Opening Scene

Midnight ~ January 23rd, 1920 – Southwark, London, Mr. Harrison’s Trinkets & Charms

Rain had seeped into every crack and crevice in the south-end of London, filling the morning with heavy fog, mingling with the smoke from the factory stacks, an unnerving ether hung over Southwark as the day continued with its dreary down-pour, turning from a torrent of rain, to a light drizzle. A mix of snow flurries created for an icy condition, as snow from the previous week still lingered on the streets. The skies were thick with grey clouds, and even at night now, an omniscient orange glow from street-lamps gave an indication that night had not yet come. Pacing the floor in her attic room, a woman dressed in a white-button down blouse with a neatly pleated brown plaid skirt, her gaze returned frequently to outside realm that loomed beyond the glass panes. A dimly lit lamp cast sleepy brown hues upon the faded flower wallpaper, agitating her mood further; she felt confined, like a caged animal, one that could no longer tolerate the frequent pacing. Checking the tiny gold clock-face on her wrist one more time, something she had done since the stroke of 11, she sighed in appreciation at the clock hands as they reached 11:35p.m. Lifting a plum-wine all-wool coat off a coat hook affixed to her bedroom door, the young woman slipped into the warm coat, and buttoned the solitary button on the front. She reached for a black knitted scarf, looping it twice around her neck, before she reached for a black cloche, a bell-shaped hat popular with all women. As she studied her reflection in the mirror, slipping the cloche of the crown of her dark brown tresses, a pair of weary, light blue eyes gazed forlornly back at her. This was a process she had done on several occasions. Sleep was hard to find, especially without the aid of her beloved opium. Now, she would not wait a second longer, as she knew the longer she remained behind, the higher the risk of being discovered. Without a second thought, she opened the door to her room, and descended the flight of stairs that led to the outside world.

The click of her heels against the damp pavement were muted from the pooling water, the rain had halted in its downpour, where a light mist now permeated the atmosphere. She kept her chin tucked low into her scarf, the breath from her nose creating a dampness into which she breathed, her hands deeply planted inside the brocade-lined pockets, her fingers curled around the handle of a Smith & Wesson Revolver, the metal felt cold to the touch; if she needed to use the weapon she would. The street-lamps passed by, providing safety from the relative darkness that loomed in the alleyways, as she turned off the main road into a side-street, she could see a man shrouded in mist, leaning against a lamp-post, a cigarette in his mouth as she could see the faint orange light glowing with each inhale. This was Nicholas, the man that provided her what she desired. Last year, in late September, a man attacked her on her way home from work late at night. He held a gun to her temple as he forced himself upon, the smell of rum heavy on his breath. She withheld tears of fright as he fumbled with the garter belt that held up her stockings. The touch of his calloused hands caressing the inner parts of her thigh as he groped in the dark repulsed her. He was too drunk to restrain her arms, assuming that the barrel of the gun pressed to her temple would silence her. Due to his ignorant nature, she could reach for the revolver in the pocket of her summer coat, he never saw it coming. She had tried to dispel his forceful attempt with quiet pleas of mercy, these were cast aside as he insulted her purity, and belched out slurs that would make any sensible man blush were he in the right state of mind. When the man would not yield, she withdrew her own gun, the same one she carried in her pocket now, and pressed the barrel of the gun to where his heart lie beating behind his button-down shirt, pulling the trigger. Blood-splattered and terrified that those living nearby would hear and discover her, she fled into the night, returning to the attic room above her daytime employment. She buried her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep, astonished she had had enough courage to end a man’s life, she justified the pulling of the trigger for her own safety. For nights to come, still to this day, she woke from fits of haunting dreams, walking down dark alley ways as mysterious shadow hands groped her in the most secretive of places, pulling at her, trying to drag her into the shadows. It wasn’t until she discovered a young man peddling opium on the street corner from her walk home late at night, did she find sleep with ease. However, because of this new-found habit, she went to great lengths to keep the secret from her brother, Samuel. Surely he would be disappointed if he ever discovered her dirty habit. To feed her addiction, she ventured out only at night, revolver in pocket, to retrieve her weekly purchase.

“G’evenin’.” The youth spoke, drawing the cigarette away from his mouth, as his hand reached into his own coat pocket.

“Hello Nicholas, how do you fare this evening?” She asked, her voice barely higher than a whisper, she kept her hands buried in the depths of her pocket to retain warmth.

“Quite well, ma’am. The usual for ye?” He inquired, his eyes flicking from one side to the next, as if searching the misty shadows for coppers, or people that would do them ill.

“Yes.” Her answer was short, without explanation.

“3 pounds then.” He stretched out his hand to receive the paper money, she responded without a word, pressing the money into the palm of his hand, and opening her own palm in return to receive her purchase. Withdrawing a small brown paper sack, he passed it into her palm, she claimed it, stuffing it deep inside her own pocket.

“I’ll be seeing you then.” She said, and turned around on her heel. A heavy click forced her to whirl around and draw out her revolver, her thumb cocking the gun. There, from the alley emerged from the misty shadows, several men in derby hats.

“Not so fast, Miss Addley.” One man said, he started in with his weapon drawn on her, the metal of the barrel glinting in the light of the lamp-post.

“What do you want with me?” She demanded.

“You’re sister to Samuel Addley, he owes a debt to us. You see, two weeks ago, he killed my brother. Do you know who we are?” He took a tentative step towards her, pointing the gun at her chest, she dared not lower her own gun.

“No, so I presume you’re going to tell me before you kill me.” She said daringly, if she were pressed, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger and empty her 5-rounds into this man. Of course, those were her only bullets.

“We’re the Thorny Adders, and your brother is a Jolly Rougher, he killed my brother Charlie Jepson, and I’m his brother, Rory.” Just as the man lowered his forefinger to squeeze the trigger, a shot from somewhere up high rang out through the air, splattering the man’s brains on the pavement, he toppled to the ground without another sound. The other men that were with him, pointed their weapons up, searching for where the shot came from, they fired blindly, hoping to hit their hidden assailant. This was a bad place to be, this much she knew, someone in the nearby town-houses would have called the coppers by now. Suddenly another shot rang out, dropping another man to the ground, while this wasn’t a kill shot, the man grabbed his arm in anguish, his screams of agony filling the night air. Two more men were struck, while the bullets weren't kill shots like the first, Vera wondered if it was someone from the Roughers that had been tipped off by the movement of the Adders into their territory; the following shots were meant to maim, not kill, as the men took bullets to their outer appendages. Nicholas, her dealer, fled from the scene, leaving the men of the Adders to gather their wounded. In the far off distance, sirens of police cars echoed, approaching nearer as they sped through the empty streets. Not wanting to be caught for having drugs on her, she bolted from the scene of the crime, her heart pounding like a drummer boy on the fields of battle. The thick clouds above opened up and let loose a torrent of cold rain mixed with snow. She made it half way down the block before police cars flew around the corner, blocking the road. Doors flung open, as the coppers spilled out like ants with weapons drawn.

“Halt where you are miss!” The first copper said, his tall rounded hat displaying a row of stars, he must be a captain of sorts, or so she presumed. She held up her hands in defense, high above her head to show she held no weapon. The rest of the coppers descended on the Adders, and rounded up those that had not fled the scene, wounded and able-bodied alike.

He searched her by patting her down, and when he discovered the revolver, and the brown paper sack, her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. She knew there was no way out of this now. “What’s this?” He asked, though he needed no answer as he opened the sack. He pulled out a dark brown brick, the half the size of his palm, wrapped in sack-cloth. Clucking his tongue, he slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists without further hesitation, and guided her into the paddy wagon, where the others from the Adders were being boarded.

“You’re being arrested for the possession of an illegal narcotic.”

---

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Ending Scene

After her arrest, Samuel paid her a visit the following morning once he caught wind of the gunfire and the death of one of the Adders from Matthew. While she briefly explained to him what happened, she left out the part that she was arrested for purchasing opium, of course he knew, but he wouldn’t hear it from her, no, she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. He promised her that he would have her out in a few days. Fortunately for her, being at Holloway, she didn’t have to deal with the problems of having to deal with disgusting men locked away for far more voracious crimes. Holloway Prison was the only prison for women in all of London, there were others on the outside, to be certain, but none within the locality. Her hands shielded the sunlight that spilled down onto her face from the barred window. From down the hallway, she could hear a set of footsteps, the soft soles of leather shoes slapping against the cold stone floor. Disregarding the sound of footsteps believing them not meant for her, she remained reclined upon her cot, her entirety felt numb, numb with shame and disbelief, how she found herself in this situation bewildered her. Had she truly become an addict to the extent that the Adders targeted her through Nicholas for a fault her brother made? Astonishingly, the footsteps came to a stop outside the cell. She bolted upright, and through the iron bars, she could see Sam standing alongside one of the jailers. His face was void of all emotion, as was normal nowadays, ever since the war, Sam had changed to be a different man, one that seemed harder, devoid of happiness or joy. Even now, the look on her brother’s face spelled indifference.

“Miss Addley, you are free to go. Your brother has paid for your bail. On your feet now.” The jailer said as the door slid open. She didn’t need to be told twice to get on her feet, she leapt up, and hurried to Sam, embracing him tightly.
“Sam…” She whispered, overjoyed to see him again. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry…” She murmured, pressing her nose into the fabric of his shirt, he smelled strongly of cigarettes.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” He said, returning the hug, though with not as much warmth. When he released her, he guided her down the hallway to the exit.

