Chapter 57
He had left Harrods on a high. He used Cecelia James' telephone to contact the hotel and ask for the car to come collect them. When it arrived he gladly piled their bags in, finally freeing his hand to sneak into Rosie's as she sat beside him on the back seat, both of them listening to Lily telling them all the reasons she should be allowed a pet. None of which were convincing, as far as he was concerned. When he got them out of Small Heath he'd think on it again, but for now it was a flat no – and not one she took particularly well.
"Lily, sweetheart," Rosie admonished her, firmly but gently as she whined on, "Just be grateful for all the lovely things you did get today, eh? Don't concentrate on what you didn't get – it's greedy and entitled and I don't like it."
The child huffed, but finally dropped the topic – and he was grateful. The last thing anyone on Watery Lane needed was an animal. A large ice cream after dinner seemed to cheer her up, but the next day there was a glumness to her that he didn't usually see.
"I think she's nervous about being left in with this woman tonight," Rosie told him as they watched Lily stare at a wall of dolls in Hamley's.
"She's a nursemaid, she looks after children for a living, works for the hotel for their guests," he replied, perplexed, "I've not picked her in off the bloody street!"
"Oh, she knows that," Rosie said, "I wouldn't be considering leaving her otherwise. But I don't leave her very often you know, never did. And when she was in herself while I was at work she was in herself, not with people she didn't know. I told you the night you asked me to come live with you that I didn't know how she'd respond to you – remember?"
He nodded, he did remember. After his little wench had finally given in to him and got her bloody coat they had gone to her house and on the way she had warned him that her sister was shy and might not speak to him. It hadn't bothered him, the truth was, for all he'd used the baby to his advantage when it came to convincing Rosie to come live with him, he hadn't really cared that much about the child – as an abstract idea. And then he'd met Lily and it had all changed – he'd been enchanted by her and she had taken to him too, which Rosie had been shocked and, seemingly, pleased at.
"She was never good with strangers. She's been coming out of herself a bit, being around the other kids – it's good for her."
"Not good for the increase in backtalk," he reminded her.
"Good for her overall though," Rosie replied, "But I think strange adults still overwhelm her a little, she's getting used to other kids but I always went on at her when Molly was living with us that she wasn't to talk to adults she didn't know, even if they were in the house or whatever. It's stuck in her mind."
She had that guilty look in her eyes again – and he hated it. That look where she blamed herself for parts of Lily's personality that might have been the same no matter what upbringing she'd had. Blamed herself for parts of Lily's personality that might have, arguably, been shaped because they had to be, because Rosie had done what she'd had to do to keep the kid safe. Either way, there was nothing she should be blaming herself for.
"The woman's coming to your room at four o'clock, I figured that would give you time to get ready before we go, so she'll be with her and you for a few hours to get used to her before we go out."
"What about that one, she's got a blue dress like your new dress?" Rosie said to Lily, crouching down beside her and pointing up at a doll.
Lily's fingers went to her mouth as she looked at the doll Rosie had pointed out.
"What's wrong bab, eh?" Tommy asked as Rosie looked up to him for support.
"Nothing," Lily said through her fingers.
"Come on, we know it's something Lily," Rosie coaxed, tugging at the fingers.
Lily let her sister pull her hand free of her mouth and looked between them, her eyes moving from Rosie, who was crouched to her own eye level, then up to him standing behind her sister, before shaking her head, refusing to say that it was anything.
"Are you tired?" Rosie pressed.
The head shook again.
"Hungry? Thirsty?"
Again a negative, non-verbal response.
"Alright, well, do you not like the dolls?"
She nodded, uncertainly.
"Which one do you like?" Rosie asked, smoothing Lily's hair down where it had come free of the braid it had been put it in that morning.
Lily shrugged.
Tommy pulled out a cigarette as Rosie went on trying to pull answers from the child about the dolls on display. He could feel himself getting impatient. If she was upset about something he wanted to know what it was actually about – not have to prise it from her. Something was wrong, that was clear – Rosie obviously knew that too, otherwise she wouldn't be encouraging Lily to focus on picking a doll to buy. He knew she didn't care to encourage the baby to expect to get things just because she wanted them.
And, as childish as it sounded on his part, he didn't appreciate her timing. He had explained he wanted a perfect week, and tonight in particular had to go well – not be botched by Lily having a tantrum about being left behind for an evening. He half wished they had brought Finn, so she had someone she knew to stay behind with her. And he half wished if she was going to have a tantrum that she'd get on with it and have the damn thing rather than the subdued moroseness she'd been giving them all day.
