𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 ; tommy shelby

14 - 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧

14.

It was cold when Emma woke up in her makeshift bed. The floorboards were hard and icy against the bare skin of her arms, and the ragged blanket was stretched thin over her curled up body. She sat up, her matted blonde hair falling around her aching waist, and winced as the cruel sunlight pinched her navy eyes. The grinding sound of the docks and shouts of men working nearby was one that she'd woken up to for the past month of squatting in that little abandoned attic above a block of flats.

The few possessions she hadn't painfully handed over to the pawnbroker, including a coat, a few outfits, her gloves and her cane were folded away in the corner among cobwebs. A broken mirror on the wall was all she had to remind herself of how dirty she was.

The woman rose to her feet, pulling the tatted nightgown she'd found in the attic over her head and throwing it to the floor. She shivered, hugging her naked body as she tip toed over to her pile of clothes. She pulled on a white shirt that had a synched bodice, and the pinstripe trousers from her favourite suit. Though they were somewhat dirty, Emma had managed to keep her only possessions in as good shape as possible. Emma felt her stomach ache, and pulled on her long black coat for the warmth.

She reached her cold hands into the pockets, and her hand met a piece of paper. Emma furrowed her brows, pulling it out quickly, and unfolding it.

Cavalry club. Thursday, 8 o'clock. Don't be late.

Emma gulped. It was her uncle, she knew it must be. He must've had someone slip it into her pocket when she was out at the market yesterday. Emma made for the door, slipping her feet into her shoes, but stopped herself. She couldn't be sure this was good news, after all, the Burgess' had good reason to want her dead. She pulled her small pistol, one of the things she'd made herself keep, and wedged it in between her sock and shoe.

In daylight, the Cavalry Club was like any other house in one of the better parts of Birmingham, but the blood red door set it apart from the other houses on the street. Emma sighed to calm the nerves that had been fluttering around in her stomach like a swarm of angry bees. She had waited a month for some sort of sign, and had almost given up hope. So, despite the danger, she felt like she had no choice but to go in. Not that danger was ever much of a deterrent.

Emma knocked the morse code for 'C', and waited a few moments, for the door to be opened by a young girl. She recognised her as one of the girls who had been dancing the last time she'd come to the Cavalry club, only in a maid's uniform.

"Are you here for Mister Burgess, Ma'am?" She asked timidly, with a shy and slightly scared smile.

"Emma. Yes." She replied, and the girl stepped aside for her to walk past.

Patrick Burgess was sat at a table in the centre of the same room they'd been in last time. The room looked so different in daylight, like it hid all the debauchery from the night before.

"Uncle," she said, and he turned around with a steely expression, gesturing for her to sit.

"You look unwell," he noted as she sat down.

"I've barely eaten," she admitted.

"Polly!" Patrick called, and the little blonde girl came in nervously. "Tea please!"

She nodded, tottering off.

"Do you live here?" Emma asked.

"Absolutely not," Patrick grimaced. "This is merely a place of work, and besides, I wouldn't bring you into my home."

"Ditto," Emma shot back, testing the thin ice she knew she was on.

"Do you know why you're here?" Patrick asked.

"Truthfully, no," Emma admitted, though she wasn't usually one to reveal if she didn't have information.

"The Burgess family want to offer you a proposition," Patrick said. Polly came back in with a tray of tea and a few cakes, and Emma felt her stomach rumble. She set them down on the table, glancing at Emma with the same hopeful 'help me' look in her eye, before scattering off. "I think I was too hasty to cut you off, and some of the other Burgess' agree. We think your connection to Mr Shelby can be utilised."

Emma put down her croissant and raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"He obviously knows too much, so if you want to be back in the financial loop, just... take care of it."

Emma sat still for a moment, scanning his face. She knew what he was saying, and it wasn't exactly the hardest task, so why did she feel so sick?

"Do you know what I mean to say?" Patrick asked.

Emma stayed still, and nodded weakly.

"Eliminate the threat," he said, sipping his tea with a gruesomely sweet smile. Probably the first time he'd ever expressed any positive emotion in the company of his niece.

Emma nodded again. "And you'll start paying me again?" She said slowly.

"More so," Patrick said. "Are we in agreement?"

Emma chewed on her pastry, and swallowed dryly. She blinked a few times, curled her toes and sighed.  "Yes."

Patrick smiled. "Good. It will be mutually beneficial," he said. "A Shelby tarnishing Grace's name was never a good image, and this way our secret can stay intact too."

Emma nodded again. "I want upfront payment," she said after a moment. "Not all of it, just some to survive. And a room booked at the Grand Hotel."

"Deal," Patrick said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thick wad of cash. Emma looked at it hungrily and stuffed it in her coat pocket. "And I'll need to get you a gun."

"Oh I have one," she responded.

"Nonsense. If you're going to do the job properly the one you've got stuffed in your sock won't do."

Emma looked down at her sock and back up at Patrick's face. He smiled devilishly, and if she didn't know he wasn't her real uncle, she'd think that must've been where she'd inherited that smile from.

"Come with me," he said, standing up. "We have some guns upstairs."

Emma sat down on the plush fabric of the bed, and threw herself back onto the covers, waiting for her brain to tell her what to do next. She ran a steaming hot bath and soaked her month of dirt and hunger down the drain. She stood in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel, watching a mint humbug melt on her tongue.

I am going to kill Thomas Shelby, she thought.