Daylight.

Standing on the stairs leading out of the prison, Sam plucked out a cigarette, and with a swipe of a strike-match, he lit the rolled cigarette, inhaling deeply, before casting his sister a long, sideways look. As she stood basking in the sunlight, she reveled in the sensation of the wind tousling her long hair off her shoulders. With wandering eyes, she discovered a car located at bottom of the stairs, parked on the side of the street. She recognized two men leaning against the car as members of the Roughers, Shay Alden, an Irish man, and Eli Lindsey, one of the representatives. They both puffed away on their own cigarettes, watching them with languid gazes.

“You have a lot of explaining to do. Get in the car.” He started down the steps with her following close behind. The air was chilled, as snow still covered the grass, and above in the sky, massive grey clouds lingered on the western horizon, inching closer, hinting that more snow was on the way.

Sam opened the rear passenger door of the car, one that she was vaguely familiar with, a Peugeot. As she slipped inside, Sam closed her door, and came round the other side to join her in the back seat, while Shay hopped into the driver’s seat, with Eli sitting next to him.

“Shay, take us to the Tawdry, eh? Vera deserves a drink, and I certainly need one after this.” The engine kicked over and the car started off down the street. “So… shall we start from the beginning?"

Vera knew it was inevitable, Sam would want to know the exact details of what happened that night, four days ago. With a heavy, forlorn sigh, Vera turned her gaze out the window. “I suppose it’s now or never.” Yet she would have to be careful choosing her words, after all, she didn't feel too comfortable telling her brother with the other two Roughers present.

“I went out for a walk that night. I couldn’t sleep Sam; you know how I am as of late.” She began, unsure of how to proceed, but she ventured on anways, it was best to get it over with in the long run. “I ran into a man that stopped me for a conversation, and before I know, I’m surrounded by men of the Adders. A man by the name of Rory Jepson approached me with his pistol trained on, said that you killed his brother Charlie. Before he had the chance to pull the trigger, someone, I don’t know who, pulled the trigger and shot the man dead. The rest of the Adders were scared shitless, and they turned their weapons up to the windows. I think one of the Roughers had staked out the area, how they knew the Adders were there, I wouldn’t know. Shots rang out as the Adders tried to kill the man that just shot Rory dead. Before I knew it, the coppers were on scene, and that’s how I ended up at Holloway.” She explained rather briefly.

“Vera…” Sam started with an irritated sigh, he knew she was withholding information. “Don’t lie to me. You were arrested for possession of an illegal narcotic.” The two men in the front of the car were quiet as it rumbled along the streets.

Casting her blue eyes on her brother, Vera studied him for a long period of time. Her pride was too strong at this point in time to have the courage to tell him openly about her secret vice. How could he possibly understand? She shrugged without a word, and offered up a weak explanation, “I didn’t have anything on me, Sam. They likely had me arrested knowing my ties to the Roughers.”

“Vera, I said don’t fucking lie to me!” Sam roared, he turned his burst of anger onto the car door, slamming his fist into the panel. Cringing in fear, Vera recoiled from her brother, her eyes wide with terror at his outburst. “They found bloody opium on you! You want to tell me how that happened? Or are you going to tell me another lie?"

“Sam…” She whispered, her hands trembling, limbs shaking in fear. “I… will you let me tell you in private?” His gaze locked onto hers, and while he dearly wanted her to tell him now, he knew that she would tell him in private, that much he knew.

“Fine.” He grunted, annoyed that she had attempted to lie to him. He knew his sister too well, by the tone of her voice, or choice of words. She couldn’t hide anything from him, not even if she wanted too. It was then that Eli piped up, he was a swarthy man, she overheard him talking one night in the Tawdry about his ancestry; apparently the Lindsey brothers were English-Italian descent.

"Shay can you tell how those Adders were taken out, but Tommy is going to want to hear what happened from you in person, so once you and Sam are done with your sibling bonding time, you'll need to talk to Jonny."

The January rains came down as a cascade, and it was something that kept most people indoors and off of the streets, certainly at this time of night. Perched atop one of the roofs overlooking an unremarkable municipal street lay Shay Alden, concealed beneath a heavy grey wool blanket that broke his silhouette to an indistinct shape that the eye might pass over, mistaking for a part of the structure. The blanket was soaked through at this point, so it hung heavy to his body, but the rain never bothered Shay. Two years on the Western Front had all but acclimatized the Irishman to poor weather. There were periods of the war where he felt he’d never be dry again, and on evenings like tonight, he simply was glad he wasn’t up to his knees in mud in the miles and miles of zig-zagging trenches, wondering when a bullet might find him, or a loosely aimed shell would crash down in his trench and end everything in an instant. However, here in London, he was safe from those who would seek to end his life, but he never let his guard down. A single mistake would compromise him, and that simply would not do.

His reason for being perched atop a building in the driving rain in the midst of winter was a simple one. Two days after Christmas, Shay was seated with Samuel Addley, a fellow Rougher whom Shay was not particularly close with. The man struck Shay as a rather intense lad, his attention to his personal grooming and tense mannerisms gave Shay the impression that Samuel Addley wasn’t unlike a shark; smooth and graceful in his way, but when he unpredictably snapped, there wasn’t much you could do to abate his rage. Still, Shay felt comfortable around the man. Past calling him “Mick” on occasional as a playful rib at his heritage, Sam had never made Shay feel unwelcome, and that night, surrounded by Christmas decorations and patrons who were either eager to get away from their families or had none, Shay knew what Sam was asking him was serious when he actually called him by his real name.

Shay, I need you to keep an eye on my sister. Word is, she’s leaving her flat late at night and I want to know why… and I need a man I can trust to keep her safe.

The words ran through Shay’s mind as clear as when they were uttered through a cloud of Sam’s third cigarette. Shay agreed, and he accepted the payment of a pack of cigarettes and bottle of whisky more as a thank-you gift than payment for spying on Sam’s sister. And so, for a month, Shay had staked Vera’s apartment, night after night, and when she did leave, always just before midnight, Shay followed discretely at a distance, twice even passing her on the street, face downturned, so she would disregard him as a threat, just someone going for a late night stroll, perhaps to the pub or back. After two weeks, he’d discovered her meeting with a man on the same street, where she purchased what looked like some kind of drug from the man. The exchange only lasted a minute or two at most, so it wasn’t as if she were exposed for long. Shay didn’t make assumptions, so he had to know for certain what she was up to.

A week prior, he’d wrapped his war-time Enfield rifle in a thick blanket and walked unmolested down the street, no one sparing him more than a passing glance. Finding a fire escape for one of the taller buildings lining the street, Shay had set up his perch at 2245h, knowing he’d be waiting well over an hour for the woman. However, he wanted to see when the street pusher would arrive, and who else he made deals with, wanting to read their faces. Through the 2.5x magnified sight of his rifle, Shay had a slightly clearer picture of the street below, able to make out faces and better see what they were handing off. When Vera Addley showed up, as predicted, just before midnight, the exchange happened and Shay saw the brown bag that was stuffed into one of Vera’s pockets with haste. It was almost certainly a drug of sorts, but impossible to tell which. He’d have to tell Sam about it, that much was certain.

As it turned out, the rest of the week had been scarce trying to find Sam, and near impossible to find an appropriate moment to talk to the man about Vera. The night before Vera’s next scheduled pick-up, Shay managed to pull Sam to the side before him and a couple of the others managed to run barrels of rum down to the docks.

“Sam, you ought to know that I’ve certainly watched Vera purchase some kind of drug from a street pusher. I couldn’t tell what it is because it was in a bag, but she’s been going to the same man on the same street at the same time each night… I had to make sure. She’s due tomorrow night just before midnight.” Shay had said.

Sam nodded, clearly managing his building anger. “Okay, okay. Not what I wanted to hear, but okay. You do what you were doing, make sure nothing happens to her, and I’ll be waiting for her back at her flat for when she gets back.” He grasped Shay by the shoulders. “You’re a good man, Shay. Good man…” he said, walking off to rejoin the others. Sam swore loudly and kicked a discarded bottle, it shattering against a wall. The others turned to look at Sam, some throwing inquisitive glances at Shay before Sam waved his hand in dismissive irritation. “I’m fucking fine! Let’s get this job done, boys.”

And so, on this rainy evening, Shay set up perch for what he’d assumed would be the last time, watching Vera’s beautiful face through the crosshairs of his optics and the as of yet unidentified street pusher. The transaction went as usual, and Shay began to relax when suddenly, someone called out to her, prompting her to turn and pull out a revolver from her pocket. Shit, she was carrying? His entire body tensed as he moved his crosshairs to the alleyway near where Vera and the dealer were standing. Subconsciously, his thumb pressed the safety lever forward, releasing the trigger block.

