CHAPTER 9
VIPER IN YOUR BOSOM
❝ I have shed my skin so many times.
The graveyards must be full of all the people
I used to be. ❞
The road to Arrow House in Warwickshire was easy to find but difficult to travel, much like the way to hell, Rose imagined. With a road full of potholes and bumps and the rain hitting hard on the gravel and the metal of the car, the journey became tolerable only by Nicolas' presence by her side.
They didn't call it a right hand for nothing; it was because without him she felt incomplete, as if her hand had been amputated and the only thing she could feel from then on was its absence.
"Did you bring the knife with you?" Nicolas asked as he let his stare wander over the fields of the English countryside. There was not a single hue of blue in the sky that day, the clouds a sunless color from which hefty, thick drops fell upon green meadows, the same way a painter splashes grey, dramatic strokes upon a canvas. Nicolas didn't usually give much thought to the supernatural, but those flat, plain colors and the sick state in which nature seemed to be immersed in that morning did not bode well for Rose, and what did not bode well for Rose, didn't bode well for him.
"It's in my garter," Rose nodded, keeping her eyes on the road ahead, her hands grasping the wheel like so many before her had grasped helms on their way to unknown land. There was a part of her that wanted to explore, and another that needed to conquer, but to step on Thomas Shelby's land with such pretensions was foolish; history hardly knew a man more unexplored or unconquered than him. This could be a venture she might not come back from, she knew that, and yet she couldn't help but drive further. Because when a land calls you, whether it's a promised or a damned one, you answer. And Thomas might just be the damnedest of them all.
"And the gun?"
"No, I did not bring a gun, Nicolas, his son is three years old, for God's sake. Nothing is going to happen, so you needn't worry, it's not good for your skin."
Nicolas rolled his eyes, and it was as if the wind had sneaked inside the car to make brown leaves fly. "Just because he's been polite with you so far doesn't mean he always will. Aren't you underestimating the danger he is?"
"I thought you had finally agreed to this, what's with the change of heart?"
"Believe me, my heart's the same," Nicolas argued, his voice serious and steady like water that freezes in the beginning of winter and has to wait an entire season to finally flow. "And yes, I agree that it's a good opportunity to keep an eye on Thomas, find out what he's up to."
Rose threw a glance at him from the corner of her eye, a skewed smirk plastered on her crimson lips. "So now you're not concerned with what he might do to me?"
"Of course I am. But if there's anyone than can handle Thomas Shelby, it's you. I'll get out here."
Rose stopped the car and watched as Nicolas opened the door and stepped out, feeling as if some of her skin had shed too.
"Thank you for trusting me, Nicolas," she told him when he leaned forward to look through the window, none of them caring about the rain or the wind that was flogging their faces. "If only there were more men like you, we could advance a century in a day."
"Just be careful out there, alright? And come back."
"Don't I always?" Rose replied, grasping the wheel more tightly with only one question in her head as she drove ahead without Nicolas – how much more of her skin she would shed in that house, now that she had another snake to share the room with.
***
A sigh got lost between the rain drops when Rose got out of the car and observed the imponent entrance of Thomas' house. The manor in front of her was worn by years of history, the faded grey of the doors and windows emphasizing the peachy tone of the walls as behind them the long line of trees went as far as the eye could see.
There was a statue in the middle of a small garden at the entrance, with a forgotten toy among the bushes that Rose bent down to pick up. When she walked to the bell to ring it, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman dressed in all black, who smiled at her and invited her in.
"Can I interest you in a cup of tea, miss?" Frances, the housekeeper, offered, relieving her of some of her bags. "Mr. Shelby should be down in a minute."
"No, thank you, I'm alright," Rose smiled, stepping inside the house and glancing around. The first thing she noticed was the portrait on the wall, where Charles was looking up at Thomas in admiration; surely such feeling wouldn't last long, until he grew up and realized the things his father did.
