Unfortunately, the remainder of the night didn't unfold as smoothly as Vivian might have hoped. As the hours passed, the atmosphere grew rowdier, with unruly guests adding to the chaos. The gypsy boys and girls proved to be troublemakers, and some of the maids, intentionally or not, only fueled their mischief. Vivian found herself in uncomfortable situations, deftly dodging an attempted kiss on the cheek and facing an unwelcome grab around the neck while balancing a tray of drinks. Thankfully, Johnny Dogs, a familiar face among the gypsies, intervened and came to her aid, demonstrating a sense of decency.
In an attempt to escape the tumultuous side of the celebration, Vivian sought assistance from the hired male staff, hoping they would let her cater to the more composed side of the gathering. However, her efforts were met with laughter and dismissive remarks, leaving her to navigate the chaotic situation largely on her own. The hired extras, with whom cooperation was expected, only added to the challenges of an already tumultuous night for Vivian.
The night had taken its toll on Vivian, with six hours of relentless running around and managing a tumultuous celebration. In desperate need of a break and a moment to herself, she yearned for the solace of a smoke. However, the relentless pace of the night allowed no respite, forcing her to continue the frantic hustle.
At a bar-table, a group of boys from the Lee family ordered a substantial number of drinks. Although it took her a while to gather the order, Vivian approached the table with the drinks in hand, only to sense an ominous atmosphere. The boys appeared to be in a nasty mood, but determined to fulfill her duties, she delivered the drinks swiftly.
Before she could make her escape, a hand touched her behind, sending a wave of disgust through her. Reacting instinctively, she turned away, inadvertently bumping into the drinks and causing them to spill. The men around her expressed their displeasure, shaking their heads in disapproval. Vivian, overwhelmed with a rush of emotions, none of them positive, nearly cried out an apology. "I'll clean it! I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, scrambling to gather cleaning supplies from the kitchen.
The intense embarrassment and frustration threatened to overshadow the entire night. Vivian felt like she had reached her breaking point—treated like an object to be toyed with, she grappled with a profound sense of indignity. The realization struck that she wasn't being compensated enough for enduring such mistreatment throughout the night. The culmination of these experiences left her yearning for nothing more than to disappear from the chaotic scene.
As Vivian frantically sought out the cleaning supplies, perhaps taking a bit longer than anticipated, a bitter twist of fate revealed itself. A few of the hired staff had taken it upon themselves to clean the mess she had inadvertently caused. Holding a bucket and sponge, she approached the scene only to be met with disapproving shakes of heads from the men present. "Is this your first day, sweetheart? We are almost done here. You're too late!"
The words struck her like a merciless blow, the echo of a haunting sentence that had plagued her dreams: You're too late. The weight of those words bore down on her, intensifying the sense of humiliation and frustration. A bubble of overwhelming emotions surged within her chest, threatening to explode. The faces around her blurred into a mocking laughter, and the incessant repetition of that damning phrase reverberated in her mind.
"You're too late."
Drowning in this sea of judgment, Vivian felt smothered, the walls of the place closing in on her. The Lee boys attempted to communicate with her, but their words became distant echoes as the overwhelming refrain of "You're too late" dominated her thoughts. In a swift motion, she turned on her heels and fled, clutching the bucket and sponge tightly in her hands. The relentless chant of those words trailed after her as she sought escape from the suffocating atmosphere that had become an unbearable prison.
As Vivian turned corner after corner, the relentless crowd showed no signs of abating. Dizziness enveloped her, and the air grew increasingly difficult to breathe. The haunting refrain, "You're too late," echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat. Desperation clutched at her, urging her to escape, but where could she go? She turned yet another corner, the weight of the phrase intensifying with each step, another tear tracing its path down her face.
In the periphery, she caught sight of a door—a potential escape from the sea of faces and judging eyes. Vivian, disoriented and uncaring of her surroundings, sought refuge from the relentless repetition that had become an unbearable cacophony in her mind. Memories of similar words uttered in the hospice resurfaced—words that must not be allowed to become reality again.