It hit him then that perhaps her subdued-ness was her trying not to have a tantrum because he'd told her he wanted a perfect week and she didn't want to spoil it for him. He looked around, located a cigarette bin and crossed to it, dumping his barely smoked one in it and coming back, joining Rosie in a crouch in front of Lily so he could look into her eyes.
"Hey, bab, c'mere," he said as gently as he could, holding his hands out to her.
She came to him and he stood, picking her up and holding her to him. Rosie stood with them, staying by his side, the three of them a compact little unit in the huge store.
"You tell old Tommy, eh? Tell me why my best girl's not herself today?"
She shook her head and pushed her face into his chest.
"Why not Lily? Why won't you tell me what's the matter with you, eh?"
He felt a tremor run through her, as though she was on the verge of tears and he bounced her a little.
"Talk to me sweetheart," he murmured, kissing her head.
"Talk to us," Rosie said, her own voice low and soothing, reaching out to stroke at the small bit of Lily's cheek that wasn't buried into his shirt, "We want to know what's wrong."
Lily didn't answer and Rosie continued, "Is this about tonight? Are you nervous?"
The child went very still in his arms, then shook her head, not taking it from his chest.
"You sure?" Rosie pressed gently.
Lily took her face out and looked up to him, her eyes watery.
"Lily, tell us the truth," he said, keeping his tone as light as he could, "Are you upset about us going out without you?"
She nodded, then began crying properly and wound her arms around his neck, saying "Not. Want. You. To. Go," in between her cries.
"Oh sweetheart," he said, hugging her tight, "You don't need to worry. It's just for a few hours – and we're not going very far, I promise."
"Lily, we don't need to go," Rosie offered.
He'd known she'd say that. He didn't want her to, because he didn't want that to be the case. He wanted tonight. As selfish as it sounded, he wanted tonight.
Lily shook her head, "You do need to go!" she said, loudly, her voice carrying along with her sobs.
"Lily, come to me a minute," Rosie said, slipping her hands in place of where his were and taking Lily from him.
He stayed where he was, his hand going to Rosie's lower back as she held her sister.
"Lily, if you don't want us to go, we won't go, alright?"
"You need to go for dinner," Lily cried, shaking her head, "Tommy says 's'important."
"It is, but we can have our dinner at home, you could stay with Aunt Polly, eh? We don't need to have it tonight."
At least she agreed that it was important, that was something.
Lily looked to him and he tried to make sure his face was neutral, not wanting her to know how much he didn't want tonight to get rearranged, to happen in Birmingham.
She looked back to her sister and shook her head, "You need to go," she choked out, "You and Tommy need to make it like before."
Rosie looked guiltily to him – he knew exactly how she felt, after all Lily had said the same thing to him two days ago.
"Lily, what happens with Tommy and I isn't for you to worry about, alright?" Rosie said, "We need you to be happy before anything else gets dealt with, okay? But Tommy and I had our talk yesterday and we're alright. Aren't we Thomas?"
He nodded, "Of course we are."
He wasn't entirely sure it was the truth, strictly speaking. But what he did know to be the truth was that she wanted it to be the truth and he wanted it to be the truth. And because of it, he knew it would be the truth at some point. It was easier to believe it to be true in London though, in their isolation. Because he knew she was still worried about Ada. So was he. But for this week they would put their Birmingham business aside. Just for this week.
He cleared his throat, "Lily – listen to me - the nursemaid is coming to your room at four o'clock, the plan is for me and Rosie to leave at six – so you have a few hours to get to know her whilst your sister is getting ready, alright? And if six o'clock comes and you don't want us to go, you just say and we'll stay in. And even if you're happy for us to go, we won't be far away and my friend Jeremy at the desk, he brought you your pictures and your new film for your camera, you remember him? He knows everywhere we're going so if you want us back early – for anything Lily – you tell the lady to tell Jeremy to get a hold of us. He has the phone numbers and we'll come straight back."
"You promise?" she asked him, nestling into Rosie's chest.
He supressed his thoughts about a want to nestle his own head on her sizeable chest and looked to the child, "Yes. I promise, Lily."
She nodded, "Okay. I want you to go."
He almost sighed with relief at the about turn. She wanted them to go. He wanted to go. And Rosie had said it was important. It was all lining up.
"Alright, well, you've got plenty of time and you can change your mind, you just let me know – let us know, eh?" Rosie told her sister.
Lily nodded.
"You going to pick a new doll to play with tonight?" Tommy asked, hoping to distract her now that she'd got her worries out of her system.
His stomach turned as her face clouded freshly.
"I like two of them and I don't know what one to pick!"