But despite how handsome Thomas looked, and how pure Charles seemed, it was on the woman that Rose's eyes got trapped. She had never seen Grace except in documents and staring at that portrait somehow hurt her; it was the display of a happy family not yet tainted or shattered by the loss of one of its members. It saddened her, how the portrait had outlived her, how it was still there when she wasn't.
It shouldn't have to be like that. No child should have to get to know their mother only through a picture. The world was an unfair place, especially to those who had nothing to do with it.
Lost in her thoughts, Rose almost failed to hear the soft voice behind her.
"Mama?"
She turned around abruptly, heart dropping to the floor when she saw the young boy standing there, hope stamped in his eyes and arms extended to her. She frowned for a second, before her eyes moved to the painting again and she realized why Charles could have mixed them up. She and Grace did look similar, and Rose didn't know how to feel about that.
"I... no, I'm not your mama," she said, crouching down to his level and smiling at him, the kind of smile that had more sadness than happiness in it, but that would look the same to a boy of his age, "I'm Rose. It's very nice to meet you, Charles."
"You're not my mama?" He asked, big wide eyes and incomprehension written in every inch of his skin. At that moment Rose had a hard time imagining that someone as guilty as Thomas could hold or even conceive someone as innocent as Charlie; this was a boy Rose hoped would never have to see his hands red, and then she felt that poignant, violent need to protect him and make sure his small hands stayed clean.
"No, I'm not. But I can be your friend if you want. I promise I'm much nicer than your father."
For a while he just stared at her; then he held out his pinky finger to her.
"Promise?"
"Promise," Rose vowed, holding his little finger in hers and letting the sadness vanish from her smile as he stared at their hands and giggled. "And as proof, I have something for you. I heard you like chocolate, yes?"
"I love chocolate!" Charlie exclaimed, head bouncing up and down in excitement as Rose got up and grabbed the pastry box for him. When his eyes stumbled across slices of chocolate cake and multicolored cupcakes, he grinned and ran to Rose, almost making her fall backwards from the impact of his hug. A Shelby indeed, she thought as she let him embrace her and picked him up. "You really are nicer than my dada!"
Rose chuckled but her grin became frozen on her lips as she turned on her heels and saw Thomas standing there, back leaned against the staircase and eyes too intense on hers. She wondered if he was seeing his late wife in her; she hoped not. She wasn't there to be Grace, and if that's what he was hoping for, then he'd be left feeling deceived. Rose was not a replacement to anyone, not a next in line nor a rebound, and if Thomas didn't know that, then he'd have to learn it the hard way.
"Well, that's not very hard to achieve," Rose retorted, eyes stuck on Thomas' as Charles tittered and played with the blonde curls in her hair.
"I knew you'd get along just fine," Thomas declared, shortening the distance between them but not taking Charles from Rose's arms. He seemed to like it there, as if he had found a place in which he could finally be a child in, and Thomas had no intention of taking that away from him. "Charlie, this is Rose. She's here today to introduce you to the violin, like we talked about, yeah?"
"Yeah! But I want to eat that chocolate first!"
"Alright," Thomas agreed, the curls of his lips betraying his stoic posture and rising to the beginning of a smile; the last time he had seen his son that happy had been before his mother died. "But leave some for me, will ya?"
Charles nodded without listening, his mind too lost on the chocolate to register his father's words. Rose placed him down carefully before taking another box from her bag and handing it to Thomas.
"Leave that for him, I got you something too," she said, opening the box to reveal small chunks of chocolate put in a way that resembled roses. "Roses des sables. Since you seem to like roses so much."
"Do you ever stop?" Thomas asked, cocking his head to the side as he took the box and put it on a table. At that point Rose was starting to be certain that man never ate, so she made it her special mission to change that.
"With what?" Rose replied, eyes as innocent as those of Charlie, whose mouth and clothes were already full of chocolate crumbs.
"With the fuckin' teasing and the fuckin' flirting?"
"I'm not flirting," Rose countered, gesturing to the toddler on the floor. "Don't you think you should mind your language?"
"Does it look like he's listening?"
