Nothing Will Change

Chapter 8

"You won't survive dear... They never do," the woman stood "if he's not the devil, there's a hundred watching who are. And no lady should want to be with such a beast."

"There's something hidden inside the beast that's what I'm looking for. There are devil's surrounding him, but a city coming after a beast makes me reminisce of those stories of where the beast is no evil," Rose said "but the city, the city is."

"You'll die," the woman angered "no good comes of the Shelby's."

"Maybe I can be the good."

Taking the bill, the woman stormed out and Rose ran a hand over her face. It was not her first warning about Tommy, and she concluded that she would never stop hearing about the curse that followed him. But she knew she was strong willed enough to combat the curse, not let it destroy her like so many had said it would. Making sure she had the order noted down, she slipped out the room to find Mr Brown eyeing her silently, as though the woman did not keep her voice quiet when she left. Rose shrugged him off and tended to the other customers who she was not sure heard the dispute or not.

A reputation was being built, growing like veins over a farmhouse before it withered with old age. The people of the town first new her as the girl who fixed Tommy's suit, but were they beginning to see her as more than just his seamstress? If the gossipers knew of his troubles, had they not warned Grace? If she is growing close too? Rose was becoming frustrated with the amount of warnings she had received. How many were true and how many were just idle chit chat constructed by townspeople who knew little about him? Though how much did Rose know about him?

Huffing, Rose let go of a jacket she was sorting and closed her eyes. She had opened Pandora's box of voices, conflictions that contradicted all she had managed to plan in her head. If only she could stop thinking about him. Picking up the jacket from it's rack, she moved it further along the line so that they began to blend in colour order. Often she would procrastinate over sorting, plucking out jacket after jacket until they were seamless in colour like the sunset. And it was a good way to pass the time when her brain could no longer handle the information running through it.

Mr Brown watched her from his spot at the till and sympathized with her obvious approach to the man in her life. He scratched his chin at how each uneven breath was as if she was talking to herself, implicitly so that he would not interfere. He imagined if romance could as easy for her as it was for him, back when there was no war to brainwash men away from using their emotions. That she would not have to worry about t demons banging on his walls at night because they were never there. But then would it be exciting enough for her? To meet a man in the same town she grew up in, and stay there forever with him as their children surpassed all their dreams. Mr Brown's life would not be one she would enjoy, he decided, as though one with Tommy Shelby would be more fulfilling. Maybe it could be... If the shovels weren't already digging so close to his ears.

At lunch she was silent too, munching on the sandwich he made with her eyes on her notepad, presumably working on the dress the old lady ordered for. He could not deny that the woman's complaints startled him, as all he had been informed of was that Rose was an attentive worker, not rude and undeserving of the job. Though not to he intruding he ate his own sandwich, staring off into space where he imagined Amelia would be sat with them too.

"What do the Peaky Blinders do?" Rose suddenly wondered, glancing up from her notepad with an intrigued expression.

"Well they're a gang Rose, I'm sure you can assume what they do," he replied, and she sighed.

"But from all I've seen they're more than those gangs who go around killing people just for laughs," she argued "they have men outside those doors to the shop, they watch me when I walk home in the evenings... Not with predatory eyes but as if- as though they'll jump to their feet if someone lays a hand on me."

"That's because Mr Tommy Shelby has eyes for you."

"But why?" She rested her head in her hands "I don't understand. All I do is go about my business, but he is always there, and people always go on to me that he's a criminal," Mr Brown raised his brow "I know- I know he's done bad things, I was there when Billy Kimber showed up at The Garrison. But... I keep thinking there's more."

"I hear there's a charm about that lad. That his eyes unlock the keys to a woman's heart quicker than she's able to breathe, but that's what then dismisses that he's a scary fella too," Mr Brown pushed there plates to one side so he can lean on the table "I know I told ya to avoid him, and if I could stop ya I would, but it's useless. So I'll offer you some plain advising. Do not make it easy for him. Do not allow his charm to swallow you and render your power useless. You won't be one of the conquered. Be the one who conquers him."

Rose sat to consider him for a moment. How Richards words were that of a father's, or even just a friend. Would it be so easy to not be a conquered lady on Tommy's list? Would it be as simple as making it difficult for him, to give him a challenge over the many times she lost her footing around him.

Mr Brown had given her a new objective, a new task she had to add to her list that grew with the days she spent in Small Heath. To be a conqueror herself, something she had never considered herself before. She would never mess with boys, never be the girl who kissed and kissed every lad that grinned to her. Not that that was what she was becoming, a blizzard of red lipstick and pink cheeks. It would be Tommy who witnesses her strength not to be wooed like any other lady. And he would see she is not one he could win, if that was what he planned. Who ever knew what he was planning?

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Writers note:

This is the most flowery I've ever written I sometimes need to stop myself to understand my own similes and metaphors. I wrote this a year ago give me patience