DESPERATE / thomas shelby

1 - THE INTERVIEW

Anabelle'd told her she had to give up her position due to her age and the four grandchildren running wild back home. They needed to be taken care of, and so did the Arrow House. So she was extremely picky with who she was choosing. Mr Shelby is a man of perfection, quiet too, but intimidating. If you're to work for him, you must be patient and understanding. Florence had nodded at the woman's words, her lips a thin line.

After what felt like hours, her interview was over. The sun would set soon, and she had to return to her father to prepare dinner. Florence internally groaned when she realised she had to call a cab. Finding someone to drive her to Warwickshire had been hard enough, so there was no way anyone would do it now.

"Could I call for a taxi?" Florence asked the shorter woman, who was running around now, preparing for the next candidate.

"Sure, dear," Ms Ana replied, absentminded.

Fortunately for Florence, Walter would pick her up in about twenty minutes. Walter was a few years older than her, but he was a real gentleman. He was one of the few people Florence talked to besides her old coworkers and father. Being the only man in her life except for her father, Walter had always been exceptionally protective of Florence. Just thinking about the earful she would hear for applying for this job was enough for her head to throb painfully.

She shook her head and turned to face the housekeeper, who was now rummaging through something. Walking over, she extended her palm with a kind smile. "It was lovely to meet you, Ms Anabelle."

The older woman huffed, grasping her palm with both her hands. "Your a very kind girl, Florence. If I were you, I'd expect a call by Wednesday. Let me walk you out."

Florence didn't miss the wink she sent her way. Her smile widened in triumph.

—

    HER CLOCK READ thirty minutes past eight, and Walter still hadn't shown. Florence had been waiting for forty minutes, worry, anxiety and frustration crawling up her spine. Her head throbbed, the headache she'd had all day worsened with each passing minute. The sun had almost set, casting a dark shadow everywhere she looked.

The woman sat at the last of the Arrow House's marble steps, elbows to her knees and head between them. She'd seen two other women come and go, glancing at her once or twice curiously. No one from inside the house had ventured outside, and she was more than glad. It'd be embarrassing to find her there, sitting like a homeless person with red hair so tangled and messy—from pulling on her roots—that they'd think her mad.

At this point, I'd reach Birmingham faster on foot. Florence groaned and cursed Walter under her breath.

Just as her fingers found her hair again, ready to tug on it in frustration, the dark double doors creaked open. Florence gasped in shock, looking for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere she could go as footsteps and grumbled conversing reached her before she could move an inch. She didn't dare look back, acknowledging the voices as male. The conversation stopped, as did the footsteps, most likely having noticed a random woman sitting on the property.

"Excuse me, Miss? Are you lost?" She didn't recognise the voice. What was it with people and thinking she's lost today?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone. Pretend I'm not here!

Florence's cheeks burned in embarrassment as she turned to face the two men. One she identified as Mr Arthur Shelby—more sober than before—and by the looks of it, he recognised her too. Her eyes turned to the second person, the man with the smooth voice that'd asked her a question seconds ago. Her possible employer, Thomas Shelby, stood above her, a cigarette between his fingers and a questioning look on his handsome face.