"Children hear a lot, you know. More than you'd think," Rose stated, and looked around for the lost toy she had brought from the garden before hunkering down in front of Charles again. "I think you lost this outside, Charlie. Unless it's your father's, of course."
With hands stained with chocolate, Charles grabbed the wooden toy at the same time Thomas snorted at Rose's remark. "It's mine!"
"Yeah, it's too pretty to be Thomas', isn't it? What do you think of getting cleaned up now so we can start our lesson?"
"Alright," Charles nodded, tugging at his toy with one hand and accepting Rose's hand with the other.
"I can get him cleaned up for you, miss," Frances offered, slightly astounded by that strange woman who had seemed to enthrall both father and son alike and who seemed so elegant yet had no problem in getting her hands dirty.
"No need, thank you," Rose smiled, taking out a tissue to clean Charles' face. He squirmed and giggled when the fabric touched his skin, but didn't run off, which was a miracle to both Frances and Thomas.
"You speak in a funny way, why?" Charlie asked, his hand going back to play with Rose's hair as if it was made of gold.
"Because I'm from France."
"France? Where's that?"
"It's right across the English Channel," Rose answered, removing the chocolate from around his mouth with a gentleness not even she was aware she had. She had never thought about having children until that point; marriage seemed to be but a social convention bent to bound her to an irreversible situation she did not want to be in, with a man that would not be able to keep up with her and would only try to prevent her from going where she was meant to go. There had only been one man she had dreamt of marrying, and it was that very same man that had turned such idea into a nightmare.
"Is it pretty there?"
"Yes. Or... it used to be."
Charles turned around, running up to Thomas and tripping on his feet before his father picked him up and pinched his nose tenderly.
"Dad, have you been there? To France?"
Thomas and Rose's eyes locked over Charlie's shoulder. She hadn't wanted to bring her country into the house, to put Thomas in that position. Both of them could only hope Charles would never have to know war like they had.
"I have. One day, when things are better, I'll take you there. Now you go and have that lesson with Rose, alright? Be nice to her."
Charles stuck his tongue out, drawing a fleeting but real smile from Thomas, and thus from Charlie, who didn't seem used to such expression on his father's face and was more than happy to mimic him. "I'm always nice!"
***
Rose spent the next couple of hours playing and eating chocolate with Charles at the sound of her favorite violin classics. It was incredibly hard to keep the attention of a child for a long period of time, especially of one as young and curious as Charles, whose Romani blood seemed to run restless and strong in his veins already. So Rose had decided it'd be best for them to get to know each other and for him to get familiarized with classical music before moving on to more complex lessons. She had gone there to see if Charles liked her, and by the pout on his face when Frances came to get him for bath, it was obvious he did.
And Rose being Rose, she loved him already, because how could she not if no matter how tough she had to be in the grown-up world, she could always be herself with children, for they saw through her masks and dug out the real Rose. They made her forget all the wrong things she did and cling onto all the good things she could still do, bringing out the best in her when all she saw was the worst.
"Miss Salvage, before you go, Mr. Shelby would like to see you," Frances announced, and Rose fought the urge to roll her eyes at his predictability. Suddenly the weight of the knife on her thigh felt comforting. "If you'd be so kind as to accompany me, please."
"You promise to come back?" Charles asked, squirming in Frances' arms to get to Rose.
"I promise," she smiled and extended her pinky finger to him, placing a soft kiss on his head when he wrapped his small finger around hers. She knew she shouldn't be making promises she couldn't keep, especially since the decision depended more on his father than on her.
With light steps but a heavy heart, Rose followed Frances to Thomas' office, bidding the housekeeper goodbye before knocking on the door.
"Come in," he said from inside, and Rose couldn't help but think back to Angeline's words, wondering if she really was entering the wolf's lair, and if so, if with sheep or wolf skin.
Rose opened the door and stepped in, her stare lingering on imposing bookshelves and statuettes of horses and lions before settling on his. "Missing me already?"
