Chapter Song - Weight of the World by Young Guns
'Oh I can clearly see, the mountains that I've yet to climb, but I'll get there if it kills me'
. . . . . . . . . . .
"Why didn't anyone tell me she was like this?"
Closing her eyes tight against the harsh hospital ward light, Sybil pushed her linked fingers to her lips, dreading what she must now tell Grantham. "She took a turn for the worse about half an hour ago. Where were you?"
Silence followed her words as her boss surveyed his fever stricken wife, now being prodded and fussed over by a pair of nurses, and for a moment Sybil wondered if she had crossed the line in asking her boss a question. "Out. I went for a walk. Carlisle said he thought he'd seen a Servant in the area, he's checking now."
A few minutes passed after Sybil nodded in recognition of Grantham's words. He did not sit and she did not offer that he take her own; he wouldn't like that at all. Instead he paced about the private room, the best secrecy money could buy, simply staring accross at his wife with cold, frightening eyes.
No one in Lords and Ladies had said it, they wouldn't dare, but they all felt a little on edge at the moment. What with Grantham, practically an owner of London, a man who could have what he wanted when he wanted, suddenly being told no by the voice of fate, well... Such angered feeling within such a powerful man may not bode well for his workers. A scared man could be just as dangerous as violent one. And the Lords and Ladies leader was both.
But right now, in this moment alone, staring over at her boss, suit and knife and guns and all, Sybil found herself understanding. She didn't feel scared, or worried that at any moment Grantham could snap and throw her bodily from the room. No, she related. For the way he looked at Cora, with not stern eyes, but fearful ones, and how he paced around her, not with swagger, but with lumbered steps, had her connecting to his pain.
If that were Tom, her husband, and she were the one forced to watch, unable to help, wanting nothing more than to flee the scene but tied down by in sickness and in health, she would be exactly the same. Worried, on edge, ready to tip at any moment, because if something happened to them, it happened to you too. But worse, so much worse. How odd, how true.
Standing for what felt like the- was, the first time in hours, Sybil crept over to Cora's side, her gun thumping gently against her thigh. No one outside the immediate Lords and Ladies circle knew what was wrong with the bosses wife, and Grantham wasn't taking any chances in the fear Satan's Servants would learn of her illness. A virus, the nurses had said, and Sybil had found herself agreeing with them. Aching joints, sickness, intense headaches, a blistery ra-
Sybil cut her gasp short, worrying that what she may have just discovered would be the final spark to set her dynamite boss off. Instead, she coughed little, patting her collar bone in a most lady like manner. She stood a little aback from the bosses wife, for Cora's nurses where now buzzing around her, pressing wet cloths to her bare arms and forehead. "There we are Mrs. Grantham, that's better isn't it."
One turned to Grantham, and Sybil almost found the time to smirk at how utterly in awe she seemed; she was clearly no stranger to his gang boss title, not with such a big pay check probably neatly tucked into her pinafore. "She's been with her all night."
Surely Cora couldn't have-? No, children got- But it was common in adults. And dangerous, sometimes fatal. "Sybil, you must have a rest."
It took Grantham's words for Sybil to realise that the nurse had been referring to her when she had spoken of the all nighter. It was true she supposed, she had been here far longer than Evelyn had, and far longer than Carlisle, but it hadn't really occured to her. The nurse within her had wanted to investigate, the gangmember she was wanted to offer all protection possible, and the simple woman just wanted to show support. "Not just now, Grantham. If you don't mind, I want to see her through the worst if I can." She took a step closer, just a fraction, and took a wet towel from a slightly put out nurse. "Now, I'll just make this colder for you. And nurse, if I could just have your attention for a moment." Still looking put out, as if to say I'm the nurse here not you, the uniformed woman shuffled to Sybil's side. "You see these marks, like, these little red ones. Do you think they're blisters?"
The grumpy nurse, who seemed in awe of the power Sybil emanated, but resentful that she felt so, gently, very gently, for Grantham's benefit no doubt, lifted Cora's arm. "Yes, they do. What are you thinking?"
Sybil ignored the haughty tone to the nurses question; she could toss her against these four walls before the bitch blinked if she really wanted. "Chickenpox. And I'm not joking, check her whole body. We've had it covered this whole time, but I'm serious, check her."
She half expected the nurse to demand further proof, but suddenly Grantham was at their side, closer to his wife than since the day she had been struck down. "How is she, really? Tell me the truth."
"I can't yet." She hated to say the words, especially with Grantham stood so close and threatening. "The nurses will know more in a few hours. If it is chickenpox, it- it is dangerous to adults. Can be very dangerous, I'm sorry. It is rare, but if adults or preg- pregnant women get it, it can be highly... highly risky."