The panic within her surged, a rising tide threatening to engulf her. Desperation drove her to barge through the door without a second thought. The door closed behind her, shutting out the relentless crowd. Leaning against the door, tears streamed down her cheeks. She sobbed, the pent-up emotions now released in a flood.
In the newfound silence, a man on the other side of the room cleared his throat, his presence a stark interruption to the solitude she sought.
The sudden interruption startled Vivian to the core. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, the fear so profound that she involuntarily dropped the bucket and sponge, their contents splattering across the hardwood floor. As she lifted her gaze, she found herself locking eyes with Thomas Shelby, seated in a chair with a concerned expression etched across his face. The isolation she had sought was shattered, replaced by an unexpected audience in the form of the enigmatic and intimidating figure of Mr. Shelby.
~
"Oh, I am so so sorry mister Shelby!" she yelped. Before Tommy could respond to her she continued "I'll clean it up, right away." Her words spilled out in a rapid stream, a clear sign of her distress. Tommy observed her closely, noting the ragged quality of her breath, the unmistakable signs of someone caught in the grip of panic. He recognized it immediately. His brothers in arms panicking on the field. It was always the breathing they needed to control. Get them back to reality, grounded to this moment.
Vivian wants to start cleaning the mess up, but when she puts a step forward she's taken over by a dizzying lightheadedness. Before she can grab something to hold on to she feels an arm around her shoulder. "Come on, let's sit down, ey?" he puts her down on the sofa in his office. She settled onto the cushions, still breathing rapidly, and Tommy took a knee in front of her, bringing himself to her eye level. In her eyes, he saw the unmistakable fear, akin to a drowning kitten in need of reassurance.
"Vivian," Tommy's voice cut through the chaos in her mind, commanding her attention. His hands gently held her face, guiding her focus to him. "Oi, Vivian, look at me." The urgency in his tone compelled her to meet his gaze. "You've got to breathe Vivian, alright? calm your breathing." A tear escaped her eye, swiftly wiped away by Tommy's reassuring thumb.
"I-I don't know how!" she confessed with a shaky voice, desperation evident in her words. Tommy, determined to help her regain control, placed her hand on his stomach, allowing her to feel the measured rise and fall of his breathing. "Okay, in... out... in... out," he guided her, their synchronized breaths creating a rhythm that slowly but surely began to ease the panic in her eyes.
For a couple of minutes, Tommy remained focused on helping Vivian find her breath, until he noticed a significant improvement. The storm of panic subsided, leaving a sense of relief in its wake. As he judged that she could manage on her own, he stood up, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. Offering one to Vivian, he lit hers before igniting his own. The inhalation of the calming smoke seemed to have a soothing effect, not just on Vivian but also on Tommy, their shared moment of respite in the dimly lit room.
Tommy, leaning against his desk, observed Vivian closely after the intense moment. "You alright?" he inquired, his eyes probing hers. The dimly lit room held a lingering tension, an unspoken understanding that they had just shared a vulnerable moment.
Vivian, still processing the embarrassment of the episode, placed a hand on her head and offered an apology. "I'm so sorry, Mister Shelby. I don't know what came over me." Her apology was met with a nonchalant nod from Tommy, signaling that he didn't hold it against her. The room settled into a quiet companionship as they both smoked their cigarettes.
In the quiet moments that followed, Tommy contemplated the situation. A complex duality played out within him. On the one hand he wants to get to know her, to help her, to build this trust between them, on the other hand he is petrified to let someone in, someone who looks like she has already started stripping down his walls, he so carefully build up in the first place. The fact that she is his employee keeps pushing him back as well. He also shouldn't forget he has a wife, who'll probably cut her knowing what Thomas sometimes thinks about Vivian. It's a bad idea all around to get closer to her, but why is it something he wants to achieve so badly? Tommy is never one to follow through with a bad plan, so what makes this different?
~
Thomas, his gaze still piercing, breaks the silence with an astute observation. "What came over you... it's panic. Can't do much about it, just need to get back to the ground." There's a certain coldness in his eyes, but Vivian detects a hint of sympathy, or at least what she believes to be sympathy. "I figured," she responds, her voice tinged with a mix of acknowledgment and vulnerability. "I've had to deal with it before on other people... but never on myself."