Thomas shook his head before reaching for the case on his desk and taking a cigarette out, placing it between his teeth as if it belonged there. Rose didn't know why or when he had started smoking, but she knew the reason why he couldn't stop, or why the glass of whiskey in front of him was half empty. Everything went back to the war, if not the one in France, the one after, the one survivors were left to wage against, with no backup, no artillery, no squadrons. It was just everyone against their minds now, and no one could sneak inside to help. "Never fuckin' stop."
He made a gesture for her to sit, the first thing he told her to do that she actually did. When he offered her a cigarette, she denied.
"A drink then?"
"I'm good," Rose answered and Thomas nodded, resting his back against his chair as the blue in his eyes rained upon her heavier than the downpour against the window.
"How did it go? Is he any good?"
"We haven't started playing, he needs to listen and be acquainted with violin music first so we listened to some classics. He seems to particularly appreciate Bach."
"Should I be worried? Was he a tortured soul too?"
"Not as much as Tchaikovsky," Rose said, her lips smiling even when her eyes didn't. She knew she wasn't there to talk as if they were friends; Thomas didn't talk to anyone as if they were friends. "Why am I here, Thomas?"
"What do you mean, love? Can't two people just talk?"
"Come on, Thomas, you don't fool anyone, even your second intentions have second intentions."
"You know, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of people that weren't afraid of me when we first met. It's an even more reduced number with the following meetings. But you've achieved that feat. And you're still not afraid of me. A man that is used to people fearing him will naturally take an interest in those who don't," he took the cigarette from his lips to expel a hefty mist of smoke and warnings into the air between them. "Have you by any chance ever heard of the French Kissers?"
Here we go, Rose thought, feeling the breath being stolen from her lungs with every drag Thomas took from that damned cigarette, with every word that came out of his cursed lips. "Vaguely," she affirmed. "Why?"
"I did some digging. Remember those two Germans that were after you at the Ritz when we met?" Thomas waited for her to nod, and she did, because that's all she could do now. Nod and keep her hand on her thigh for as long as necessary. "It appears they died some days later in a mysterious accident. At least that's what everyone deemed it as. Because no one saw the woman running from them days before, no one except me. So I did some more digging. Turns out some weeks after their death, a London gang starts making business with both Germany and England. A bold move, if I may say."
Rose swallowed. She felt as if she had the whole world stuck in her throat. Her family had warned her, her friends had warned her, and she had stubbornly turned the other cheek, relentless on keeping her goals as they were before Thomas came into the picture. But that was it; he came into the picture and changed it completely, recolored and reshaped it until Rose no longer recognized it.
"Apparently that gang goes by the name of French Kissers."
"Any idea why?"
"Not yet. There's not many people that know about them, and those that do often have vague and contradictory information about them. They're not out in the open like other gangs."
"Then how did you get your information?"
"I go where other men won't," Thomas replied simply, cigarette dangling from his lips like a puppet on a string. Her puppet. His strings. "I have some theories regarding them, regarding you, care to hear 'em?"
"Please, I'd love to."
"My best guess is, that night, you got involved with the wrong people. With a man you didn't know worked in that gang, and you were caught up in a conspiracy you had nothing to do with. You met a nice man at dinner, he invited you to his hotel room, and you had no idea he was just using you as a disguise to appear normal while in reality he was planning the murder of the Germans. But it went sideways, he didn't manage to do it and it turned against him. Maybe he died, but you escaped, and that led you into my room."
"That's some theory."
"You're a respectable woman, Rose, a violinist and the owner of a café, and your one mistake that night was sleeping with the wrong man. Maybe he's a French Kisser, maybe the leader. No one knows who he is, but I'm guessing if there's anyone intriguing enough to catch his eye, it'd be you. What do ya think?"
"I think all women are respectable, regardless of if they work in an office or in the streets."
