A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two

Chapter Sixteen

Fucking hell.

Bloody fucking hell.

The lights of number five Watery Lane were ablaze.

Goddamnit.

The house and shop were suppose to be empty.

It was officially first of January 1920 and Tommy had made sure that work was suspended and his entire family would be occupied elsewhere.

Esme and John had taken the kids and a wagon out to meet the Lees.

Arthur was at the Garrison, hopefully facilitating the party — rather than partaking in it.

And Charlotte was staying with Polly for the next few nights.

Granted, he was suppose to be in London himself. But that was entirely besides the point.

What was entirely the point however, was that the premises of numbers five and six Watery Lane should've been completely vacant given his manipulation of the schedules of his family, as well as the fact that it was 2:30 in the fucking morning.

Heading down alley to the back entrance of Watery Lane, Tommy checked his gun and prepared himself for a fight.

Peeking in through the windows he couldn't see anyone lurking or anything amiss, but his nerves were still on edge. Something here wasn't right. Checking the handle, he grew anxious when he realised the damn thing wasn't locked.

Slowly opening the door, Tommy could hear some sort of ruckus coming from upstairs.

Strange, that. There was nothing of interest up there other than old ledgers and a few weapons.

Stepping in and quietly closing the door behind himself, Tommy carefully scanned the kitchen. The doors to the shop were closed, but everything in the kitchen seemed to be in order.

Slowly making his way to the pantry, he flung the door open and pointed his gun inside — nothing.

Same with the sitting room.

Upstairs he heard music and yelling.

What in the holy hell was happening here?

Making his way back to the kitchen he flung open the doors to the shop, his eyes darted to the corners of the room, his gun taking aim at any potential intruders.

But again, nothing was amiss.

Moving next to his office he checked the drawers and cupboards. The lockbox was still sitting in its home in the bottom drawer, filled with this past week's earnings.

Fucking what?

If someone were to rob them, this would be the first thing that went missing.

Closing up his office, Tommy headed to the staircase. Intending to make his way slowly up the stairs, he put one foot on the first creaky step just as the racket above came to a screeching halt. Wincing, Tommy paused in hopes that his movement hadn't alerted the intruders to his presence.

"Not like that! If you stop playing, it'll sound better. Try again."

Charlotte.

He should've known.

These past few weeks over the winter holiday had been relatively easy going. Tommy'd been head down, nose in his work, and so too — it seemed — had his sister.

She'd been diligently tending to the horses — accompanied by a blinder to ensure her work ethic was up to his standards, of course.

She'd been taking in bets, keeping up with the ledgers, and generally not making a fuss.