𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 ; tommy shelby

08 - 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐬

08.

Two or so weeks had passed since that night in Thomas' stately home, and Emma was back. She had left her pocket watch, with the initials E.S.B engraved on the back on his bedside table as she slipped away late that night as. On purpose, of course, so she would have an excuse to visit him again. With most men, Emma had them wrapped around her little finger after five minutes, but Tommy was much more closed off, which only made her want him more.

Emma knocked sharply on Thomas' front door with bare knuckles. A moment or so passed, and she could here mutterings behind the door. Emma suddenly started to feel wary of her surroundings. Thomas's Bentley was in the company of about five other cars in the front courtyard, not including her own, and the light in his study appeared to be off. Something was wrong.

After a few more seconds of muttering, the door opened and Frances the maid looked up at her with worried eyes, Thomas' aunt Polly Gray not far behind.

"Miss Burgess," Frances said shakily, her crystal blue eyes wide and glossed over and her brows poised in a perplexed expression.

"We weren't expecting you, Emma," Polly said in a much more self-assured tone.

"I'm here to see Thomas," Emma announced boldly, though anxiety was creeping up her throat, ready to pounce. "I believe he has something of mine."

Polly pursed her lips. "I think you should come inside."

Frances hastily opened the door wider and stepped aside as Emma stepped across the threshold uncertainly.

"I'll go and watch the baby," Frances said, shutting the door.

"Frances, put the kettle on. Follow me, Emma," Polly said, walking towards the staircase. As they passed the drawing room, Emma caught a glimpse of the whole Shelby clan gathered around the fireplace in sombre almost-silence. Tommy was nowhere to be seen amongst them.

An evil part of Emma's mind flirted with the possibility that Tommy had died, but she pushed the thought away quickly.

"What's going on?" Emma asked Polly as she followed her up the stairs and along the first landing.

Polly said nothing, and carried on walking into a children's nursery, where Tommy's son Charlie was sleeping in the corner. Emma gulped. He was her nephew.

Polly sat down on a rocking chair by the fire, and gestured for Emma to sit, but the blonde stayed very still.

"What's going on?" Emma repeated, this time in a hushed tone so as to not wake Charlie.

"I assume you don't know about Thomas' business with the Russians," Polly said.

Emma stayed very still. "I don't," she admitted.

"Right, well I won't bore you with the details, not that I'd trust you with them anyway," Polly said. "No doubt you know what it means when Tommy is in business with someone, and the risks he takes."

Emma pushed down the ever growing lump in her throat as she tried to swat away vivid images of Thomas' pale, dead face. He was dead, wasn't he?

"What's happened to him?" Emma strained to keep her voice from cracking.

"He's in hospital," Polly stated. "Internal bleeding, fractures to the scull."

But not dead. Emma exhaled. Not dead was good enough for her.

"Can I see him?" She asked.

Polly pursed her lips. "I think it would be best if you used this opportunity to go for good," She said. "You're only hurting Thomas, being here, and I can tell your intentions aren't exactly honourable."

"What?"

"You heard me," Polly said sternly. "I didn't trust your sister, and I definitely don't trust you."

"What are you saying?" Emma demanded, a hint of fire flickering in her challenging tone. "That I have to leave town?"

"Call it a strong suggestion," Polly said slightly tauntingly.

"You can't make me leave," Emma shot back.

"You're right," Polly said. "I can't make you do anything."

"I'll find what hospital he's in," Emma warned, aware of how she was beginning to sound slightly psychotic. She didn't care. She wasn't going to stop seeing Tommy because Polly Gray thought she was the Queen of fucking Sheba and had some hand over Emma. Nobody told Emma Burgess what to do. Nobody.

"I dare you," Polly responded.

Emma stood up. "I'm leaving."

"You do that," the older woman said through narrow, spiteful eyes.

Emma spun around and headed for the door.

"One more thing," Polly said, stopping Emma in her tracks with her words. The girl turned to look at her. Polly sat in her chair in a regal sort of way, staring at her in the same challenging way that Emma looked at the world with. There was a sly smirk on her lips as if she was going to enjoy what she was about to say.

"Yes?"

"If you ever think you see something in Thomas, in his eyes, or the way he looks at you," Polly said. "Just remember he's grieving, and you do look a lot like your sister."

Emma felt a small stabbing pain in her stomach, and she furrowed her brows before storming off down the stairs.

Once she had left the house and was in the front seat of her car, Emma let a small tear slip half way down her soft pale cheek, before catching it in it's tracks. What was she crying about, really? Truthfully, she didn't know. Perhaps it was for Grace; it had finally hit her that her sister was really gone. Or maybe she was scared about her secret getting out.

Or maybe, just maybe, the idea that Tommy only spoke to her because she reminded him so much of his late wife upset her. Because maybe Emma had begun to feel something other than intrigue and attraction towards Thomas, something she'd never felt before.

But then again, it was just a maybe.