Thomas sniggered, thumb outlining the edge of his lips as he observed her. Rose could not let herself fall into that sea; his depths were not worth drowning for. And yet she could feel herself being pulled under and under without any chance of going back to the surface and breathe. There was water in her lungs and it came from him. Because the only way for someone to arrive to his land was through a wrecked ship.
"Considering you are French, I have another option. You didn't just meet the man randomly that night. You knew him, because you're somebody's daughter or cousin or sister in the French Kissers and got unwillingly dragged into their business. Remember this?" Thomas opened a drawer and took something out, throwing it on the desk between them, and Rose felt like she had just received one of Raphael's powerful punches to the stomach when her eyes recognized the purse inside the plastic bag. It was dirty and discolored, but it was hers. "You were with it that night at the Ritz, and then it was found by the river, near the place the Germans were found. Too much of a coincidence, aye?"
"What are you suggesting then, that I killed those Germans?"
"No. I'm suggesting that you might have helped killing them and forgot the purse, or maybe you had a fallout with the gang and decided to part ways. So they planted the purse there to frame you and get revenge. Lucky for you, me men got to the purse before the coppers or anyone else did."
"Yes, lucky for me," Rose muttered through gritted teeth. She felt her heart clenching as much as the fists in her lap; there wasn't many people that could do that to her, to make both her body and mind feel at war. Not getting properly rid of the purse had been a stupid, rookie mistake, one she absolutely shouldn't have made. For some reason, it felt like ever since she had met Thomas, all she did was mistakes. And she was afraid she had not even made the biggest of all.
"The purse was empty when we found it. No one would be able to link it back to you."
"Except for you, of course. So you offered me a new one to send me a message."
"I have another theory, y'know? Perhaps you did kill them. Perhaps the French Kissers forced you to. Perhaps they have something against you, or your family, and you had no other option but to obey."
"Ever considered that I might not know them? Just because I'm French—"
"There's a big French community in London, I'm sure you have your contacts," Thomas interrupted. He had the business voice on. The one that always got him what he wanted. "Your café gives you privileged access to the most prominent French figures and businessmen in London, I'm sure you're always hearing things. You say you've heard of them vaguely, well I think you know the French Kissers personally. You might even know who the leader is."
"You seem oddly interested in him."
"Wouldn't you be?" He retorted. "It's impressive how a man has managed to stay in the shadows for so long, hidden from prying eyes. You know what else is impressive, love? You. There's not many intel about you or your life either, which I'll take as a sign of your involvement with the gang."
"Or a sign that I'm awfully boring and uninteresting and you're wasting your time with me. You know I was a nurse in the war, isn't that enough?"
"Not even close. Word is your father was a rich man in the wine industry that left your family a fortune, including that mansion you have on the outskirts of London, the cafés, the factories... my guess is the French Kissers would have interest in keeping you close and making business with you. You could be funding them, helping them with bribes, the police, that kind of thing. That absinthe business of yours? I'm sure they profit from it."
"I don't know where you got your information from, but my father was not a rich man," Rose knew she should be quiet, let him take as little as possible, but something about someone getting the idea of her father so wrong got under her skin. "I walked barefoot until I was six because we didn't have money for shoes. The first time I saw a bank was when I went to Paris."
"Then where does your fortune come from, Rose?"
Her lips formed a straight line as she realized she had fallen exactly where he wanted her to fall; using the memory of her father against her was a low blow, but not lower than she using war songs to weaken him, she guessed.
"Would you believe me if I told you it came from hard work?"
"When we met, you told me fortunes like mine aren't made with clean hands, well, I'm sure fortunes like yours aren't either. Maybe instead of you financing them, it's the other way 'round. You're not married, which is unusual for a woman your age. And you have to admit, every man that crosses your path seems to magically disappear, eh?"
"Except you."
He nodded. "Except me. So you can understand why I'd think you have some very powerful people protecting you. Starting with that French man who never seems to be able to take his eyes off you."
Rose chuckled. "You think Nicolas is the leader of the gang?"
"Maybe not the leader, but someone important in it. Maybe he's the man you were with at the Ritz. The one who tried to kill the Germans and failed."