Stepping back from Cora as though she were on fire, Sybil barely heard Grantham's words. "God Almighty, how can this be? My whole life could be gone over a cliff in the course of a single day."
"So could mine." The words fell from Sybil's lips like ice, cold and numb. And apparently inaudible, for neither the nurses or Grantham reacted. Trying not to sound desperate, or panicked, or out of her mind with worry, Sybil returned to her bosses side. "I might help Carlisle, you know, to check for Servants, I'll go now, should I?"
The stars were in her favour. "Yes, perhaps you're right, I'm here after all. Go, check the area. Carlisle may be thorough with the prey, but I trust you with the hunt."
o o o
Running a fist over his probably fat, purple lip, Tom rubbed the resultant blood on his jacket. "Fucking LL prick."
He had been looking for Sybil all morning. Scouring a London that seemed to be entirely against him. Huge crowds, grey weather, cars rushing from all angles, an LL in the form of Carlisle desending upon him. The punch up had been bloody, bare knuckle fighting, but a well timied police siren had separated them. Usually attacking an LL, particularly Carlisle would have been a dream come true for Tom. But he had a wife and baby to consider now, and risking his life for an old grudge didn't seem quite worth it any more. Another rough wipe, congealed blood now, black, like ox blood.
He had been ringing her for hours, sent endless texts, but nothing. And the last time this had happened had hardly faired well for them. No. This was different. Entirely. Now they were maried, she was his wife. His wife. All his. Oh Sybil. Memories of laughter, of vows, of kisses, of lovemaking, of thin gold bands danced a sudden party in Tom's head.
"Mate, if you can smile through that I reckon it won't be so bad to tell the missus I just got the sack."
Tom instantly pulled his face into a frown at the passerby's comment and picked up his pace to the nearest shop window. The sleek, dark grey reflecting of the storming clouds above created a perfect mirror in the glass, but what it revealed was less than perfect. His lip was worse than he imagined, and he was pretty sure he had never been punched in the eye. But then again, when he was going for Carlisle's knif- Yeah, now he remembered.
Curving the collar of his jacket as high as it would go over his face, Tom tilted his head to the dented concrete streets and began the swift walk to his Ferrari Enzo; the Bugatti was now in Ireland, where it would stay until it's much heartbroken father would return. The walk was quick enough, and he was soon revving the engine. But then-
"Holy shit Gwen, a little warning please?" Tom angrily shuffled the car into gear as his ex-girlfriend swept her wind blown hair to one side.
"I'm guessing Carlisle didn't offer one either, just before he beat you to a pulp?" Yup, definitely an ex-girlfriend. Bitter, vengeful. Things had never gotten better between them. Though in her defence, he supposed he had cheated on her, and simply used her as a distraction from his true love to begin with...
Whipping the roaring Ferrari through the maze of towering office blocks and shabby, worn down pubs, Tom flung round a corner, hard. "So you saw the whole thing but failed to jump in and help?"
"That's about right." Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she angered Tom further by splaying a palm on the car window. Urgh, the finger prints. "But whilst, uh, observing, I think I happened to notice something you didn't."
"Carlisle's swift technique? His Italian cut suit?" He was driving one handed now. He knew he was capable, he just hoped Gwen didn't.
"Both, of course. But I also happened to notice he wasn't just fighting you." She paused for dramatic effect, scowling a little when Tom refused to take the bait. "He was blocking you."
"Blocking me?" Alright, she had his interest now. Blocking?
Sighing heavily, Gwen gave into her fear and gripped the dashboard with both hands. "Yes, blocking. While you've been galavanting all over God knows where, fucking who knows what-"
"Gwen!"
"-you've been missing what I have." She growled as the car came to a halt, the Abbey restaurant just ahead, doorman already straightening at their posts. "Somethings going on, the LL's are gathering, and it isn't just this war we're in, somethings wrong."
If there were two things Tom Branson was capable of, it was brewing a temper and speaking his mind. And neither ever did him any favours. Now, for example. "Like the bosses wife being bed ridden?"
The fiery red head storming ahead of him flung round as though caught in the breeze. Her eyes blazed, but they did not look interested, but disappointed, and a little furious with it. Ah, she thought she had a lead. Something exciting to offer the gang. "Right- So you- And you were going to share this with all of us soon were you?"
He could hear his heart racing, pounding with guilt. Sybil, his wife, the woman carrying his child had begged him not to tell Satan's about Cora's illness, infact, she hadn't even begged, just asked, assuming he, as her husband, could keep it quiet. If he could chase the words down and swallow them he would. But it was too late for backtracking now. "Yeah, I just told you didn't I?"