He didn't quite know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that, to her six-year-old mind, the upset and conflict caused by this unnecessary conundrum – unnecessary because he'd buy her both, of course he'd buy her both – was as great as the upset and conflict caused in her by the conundrum of them going out without her that evening.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Jeremy had set up the private room exactly as he had asked – the small table on the side, where he'd move the things to once he was done presenting them, the larger table that they'd eat at in the centre, the roses blooming open in a vase at the top of her place setting, candles all around flickering away. He pulled the coconut he'd procured in Covent Garden out of his pocket and placed it on top of the tarot card he'd already laid on her plate.
It was quarter to six. He ran over his words in his head another couple of times, committing it to memory, determined to get it right. She'd caught him off guard yesterday – he hadn't thought, after the week of him telling her it was just business with Grace and getting a range of answers - none of which were about engaging in any type of conversation that would drive them forward - that buying her some dresses would be what would tip them into talking properly about it. He hadn't been prepared.
Tonight, he was prepared.
Or he thought he was.
When he went to the hotel lobby at six o'clock to meet her, he thought his knees might give way and he snatched his hat off his head in some engrained reflex at the sight of her.
If he had thought the day dress was beautiful it was nothing on the evening dress.
It was cut low – and his mind boggled for a minute as he got a good look at the curves of those breasts he'd been jealous of Lily being able to lay her head against earlier. He almost wanted to throw a coat over her and raise his gun in the direction of any man who looked her way. The contrast of the dark fabric against her skin, which was so pale, made his pulse quicken too. It was so unearthly white it almost seemed to throw the hotel's electric lighting back off of it, gleaming like pure ivory. Her arms were uncovered and he realised this was the first time he'd seen her shoulders unclothed. He had rubbed them for her, when she sat in front of him, but always through her pyjamas or her dress or shirt. He'd never seen her naked shoulder and he wanted to kiss the curve of it. That almost suddenly seemed more intimate than the burying of his face into her breasts that he'd thought about earlier. Though he still wanted to do that too.
As she drew closer he could see that the breasts in question weren't as bare as he had first thought, there was a gauzy piece of fabric covering them – or, well, somewhat covering them. The dark fabric was edged down the deep v with bronze and gold beading, which clearly framed the gauzy piece of fabric and, therefore, what could be seen through it.
He felt his trousers twitch and closed his eyes, trying to conjure something to mind that would quell it, but nothing came – even behind his closed lids he just saw her walking towards him, those breasts, that dress, her small waist…
He gave up and opened them again, savouring the movement of the dress as she walked to him in the small heels, her hips moving and the full skirt with them. He allowed his eyes to take in the sight of her lower legs – what was exposed of them from the dress ending just below her knee and imagined what running his hands over those silk stockings would feel like. One day, he'd know. He'd run his hands right up her stockings and, once he felt the silk of them give way to what he imagined was the silky skin of her thighs, he'd push them apart and take her, with her silk stockinged legs wrapped around his waist.
Her hair was voluminous and soft – sticking out from her head as always, but in a more purposeful way than usual. They'd taken the handsome mahogany hairbrush, comb and mirror set that Cecelia James had recommended for Rosie's hair too, despite her protestations that the dresses were more than enough. He'd fought her on it that they should take the day dress as well as the evening one, just in case anything should come up that she might need a nice day dress for. It had been that argument, had under their breaths and mainly carried out in pointed looks, in narrowing and widening of their eyes so that neither Lily nor Ms James would notice, that had made him insistent they'd take the damn brush set actually. He'd thought about the big house he was going to get them, where Rosie would have a dressing table she could lay the brushes out on and he'd get her to sit at it whilst he brushed her hair for her. And where, when she argued with him, he'd sit in her place, put her over his lap and make use of the other side of the damn brush.
He cleared his throat and stood straighter, his hands clasped behind his back, clutching his hat, as she came to stand before him.
"So, Lily let you come?" he said.
She nodded, the corners of her mouth upturned. She'd put on some of the make-up that had been unofficially procured yesterday, but not as much as they'd put on her in the shop. There was a slight darkening of her lashes and eyebrows, a touch of powder and rouge – but her lips looked stained like she'd been eating strawberries. Not like she was wearing lipstick. He could imagine her putting it on, deciding it was ridiculous and wiping it off, leaving just an impression of its colour behind. That suited him anyway, it meant he could kiss her as much as he wanted without worrying about them both coming out of it looking like they should be joining the circus.
"I'll buy her a penguin at the zoo tomorrow to say thank you."
"You can be the one to take care of it when she gets bored then," she replied with a smirk.
"You don't think buying her a pet's a good idea, do you?" he asked, realising he had made his own mind up without actually asking her her thoughts.
"Christ no," she said, shaking her head.