Nicolas doesn't fail, Rose thought. That was the only thing you and him have in common.
"You think Nicolas capable of murder?"
"Everyone is capable of murder, Rose, when the people they love are in danger. I'm willing to give this purse back to you and let the murders pass as an accident to the authorities. I just need one favor from you."
"Which is?"
"I want you to put me in touch with the gang members, tell me how they operate, where they meet, who their contacts are, that sort of thing."
Rose saw a scale before herself all of a sudden. Between her bad decisions and her even worst ones. "What makes you think I could help you with that? Or that I would put you before my countrymen?"
"You're a loose end caught in the crossfire, Rose. If they're threatening you, I can offer protection, if they framed you, I can offer revenge," revenge against herself. That sounded like a good irony right there. "If it's neither of this, then you're either a valuable asset within the gang, or you're kept in the dark just as much as I am. And if that's the case, I'm offering knowledge. I may not know a lot of things about you, Rose, but I know you're a woman of knowledge."
He had a way out for everything, making Rose wonder for how long had he been planning all of this. Which strings he had been pulling, and from who.
"So if I were to help you get in touch with them, what would it be for? To declare war?"
"I'm not a general nor a politician, I'm not interested in war. I do business, that's what I'm interested in."
Making business with Thomas Shelby. Rose rather shoot her own foot and watch it bleed.
"Why the sudden interest in them? Why now?"
"Now I know you," his thumb brushed his nose, the cigarette following his moves in a slow, almost predatory way. "Let's say my interest for France was renewed. So will you help me, love? Find out who they are?"
Rose had reached a crossroad; she couldn't tell if he knew the truth and was testing her, or if he really didn't know and just wanted her help. Either way, the best way to control him and make sure he stayed in his place was by keeping him close. Rose knew a stab to the heart hurt a thousand times more than a stab to the back.
"If I were to say yes, could you promise me no one would be harmed in this? You know I have people I care for, the last thing I want is a war to explode in the French boroughs."
"You have my word."
"Does your word have any worth at all?"
"Would you prefer I'd spit on me hand and shake yours?"
"Yes," Rose said, spitting on her own hand before stretching it out to him. He raised his eyebrows before doing the same, his warm hand engulfing hers in a gesture she hoped would have some meaning to him. "No war."
"No war," Thomas agreed, blue eyes pouring down on hers with an insistence that brought a prickle to Rose's skull. So she looked away, glancing around the office, to the wealth in every object.
"You know, for a man who wants to die, you've made quite the living."
"I want to die, eh?"
"Sometimes ambition is nothing more than a death wish," her lips rose to a suggestion of a smile. "Surely you must want to die, if you're so keen on getting involved with yet another gang. Isn't yours enough?"
His stare on her got heavier, and there she went, under and under, and not even the bottom of the sea would be deep enough for him or his guile. His thumb moved over her skin in circles, and that's when Rose realized their hands were still entwined, and that they were shedding each other's skin, like snakes in the grass, like vipers in each other's bosom.
"For people like you and me, Rose, is anything ever enough?"
"Then where does it stop, Thomas? When does it end?"
His thumb paused above her skin, and the prickling in her skull returned, only now it was in her neck as well, and then in her spine.
"It ends when I get what I want."
"Do you even know what that is?"
"Yes," Thomas leaned forward, and the smoke that rolled off his tongue couldn't have possibly been more harmful than the words that came from his lips. "Right now, I want you to help me find out who the leader is."
Rose felt herself hit the bottom, and then below. After an abysm there was always another. She forced herself to smile over the lump in her throat, which had grown from the size of the world to the size of Thomas' ambition.
"I changed my mind, Thomas. I'd like that drink after all."
author's note.
Ok I realized I have no idea how to write children so forgive me if Charles is somewhat inaccurate. I hope you liked his interaction with Rose though, and also the tug of war between her and Thomas! Do tell me what you thought of the chapter, every comment matters and makes me immensely happy and motivated to continue <3