Their voices would have normally carried in the night, but the rain drowned out the conversation, but this clearly was not an expected or wanted encounter – the gun on Vera was a testament to that. He watched the man, gauging his intent. The tight grip on his revolver was sign enough that he was here to kill. Shay lined up the post of his sight just under the man’s eye and as he had done dozens of times before, let out a slow exhale that joined a depressed trigger moments later. Shay watched as a ragged red hole of the powerful .303 round punched through the man’s eye and blew apart a brick in the wall behind him, along with bits of bloodied skull and brain tissue. He racked the bolt with a forefinger and thumb, his left eye not leaving the offset scope. Another tried to find shelter, and Shay drove the point home by putting a round through his bicep. The bolt racked. Another went down when Shay’s sight went to his leg, and two seconds later another had a shot through the hip. They were quick, sloppy shots, but the entire exchange of fire only took ten seconds. His magazine still had six rounds, and he searched for the other gang members who would try to harm Vera, who wisely fled. He followed her with his rifle and his teeth gritted when he caught sight of the Paddy wagons rounding the corner, cutting her off. Moments later, Vera was slapped in cuffs and taken out of sight by the constabulary.

“Fuck.” Was all Shay managed to mutter as he gathered his rifle and the soaked blanket and hurried down the fire escape as fast as possible. He had to get to Vera’s apartment and warn Sam as soon as possible, especially before the cops had a warrant for searching her property.

~ ~ ~

Four days later…

Halloway Prison wasn’t unlike every other prison Shay had seen in his life, the same monolithic structure with high barbed wire fences and the same dour guards standing watch. The only thing that made this place different was that it was for the women, and so Shay and Eli Lindsey were confident in relaxing as they waited for Sam to secure Vera’s release. It was unlikely, after all, that they’d run into anyone who might recognize them here.

Both men leaned against the Peugeot, about half way through their cigarettes. “I’m surprised you aren’t sporting a shiner for Vera getting snagged by the coppers.” Eli said, exhaling an acrid cloud between pursed lips. He rarely used his fingers after igniting a cigarette. Shay flicked some ashes free with a thumb and took a drag. “Was bad luck, is all. Sam has a bit of a temper, but he isn’t irrational. Had I not been there, miss Vera would have likely been shot, and there’s not much you can do about coppers showing up. Thank the Lord miss Vera didn’t shoot at the Adders herself, or she’d be in a world more trouble. Ah, here we are.” He said, nodding as the outer gates were opened to let Sam and Vera out. As Sam approached, Shay flicked away his smoke and climbed into the driver’s seat, Eli heading around front to crank the engine.

“Shay, take us to the Tawdry, eh? Vera deserves a drink, and I certainly need one after this.” Sam asked, his voice tense but not unkind. Shay nodded.

“Of course.” He said simply, the vehicle turning over and Eli climbing in, smoke still dangling between his lips. Shay put the vehicle in gear and started on a course down the now-familiar streets to the Tawdy Countless. Eli and himself remained silent as Sam chastised Vera for a number of things, the narcotics being paramount about it. Both men in the front bench didn’t dare butt in, preferring to be ignored for as long as possible. It was impossible not to feel bad for Vera; everyone made mistakes, and she happened to be in a spot where it came back to bite her. Shay wondered if Sam would have been easier on her if the Jolly Roughers hadn’t suffered a hell of a setback when the coppers had raided the gang the year prior. Probably not, he decided.

Eli suddenly spoke, breaking the brief silence as the siblings came to an impass. Shay inwardly groaned when Eli put him on the spot, asking him to reveal his role in these events. Shay spoke, his voice soft and melodic. “Begging your pardon, miss Vera, it was me who was the rifleman that night. I was asked to keep an eye on you and keep you safe, and so I did.” He said, without elaborating further. He didn’t want to toss out more information than he absolutely had to.

Not long after, Shay pulled the vehicle up to the curb in front of the Tawdy Countess and headed inside with the others. Making a straight line for the bar, Shay was hoping Vera wasn’t in for a world of hurt. He caught Vera’s eye as she walked past with Sam, and Shay looked at her with apologetic eyes. He’d saved her life, so why did he feel like a damn villain?

Where Secrets are Revealed, and Propositions Made

The familiar faces that filled the Tawdry, were a sight for sore eyes, whether Vera wished to admit it or not. As soon as she stepped inside the pub, welcoming sights of the green leather barstools, and the thick smoke that blanketed the air like a dense fog were truly a comforting view. She shed her coat, as the jailer had returned her belongings to her, including her revolver as she had a viable certificate to carry and own the weapon in need of self-defense. As she strode across the worn floorboards, she caught the eye of Shay Alden. Her thought reflected back to what he had revealed in the car ride over to the pub. So it was him that had taken out the vengeful Jepson brother. She understood that were it not for him, she would have endured more than an arrest. However, there was one part that bothered her, how did he know she would be there? And why he was ordered to keep her safe? To her, the only practical reason that came to mind, was her brother. Of course, it made perfect sense for Sam to have one of the boys keep an eye on her, she managed to find herself involved in the most unsavory situations from time to time. Sam made straight for an iced-glass door, eliminating anyone lounging in the bar to look inside. This was where Tommy, Clint, Grant or even Jonny received potential prospects or associates in privacy. As he held the carved mahogany door ajar for her, Vera sidled into the room, her lips pursed in a grimace of disdain, she had the feeling that she would receive some type of reproach for garnishing attention to the Roughers with her arrest, as well as the death of Rory Jepson. Seated behind a broad desk that matched the door to the private room, with a cigarette dangling between his lips, was none other than Tommy Wallis. The door clicked softly as Sam joined his sister, a bottle of whiskey baring a black label with white lettering read: Wally Boys Whiskey. The afternoon sunlight filtered in through a tall window behind the boss, casting rainbow glows from the crystalline glasses seated on a respectable coffee table before them. Reclining back, the cold touch of leather against her bare legs raised goosebumps along her skin.

“It’s good to see you again, Frankie has missed your help at night, he says the men tell him they pour him badly mixed drinks.” His lips curled around the butt of the cigarette in his hand, the tip burning with a deep inhale. A long curl of smoke poured from between his lips, his eyes sizing her up as he stared hard at her.

“It’s good to be out. I can’t thank you enough for doing whatever you did to get me out of Holloway.” Vera began, her eyes transfixed to watch as Sam uncorked the bottle of whiskey seated on the table, and proceeded to pour them both a drink. He passed a half full glass to Vera, and retained one for himself.

“Of course.” Tommy mused, his dark eyes crinkling in a tentative smirk. “I wouldn’t dare let one of my best men’s sister sit behind bars for a petty misunderstanding, if that’s what it is.” His eyes narrowed into menacing slits as he took another long drag from his cigarette again, before flicking the accumulating ash into a ceramic dish. “So, word on the street is that the Adders are raving mad that we had Rory Jepson killed, and wounded two others. All over a half-brick of opium eh?”

She paused in her drink, drawing the glass away from her lips, and set the glass upon the table, crossing her legs over one another, Vera folded her hands in her lap, the burning of whiskey sank into the pit of her stomach, bringing fire to her cheeks. “Yes.” She retorted, her jaw clenched in respite.

“Care to tell me why, you’re investing in opium? Especially when you ought to know that our own men supply readily in our own territory.” His words were like frost-bite to Vera’s mind, chilling and precise.

Her eyes turned away from Tommy, staring instead at her glass. She snatched the glass off the table and emptied the sweet liquor down her gullet before setting it back down with a sharp clink. “I avoided telling my brother why I’ve chosen it as my vice. I have my suspicions that he may know when I’ve begun my habit, but allow me to inform you as well, Mr. Wallis.” Tommy responded with a simple cock of his brow, and another long drag from his cigarette before gesturing with his hand for her to carry on.

“Do you recall a Mr. Billy Bellamy?”

“’Course I do, he worked as one of our henchmen. Shot dead in an alley, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s because I killed him, Mr. Wallis.” Vera said, pouring herself another glass of whiskey, this time filling it just mere centimeters from the lip of the glass. When she brought her gaze to meet Tommy’s she found him staring back at her in a curious manner, perhaps one mixed with confusion, as his dark brows were furrowed together.

“Pray tell, why did you kill Billy?” Another draw, and another flick of ash. While Sam had remained quiet beside her, she could feel how his body tensed, his muscles coiled like tightly wound springs, ready to explode.

“Well you see, Mr. Wallis, I was on my way home from the Tawdry. I didn’t make it mean two streets down, when someone grabbed me by the arm, hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the darkness. Billy tried to rape me. I could tell he was drunk by the way he reeked of whiskey. You see, what no one knows, is that Billy put a gun to my head. What he didn’t know, was that I carried my own gun. I tried to dissuade him, but all I was met with were degrading insults, ‘You’re just a chippy, you bim. So why don’t you quit your squirmin’ and let me have a go with you?, those were his last words before I emptied some hot metal into him.” Her voice imitated a male Cockney accent as she recanted her tale of how Billy Bellamy ended up dead in an alley, she kept her cool, the sheer brevity of her words elicited a curt nod from Tommy, while Sam downed his glass in one gulp.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Sam growled, he couldn’t bring himself to look his sister in the eye. His blood boiled at the thought that he had failed to protect her, something he promised to do since as early as he could remember in his youth.

“You think this is easy for me to talk about, Sammy?” Vera snapped, “Why else would I turn to hitting the pipe, eh? I can’t fucking sleep anymore, my sense of safety was robbed from me. If I don’t hit the pipe, I lie awake for hours, thinking of what could’ve been. It’s the only thing nowadays that give me an ease of mind. So you can both criticize for my poor choices, but don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon.”