Thomas nods slowly, his mind seemingly immersed in its own contemplations. Vivian, still wrestling with her embarrassment, finds herself uncertain about how to navigate this unexpected moment with Thomas Shelby. The clarity in her mind now contrasts sharply with the fog of panic that had enveloped her just moments ago. His unexpected gentleness and assistance have painted him in a different light, challenging the notorious reputation that precedes him. The complexity of Thomas Shelby intrigues her, leaving her with a myriad of unanswered questions.
Thomas Shelby, returning to his office chair, emits a heavy sigh that reverberates through the room. The silence between them becomes palpable, and Vivian can sense his discomfort. Thomas, accustomed to dominating conversations, finds himself navigating unfamiliar territory. When Vivian looks up, their eyes meet, and the intensity of the moment lingers. Thomas takes a deliberate drag from his cigarette before broaching a sensitive topic.
"I've spoken to Francis; she told me she's heard you scream at night." The directness of his statement catches Vivian off guard, a bold move that asserts his knowledge extends beyond her assumptions. Thomas revels in this regained control, wielding information like a weapon. "It's—it was just a nightmare," she stammers, reluctant to disclose her struggles, especially to someone who has likely faced the horrors of war.
Thomas, unmoved by her response, nods with a measured skepticism. He doubts her explanation, sensing there's more beneath the surface. "Well," he clears his throat, "whatever it is, it seems to keep you up at night." The conversation takes an uneasy turn, and Vivian begins to feel the weight of an interrogation. "Sometimes it does. What's it to you, Mr. Shelby?" she retorts, a touch more confrontational than intended. Thomas, raising an eyebrow in response, registers the sensitivity of the topic. "It doesn't matter to me," he asserts, "however, you are stealing my cigarettes in the process."
The exchange leaves lingering tension, a subtle dance of vulnerability and guardedness. Thomas Shelby, ever astute, navigates the conversation with a sharp awareness of the delicate threads connecting them.
Vivian couldnt'get any more red if she wanted to. Thomas knows she did it for sure now, without even hearing any confession from her. She gives an embarassed chuckle, "I guess I thought you wouldn't notice." He likes it, that she's being this direct and doesn't feel the need to hide it. Vivian, however, dreads the impending consequences of her actions, anticipating the hammer to fall.
"There is not much that I don't notice. Remember that," Thomas asserts, his words carrying a weight that adds to the tension in the room. She nods, absorbing his stern reminder. In a sincere attempt to justify herself, Vivian offers an apology, explaining the lack of time to procure cigarettes for herself. Thomas, seemingly understanding, nods in response.
"That is why"
he declares, handing her a tin—a cigarette tin. Vivian, bewildered, accepts it, glancing up at him with confusion etched across her features. "I don't— I don't understand." Thomas chuckles, "When the tin is empty, you can fill it up yourself. Do you know where we keep the cigarettes?" She shakes her head, and he provides clear instructions: "The white cabinet in the basement is where Francis keeps the stock. There you can fill it. Francis knows about it. Don't share it with the rest of the maids; they'll just take advantage of it."
Vivian, holding the tin close to her heart, expresses her gratitude, and Thomas reclines back into his chair. Both extinguish their cigarettes, a symbolic conclusion to an unexpected turn of events. The tension in the room morphs into a curious understanding, leaving Vivian contemplating the enigmatic layers of the man before her.
As the conversation winds down, Vivian rises from her seat, her gaze scanning the room and settling on the damp floor, a visible reminder of her earlier distress. Taking initiative, she suggests, "Oh, I guess I'll go clean this up then." Thomas, rising in tandem, dismisses her concerns, "It's fine, I'll get someone else. You can call it a day. Go to bed, get some rest, ey?" Vivian, genuinely surprised by this unexpected kindness, expresses her gratitude once more.
Walking away, she hears him call her name once more, a gentle reminder interwoven with a stern tone, "Oh Vivian, I don't want to catch you stealing from me again, understand?" The temporary warmth is tempered by a return to formality. "Understood, mister Shelby." "Good," he replies, and with that, Vivian exits the office, heading straight to her bedroom. The desire to swiftly conclude this day, laden with both challenges and unexpected gestures, propels her forward.