Six weeks later Millicent woke up and felt that the shock, the numbness and the rigour were finally gone. Still, she lived in Dumack Alley Number 17, and had found a job at a tobacco shop in Portsmouth Lane, assuring her an income. Her father was furious and tried to talk to Arthur, just as Thomas did. But Arthur was stubborn and not willing to give in. But her fear of an unknown future, of Arthur's revenge was gone. She had already looked for a room to rent so she could move out of Thomas' hideout and break with the Shelby's for good. In a few months, she planned to beg Arthur for a divorce, if he hadn't requested it by then. Maybe she could move to London, start a new life there, without her father and the Shelby family in her back. That had been the plan. Until now. Until this Sunday morning when she woke up and sensed that she wanted something different. Not London, no break-up with the Shelby's, no job at the tobacco shop.

The day before, Ada had visited her, reporting that Arthur seemed to be broken, that he drank every day until blackout, but didn't seem to seek revenge. He was busy destroying himself and it hurt to watch, Ada had told her.

"Bugger!" She whispered and turned around, now facing the bedside Arthur had slept on in their wedding night.

The yearning for him just won't go away. He had planted a little seed in her, with this first, gentle kiss in front of the altar, watered it with the kisses on her neck in that cold January night and fertilized it to full bloom with consummating the marriage. Every time he'd kissed her, touched her, made love to her, she'd felt alive, womanly, desirable and beautiful. Even when his touches weren't gentle and careful anymore, when he was drunk and eager, fast and demanding she'd felt so good.

"If you're honest you have to admit that you enjoyed nearly every minute in his company, you stupid goose," Millie whispered in her pillow.

Yes, he was difficult, he was special. He was challenging, but he was worth a fight. Still, there remained the other problem, the thing with fighting on two fronts.

"He will never allow you to follow your dreams, Millie. Think of what happened when he found out: A slap in the face, dirty words and a kick-out," she said and shook her head.

However... she knew she wasn't ready with Arthur Shelby.


It was after sunset, after a long day of tormenting herself, when she made a decision. Millicent chose a modest outfit, one that made her look like a very decent wife and dressed her hair with care. She walked to The Garrison's and entered the crowded place with a smile on her lips, one that froze in the second she noticed him.

Arthur sat on a chair in the middle of the room, and had a giggling woman on his lap, a cigar in his hand and a drink on the table. This damn minx lapped on his neck like an overeager pet dog, but Millicent could see on his face that he didn't like her efforts, that he was irritated and unhappy. In the second their gazes met, she looked to the side, pretending not to see him. She took a seat at the bar, ordered a cup of tea and lit a cigarette.

"Hello," a male voice said in her back. "I'm Andrew. May I pay your drink?"

Millicent turned around and gave him a smile: "Nice to meet you, Andrew. I'm Millie. Please, take a seat."

She pointed to the barstool on her right and took a long look on his features. He was young, not older than 25, she guessed, blonde short hair, a cap on his head. He didn't wear a suit, just a shirt and brown pants. His nose looked like it had been recently broken, with a few scabs on the bridge. He also had a bruise on his jaw and his cheekbone. But nonetheless he was really good looking, his figure well-built, brawnier than Arthur.

"Whatcha doin' here?" Andrew asked. "Looking for some company for the night?"

"She's looking for me," Arthur's voice said. "Fuck off, Andrew. Keep your greedy fingers off my wife."

"Oh, you are the Millie. I'm sorry, I didn't know," Andrew mumbled and cleared his seat for Arthur. "No harm meant, aye?"

"Fuck off," Arthur repeated and took a seat, giving her a prompting look. "So?"

She looked him over and decided that he wasn't too drunk: "How are you?"

"Fine. What do you want? Money?"

"No. I just wanted to see you, talk to you. I ... still owe you an apology."

"You do." He confirmed, giving her a short nod, and picked the cigarette out of her fingers.

She hadn't taken a pull so far, and Arthur finished the cigarette with two deep pulls.

"You shouldn't smoke," he stated, snagging the ashtray.

"You shouldn't drink as much as you do."

"I do whatever pleases me, sweetheart," he growled. "Ruthless, just as you."

"I'm sorry, really sorry. I didn't want to ... embarrass you."

Arthur gave her long look, a mixture between hate and sadness, before he stood up: "Go home. Write your fucking columns. The tea's on me."

Millicent grabbed his hand and stood up too: "Arthur, wait. Please. Can we talk, please? Alone and in private? I want to explain myself like I should have done in our first week. But I was ... scared and ..."

"And that's why you told whole fucking Britain including the colonies that your husband is an old-fogyish arsehole and a lousy lover? That sounds comprehensible."

"This isn't true, Arthur, and you know this. Did you read all my columns?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"First: I have never been in a seraglio. Second: You hate me and the world I live in."

"I don't hate you, Arthur," Millicent answered, shaking her head. "Quite the contrary."

He stood still for a few moments, thinking, looking on the floor.

"Alright. Let's go."

Arthur took her hand in his and led her out of the Garrison's, and for a short moment she asked herself, if this had been a good idea. She'd seen the gun in the holster as he stood up. But he didn't seem angry or very hateful, so ... maybe he would just find a quiet place to talk to her. Not to put a bullet in her head.