“I didn’t ask you stop.” Tommy said, extinguishing the end of his cigarette in the ash tray. “In fact, here.” He opened a drawer in his desk, and tossed an item wrapped in sack-cloth towards Vera. She caught it readily, and as her hands unwrapped the cloth, she looked up immediately at Tommy. “I can supply your need, on one condition. You just tell Silas how much you want, and he’ll get it to you free of charge.”

“What’s the catch?” Her eyes narrowed quizzically at him, there was always a catch.

“You officially come work for me. You have skills that can be of use in the company, and I’ll pay you. You have looks, you know how to fire a gun, and Sam here tells me that you know how to pick locks, is this true?”

She regarded her brother with a contemplative look, he had relaxed considerably, but his jaw remained clenched. He glanced at her once before turning his gaze back to the coffee table. “Yes. I’ve been picking locks since I was a kid. There’s not anything that can’t be kept from me, if I don’t want it to be. How much?”

“Three quid, plus extra for any jobs you carry out.” Tommy said.

---

---

“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me what happened to you.” Sam protested as he shut the door to the room behind Vera, he kept his voice low, loud enough for her to hear.

“You asked me if I knew anything about Billy’s death, Sammy. You didn’t ask me anything else. I wasn’t going to tell you anything else either, unless you asked, but you never did. And of course I wasn’t going to tell you right straight what happened to me. I took care of it. That’s all you needed to know.”

With an agitated sigh Sam guided his sister to the bar for another drink, taking her by the elbow. As she took a seat upon the familiar leather seat of the barstool, Vera smiled at Frankie, the man sported a slick black moustache, with a crown of black hair slicked back as well. He looked every image of a proper dandy, black vest waistcoat, armbands, white pinstriped button down, with brown trousers. She admired how he always invested in a well-groomed appearance, just like Sam, then again, Frankie’s image helped bolster the reputation of the Tawdry.

“Miss Vera! I can’t believe my eyes! Oh how happy I am to see you, tell me, what’ll it be? The Bees Knees, or would you prefer a mint julep?”

“A mint julep, please.” She said with a bright smile, forgetting the events that occurred in Wallis’ room just moments ago. While Frankie busied himself with pouring her drink, Vera turned round in her chair, and scanned the interior, she spotted many familiar faces, in fact, if she weren’t mistaken, all of the Roughers were present. Even some of the women such as Miriam Dorsey, Eli’s girlfriend, Eris Hawkins, Emory’s girlfriend, and even Nettie Parish, cousin to the Wallis’. She knew the women well enough, that was certain, as they frequented the Tawdry just as often as their counterparts. As her eyes swept over the room, she found the man she was looking for, Shay Alden. He kept to himself in a quieter part of the room, she knew it to be so, as she had often seen him disengaged with those in the pub. She knew from Sam that he had served in the war, and assumed just as well, that he had come back a changed man. By then, she had received her mint julep, and with Sam, glass of whiskey in tow, made their way to pay Shay a visit.

“I wanted to thank you for driving me from the prison.” Vera started, she offered him a small smile, as she sank into a chair adjacent to him, while Sam followed suit.

“Before she gets carried away, Mick, let me tell you this. I need you to take Vera to your place for tonight, let the heat die down, Tommy sent out eyes to watch her place, but he hasn’t given me O.K. that it’s clear for her to go home yet. Can you do that for me Shay? Watch after my little sister again, make sure she’s safe from harm?” While Sam used the man’s nickname, he did not mean for it to be a jest, instead, it acted as a gentle gesture of friendship. Vera merely rolled her eyes, did Sam really believe that she couldn’t look after herself? Hadn’t she told him that she shot Billy Bellamy dead? In the meantime, her eyes wandered over Shay, she realized that aside from the occasions he made his way to the bar to order a drink, she really never had the chance to get a good look at him. She had to admit, he was handsome, regardless of the fact that he was an Irishman, as the other Roughers teased him for.

“And… there’s more to it,” Sam sighed, sipping whiskey slowly from his cup, “Tommy wants you both down at the White Star tomorrow, in the early evening. He wants you both to meet a gentleman by the name of Irving Tindall for a prospect opportunity. Get there before 5p.m. so that Eris can fill you in on the situation, and why Mr. Tindall has arranged a meeting to see you both. And look sharp the both of you, the White Star ain’t no Tawdry. We’re talking high-class, rich snobs here, and Mr. Tindall will be expecting to meet someone of a high status as well. You both need to look, and act the part. Tommy says that if you do the job well, there’ll be serious cash in it for you both.” Then, he reclined in his chair, pulled out a handsome stack of cash, pushed it in front of him, and cocked a brow at Shay, curious to hear his response. It wasn’t often that Shay received an assignment like this, Tommy used him for his marksmanship skills, just like how he took at Rory Jepson, and a few other of the boys from the Adders; along with another minute tasks assigned to the street-rats.

The door of the office opened a few minutes later, and Shay did his best not to pay much mind. It didn’t help to give anyone the impression that you were too curious about affairs of others, and he’d already played enough of a hand in the events that were surely being discussed by the bosses, Sam, and Vera. He had moved to a table off in a quiet corner, away from the more rowdy patrons, and he was nursing his whiskey slowly, not wishing to feel intoxicated but welcoming its warmth and curious burn. When the siblings approached, Shay offered the pair a polite nod and wordlessly watched as they sat across from him.

Shay was afforded time to do little more than offer Vera a slight smile when Sam jumped in, blunt and straight to business as always. At first, Shay had found it off putting and somewhat disrespectful, but he’d come to learn the brother Addley was just not a man who indulged in small talk often and took things very seriously. It made him high strung, but also dependable. The fact he came right to Shay to ask him to do a sensitive job was pretty much as high respect as you could expect out of the man; it meant he trusted you to get things done, and competently.

What Shay wasn’t prepared for was Sam asking him to harbour Vera in his place for the time being. Most men would sooner beat you for looking at their sister wrong, and here Sam was asking Shay to be a gentleman and look after Vera in about a personal, private situation as one could imagine. Wordlessly, it was saying ‘I trust you not to touch my sister, as well as make sure she feels secure and comfortable’. This certainly was one turn of events Shay had not anticipated, and the first thing through his mind was how inappropriate his flat was for a lady. He barely had any furniture, a twin bed, a three seater couch, and a few assorted tables and chairs. It was about all he could afford on his meager earnings.

As Shay mulled over this proposition, Sam presented him, and Vera, a job. The Irishman crooked his head, as he often did while listening, as he took in the information in stride. It was so outside his realm of experience, he had his reservations, but it didn’t sound like it was entirely outside of what he was capable of. He’d need to buy himself a decent suit, that much was certain. He’d never expected he’d be stepping foot in somewhere as high-class as the White Star in his life. Shay drank, a much heavier pull this time, and set his glass down with unhurried care. He took the offered bundle of pounds, and without counting or regarding it for more than an instant, slipped it inside of his coat pocket. “Aye, Sam. I can do that, on both counts. Seventeen hundred at the White Star, try to look and act the part.” Turning to Vera, he said, “And I will do right by you, miss Vera. Apologies in advance for my humble accommodations, but I’ll make sure you’re kept comfortable and safe. Just let me know when you want to take off, sounds like we’re in for quite the day tomorrow.”

Looking back towards Sam, he nodded his head a couple times, gaze downward. “A bit outside my comfort zone, let’s home the highborn Londoners don’t take offense to my potato farming ways, if you catch my meaning. Anything else you think I should know or be aware of, you know how to get a hold of me. You and the Wallis brothers won’t have to worry about a damn thing; we’ll see that Mr. Tindall made the right choice at propositioning the Roughers.”

Sam knew that he made the right choice by asking Shay to carrying out the task of looking after his sister. For once, a relieved smile appeared on his lips, a strange sight to see, that was certain. The war sapped out all of the joy from his life, it left him on edge, on the brink of constant paranoia, living in a world where every breath could be his last, every word, his last spoken. He felt that he had no time to waste, whereas Sam once took delight in lengthy, indulgent conversations with his schoolyard mates, he felt no need now to waste such valuable time shooting the breeze. No, he was a man of few words, a man of business, a man where the seconds ticking away on his pocket watch were seconds he would never have again. This is why he found such comfort in the Irishman that sat across from him, the first time when he had come to him, to find out why Vera acted the way she did, to find out where she was going at night, Shay had asked not a word about the situation, but simply asked what Sam wanted him to do. Even now, with his words, 1700 hours, Sam recognized the black-haired man as retaining the teachings of war. So, Sam extended his hand for him to shake, the corner of his lips upturned in relief.

While Vera sipped on her mint julep, she couldn't help but to smile at Shay's words, how he apologized for his humble accomodations. Surely, anything would be better than the stifling hot quarters of her attic room. Occasionally, as she listened to her brother and Shay talk, she would glance briefly at Shay, curious to know why her brother entrusted this man with her livelihood so steadfastly.

“On a soldier’s honor. Right?” When the handshake came, Shay would find one not overbearingly strong, or one that crushed his hand, but instead, a gentle grip, one the commended friendship.

