I went to the bedroom I'd been sleeping in to pack the handful of clothes I now owned. I stopped in shock in the doorway, gaping at the bed. There were large bags across the bed, full with neatly folded clothing. Shades of black and grey and camel, thick linen and cotton, all with price tags still attached. I stepped forward and ran my finger across the smooth fabric in disbelief.
Arthur's gruff voice came from the doorway, returning me to my senses. "Kimber. Can we talk?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "And you best get these to Ada. I think someone's put them here by mistake."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "They're yours."
"No, they're bloody not."
"Thomas sorted it for you. Part of your wage, and all that."
My mouth dropped open in shock, then anger. This was becoming ridiculous. It was bad enough he'd given me the envelope of cash I'd stuffed into my pocket with embarrassment, now this?
"You needed clothes," Arthur continued. "It's not as if we could take you back home to grab some. Think of it as... compensation. For your trouble. Or so he says," Arthur finished with a mutter.
I quenched my anger. This wasn't Arthur's fault. And I couldn't well decline the clothes — it wasn't as though I'd be able to wash Ada's 3 gowns while travelling with Tommy. I decided I'd deal with him later.
"I suppose it makes packing easier," I said evenly. I began to fold down the bags, clothes still intact, and placed them in the trunk. "What did you want, Arthur? I'm off soon."
Arthur shifted. "First, I need assurances."
"Whatever for?"
"That you won't tell Tommy."
I considered for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion, wondering if this was some trick. "Why?"
"Because it won't change nothing. And he'd kill me." He wiped a hand across his jaw. "I wouldn't tell you at all, except... with the badge and that... look, I don't want any harm to come to you. And I'm sorry for what we've done. I never... if I'd thought..."
"Arthur." I stepped towards him, placed my hands on his agitated shoulders. "What is it?"
He closed his eyes as he spoke, face tensed in frustration. "It wasn't my idea to kidnap you."
"Oh. That's alright," I said. "I won't blame Tommy anymore than I already do, if that's what you're worried about."
"No," he said sharply. "It wasn't Tommy either. It came from me, I said it was mine but..." he finally met my gaze. "It was Grace. The barmaid."
"What?" I asked in a whisper.
"We were down the Garrison, like. Just John and me and a few of the boys. We was talking about your father and how to sort out the situation. I said we could take one of the Lee girls, hold her hostage for a bit until they calmed down. Then Grace came over to serve our drinks, and she leaned in and whispered in my ear, she said... 'surely it'd be better to take Billy Kimber's daughter? Use her to leverage your demands?'" Arthur hung his head. "And then she just left, as though she'd not said anything. It was a good idea. I don't have them often, not anymore..."
It didn't make sense. I stepped back. "You're lying."
"I'm not," he said quietly. "I swear it. I never... I never could have imagined she's a copper."
"Why?" I asked. "Why did she say it?"
"I don't know. But there was more." Arthur looked really wretched then, as though waging an internal war just to get the words out. "Kimber, with Tommy... don't... don't trust..." he took a breath. "Grace, she said—"
"Ready to go?" Tommy asked, appearing suddenly in the doorway.
Arthur and I both flinched. Tommy raised his eyebrows, gaze flickering between us.
"What's going on?" He asked.
Arthur was close to spilling tears. There was no way he could be lying. I hadn't yet made up my mind about what to do with the information, but his words rang in my ears. Don't trust Tommy.
As though I needed the reminder.
"What's going on, is I have several bags of unaccounted for clothing on the bed," I said, narrowing my eyes at Tommy. "Arthur here seems to be under the illusion they are a gift from you to me. I chewed him out, and rightfully so, because that can't be true. Can it, Shelby?"
Tommy stared back at me. We were locked in a standoff.
"Well, safe travels," Arthur mumbled before making a hasty exit.
"Be reasonable," Tommy said sternly. "You need clothes. If I've had enough of you moping about in Ada's gowns, I'm sure you have, too."
"That's besides the point," I hissed, injecting my anger into this non-issue. I clutched at a handful of satin in the bags. "How much did these cost?"
"You're going to be my wife, Kimber, or have you forgotten? I won't have you dressed in rags."
"But I'm not your wife. And now people will think I'm your mistress, or... or something even worse."
"What is your problem with prostitutes?" Tommy asked. "First all that carry on over the bed, now this. They're no less a woman than any other. It's just work."
I couldn't tell him my true issue. The whispers I'd heard on my father's estates, the women smuggled in and then out again, sometimes terribly bruised. Bile rose up my throat just thinking about it, about what he was capable of. I needed to deflect.
"Is that why you paid off Lizzie to keep away from John?" I asked.
Tommy blanched. "How do you know about that?"
"I listen. I've spent a lifetime being ignored, listening to what goes on around me. You can learn a lot."
Tommy considered me for a moment. "What was Arthur so worked up about?" He asked. "And don't tell me it's the bloody clothes. He wouldn't give a shit, even if you waved a gun in his face for it."
"I'm sorry, is Lizzie a sore subject for you?" I said. "Why is that, Tommy?"
I folded my arms across my chest. Pangs of guilt formed in my stomach, especially when his face turned rock solid, frozen. It was a low blow.
"Trust, Kimber," he said quietly. "We've talked about this."
I racked through possibilities in my mind.
If I kept stonewalling him, he would distrust me. That wouldn't work to my advantage. Not if I was going to get my revenge — and my father's approval.
If I told him what Arthur had said, Arthur would get the brunt of it. He wouldn't tell me anything further. And I needed to know what more Grace had said, why Arthur warned me against Tommy.
There had to be a middle ground.
"He's worried about Grace," I finally said. "She's said some things in the Garrison that bordered on encouraging your activities."
"Well that's to be expected," Tommy said. "If she's undercover. Trying to get intel."
"I agree," I said. I shoved the rest of the bags into the trunk, with a warning glance that told Tommy I still wasn't finished with our argument about the clothes. "So let's go return this badge to her, then I can begin feeding her the wrong intel. Make her and Campbell look like a pair of idiots."
I'd done enough to keep Tommy off my back for now. But I felt his eyes continue to burn into me as we loaded up the car, and I wondered how long I'd make it before the line of questioning would begin again.