"Good."
She nodded, "Good."
He cleared his throat as his eyes fell automatically to her cleavage, then he pulled them up to meet hers. He had the urge to throw his hands in his pockets. Nothing bad could happen when he had his hands in his pockets, his mother had drummed that into him.
"The dress – it's uh – you look…" he said, unclasping his hands and waving the one holding the hat in front of him, gesturing to the dress – to her body in the dress.
She glanced down at it and bit her lip before looking back to him, "You don't like it? I knew it was too much."
"No! No! I – I do – like it – it's, eh, it's very nice. You're very nice."
She looked at him incredulously for a second, then raised an eyebrow and asked, "Thomas Shelby – are you – are you flustered?"
He glared at that and she giggled, "Who knew? All it takes is a dress and the great Tommy Shelby gets flustered."
"It's hardly all it takes is a dress, it's very specifically you in the fucking dress," he growled, "And I've never seen your arms before. It's a lot of skin."
"Arms, eh?" she said, smirking, "I'll file that away to remember – Thomas is an arm man."
She knew and he knew that it wasn't her bloody arms that were causing him the bother.
He took her elbow and began to steer her across the lobby muttering, "Let's go before I decide you need a good hiding for your cheek."
"So where are we going exactly?"
He moved her across the lobby and down a passage way, past the hotel's main restaurant and past the door to the kitchen until he stopped, shoving his hat into his pocket.
"We're going in here," he told her, turning the handle of the door with his free hand and holding it open to push her through.
She stopped just inside the door, taking in the sight – the table, the roses, the candles – even the coconut, though she stayed silent, merely raising an eyebrow.
"Dinner, just you and me," he said, closing the door and standing behind her, squeezing her waist.
The dress was cut the same at the back as it was at the front, low and deep and her short hair meant her neck was entirely exposed. So small, so fragile. Like her shoulders, it wasn't a part of her he saw very often, usually covered as it was by the collars of her shirts and even when she wore dresses, they weren't cut low like this. He couldn't resist dropping his mouth to the expanse of skin, and then he kissed along the line of her shoulder, finally landing on the curve of it as he'd imagined earlier. Her skin smelt warm and musky.
She looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes, smiling a little as she asked, "All that fuss and a nursemaid for Lily just so you could take me downstairs in the hotel?"
He smiled back and kissed her mouth before replying, "No, my darling girl, not just so we could be downstairs in the hotel – after this we're going to the theatre and, if you're feeling up to it after the show we're going to go dancing."
She raised an eyebrow, "The theatre?"
He moved his right hand from her waist into her own hand, squeezing it gently, "Like I said – if the only date I could ever take you on was to the Italian café for ice cream I'd be happy as long as it was you. But when you've got a dress and I've got the chance to take you somewhere befitting of the dress, I don't see why we shouldn't."
She let him lead her to the seat, which he pulled out for her to settle into, her eyes once again looking at the coconut.
He stood straight and cleared his throat, putting his hands back behind his back.
"I've got a few things to say. I've been thinking of how to say them ever since you agreed to this trip. And I know we talked yesterday but I think I should still say them, formally, so you have it on record."
She nodded, a slight nervousness crossing her eyes.
"I bought a coconut for you on Monday," he told her, aware that he sounded slightly mad, so he hurried on, "I bought a coconut for my mother once and I thought I'd tell you about it. Well, I say I bought her it – I used her money. The family money. She gave me sixpence and sent me to the shop for margarine, eggs and bread. I went to the shops but when I went through the bullring I saw a stall that was selling coconuts and I bought one of them instead. Then I bartered another seller down to giving me a top hat with the rest of the money."
Rosie snorted, "And what did your mother have to say about her coconut?"
"And her top hat."
"And her top hat – though I notice I don't have one of those."
"I thought the coconut would do to tell the story."
"Are you going to sit and tell me the story or hover over me the whole time?"
He raised an eyebrow, which she returned with a raised eyebrow of her own, then he sighed, grabbed the chair from the opposite side of the table and swung it round, sitting himself right in front of her so their knees were resting against one another's.
"Better?"
She nodded.
"Good. Now, if I may continue?"
"You may."
"Thank you very much," he said sarcastically, eliciting a grin from her.
She opened her mouth, no doubt to quip something else too smart for her own good at him, but he placed his finger to her lips and said, "Please – let me explain this."
She closed her mouth and nodded, her flippancy gone.