“Give me a second to finish my drink, and we can be on our way then. I know of a few stores that my boss, Mr. Harrison, goes for his suits. He’s an impeccably dressed man. As for me…” She stuck her pinky in the cool drink, and brushed away the mint leaves, drinking all of the contents within before setting it before her, “I hope I won’t be a trouble to shop for. I don’t have any patience with any of these fancy snobs.” Here, she rose to her feet, turning to her brother as she did so, and placed a tender peck upon his forehead. “I’m sure you will hear from Mr. Alden if any harm befalls me brother.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Alden. Will we be driving or walking?” Vera asked, she slipped her coat over her shoulders, and fastened the single boat, and proceeded to wrap her knitted scarf around her neck, the very same outfit Shay would have saw her in the night he took out the spiteful Jepson brother.

Shay responded to the offered hand in a firm and courteous manner. The Irishman sat, mulling over the definitive words. On a soldier's honor. A curious sentiment. While it was true veterans had an unspoken, tight-knit agreement, it was a tricky thing to reconcile honour with the actions they were undertaking as gang members. It wasn't that Shay felt guilty for his criminal leanings, hardly the case, but a soldier was sworn to uphold His Majesty and the United Kingdom's interests with selfless integrity, not subvert their laws for personal benefit. It wasn't a soldier's honour that drove Shay; it was making amends for his father leaving his own family in a time of need, and leaving for a place where people would accept him for who he was. His English name and family ostracized him in Ireland, and his Irish birth and accent demonized him in England. He suspected there weren't many places in the world that would take him as is without reservation.

Finishing his drink in a steady gulp, Shay set his cup down and slid it to the edge of the table so the staff could get at it easier. When Vera mentioned her opinion on the highborn society, Shay couldn't help but smile affectionately. "I suspect, miss Vera, there shan't be an issue in that regard. I am a humble man of common origins, so perhaps it will be a joy to play make belief for an evening."

When Vera mentioned to Sam that Shay would tell him if anything happened to her, she rose from the table as well, looking Sam in the eye. "And it won't come to that. You have my word."

Slipping on his peacod and buttoning it up, Shay walked with Vera towards the doors. "Driving, miss Vera. I was given custody of the car until our business is concluded. Hard to convince people we're made of money when we're walking everywhere, aye?" he said, stepping ahead to hold the door for his charge. When she cleared the threshold, there was no need to mention where he'd parked; it had only been a matter of minutes, time for a drink and a quick chat. Once again grabbing the car door for Vera, Shay cranked the car's engine and climbed in the cabin, not needing to adjust anything on account of him having been the last driver. Putting the car into gear, Shay pulled out into the streets, of which the traffic was mercifully light. "Begging your pardon if you had other intentions," Shay said, "But I figure it would be best if we took care of our purchases first before heading back to my flat to retire for the evening. We can also stop by the market and pick out some things for meals, if it pleases you."

Careful not to catch her skirt, Vera stepped up into the cabin of the Peugeot, and settled on the bench. She caught a glimpse of Shay turning the crank for the engine and allowed herself a small smile, she wondered how he felt, having a complicated woman such as herself, dropped right into his lap, to look after, and now they were assigned a task, which if it went south, would likely tarnish the Roughers name.

As the engine rumbled to life, Shay sidled into the bench beside her, shutting the door to the cabin, the Peugeot prattled on down the road, it was here that he made his apologies, for he thought it best to take care of their needed purchases, as well as pay the market a visit to pick up some ingredients, for dinner and perhaps breakfast tomorrow.

"No need to apologize Mr. Alden, I think it best we take care of the essentials so that we're not slacking behind when tomorrow comes. As for food, well, I can't say that I'm a fantastic cook, but I can certainly try my best. So where shall we head off to first? There's a store in Greenwich, it's a bit of a ways from here, but they've nice articles of clothing, especially for gentlemen such as yourself."

From under the shielded lip of the cloche perched precariously on her head, she could see Shay when she shifted her eyes sideways, perhaps it was the discussion between Tommy and Sam that left her sitting on edge, the two glasses of whiskey, and her julep left her nerves stroked painfully thin. There was a nagging notion that pestered her, why had Sam cast her off with this Irishman? Sure she knew that he trusted him, but how could she trust him?

"Mr. Alden, if you beg my pardon, as I'm sure you will find my language lewd, but have you ever been with a woman?" Depending on his reply, Vera felt that she could determine how well she could trust him.

The bluntness of the question caught Shay off guard. He blinked slowly, not taking his eyes off the road, partially out of safety concerns, partially because he felt part of him would wither and die under Vera's stare, and it took him a few moments, perhaps seconds too long, to reply. "Ah, no miss Vera. I have not. Never had luck with the lasses in school, and brothels never were a thing that interested me. I was in the war long long after I graduated, even lied about my age to enlist. Not long after the war, I came to England, and have been rather occupied trying to get my life together. A woman's never figured into my life, miss Vera. Not that I don't appreciate the company of women, and that is something I admit to desiring to some shame, but things just aren't so simple with me." he worked his jaw and fingers on the wheel, loosening them up. "It probably doesn't help I've had something of a crisis of faith the past few years. Please don't make it out that I'm a prude, that ain't it, begging your pardon, but... never mind. It's complicated." he said, shaking his head. This was among the most personal he'd gotten with anyone since he joined the gang, and it was an odd sensation talking about such personal matters with a woman he barely knew.

"Look," he said, trying the words out and seeing what came out as the car bounced along the cobblestone streets. He had to downshift on account of a horse and buggy in the lane ahead. "I'm really sorry about my part in what got you into this mess. Sam asked me to keep an eye on you, and I'm not one to turn down a favour to the boys, especially when they're concerned about something. Sam's a good man. I just want you to know that as soon as you were safely in doors, that was the end of it, I never tried to invade your privacy. Just... tried to keep you from harm, is all."

While he spoke, he gave a great deal more than she had intended to hear. Not that that was a problem by any means, she wanted to know something, anything, about the man she would share his home with that night. What she found peculiar, was that, even in wartime, he had not found the solace or comfort of a woman, not even from the brothels. Not ever, quite frankly. She kept her gaze cemented on him, she could see how he gripped the wheel, how he worked his jaw, even how he shook his fingers loose to downgrade a gear. Did Sam know this? Is that why he had chosen Shay to look after her? For the fact that he had never lain with a woman? She found that impractical and assumed it went deeper than that. It was when Shay addressed the issue of him keeping his watch over her did it become clear the bond between Sam and Shay.

A gentle flurry of snow began to dust the streets as she turned her face to gaze out the window, she contemplated the fullness of his words for some time before she found what she wanted to say.

"Aye, my brother is a good man. That's why I question his intentions from time to time, it seems as if he is trying to conduct my life where it would not be needed. You see, Mr. Alden, Sammy and I were born in Liverpool, our father passed before either of us knew him. I think that my brother has tried to be the man that he imagined our father to be, noble, honest, and kind of heart. When he came back from the war... He was a changed man, through and through. I remember the days when Sam would smile, how he laughed, the way he would tease me, but now, it is as if his happiness has all but dried up. I know, deep in my heart that the only thing he cares about, is me. When we stayed in Liverpool, we lived with my Aut Eliza. After my mother moved us to London, we lost touch with her, so neither of us are sure if she is alive. We're all we have. Without me, he would have no one, and I the same. So please, you needn't apologize for doing as my brother asked. If anything, I find it rather endearing that he asked for help to keep an eye on me." Vera stopped talking to gain her bearings, her eyes flickering from store front to store front as she leaned forward on the bench before she saw a street sign.

"Turn right up ahead at the cross street. You can take this road up for about another four streets before you'll make a left onto Clifton Ave, on the left side of the street will be a store called, Hobbs & Pollard Threads."

"Sometimes, when something tragic happens in life, and you feel that you can tell no one, for the simple fear of stigmas, you choose to bottle up what you believe to be something you can control, by having the power of silence. I've learned my lesson well Mr. Alden, so I want to say thank you. Thank you for doing as my brother asked, and looking after me, regardless of what you witnessed me do. I am a woman with a deep pain, and I try to vanquish that pain through my own diabolical vices. Without you watching over me that night, I believe that I would not be alive today." Crystalline blue eyes flickered over to Shay, and she allowed herself once more, a small smile, though this one was not meant for joy, but rather remorse and self-pity.

"I'm sorry about your father, truly, I am." Shay said, finally having an opportunity to overtake the buggy and continue on their way. He kept straight on the street and watched the pedestrians carefully; automobiles were still a relatively new thing, and people just loved to jump out without looking. Last thing Shay needed to do was run some old lady or child over and be accused of being too drunk, too irresponsible. The law would be merciless. "My own father was a hard man to love, I find comfort in anyone who finds love in their own." he sighed, his lips burrowing into a frown. "The war destroyed about every man, either in body or soul. I know I'm not the man I once was, either. Sam and I see a lot of each other in ourselves, and I suppose it's reassuring to know we're not alone in the toll we paid. I won't bore you with what you already know, but I know for myself I have to be very cautious about everything, very calculating. I'm still afraid to smoke at night, and every time I hear a car backfire, or a tire blow out, or somebody shout, it's like I'm back there, back in the fight."