"Oh, forgive me Tom, but you don't get it. You strut around in this gang thinking it's all within your grasp, that if you want something enough it will come to you. Which in your case it does." He really didn't have time for this. He needed to find Sybil, tell her that once again he had fucked up, and to do that he had to clean up a little. "Well, I'm not like that. I don't think my dreams are bound to come true, because... because they almost never do. I learnt that when you decided I wasn't eno-"
This really was too much. What the hell was she going on about? Was she still hung up on him? He really didn't have time for this. So, picking up his pace, Tom lithely flew into the Abbey. He didn't know then that that was the last time he would ever see Gwen. She wasn't willing to give up her lead, and Carlisle wasn't either.
"Tom!"
"For fucks sake, what?" Flinging both arms over his head, Tom spun around with a slight swoosh. "Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I thought you were Gwen."
"Glad to hear it, because I really don't think you want to be having a pop at me lad. Oh, what happened-? Never mind, I don't want to know." The restaurant was next to empty, just a few cleaning staff pottering about here and there, a few waiters laying out silver cutlery with rulers, but when Mrs. Hughes nudged her head toward her office, Tom gathered this wasn't privacy enough. Following with a slightly hesitant gait, edging around silk laden tables and towering floral arrangements, Tom slipped into the office. From her desk, Elsie looked up at Tom with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. "You don't have long left Tom."
"Long left? Well, that's a comfort. I don't know-?" He shook his head and stumbled backward slightly. "Three months... I wasn't even thinki- Oh shit."
Elsie brought her clasped hands down on the desk. "And by that reaction, I assume you're not prepared for your deadline?"
"Elsie, I..." How had he forgotten? Three months they had been given. And that was almost all they had lost. "Please, don't tell Carson, not yet. We have some things sorted, we just need a-"
"-little more time perhaps?" Mrs. Hughes rose from her seat, her crisp suit ironing out it's own creases. "I can't give it to you Tom. I told you when I found out about all this, you had three months, and we both know that was generous, and very dangerous for me-"
"I appreciate that, I do, but things have changed." He turned away from Elsie, pressing his thumping forehead momentarily against the cool, plastered wall.
"Changed? How so? I'm assuming you're still with her, with that Lady. So how have things changed?" Tapping his forehead to the wall now, Tom tried to ignore the gradually demanding tone to his blackmailers voice.
He turned, blowing out a rush of air. "I married her Elsie, a couple of days ago. I proposed a little while before, but then we just went ahead and married in Dublin. We're husband and wife."
"Oh lad." Like a disappointed mother, Elsie shook her head at the floor. "You couldn't have waited? Till all of this was sorted? It's bad enough what you've done already, but to have married her?" She shook her head again, but when she spoke, her tone was questioning. "As bad as I know such news will be received, how does this change anything? Why does that demand more time?"
Tom gave a laugh of thick, utter, nervousness at her question, but running a palm through his hair, made the final admittance. "She's pregnant too, she's having my baby. About eleven, twelve weeks gone. She was pregnant when you discovered us, we didn't know then though, but yeah, she's carrying our baby."
That one knocked Elsie for six. She sat with a light thump. "Fucking heavens Tom."
He would have laughed at her un- Mrs. Hughes like language had the situation been anything but the obvious discussion of where and when he could be forced to run for his life. "And I know what you'll say now. You'll say Carson wouldn't touch a pregnant woman, even if she is a Lady. And maybe you're right, I think so anyway. It's been my only bit of light in all this. But Elsie, do you really think he'll spare me? You really think he'll care about killing the baby's father? Seriously?"
Not looking up at him, face in her palms, Mrs. Hughes exhaled loudly. "No, he won't. He won't Tom. Oh lad, is she honestly pregnant? Don't lie to me, I don't deserve that."
He would have got down on his knees if not for his natural, ingrained pride. "I swear she is, on my life. Ha, that's ironic." He paused for a moment and was pleased to see Elsie looking up at him. "When I said goodbye to her, the other day, I think I could feel it. I don't mean kicking or movement, I know it's way too early for all that. But she felt different you know, like she was getting a bump..."