His heart thudded against his chest as he picked up, "Now, my mother was not happy, since you asked. As you know, I had my arse lit up plenty when I was a kid – and I deserved it most of the time. But she beat me when I brought them home, I came into the kitchen all proud of myself for picking something more joyful to spend the money on than the fucking eggs and bread and she was standing by the range with a frying pan in her hand – I'll never forget the look she gave me when she saw what I'd put up on the table instead. She came at me and I knew I should run, but my legs had gone to fucking jelly. And I saw her raise that frying pan and I threw my hands over my head and just stood there whilst she turned me black and fucking blue."
"I don't think I like this story Tom," Rosie said quietly.
"I loved my mum, we all did," he said quickly, "And she loved us. Even when she was skelping us about the place. This was different though. Y'see, my father was a waste of space. Is a waste of space, he's still out there somewhere, fucking up other people's lives no doubt. This was one of the times when he'd gone. And that sixpence was all the money we had for the week. I'd spent it and she had no idea how she was going to feed us."
Her hands moved in her lap and he lent forward, taking them in his.
"I didn't know that, when I was a kid. I didn't realise till later how poor we were. Didn't realise because my mother was so bloody good at hiding it from us, didn't let us see it. The thing was, Rosie, I didn't understand money back then. I didn't know how you made it or what it was worth – but I knew, even then, that there was something special about coconuts and people who wore top hats. I knew those people weren't like us. That things like coconuts weren't for us, but I didn't know why. Didn't understand why. I wanted to be someone who had a coconut and that was that. Thought my mother deserved to be someone who had a coconut. I haven't changed very much in that respect, I see people with a better life than me and I don't accept that that's just the way things are because I was born in Small Heath and they were born elsewhere. What did change though, was that I grew up and began to understand money. And then my mother got – got ill and died - and I took over raising Finn and Ada and began to understand not just money for me, but the pressure of needing that money to provide for your family. Began to understand the pressure my mother was under. Completely understood why she'd beaten me that day when I'd squandered her only way of feeding her children without stealing – without running risk of being tossed into jail and having us divvied up into the parish. The thing is Rosie, I've never been, and I'll never be, content with just providing, or just getting by – I want to be the type of man who brings his family coconuts every fucking day."
"For what it's worth Thomas, I prefer your cap to a top hat anyway," she told him, squeezing his hands.
He smiled at that, "Yeah, I don't think I'd suit a top hat after all. But, Rosie, my father – he set me every example of the type of man I didn't want to be. Walked out on us a million times, came crawling back after he'd run out of money, spent money that wasn't his to spend, spent the food money, left my mother with nothing but worry to keep her company. It was my Uncle Charlie who bought our food that week, after I bought the coconut. He didn't let any of us know either."
"I like Charlie."
"Charlie's a good man."
"So, you want to be like him?"
"Yes. And no. I want the whole fucking world as my yard."
"It's good to have ambition Tommy," Rosie said quietly, "But sometimes you need to be content too."
He met her eyes and just looked into them, warm and kind, fiery and glowing. Being able to meet her eyes made his heart happy.
"I'm working on it – and you make me content. Our Saturday nights after they've all cleared off to bed, they're – well," he broke off, trying to figure out how to say it without sounding completely soft.
"They were my favourite times," she said quietly.
He nodded, "Mine too. But I'm still like I was back then Rosie, I still want to give you coconuts."
She nodded at the one on the plate, "You have, Tommy."
He shook his head, "No. Not just a once off. Not just a holiday thing. I want to give you a big house with hot running water plumbed in so you can have a bath every day. And I want to make enough money to send Lily to her fancy private school. I want you to come to London and buy dresses every week and I want to take you places you can wear them. I want a better life than I had growing up, I want to be a better man than my father was."
"Tommy, you are," she began to say but he cut across her, his need to express his desires spilling out.
"I want you to not ever worry for a second about how you're going to feed us for the next week. I want our kids to get a smacked backside for being disobedient when they come home from the shops having bought what they fancied and not what they were told to buy, not to be beaten because I've put you in a desperate situation. That's what I want – for me, for you, for us, for Lily, for Finn, for our kids. And that's what I'm going to get – I damn well promise you that. But I need you to understand, Rosie, I fucked up. I know I did. But that's why I fucked up. That's my main drive, that's always my main drive. I was thinking about the fact I'm playing this inspector so I can do business with Billy Kimber. Campbell's going to keep the police off my back whilst that's happening. I've made a deal with him, to help me grow the business, to make more money that will all go towards me getting what I want to get for you, for our family. I was thinking about that and about how I'm sure she's connected to Campbell and how I need to control the information being fed to him so that nothing fucks up business wise. That was what my mind was on when I asked her to the races. It was purely business. And it was bad judgement on my part not to speak to you first, or even straight after – but I need you to understand Rosie, the root of it – the whole reason I want this business to go well – is so I can give you the life I want to give you."
