Silence hangs in the air as Mosley stares back at Lizzie with a scowl on his face. Fuck, if this night gets any worse, Tommy's just going to cancel this ridiculous ballet performance.
He's pulled from his thought a second later when Mosley perks up again and turns to him, a wide smile on his face, "Thank you for introducing me to your wife, Mr. Shelby. Unfortunately, my own wife was indisposed - but I have managed to borrow someone else's, and here she is finally coming back from the powder room now."
Tommy lifts his eyes from Mosley's glass to look at the woman approaching behind Polly and Lizzie's shoulders. At the look on his face, they both look back. The corners of Polly's lips turn up, hiding a smile. The edges of Lizzie's twitch, forcing back a frown. The woman walks around them to stand at Mosley's side. Tommy takes a breath before looking at her.
Mosley says with a smile, "Thomas Shelby, Lady Selene Brownlow. As you must know, her husband is very prominent in the House of Lords. I'm sure you are pleased to make the acquaintance of such a distinguished guest… Ahh, perhaps you two have met before? As I recall, you grew up in Birmingham, did you not, Selene?"
"Yes, but it's been many years since I last stepped foot in it. I am not sure I made quite enough of an impression for someone like Thomas Shelby to remember me."
"I do remember you, Lady Brownlow," he hisses, voice low and dangerous. His eyes say what he really wants to but can't. What are you doing with this man? He is relieved when the announcement that the ballet will be starting soon comes on. He forces a smile, "Shall we?"
Mosley must have called her in. Only a few minutes after he leaves, Selene comes through the door, closing it quietly behind her. He hears the lock click and turns his head to glare at her, "What the fuck - "
She puts a finger to her lips as she approaches. He shakes his head and opens his mouth to ask again. She stops him by saying politely, "You have a very nice house, Mr. Shelby."
"Yeah, not as big as yours though, is it?" he replies, taking another swig of whisky.
"I wouldn't recall, honestly. I prefer London to Belton. I suppose being raised in the city, one grows accustomed to the noise and the dust and begins to miss it if one is away for too long. Is it the same for you?"
"Watery Lane isn't a place people miss," he grumbles.
"I'm not asking about people. I'm asking about you."
"Now why would you want to know about me?"
"I'm just trying to make small talk, Mr. Shelby."
"I would've thought someone of your background would know that guests should give notification of their attendance at an event beforehand, Lady Brownlow. Perhaps then you would have caught me in a mood for small talk."
He looks up when he sees the hem of her skirt in front of him, surprised to see her already standing right there. She leans forward, looking as if she is going to touch his chest. He rushes out, "Selene, what are you - "
Instead, she reaches over him, grabs the decanter from the table behind him, and pours herself a glass while whispering in his ear, "There's always people listening, Tommy. Do you have paper?"
She leans back, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch. She smiles amiably and asks, "Whisky or scotch? I never can tell."
"Whisky. Always whisky," he answers smoothly while standing. He goes over to his desk and pulls a drawer open slowly, taking a pad of paper and a pen out.
"I am not much in the mood for small talk either, which is why I came up her seeking some peace and quiet. I know it is awfully rude to go wandering around seeing as I am a guest in somebody else's house, but you don't mind sharing the room for a bit, do you Mr. Shelby?"
"Not at all," he replies while putting both down on the coffee table, deciding to go along with her game for now. She sinks from the couch to the floor and starts writing. He goes to refill his glass. By the time he returns, she's already scrawled something and pushed it over to the other side of the table.
My husband is one of Mosley's backers. From what I have heard, I believe he was the one that suggested you for this role. He must have told him about us as well. Perhaps to explain his motivations. Perhaps thinking it was a weakness they could exploit. Perhaps simply to knock you off your game. But it seems Mosley has his own ideas of my usefulness.
Tommy reaches for the pen to scribble back a response.
Do you believe in the noble cause as well, Lady Brownlow?
Her expression changes to a scowl when she reads what he's written. A beat passes before she starts responding. After pushing the paper over to him again, she stands and goes to pour herself another drink as well.
Do you think I would make that bad of a spy, that I would reveal myself immediately?
Perhaps you already knew I would suspect you anyway since you came with him.
Then what reason would I have to try to keep our communications secret, Tommy?
Trying to catch me off guard, for one.
Please, I know you. I know you are always on guard. Besides, I would have thought you knew me well enough to know I would never be a fascist.
He puts the paper down and stands, "Would you like music?"
She replies with feigned cheer, "Sounds lovely."
He goes to put the gramophone on. When he turns back, he sees that she has stood too. She is standing in front of the fire, staring at it as if completely lost in it. It appears she has caught onto the real purpose of the music as well. Communicating will be less cumbersome this way. And it will be easier to tell if she is lying.
She flinches slightly as he wraps his arms around her. He doesn't know what compels him to do it after all this time, except that it has been all this time. He ducks his head to whisper in her ear, "Explain, Selene. I want to hear it from you."