He followed Vera's directions and turned onto the street as instructed, and started to count the signs. Having Vera thank Shay felt like he had a weight lifted off of his soul, and while part of him felt he didn't deserve it, the person who mattered felt he did the right thing and that counted for quite a bit. A smile crept upon his face, one that was born out of relief and gratitude. "Had I known you would have been in real danger, I would have done it regardless if Sam asked. You're a good lass, miss Vera. I'm just damned glad I was in the right place at the right time. I don't even feel anything for the men I killed and wounded, I was more worried about what you'd think after all was said and done. But trust me, miss Vera, I know all about needing to cope with your demons. I won't pry for why you needed opium, but myself, I smoke and drink entirely too much, all because of the things I've seen and done. I harbour no ill judgement of you, you do what you need to do to keep going. I just want you to know that whatever you need from me, I'll do my damnest to provide. So don't feel guilty for needing help, as it were. There's no shame in having vices to cope, it takes strength just to carry on to the next day, and I understand that better than most."

The Peugeot pulled off in front of Hobbs & Pollard Threads, and Shay killed the ignition. Looking out the window at the store front with its immaculate suits in the window, he let out a low whistle.

"I've never owned clothing anywhere half as nice as that in my life. I'm going to be one awkward Irishman tomorrow. People are going to wonder how in the hell I afforded a suit." he opened the door, and a rush of cool air entered the cab. Stepping out and walking around to the other side of the car, he opened the door and offered a hand for Vera.

17:00 Hours Hobbs & Pollard Threads – Greenwich, London

When Pleasantries are About

---

Placing her delicate hand within his masculine sent goosebumps up her arm, thankfully she sported her coat to conceal that fact, Vera stepped down from the Peugeot, and nodded her thanks. She turned with him to view the store front with him, her eyes widening as well. While Vera kept a straight posture, she pulled her shoulders back square, and lifted her chin up a tad higher than she normally carried it. She would not be made a fool of in a place like this, and nor would she allow anyone to mock Shay of his accent.

“Don’t you worry about what these people think, money always silences their wagging tongues. We’ll tell them that you need a measurement, and a fitting done; hopefully, your shoulders aren’t too broad, or else we’ll need a custom-made suit. Besides, all they know is that we can more than afford any suit in their blasted shop.” She boasted, tugging on Shay’s wrist briefly, and then proceeded with a brisk walk up the stairs to the front door of Hobbs & Pollard Threads, where she disappeared inside the red brick building. The store front itself denoted of higher quality items inside with its white stone Grecian columns that stood like a gateway into a realm of opulence and luxury, mirrored by broad panes of glass trimmed with painted green wood, this was a place afforded by only the wealthier members of society, certainly not the richest, but those that lived in Greenwich, lived a more lavish life when compared to the commonfolk in Southwark. How Mr. Harrison afforded suits of these quality left her feeling dumbfounded, she thought that the people living in Southwark were generally associated with the lower class, which was true, but why a man like Mr. Harrison kept his shop in Southwark, when he could afford suits from Greenwich baffled her. Perhaps he preferred to live a simpler life than his wealth would allude to.

When Shay eventually joined her inside, he would find Vera talking to a saleswoman in her mid-forties, sporting a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, draped around the collar of her blouse like a set of pearls hung a measuring tape, a neat bun secured at the base of her skull held her peppered hair. As the bell above the door chimed merrily, Vera turned her attention upon him, her relaxed posture and easy-going smile indicating that she had encountered no conflict. Whatever she said while he remained outside no matter how brief or length of time, was long enough for her to waive any questions about his worries over his accent.

“There he is, my dear. Yes, Matilda, if you would be a doll and give him a proper measurement, we would both be indebted to you. Finding a suit that fits this man is like trying to cool a cuppa’ tea with hot milk. Shay my darling, this is Matilda, take off your coat so she can obtain a proper measure right quick. She said a man of your stature and build would find several suits here.” Her choice of words were odd indeed, calling him dear, and darling were not words a woman like her would use so readily. That only went to show how well her skills in communication were, ready to assume any role necessary despite the situation. She would have no problem adjusting to tomorrow’s task, but it was Shay that her worries concerned. Deciding inwardly, Vera knew it would be best if they picked up a book on paintings at least to aid them in tomorrow’s assignment. Even then, she would be able to help him with what etiquette she did know to mask any suspicions about their status. This would certainly be a long night ahead of them both. As her eyes lingered on the two individuals, Vera reflected back to his words in the Peugeot. His own father, while he had one, was a hard man to love, which made her question how her own father would have loved Sam and her, if there were any love to be given. According to their mother, when she managed to speak of their father, it was always in a positive light, how he swept her off her feet, figuratively speaking, with a bouquet of flowers picked from a field, and how he had asked Eliza and Edward for her hand, as her mother's parents were deceased by that time. What she marveled at the most, was his words of the war; he had mentioned that he was a cautious man, one that remembered all too well the ways of the war, how every loud noise bothered him, the backfire of a car, a blown out tire, or even shouting. Her thoughts darted to how her brother reacted in the car drive over to the Tawdry, how he had yelled at her for her poor choices, she wondered then if he had felt tense or fear, if it had put him on edge.

Before long, her gaze simply fixed upon Shay, lost in her own thoughts. He felt nothing when he killed that Jepson brother, or injured the others, no, his sole task was to protect her, and he did an excellent job. It became clearer to her as to the reason why her brother elicited his help, regardless of his heritage, Sam understood before she did, that he could trust him to get the job done. Unknowingly, a smile crept onto her lips, recalling how he said that if Sam hadn't asked him, and if she were in danger, he still would have gone to look after her safety, as he put it, she was a good lass, even if she had her own demons to conquer, he had his own vices like her where smoking and heavy drinking provided comfort. His words echoed in her mind, and she could feel her body relax as she leaned against the counter, one elbow propping her up, with her hips jutted out to one side. She was in safe hands.

If I worried about what people thought of me, I wouldn’t be in this line of work, Shay thought in response to Vera but not speaking it aloud, thinking to light a cigarette for a moment before deciding against it. Looking up and down the street for anything that looked out of place or uncomfortably familiar, like a car that might have tailed them, Shay decided that the coast was clear and headed inside the opulent tailor shop shortly after Vera disappeared inside. It was like stepping into an altogether different world, one clearly designed to exude wealth and class, the marble pillars and copious numbers of mirrors and a full complement of lighting gave the impression that no expense was spared in both establishing and operating the establishment. Despite the wealthy trappings that engulfed Shay, it wasn’t an unwelcoming feeling. Even the employees seemed warm, at least from first appearances.

He approached Vera and the saleswoman, both of whom seemed cordial, and he let his tension out somewhat. He never liked going in most stores, stately because most shopkeepers assumed his was poor, and if he had money, a simple thief. Hatred for the Irish was still alive and well in England, and Shay knew it would be a vulture that circled him until he died. He studied the saleswoman, an approaching middle-aged woman who looked as if she were aging gracefully and kept a cheerful disposition that probably contributed to her healthy, glowing appearance.

When Vera instructed him to go with Matilda, he simply smiled in compliance. “Yes, dear.” Pulling the black peacoat from his shoulders, Shay followed Matilda to a measuring booth, surrounded on three sides by mirrors. He complied with the older woman’s instructions, allowing her to probe his entire body for measurements as he thought over what was to come. He didn’t misinterpret Vera’s words as endearment, it was an act to disguise the two of them as husband and wife for the day tomorrow, and the sooner they mentally slipped into their roles, the more naturally both would act tomorrow when speaking to Mr. Tindall and other interested parties for this assignment. Much like the tailored suit, the first in Shay’s life, he would have to dress up his very soul to pull it off. Despite the necessity of it all, he felt somewhat fortuitous; there were far worse things in the world than pretending to be a beautiful woman’s husband.

Twenty minutes later, the task was complete and Matilda hurried off to turn numbers into carefully measured cuts of fabric. Shay approached Vera, thumbs hooked into his suspenders. “You look like you’re rather contented in this kind of establishment, dear. Quite a different world than the one I come from.” He said, somewhat of bemusement in his voice.

While Matilda busied herself in the back room with the numbers for his suit, Shay and Vera had a moment alone together. She had tried her hardest not to laugh at him as the saleswoman took his measurements, all in all, he took the situation rather well, but his “Yes, dear.”, forced her to turn her head, withholding a much needed chuckle. When the urge to laugh passed, Vera cleared her throat, and glanced over at Shay, watching as he strode over to her, thumbs in his suspenders. It was when he spoke the next words did her smile disappear from her lips. She stared at her hands folded on the countertop, searching for the right words to say.

“You could say that I am, but not without working hard for it.” Vera countered, finally meeting his gaze, there was something somber in her eyes, one that made her think of her days back in Liverpool. Perhaps that is where she obtained a taste for the finer things in life, but it was her mother that taught her the value of hard work. Without work, nothing is worth anything. “Perhaps if you had the opportunity to see my Aunt Eliza’s home, you would understand. There were thirteen bedrooms in the guest wing alone, all mine to play hide-and-seek in with Sam, and it did take him an awful long time to find me.” Her eyes wandered over Shay, a coyness tugging at the corners of her lips, she lowered her voice to a whisper, “Don’t mistake my ease in an atmosphere like this, it comes with appreciation. After all, my mother taught Sam and I, that we needed to work for what we wanted in life.” Sooner than she expected, Matilda returned to the register behind the counter.

“Now then Mr. and Mrs. Fairclough, your total comes to £20.82 for the suit.” She said, pressing the buttons to the register as the numbers appeared in the glass window. Vera avoided using either of their surnames in the guise she had arrayed, that way if anything foul were to befall them, no one would account for them, as she used an alias.