They walked silently for a few minutes, then she knew where they'd go: Their home. She took a deep breath and gave him a smile as he watched her questioningly: "Home?"

"Aye." A short nod and his eyes were focused on the pavement again.

Arthur walked fast, with rapid strides, so she was a bit out of breath when they reached the front door. He held the door for her and she walked straight to the kitchen and turned on the lights. The place was a mess and she sensed that the rest of the house was in similar condition. Arthur wasn't extremely neat, not even on very good days.

"Tea?" She asked, filling the kettle with water.

"Talk."

"Arthur ..."

"What?" He shrugged and took a seat at the table, grabbed the outspread newspaper and folded it.

He didn't sound irritated or snarky, he sounded sad and desperate.

"Nothing, it's alright." She answered and placed two cups on the table.

While she waited for the water on the stove to cook she started to clean the kitchen and do the dishes. Arthur watched her in silence, his face unreadable. The tension grew and she couldn't define what kind of tension she felt. Anger? Yearning?

"I missed you," she said lowly and poured tea into his cup. "I woke up this morning and I knew what felt so wrong in the last few weeks. It was your absence. I needed six weeks to ... realize that I enjoyed your company, that our marriage was ..." She stopped, searching for words. Millicent looked up, saw his stony-faced expression and felt the tears starting to burn in her eyes. "Our marriage was ... a good thing. Maybe the best thing that ever happened to me. You were nothing but good to me, you were sweet and caring and treated me with respect and I ... I was ungrateful and stupid and spoiled and maddening and selfish. I'm sorry I hurt you. I understand that you ... don't want to see me anymore, but I need your pardon to go on. I don't want it to end like ... it ended. And to be honest, I guess I don't want to end it at all."

"I am ...," Arthur answered, "a stubborn, old-fashioned, conservative, simple man. I hold my views. I'm merciless, I never forgive or forget an insult."

"Alright," Millicent whispered and turned around so he couldn't see her tears. "I see. I'm sorry I've bothered you with my ... childish plea for forgiveness. I ... I finish cleaning and then ... I'll go and you won't see me again."

She walked to the sink and put the clean dishes into the cupboards, until she felt him in her back. He placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered at her ear: "Are you in love with me, Millie?"

She didn't know if this was part of a kind of revenge, if he would deride or humiliate her, but she decided that the truth was the only acceptable answer: "Yes. I am."

"Come," he said, taking her hand in his and led her to the first floor, to the room with the marital bed.

She watched him lighting some candles, standing still where he had left her. He turned around, locked his gaze with hers and said: "I've read the columns, I've talked to Ada. You've got a strong solicitor in her, you know? I missed you too and I thought about what a simple, stubborn, conservative and merciless man like me could change to ... make a modern libertine like you stay with him."

"It's the simple things, right? The small things that make a difference."

"Ada told me that too. So ...," he grabbed something that was placed on the chest of drawers, "here's the key to the bedroom. And here ...," he pulled a key out of his pocket, "is a key to the front door. Come and go as you like. As long as you come back, I'm ... I'm good with it."

"I ... I don't know what to say, Arthur. Thank you." She smiled, feeling relief and hope taking over, but she knew that two keys weren't the final solution. "We need to talk more. About rules and ... everything, aye?"

"Aye. But now ..."

Arthur came nearer and the following kiss was so gentle, so sweet that she nearly started to cry from all the love she felt. He stripped her bare, slowly but noticeably impatient and got rid of his own clothes.

"Millie," he whispered and led her back to the bed, laid her down and crawled over her. "I can't be gentle, not now. I ... just can't."

"I know. And I understand."

"I dreamt of fucking your brains out since ... since the moment I left Polly's house. I wanted ... to punish you, to kill you but even more I wanted to have you back in my life."

"Then take me, Arthur. Take me, right now and back in your life."

"You sure you want this?" He whispered, his hand sliding between her legs. "You ready for me?"

"Oh ...," she moaned and closed her eyes, her hips bucking against his hand. "Yes, yes!"

"Will you work as a journalist, a columnist?" He asked, entering her slowly.

"No. I'm gonna find something else. A job we're both good with." She whispered, enjoying the sensation of his skin on hers, his weight, his breath at her ear, his girth stretching her in the most delicious way. "I wanna participate on the marches, the meetings, I wanna spread flyers. But I won't write a column again. Meara Justine is gone for good. I promise."

"Aye. Gonna fuck you, sweet Millie," Arthur whispered, "gonna fuck you sore. You ready?"

"I am. Use me, please." She pulled his head down and kissed him with all the desire she felt.

"Want me to pull out?" He asked after breaking the kiss, his voice raspy, a little smile on his lips.

Millie laughed, relieved and happy, the reactions of her body eliciting a small moan of Arthur.

"Yes, please."

"Then I'm gonna cum on your tits, sweetheart."

"Whatever pleases you, Arthur." She pulled him down for a kiss and he started moving.

Finally. And Millicent felt happy for the first time in months.