She lent forward and kissed him lightly, taking her hands from his so she could lay them on his face as she did so, before breaking off and saying, softly, "So, we're having kids?"
He nodded and let himself smile a little as he thought about them with their kids, "As soon as it's safe – as soon as this business is done and these guns have made their way back to where they came from and Campbell has gone – and as soon as I have a big house with hot running water that I can carry you over the threshold of, I'm going to marry you and put my babies in you."
"Don't I get a say?" she asked, smirking and raising her eyebrows.
"Do you have any objections?" he asked, smirking back.
She shook her head, "No, Mr Shelby, I don't – on one condition though."
He sighed, knowing what was coming, "What?"
"You have to make it right with Ada before then."
"I'm doing my best."
"I know," she said, and kissed him again, "I know you are – and I believe in you, Thomas Shelby. So, I have no doubt you'll do it in plenty of time."
She believed in him.
He glanced back to the table, "I bought you the roses in Covent Garden too."
"They're beautiful."
"Like you."
She shook her head.
"Now, none of that," he said sternly, grabbing her chin with his hand so he could turn her face towards him as he gave her a chastising look, "I say you're beautiful and if you argue with me on it I'll turn your beautiful arse over my knee and redden it for you. I won't have anyone contesting with me about my girl."
She blushed and glanced around the room, as if worried someone was going to have appeared whilst they were talking.
"So, is that the life I'm signing up to then?"
"Oh you already signed up to that," he reminded her, "But yes, you'll be a well spanked little wife if you don't learn to mind your tongue."
"Brute."
"Baboon, bat, bastard, bully, brute," he listed off, "Do you know any words that don't start with a b?"
"How about cunt?"
"I'll wash your mouth out with soap if you ever call me that."
"So I'm playing safe with the b words?"
"No, you're playing fast and loose."
"Just like Thomas Shelby then."
"Do you fancy sitting comfortably through the meal or the show?"
She smirked but didn't answer him back this time.
"Good – right then, back to the roses. You remember what Johnny told you about the tarot cards?"
She nodded.
"Well, I already gave you the strength card, because you are my strength."
"Tommy, I hate to tell you this but I'm not a magician," she said, raising an eyebrow and looking between him and the card.
"Will you shut up and let me speak? I'm trying to make a bloody grand gesture here like in your books."
She put her finger to her lips, promising silence.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes at her before becoming serious again, "On the magician card, the rose represents unfolding wisdom. You know why I made the mistake I did now, you know what I was thinking about and you know why. So, I've given you that wisdom. But you've given me wisdom too – you made me realise I was wrong to do what I did, both with that mistake and in the way I handled finding out about Ada being pregnant. So, with this card," he reached over and tapped it, "I promise you I will use that wisdom, I will apply it going forward and I will learn from my mistakes – as long as you forgive me."
The request hung in the air for a second and his heart beat wildly – he hadn't envisioned what he was going to say past this point. This was where he'd planned up to. Because he wasn't sure what she'd say next.
"I forgive you Thomas," was what she said.
Simple. Elegant. Beautiful. She had forgiven him.
"Thank you," he said, pressing his lips to hers again before sitting back to look into her eyes and ask, "Will you help me?"
"Help you with what?" she asked, running her fingers over his face.
"With everything," he told her, "The whole fucking thing. Fucking – life, business."
He needed her help, he realised that. He could only do it with her on his side, the last few weeks had proven that. She might have had no objections to marrying him and letting him put his seed in her, but he didn't just want a wife who would sit at home and cook – he needed someone to be his partner, to be his confidant in everything. Someone he could trust implicitly, and she was his choice. His only choice. If choice was even the word… He wasn't sure he'd had a choice in it at any point. He'd been drawn to her, fascinated by her and then, next thing he knew, he'd been standing in his kitchen realising he loved her – and that he had been in love with her for quite some time, but without ever noticing it. He had never decided to love her, had never decided she was the one. She just was.
"I found you," he told her, "And you found me. We'll help each other."
She nodded and kissed him, "Yes, I found you Thomas. And as long as you keep your promises to me, I'll be by your side – for everything, for business and life and all of it. I'm yours."
"As I am yours," he nodded, pressing his lips hungrily to hers again – breaking off only when, as planned at half past six exactly, a waitress appeared with gin for Rosie, whisky for him and a menu for each of them.
The dinner went well, both of them on their best behaviour at their official reconciliation, though she did roll her eyes when walked her down the street to the Strand Theatre and she saw that they were seeing a show called The Gipsy Princess.
"Is this your way of telling me this is your latest expansion?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, "Is this theatre now owned by the Shelby Brothers, Limited?"