“Thank you, Matilda. We greatly appreciate your help, now I’m in need of a few new dresses for a luncheon, would you be so kind and point me in the direction of a place with such affable employees like yourself?”

“Ah yes, there’s a store down the block with lovely dresses for a young woman like yourself. It’s called, Lady Evelyn’s Stitchery, has a bright red door, can’t miss it, Mrs. Fairclough.”

“Splendid! Darling, be a good man and when you’ve finished paying, come meet me down the street, and be sure to move the car.” Vera stood on the tips of her toes, as Shay was much taller than her, and placed a delicate peck on his cheek, squeezed his hand tenderly, gave a short wave before disappearing out of Hobbs & Pollard Threads.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Fairclough. She’s a beautiful creature, reminds me of my youngest daughter, Adelia.” Matilda said, her lips pulled back over a set of yellowed, tea-stained teeth. Whether she was dense, or Vera had told her a tale about why they weren’t wearing their rings, the woman never questioned her.

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Lady Evelyn’s Stitchery – Greenwich, London

Just as Matilda had promised, the door to the clothing store for Vera was painted a bright red, and in fact, it was just four storefronts away from Hobbs & Pollard. Unlike the men’s suit store, with its extravagance, and smothering luxury, Lady Evelyn’s possessed a humbler, quaint storefront, as the light emitted inside provoked a sleepy sensation with its yellowed hues, one that allowed a customer to browse in comfort, and in privacy without invasive bright lights. This time, behind the counter leaned a bored girl, around the age of seventeen. As soon as the bell above the door chimed, she pepped up, and smiled at Vera, as if she were the first customer that had walked in the store that day. Whether she was or not, Vera did not know.

“Hello miss! What can I do for you today?”

“Hello, I’m looking for a dress for a luncheon, and a dress proper to wear out for an evening on the town.” Vera said, removing her cloche from atop her head, and shirked her coat as well.

“There’s a coat rack along that wall if you wish to hang them there.” The girl came around the counter, and gestured with her hand. “Are you interested in a tea dress, perhaps? For your luncheon, that is.” She waited for Vera to respond as she made her way across the worn hardwood floors, hanging her coat and hat upon one hook.

“It depends on the colours you have available. I’d like something with a soft-hue to it, say a taupe, or perhaps something more along the lines of rose-coloured.” Vera replied.

“Over there in the far corner, on that rack, are the tea dresses we have available. If you can’t find something in your size, we can always have it custom-tailored. If you need our fitting room, just say the word, and I’ll fetch the key.” Vera then mused a quiet “thank you”, and carried on in privacy, as she ventured over to the suggested clothing rack. As she held each dress against her body, either it was extremely small, or horrendously four-times her size.

“My dear, what is your name?” Vera called out to the girl.

“Bertie, miss. Is there something wrong?”

Without feeling the need to shout across the room, Vera simply returned to the counter, an apparent look of dismay on her face, as her brows were raised, and her lips turned down into a frown. “I’m afraid that I don’t like either quality of these dresses. They’re too…gaudy. And either too small, or frighteningly large. I don’t suppose your tailor is in the backroom?”

“Oh dear, I’m sorry miss. That happens quite a lot to our customers, most of our clothing comes from the factory, and as you know, a size 3 could easily be a size 12, there is just no similarity. Allow me to fetch Leonard. He’ll be happy to help.” She offered a bright smile, and disappeared into the backroom, a door situated behind the counter. Leaving Vera alone to second guess coming to this shop to begin with, she felt discouraged, and would rather have gone to a seamstress she was familiar with in Southwark, right down the block from Mr. Harrison’s. Yet, she knew that her seamstress did not have high quality fabrics in comparison to those found in Greenwich. Drumming her fingers atop the wooden countertop, Vera glanced anxiously at the door, awaiting Shay’s arrival.

“Pardon me, miss. Bertie tells me that you were unable to find anything in your size, and that you wished to speak to me?” Leonard, was a squat old-man, in his early sixties perhaps, he had a sharply hooked nose that gave him a hawkish appearance, where a pair of beady black eyes squinted at her with scrutiny. His gaze alone put her on edge, and she began to worry if there would be a problem when Shay came to join her.

“Yes, as I told Bertie here, I need two dresses, one for a luncheon, and one to be worn out on the town. It appears that everything is either too small or too large. Perhaps it would be better to do a custom order instead?”

“I see. And what type of fabric would you be interested in using for the dress at the luncheon? I would recommend chiffon, and silk, with lace trimmings.”

“That sounds swell, I mentioned to Bertie that I was interested in colours of a soft hue, such as taupe, mauve, or even something rose-coloured.”

“Excellent, I’ll pick out some fabric swatches for you to choose from, in the meantime, I doubt Bertie told you to take a look at our evening dresses rack, but it’s located in the front of the store by the window when you first walk in. If nothing fits you, but you like the design, we can surely have it altered appropriately.” While he seemed friendly to Vera, she couldn’t help but note the superior confident tone he spoke with, she regarded his tone with deep disgust.

When Vera reached up to peck Shay on the cheek, the smile he returned was genuine and his heart was aflutter. They were pretending to be husband and wife, and doing a damn good job at it so far, but that simple gesture of affection was something Shay hadn’t enjoyed for quite some time. It almost made coughing up a nearly outrageous sum of money for a suit an easier tonic to swallow. Pulling out a few bills from his pocket, Shay counted out 30 pounds and handed it over to Matilda, who took it and joined Shay in watching Vera leave.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Fairclough. She’s a beautiful creature, reminds me of my youngest daughter, Adelia.” She said, a genuine affection in her voice, Shay could tell she was being genuine and not just being a good sales representative.

“Aye, she had made me the luckiest man in all the isles. Not many women would see a tramp such as I like she does, and I still wake up and wonder how I got so lucky. If my wife is anything like Adelia, I would say you are one incredibly blessed woman, Matilda.” Shay said with a smile, and the older woman was beaming.

After the exchange was finished, Shay headed out into the street and following Vera’s instructions, started up the car and giving it a few minutes to warm up, pulled it out into the street in a u-turn and he began to drive along, slower than usual, just to spot the red door. Pulling off to park, Shay shut down the car and stepped out of the cab, lighting a cigarette, which he puffed on without hurry. Vera wouldn’t need him for a while yet, and he imagined she’d have to take a few minutes to get measurements and pick out something she liked. That was the thing about women; for some reason, when it came to clothes, they could spend hours before being satisfied with their choices enough to pick out an outfit.

Shay thought about what Vera had said earlier, about her aunt’s 13-plus bedroom mansion and how simplistic her views of things were. Work hard, you get rewarded with your dreams. Life wasn’t like that; Shay and his family had worked hard their entire lives, and he’d never lived much above the poverty line. He didn’t expect turning to a life of crime would pay out in the end, either. Either you were born to money, or you weren’t. A man like him could work himself to the bone every day of his life and he’d never amount to anything in a society that looked at people of his descent like subhuman filth. Maybe Vera would be successful and enjoy having houses too big for her and a veritable platoon of children one day, but he suspected she’d learn the hard way that simply working hard wasn’t going to bring her the opulence she craved.

He didn’t notice how far back the smoke had burned until its embers were beginning to singe his nose somewhat. Flicking the cigarette away, the Irishman headed into Lady Evelyn’s and stepped into the double red doors. Inside, he caught sight of Vera immediately speaking to an older, greying man who looked more like a carrion bird than a man. Shay decided he disliked him instantly.

Regardless, he approached. Draping an arm around Vera’s shoulders, he said, “Hello my love, apologies for my tardiness. Traffic is abhorrent this time of day. Have you found what you’re looking for?”

By an automatic reaction, one that felt strangely familiar to Vera, she leaned into Shay as he hung his arm over her shoulder in an affectionate manner, perhaps this knowledge on how to behave when in love, came from hours spent watching the Roughers and their ladies mingling under the dim haze of the Tawdry. Tipping her face up to look at him, like she had watched so many couples do, a pleasant look came over her face, one that could easily denote as love, or endearment. The smell of cigarette smoke hung about him, and while it never bothered her before, and it didn’t now, it provided a rather comforting effect.

Leonard had returned from the back room bearing a rather robust selection of soft-hued swatches, and arrayed them in a fashionable presence, it had appeared that he overheard Shay speaking, for it was evident, of the look his hawkish visage portrayed, one of utmost disgust, though Vera had not witnessed the deeply etched scowl on his face.

“Thank you for moving the car, dear. Well, I’m afraid not… Leonard here went to fetch some swatches from the back. We’ll see if I like any of the fabrics he has. I took a gander at everything in the store here, and unfortunately, everything is either made for a heifer, or a twig-thin child.”

“I think it a shame.” Leonard spat. Now he had her attention, for her gaze travelled to stare at him in utter shock, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide in astonishment. She had felt the condemnation coming from the moment she walked in to the shop, and fell under his scrutinizing stare.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me right, miss. I said, I think it’s a damned shame. So you can quit your gawking at me like some ignorant pheasant. Out of all the good English men that went to serve in the war, died, came back maimed, and you bed down with a pot-lickin’, potato-farmin’ harpie with the likes of this man. It is an utter disgrace for you to be seen in public with the likes of him. Have you no shame, or self-respect? Surely a woman like yourself would have some sense of virtue.”