He feels her ribcage expand, then sink again. She seems to have gathered up whatever strength she needed to speak from that breath, because she begins a moment later.
"Before the fighting started, when Edward was over there supporting the senior officers as they strategized with France on what to do if war broke out, he met a German woman in Paris," she says before stopping to compose herself again. She stares down at her glass, tapping her fingers against it for a moment before continuing.
"A German jew. They had a child together. Edward wrote me about it early on, asking that should something happen I try my best to take care of him and the mother. I've been sending what I could over in secret since. I even saw the boy once, when we were there for a diplomatic mission and I managed to sneak away. He looks so much like him…" she trails off with a sigh.
"Not even Nick knew about it. Maybe he still doesn't. But he does. He's never said as much, never openly used it against me. I have a hidden drawer in my desk with the letters in it, which has a mechanism that releases powder into the drawer below when opened. I found it triggered after returning from a trip one week. The next he started asking me to do things."
She trails off, looking at the fire, and he sees the dilemma in her eyes. Knows what someone like Mosley could have done to them as punishment for her defiance. Knows what that little boy must mean to her. Knows that if she's caught it will likely mean losing her status and her own children as well. And knows what she is offering him anyway.
Tommy whispers, "You don't have to do this, Selene."
"I can't let a man like that win. I might save two people, but how many more will be hurt? Isn't it the same for you? I don't have to ask you the question to know the answer. Even if I didn't know he was forcing you, I would know you'd never believe in this."
"What if I didn't believe in it, but I was willing to go along with it?"
"That's not you, Tommy. You might not be a saint, but you do what's right best you can."
"If you only knew, Selene."
"Would you ever tell me, Tommy?" she whispers. After a moment, she sighs and says, "You're the same now as you were then. All shut up in your own head."
"I'm worse now. Haven't trusted anybody since you left. Not really."
"I didn't leave, Tommy. You're the one that stopped talking to me."
"You're the one that married a fascist," he can't help but spit out.
"Christ, it's not like he was a fascist when I married him."
Tommy thinks there's a good chance he was, but he decides to leave that conversation for another day. Instead, he asks, "Is what he thinks we're doing tonight what I assume it is?"
"He thinks Mosley's just dangling me in front of you like some prize. That I'm sleeping safe and sound in that bastard's home tonight. I was the one that agreed - I have to get him to trust me, you know? So I planted the thought in his head that I could be more useful in keeping you under control, and then when he suggested our meeting alone, with the obvious implications, I agreed so I could get you alone and tell you what's happening."
"Was that the only reason?" he hisses, biting at her ear. That prick gave him an excuse to fuck her, so why wouldn't he?
"Tommy," she warns, turning her head to look him in the eye. "This isn't a good idea."
"Why not? From what I hear, neither of us are model spouses anyway."
"You hate me, don't you?" she asks - more like says, calm and matter-of-fact. The look in his eyes must give him away, because she tries to pull away a second later.
He holds onto her, arms bringing her back in and refusing to budge. He's glad she keeps looking forward at the fire. It makes it easier to say this, "I could never hate you, Selie. Not really. But there's things I can't forgive you for, even though I know you had your reasons."
Like that note. He still has it locked away in his nightstand. She could have stayed to talk to him instead of just leaving it. Just leaving him.
"Which is why this isn't a good idea. I don't want to add to that list."
"You can't. This time I know you won't ever be mine, Selie. The world would have taught me that, even if you hadn't already. I won't make the mistake of hoping otherwise again. I just want to fuck you and for it not to mean anything."
"Does it ever not mean anything?"
"It doesn't seem like it did for you," he sneers.
Her expression turns hard suddenly. Her hands push against his chest to force him to let go. She takes a few steps away before turning back to him and walking within whispering distance again - though this time she stays just out of easy reach.
"Did it ever occur to you that I might hate you a little bit too? That you also did things that hurt me?" She spits out, purposefully keeping her voice low. "You didn't even come to my wedding. You didn't stop to say hello when we spotted each other at Cheltenham, even though you were racing a horse with my name. As soon as I left Birmingham, you acted as if I was dead to you. And it's not like you ever said - "
Jesus, how could he have forgotten that horse? The only dowry her father had left for her, which she'd promptly left with Charlie at the yard for him. One last insult from the grave, giving her a half-breed horse. A sign, no doubt, that even her father had thought they were inevitable.
He lunges forward, kissing her to cut her off. He pushes her back against the wall, hand grabbing at her thigh and bringing it up around him, then pushing her dress up and out of the way. He grinds against her as he kisses her. She starts returning the kiss, her hands reaching for his belt too, both frantic and furious now.
He pulls her hair back a minute later so he can whisper to her, "So we can both hate each other a little bit. Good. It will help our act and keep things from getting too complicated. Now scream so they can hear you, darling."