"Limited? Who says we're limited?"
"That's what companies are called," Rosie replied, "I see it on the delivery paperwork at the tobacco shop."
"Will you give up that bloody tobacco shop for good, please?"
"I'll think about it."
He growled and lit a cigarette. He didn't want her working in the tobacco shop.
"Once you have that leaver's cert I'll be getting you onto an accountancy course," he told her smugly, "You won't have time for the shop."
"Kids, accountancy course – I wonder what it would be like to be with a man who wasn't as bossy as you."
"You'll never know."
"No, I don't suppose I will."
"Is there a different course you'd prefer to do?"
"I don't know. I don't mind numbers but I don't enjoy them. I'd like to…"
She broke off and shook her head.
"What?" he pressed, "Tell me?"
"I'd like to do something to help kids from back home. But I don't know what. I don't mean like a teacher or something – but like, maybe something in the council to help kids get adopted into nice families. I see those kids who get dumped in that reformatory and they look miserable. I half thought as well – you know I bought our old house – I thought maybe if Molly never came back and we sorted this out – I thought maybe I could use it to rent out cheap to women with kids who need help or their kids will get taken by the parish or something."
He nodded, "Alright. We'll look into it, eh?"
She shrugged, downplaying, no doubt, how much she wanted to get into it.
"We'll look into it over the summer holidays," he repeated, his arm around her bare shoulders as they stood outside the theatre.
"So, what's this show about?" she asked, changing the subject, "A Shelby princess?"
"No, it is bloody well not about Ada. And no, to confirm, I have no stake in this. It's a real show. But luckily for me the plot worked out to support my grand gesture so that if you hadn't gone for it back in the hotel this would have been part two of my making you understand that it was an honest mistake."
She snorted at that and they headed in, taking their seats in the sixth row.
The first act introduced the two protaganists – the gypsy Sylva, who was a singing sensation and the Prince of Vienna. They were, of course, in love but she wasn't a suitable match for a prince – yet, when he was called back to Vienna he promised to return and marry her within three months. As a woman engaged to be a princess, she cancelled all her future shows, preparing to give up her singing career to become his wife – but, in the tradition of theatre, it wasn't destined to run so smoothly. Unbeknownst to the prince, his parents had arranged a suitable marriage for him at the same time he was engaging himself to Sylva and the news of his parents' arrangement reached Sylva after he had left for Vienna. Assuming, of course, that he had been part of the arrangement and that he had cheated on her and abandoned her, Sylva decided to go on a tour of America – heartbroken and considering her engagement no longer to exist, taking the prince's friend, who happened to be a count, with her as her manager.
"So," Rosie said, turning to him with a smirk when the curtain had fallen, "Your plan was to make me believe you were an innocent bystander whilst your parents arranged for you and Grace to go to the races together?"
"Don't be facetious," he said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand for her to take, "The point is it's all a misunderstanding.
She shook her head but let him lead her to the theatre bar and buy her champagne.
"I feel like everyone is looking at us," she muttered to him as they stood with the coupes of the expensive fizzy stuff.
He was fairly sure they were, actually. Not that he was entirely sure why. And not that he cared.
"Maybe because we drank without a toast," he said with a smirk, hoping to make her less self-conscious.
"What would we toast?"
"Forgiveness?"
"Hmm, I suppose that would do," she said, narrowing her eyes at him in faux annoyance and lifting her glass.
"To forgiveness."
"To forgiveness."
They drank and the bell to signal the end of the interval sounded – so Tommy took Rosie's freshly emptied glass from her and went to dump them on the nearest surface.
When he returned she was being accosted by a woman in her early 30s, and he frowned as he approached her, ready to tell the woman and the man he presumed to be her husband where to go when he realised she was being complimented.
"Is that Lanvin?"
"Yes, I got it in Harrods yesterday."
"It's beautiful, you suit it so well."
"Thank you," Rosie replied, seeming unsure.
"Your hair is stunning too – I want to cut mine but Henry here won't let me," the woman said, turning to the man and patting him on his rather rotund stomach, "Old fashioned, he is. Well, we'd best return to our seats but I couldn't not tell you how beautiful you look, like a flapper girl from America!"
Rosie nodded uncertainly and the woman and Henry headed off, Henry tipping his head to Tommy as they did.
"So that's why everyone is staring, eh?" he said, putting his hand on her waist and following the couple out of the bar, "Because you look so bloody good and they're all jealous their husbands wouldn't let them cut their hair like yours. The woman who isn't cut out to be fashionable, eh?"
"I didn't cut my hair to be bloody fashionable, I just can't stand it when it gets long," she muttered back.