“How dare you criticize us!” Vera exclaimed, now she could feel the blood boiling in her veins. She was never one to insult anyone, even if it came to a person’s ethnicity, unless of course, they committed a personal foul against Vera. “I would think that a shopkeeper in this part of town would have enough sense to keep his bloody fucking mouth shut for the sake of making a sale.”

“My shop does well without the need of a green-eared bog-trotter with the likes of you coming in here, and foulin’ up my shop with that horrid stench of you.” Leonard focused then on Shay. Bertie, the young sales girl, squirmed in discomfort upon hearing the insults, she had a youthful mind, but despite that fact, she clearly knew right from wrong, and felt no need to jump into the dispute.

"I saved more English lives than you'd ever sold gaudy fabrics to, old man." Shay said, completely unfazed by the vitriol spewed at him. This wasn't the first time he'd been dealing with the likes of men like this; it was his entire life. "Say what you'd like to me, but mind your tongue around the misses if you intend to not drink your tea through a straw for the next month." Shay pulled another smoke out of his pocket and placed it gingerly between his lips, his eyes not leaving the beady orbs of Leonard.

"Seems to me the only thing that smells foul is the stench of your moral decay, sir, and you need to find yourself some new anti-antiperspirant because whatever you're using now is as foul as the mustard gas at the Somme." Shay said, flicking a lighter open. "Now, apologize to my darling wife, whom sees the world from up high like an eagle while little toads such as yourself hiss from under rocks because they're afraid of anyone and anything that doesn't resemble their slimy, spineless hides. And believe me, sir, if I have to return to this rot again, you will not appreciate the company I bring. Am I clear?" he asked, a hint of menace seeping into his voice.

The man merely narrowed his eyes into a soured glare at Shay, how much narrower they could get, she could only imagine. “I will do no such thing, neither of you deserve an apology from me, for if I have offended anyone it will be to righteous English folk, and I certainly will not apologize to your harlot of a wife, who has no business lying in the bed of people like you.” Leonard sniffed, as if he were the one that had been offended in the first place, rather than him causing offense with his harsh, cutting words. Whether Shay was visibly affected by this man’s words or not, Vera could not render, yet it was her, that exhibited a visage of outrage when she drew away from the comfort of Shay’s arms as he lit his cigarette, and balled her hands into fists, where the knuckles turned white like the snow that dusted the streets outside.

Vera couldn’t stand the words coming out of his mouth anymore, “Let us leave from here, darling. I will never buy anything from this store so long as my heart still beats.” She made for the coat rack without another word, and removed her hat and coat with great haste, not even bothering to dress herself proper before disappearing outside.

Finding the Peugeot with ease, just like Shay had said, he moved the car, she pressed her body against it, coat balled in one hand, cloche crushed in the other. Gritting her teeth in anger, Vera could feel the hot sting of tears fill her eyes, as her nose tickled with the touch of the cold January air. How a man so foul, so ill-tempered could judge the Irish, let alone Shay, pained her. She knew that the Irish received a bad reputation in Britain, especially with the uprising going on in Northern Ireland. It was more than that, she knew that it was morally wrong for any human to judge any being, for any reason, unless they were personally harmed by said person. She felt that in this day and age, too many people held too tightly to their backwards beliefs. Shay was right, she knew that countless Irishmen served time in the Great War, and how any man could be so disrespectful to any soldier that came back alive, was simply shameful.

Shay met Leonard’s glare with his own, the old man’s hateful stare filling Shay with annoyance more so than anger and indignation. The Irishman flicked his burning cigarette at Leonard, it bouncing with a burst of burning embers off the man’s vest. “Next we meet old man, you’re going to wish you minded your tongue.” He said, stepping away from Leonard and paying him no more mind than the rodent he was. He followed Vera out into the frosty London streets.

Vera had pressed herself against the car, quaking with rage and frustration. This took Shay aback; he hadn’t realized that her reaction to Leonard’s crass racism was genuine. He approached her, standing close enough to wrap and arm around her shoulders. “Easy, Vera. Easy. I’ve dealt with the likes of him before; he’ll eat his words in time. We’ll let the boys know that old Leonard’s looking to pay his dues. Let’s just put it behind us for now and focus on what else we need, aye?” he said calmly, looking to reassure her.

The next three hours were spent going from store to store, eventually finding Vera a kindly seamstress who didn’t seem predisposed to hating Shay on principle, and before long she had a beautiful dress picked out. Some time was spent in the markets, picking fresh meat and produce for their supper and breakfast the following day. The snow was beginning to come down hard by the time Shay pulled up to his apartment building on Couch End Hill, an older borough with less than ideal accommodations. The pair headed up to his flat, which sat on the third floor, mercifully a flats down from the electric streetlight outside. Putting his key into the door, Shay smiled apologetically. “Apologies. Alden House is a bit of a shithole.”

While clean, Shay’s apartment was fairly spartan in furnishings and charm; it’s blue and white wallpaper was peeling in spots, a coffee table sat in front of a well-worn brown couch against the far wall, a small dining room set sat just outside of the modest kitchen assembly. His bedroom wasn’t much better; a twin bet without a frame sat on the floor with just the mattress, and a nightstand and dresser were the only other pieces of furnishings in the place, other than the crammed bathroom that somehow managed to fit a tub, sink, and toilet in the narrow confines. “You can have the room for as long as you’re here, I’ll just stay on the couch.” He said, carrying the groceries off to the kitchen and he set out to place things in the small cupboard and icebox. “If you’re feeling peckish, I can get started on supper in a few minutes.” Shay offered.

With promise of retribution by the Roughers, Vera put the incident of old, prejudicial Leonard at the back of her mind, and focused on the trip to the market. For three hours, Vera and Shay scrounged around picking out food for this evening, and tomorrow's breakfast; she even found two dresses that would be suitable for the meeting with Mr. Tindall, and another for the luncheon like Samuel forewarned about the possibility. Combined, the dresses cost half the fraction of the price Shay purchased his suit, relatively pleased with her thrifty finds, her mood became lighter.

Climbing three flights of stairs, Shay revealed to her, his humble lodgings, and apologized beforehand. Yet, when she stepped inside the room, she stifled a laugh before she could cause offense; what she found so entertaining is the fact, asides from his bed with no box spring, their living accommodations were near identical.

"Oh Shay, if you get the chance to see my own place of living, you'll realize that you and I are one in the same, it feels just like I'm at home. Of course my bed has a box to support it, but even the wallpaper..." Vera's voice drifted off as her eyes lingered near the ceiling where the white and blue striped paper bulged and peeled away, no concern to the landlord, as was common in the boroughs like these.

"I feel quite terrible that my brother has forced me upon you like a terrible burden. But, I will say this, despite all that has happened today, from my release to the market just now, you have been quite the admirable companion. And you have a knack for playing pretend." Setting the books down on the table that she had found at the market, and draping her dress carefully over the back of the dining chair, she turned to face him, hand gripping the same chair, with her hand knuckled upon her hip.

"Shay..." She began, searching desperately for the right words to say next, but settled with what came to mind most prevalent, "I just wanted to say thank you for being so kind to me today." A kindred gleam appeared in her eyes, as if fully seeing Shay for the first time.

"Yes, actually I am quite hungry. Now that I think of it, all I've had today is whiskey and a mint julep. If you'd like, I can help you with dinner, but if you don't need me, I'd like to have a nice hot bath. Vera offered, more than willing to be of help any way she could. "Um...you wouldn't happen to have any whiskey, would you?" Her eyes darted about the room, the simple fact that she had her opium sitting heavily in the coat pocket of her winter coat, though without a pipe it was useless, weighed upon her mind, like a nagging conscience; but she felt that it would be inappropriate for her to commence with her normal nightly routine under Shay's roof, as once again, she did not wish to cause him offense.

Shay chuckled. “I suppose I take for granted that most people don’t have much to their name. Still, I don’t entertain guests and feel like I’m missing more than a few essentials for hosting, but at least the heating works. I’m glad there’s a certain air of familiarity to the whole precedings.” He said, rummaging through the cupboard above the stove and pulling free a bottle of Irish whiskey and Polish vodka along with a pair of tumbler glasses and he set to pouring three fingers of whiskey in each of the cups.

“Normally I’d be a bit easier on this, what with the prohibition and all, but I figure tonight’s a special occasion. And I appreciate your kind words Vera, truly I do. But it isn’t hard to pretend to be the adoring husband of a beauty such as yourself, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He said with a smile, bringing the glasses over and handing one to Vera. He set himself down gingerly into the well-worn couch and let out a relieved sigh as he let the weariness of the day slip by. “Think nothing of it, it was my genuine pleasure, but I have a hard time believing anyone would be anything less than kind to you. You’re a good woman; I can tell you have a big heart when you have a place to put it. I’d be doing you a great disservice if I didn’t try to make you feel welcome in my company. It wasn’t a situation you asked for, but it doesn’t mean it has to be unpleasant. To say Sam forced you upon me would imply I’m not grateful for your company, it’s anything but a burden.”

Shay took a sip of the whiskey, appreciating the burn for a few moments before continuing. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to help preparing supper, and I can get that bath drawn for you whenever you please. My home is your own, and don’t hesitate to say if you need something. But if it’s no trouble, I could use a few minutes off my feet.” he smiled apologetically, his hands cradled gently around his glass.