Tom felt his cheeks flare red with embarrassment, he had no idea what had compelled him to confess such a thing. Elsie stood, her strength back. "Look, you still have time, only a little, but still time. But I can tell you right here, right now, I am not going to give you any more. Don't look at me like that. I'm doing you a favour boy, the quicker you get out of here, both of you, the better. Now go and find her, any moment could be too late."
o o o
Sybil was and wasn't surprised at how fast she found Tom. Her head was all over the place. There was so much to say, so much to tell, and in all honesty, she just needed a little bit of a cry. When she had managed to get away from Cora, it had taken her an hour to realise she still had her phone off, had just been blindly driving about London, forgetting that she had actually married the man she sought now, that this sneaking around wasn't entirely nesessary.
It was late evening when they decided to meet, so the darkness was enough cover for now. The clouds from earlier had drifted away, leaving the sky a clear, navy blue, stars shimmering like glitter, smudged and coloured now and then by aeroplane smoke or the flashing lights of a helicopter. There were a lot out tonight, and that didn't usualy bode well for those on the wrong side of the law.
Sybil stopped dragging her feet at the sight of an oncoming figure, who's walk she would know anywhere. Tripping down the path of St. James Park, Buckingham Palace just in view along the lit road of the Mall, she practically ran into Tom's arms, before vomiting rather violently over a low fence and into a rose bush.
She could feel a warm hand at her back, another scooping up her hair. "Syb, darling, are you alright?"
Heaving a few more times before she could answer, Sybil panted in reply. "What- what are you wearing? And what happened to your face?"
"Wearing?" Tom was leaning over now, clearly trying too check for disillusion in her eyes.
"Not-" She heaved again, the trickle of vomit splattering a creaky, paint chipped sign; 'Don't feed the Pelicans'. "-your clothes. I meant, what fragrance are you wearing?"
"Ah, Gucci by Gucci. Sybil, are you alright, really?" Tom murmured his words softly as he pulled her up a little straighter.
She took a shaky breath, spitting the last of the vile taste onto the grass.. "Why aren't you wearing your usual? Because let me tell you, baby don't- like- Gucci."
Her eyes closed briefly as she felt two warm palms take her face, thumbs gently massaging her hot cheeks. "Was that some sort of weird pregnancy sickness?"
She opened them, practically hearing the smile in Tom's voice before she actually saw it. "Yeah, I guess so. I was wondering when it was going to start, it's a little late actua- Oh Tom, what am I saying!"
And then she was sobbing, hard into his shoulder. But Tom, playing the decent part of husband and disregarding the fact she had just thrown up, pulled her closer, whispering against her hair. "Shh, calm down, just calm down and then talk to me."
"O-okay, it's just. Cora got chickenpox, which sounds really stupid, but it's not because it's really bad for adults, and she's so ill, but she might be okay now we know. But then I remembered-" She took a long, shaky breath, burying deeper into Tom's jacket, ignoring the queasy feeling curdling in her stomach. "-it's really bad for pregnant women too, and I am a pregnant woman and I panicked. I don't know if I've ever had chickenpox and I can't ask my family can I? Oh Mum, it's been fucking years, but do you know if I've ever had chickenpox! So now we need to go to the doctor Tom because our baby might be in dange-"
Rather roughly, Sybil felt herself pulled from Tom's jacket, her little place of comfort, and was slightly angry to find Tom grinning at her; didn't he realise how serious this was? "Darling, you don't need the doctor. You have had chickenpox, you're fine."
One hiccup. Two hiccups. "I- I have?"
"Mmhm, you have a few little scars, on your lower back. Like little white dots. Cassidy has a few on her arms, they're the same." He pulled her close again, lips to her forehead. "Trust me, you've had chickenpox. Baby is fine."
Her pregnancy cocktail of emotion was shaken and stirred for a few moments, but the spinning wheel of feeling ended up on relief. "Thank fuck, I really thought- For a moment there- Oh thank fuck."
Ignoring her stomach now growling protest, Sybil resumed her clinging position around Tom's neck, her wet face patching the leather of his jacket. For a few moments they simply held one another, and just when she was about to pull back, to tell him something soppy like isn't this a beautiful night or something, jeez these emotions, he pulled back first. "Sybil, I have to tell you something."
Worry now, anxiousness. Her insides bubbled. She hiccuped with a soft sound, like the cluck of a chicken. "Why am I not looking forward to hearing this?"
He glanced left and right, and Sybil got the distinct feeling he was searching for some male back up. "I was with Gwen earlier-"
"Gwen? As in your ex-girlfriend Gwen?" Oh shit, here it comes. In between splashing vomit all over her and Tom's shoes, Sybil waved an arm out wildly at him, batting him away but wanting to punch him all at once. "What did you do?"
"Christ, let me help-" She stood up abruptly and pushed his hand away. "Alright! Look, I was wish Gwen earlier, and she got me angry, just being a bitch, and I was stressed because Carlisle had attacked me and I couldn't find you, and I told her- I told her Cora was ill."
