police motor cars still parked on the street. Phryne saw it a second after him.

"Mitchell can't still be waiting, surely?" she asked.

Jack groaned. Interviews at the restaurant where Helen had worked had taken most of the afternoon and had produced no real leads. By the time they were back at the station the shift was over; Jack had been in long enough to telephone Helen Fox's next of kin—Collins had tracked down an aunt in Ballarat—and leave a message with the woman's husband, then suggested to Phryne that they return home for the night. They weren't going to make any progress on a Saturday evening, and Mac's report hadn't come through yet.

"We may as well go see," Jack said, climbing out of the car.

Mr. Butler met them at the door, quietly informing them that Constable Mitchell was in the kitchen with a cup of tea.

"It's well past the end of his shift," Jack said, and Mr. Butler inclined his head.

"Yes, sir," he said. "But Welfare has yet to arrive; Dorothy put the child to sleep in the nursery before going home, because he was exhausted, but the constable felt he should stay."

Jack nodded. "Yes, he should have. Or contacted the station so a replacement from the evening shift could come out. Has he spoken with Welfare again at least?"

"I'm not certain, sir. I can ask him, if you'd like?"

"I'll speak with him," Phryne said, removing her hat and giving her hair a quick shake. "I need a cup of tea. Jack, why don't you telephone Welfare again, see where they've gotten to?"

Jack moved to take a seat by the telephone and asked the operator to put him through. Edgar Prentice answered at the other end; Jack had known him for years. Decent man, rather fond of passing responsibility on to other people but honest.

"Jack!" he exclaimed. "What can I do you for?"

"Well, we've been waiting over six hours for someone to come pick up the minor child of a murder victim," he said bluntly."If someone had said it would be this long I would have driven the boy over myself."

"Hold on, mate. The only police call we've had all day was handled hours ago."

"What do you mean that it was handled, Ed? The child's currently asleep in my house."

"It's right here. Custody passed to..." there was a rustle of papers. "Jack Robinson, 221B The Esplanade, St. Kilda? That can't be right..."

"Damn right it's not. That is, in case you have somehow forgotten after knowing me for over a decade, my name and my address, and I certainly did not take custody of a recently orphaned two year old."

Jack looked up to see Phryne watching him from the kitchen doorway, eyebrows raised. Jack covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with his hand.

"It looks like there was a mixup and 'pick up the child at this address' became 'child is in custody at this address' somewhere along the line," he said quietly.

Phryne rolled her eyes.

In his ear, Ed was coming up with any excuse he could to cover for the error.

"When can you get someone out?" Jack asked.

"A couple of hours. I'm sorry, Jack, but we're running at a deficit all around. We've got too many kids and not enough foster families, the homes are packed to the gills, and half my work force are out sick. And now that it's after hours... you're lucky you caught me here, never mind anybody else."

"So when will you get here?" Jack asked.

"Look, you said he was asleep, right?"

"Oh, absolutely not, Ed."

Phryne's eyebrows rose even higher, clearly suspecting what Ed's suggestion had been, and Jack nodded.

"I can come out first thing tomorrow morning."

"Next of kin will be here first thing tomorrow. That doesn't help me now."

Phryne had come closer.

"Is that Ed?" she mouthed, holding out her hand when Jack nodded.

"Hold on, Ed, Phryne wants to speak with you."

"Edgar, darling," Phryne purred down the line, and Jack winced. Nothing good ever came out of that tone. "What's this about tomorrow morning?" There was a pause as Ed replied. "So what you're saying, just so this is clear, is that we can either be up until who knows when waiting for you to do your job this evening—waking the sleeping child in the process, which sounds like a delight—or you can be around first thing tomorrow morning?" Another pause. "And there's no other alternative? You're certain of this?" She flashed Jack a quick grin, clearly having Ed exactly where she wanted him. "And if we were to do this enormous—" she stretched the word out until it snapped. "—favour, I don't suppose you could convince that darling wife of yours to aid with the next Women's Hospital fundraiser? Someone with her skills would be exceptionally helpful."

Phryne's smile was victorious, and she motioned for Jack to hand over his notepad and pencil.

"Yes, Ed, I think you should give Enid a ring, see what you do. If you aren't here in the next hour we'll just assume it's all arranged, shall we? Yes, excellent. Lovely to speak with you too," she said, and ended the call.

"Really, Phryne?" Jack asked.

"Aunt P's been after Enid Prentice for that fundraiser for weeks," Phryne said with a shrug, scrawling a quick note on his pad and then ripping the paper out and setting it beside the telephone—it was the Prentice's home telephone number. "He'll sleep through the night and be gone before I get out of bed tomorrow morning. I'm not going to kick the child out to sleep at the police station, which would be the alternative outcome. Especially as I suspect that you'd be the one to take him in, and I have other plans for this evening."

Nearly three years together and he was still surprised by the depths of her desire for him.

"Is that so, Miss Fisher?" he asked, gently caressing her hand as he took his notepad back, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Oh, yes, I've just had the latest in lingerie sent over from the House of Fleuri," her voice was husky.

He smirked, one corner of his mouth raising.

"And let me guess?" Jack said. "It's positively lethal?"

"Well," she purred. It was a dangerous sound. "I'll let you be the judge of that."