Opening SceneMidnight ~ 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.”
16:00 Hours January 27th
Holloway Prison, London
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."
Spoopy Scary,
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ButtsnBalls,
Damycles