Hands on hips, Sybil sucked in air as though oxygen was going out of fashion, before feeling steady enough to voice her reply. Suddenly she didn't feel much emotion at all. "You told Satan's? After I asked you not to? Well... Wasn't that clever."
She knew turning around was utterly pointless, but she did it anyway, only to find Tom already in front of her. "I know it wasn't, okay? I'm sorry, I am, it just came out. But I don't think she's done much about it, I haven't heard a thing from anyone."
"You know that isn't the point." Blinking at him with huge eyes, Sybil prayed to God that they wouldn't tear up. Strong woman, strong.
"I know. And I'm sorry, I am, but I'll talk to her, get her to keep it quiet, at least for a little while."
Rolling her eyes, and offering a look of pure anger, Sybil spoke her words slowly. "You, are going to ask, your ex-girlfriend, to keep a secret with you?"
"Oh God, you know it isn't like that. I'm trying to protect you, I fucked up, and this is the only way I can think of right now to fix it. "His voice was so sincere Sybil let him take her hand, but only reluctantly. "You aren't wearing your wedding ring?"
The utter heartache in his words stirred Sybil like no Gucci could. She was angry, or at least she knew she should be, but the man infront of her wasn't just a lover any more, a man she was supposed to avoid, no, this was her husband, and refusal to forgive was not what a marriage was built upon. She stroked his thumb, noticing a purple bruising to his knuckles as she did so. "I've been with Grantham today, it was too risky to keep on. You can put it back on now, if you want? I don't really want to do it for myself."
He nodded, was still nodding in fact when she slipped the gold loop into his palm. They both watched as the ring graced her white finger. But she didn't miss the way Tom glanced sideways with lost eyes. "There's more Sybil."
She drew back her hand. Emotions rising. "To do with Gwen?"
"No, no. Not Gwen. With Elsie, Mrs. Hughes, you know, the Abbey manager."
"Ahh." The stars were ever so bright tonight. "Three months nearly over? I had a feeling."
"You remembered?" Tom's eyebrows curved slightly. "Why didn't you mention...?"
Wiggling her golden clad finger over her stomach, Sybil allowed herself a brief, rather sad smile. "It hasn't exactly been my number one priority recently, if you get my drift. I guess I lost track, caught up in other matters." He joint her smile, taking her hand once more. "So come on, what about her? We still have just under a month, don't we?"
"That's just it. I don't think we should take it." Icy blue met sapphire. "I think we either need to run now, or tell them, but either way it has to be soon."
Boom, boom, boom. The rush of blood beating through Sybil's ears was like a thunder cloud, stormy and rumbling. "Really? But, but why? Surely we need all the time we can get? To prepare, to get ready for Ireland and our life our there?"
He pulled her close, his fingers pushing into her rather firm belly. "Because there's more at risk now than we ever considered before. Because the longer we keep everything secret, the more danger you, the baby, is in. If we tell them now, Carson won't touch you, not in this state, and I doubt Grantham would either, but if they don't know, they could still hurt you."
"But what about you?" She already knew the answer. One for the cause was Tom Branson.
"Don't worry about me, I'll be with you, of course, but I can always run for a bit if needs be. It'll be fine." He dragged a shoe along the gravel path.
Opening her mouth two or three times, Sybil stopped to consider for a moment. She wanted to tell him that no, this was an awful idea, that they should use all the time they had left to plan. That they would be fine, what was a few more weeks? But then she felt his fingers probe a little harder, but sort of softer all at once, against her lower stomach, and the words just wouldn't come out. "How long?"
Strong arms wound around her waist. "I think a week is the least we can manage. But it's up to you if you want to tell them. I'm going to let Elsie tell my side, I'm choosing to run, unless an opportunity arises. But your gang is still your gang Sybil, you've been through a lot with them, I understand that, and I appreciate you may want to do things differently."
She nodded, breathing swiftly through her nose as she did so. "I want to tell them, face to face. I can't leave it up to Mary and Edith, that isn't fair, that's wrong. I've been with the LL's a long time Tom, I think I owe them the decency of the truth."
"So next week. Monday?"
"Next week Monday."
Please Review, inspire me for THE BIG ONE next week ^^
Sorry if this felt a bit of a filler chapter this week, I've tried to add detail where I can so it doesn't seem so, but of course, a little preparation is needed for the big reveal.
I have an idea in mind where I would like to base it, but if any one has any ideas about modernising the Drawing Room Confession, just let me now.
So next week Monday, eh?