"Well I'm proud of you for not pulling a knife on poor Henry there, like you did with Harrison," he told her with a grin, remembering how she'd whipped out a knife and held it to the shopkeeper's throat because he'd told Tommy to do something about her hair.
"I might have let you buy me a dress Tommy but I swear to god if you ever start trying to control my appearance I'll have plenty of objections," she muttered to him as they slid back into their seats.
"How many times," he muttered in her ear as the lights went down, "I find you absolutely fucking beautiful just the way you are."
She smirked and then had the cheek to shush him as the curtain raised for the second act.
He wasn't entirely sure he was keen on it. Act two opened in Vienna, the last night of the three-month engagement promise between the prince and Sylva and the prince was confused as to why Sylva had gone to America on her tour. Poor lad was still expecting to hear from her, not knowing that she'd heard about the arrangement his parents had made. His parents were throwing a grand party, where they intended to announce his engagement to the woman they had deemed worthy of marrying him. Essentially, Sylva crashed the party with his count friend and the two of them had supposedly gone and got married. The prince was overcome with jealousy at seeing Sylva dressed for a ball and married to someone else – but unbeknownst to him, she was not married, she was merely there to teach him a lesson. In fact, her faux husband and the prince's intended fiancée spent act two falling in love at first sight with one another whilst the prince spent it chasing after Sylva, declaring his love and telling her she should divorce his friend. Sylva was all for it at one point until the prince stumbled – declaring it a good thing overall that she had married his former friend because then his parents would have to accept her as a member of society from her marriage and they would have to allow them to marry. Sylva shouted that they had to accept her for who she was, not a Countess, and the curtain fell with Sylva storming from the party, dragging the Count with her.
He went from being unsure that he was keen on act two to being decidedly sure he was unkeen on it when Rosie turned to him and announced, "I'm enjoying Sylva."
"I am not."
"Why, because she's getting the better of the prince?" Rosie asked with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
"Getting the better of him? He's declared himself and she's stormed off."
"Because she wants to be accepted for who she is!"
He frowned and looked ahead at the curtain. The second interval was shorter, the bar wasn't open during it.
"So if I want you flustered I get a dress and if I want you in a mood I turn up and pretend to be married to someone else, I'll file those away next to one another," she said, amusement clear in her tone.
He gave her a filthy look and lit a cigarette and listened to her giggle to herself.
"Tommy, we just drank to forgiveness," she said eventually after she'd settled.
He raised an eyebrow, "So?"
"So sort that fizzling face of yours before I decide to use this dress to go find a man to pretend to be married to."
He sucked moodily on his cigarette, not changing his expression then growled, "You just try pulling a stunt like that and you'll find yourself getting a good look at the ground while I blister your backside – I'm not some wet little prince, I'm Thomas fucking Shelby."
She lent over, plucked the cigarette from his mouth and kissed him before she replaced it and replied, "Yes you are. And as bloody mad as it might make me sound I've missed your silly threats."
"My silly threats, eh?" he hmphed, "Won't be so fucking silly when you can't sit comfortably, will they?"
Still, he let her take his hand and squeezed her fingers when she did.
Act three, obviously, made for the traditional happy ending – in a shocking turn of events it came to light that the prince's mother had been a cabaret singer before she became a queen and once that had been exposed the prince couldn't be stopped in his assertions that he would marry Sylva – which he did, in a double wedding with the count she had never really been married to and the woman he was supposed to have married also saying their I dos. The show ended with the newlyweds heading off to finish Sylva's tour of America.
"Well, what did you think?" Tommy asked once they were back out on the street.
"I liked that she put the prince in his place and I liked that he put his stuck up mother in hers once he found out the truth – but I reckon he should have told her straight from the start," she replied.
"You reckon, eh?"
"Uhuh. What did you think?" she returned, smirking up at him.
"I think that it ended with her promising to love, honour and obey him and I damn well hope if she doesn't that he turns her up and roasts her, like he should have done in the second act."
"How about Neanderthal for a word that doesn't begin with b?" Rosie mused amused.
"How about nice and compliant and not so smart mouthed?"
"How about earns nice and compliant?"
"How about makes it happen if he's not getting nice and compliant?"
"How about not being an arse?"
"How about a nice glowing red arse?"
"I think that would suit you well, I'll speak to Polly, see if I can arrange it for you."
"C'mere you little wench," he murmured, pulling her to him and kissing her laughter away.
She sighed and wound her arms around his neck, "I did miss you – even though I do maintain that you're a baboon at times."
"Oh my love, you haven't experienced the half of it," he said, wrapping his coat around her as they stood out on the street.
"Hmm, well I suppose you've got to save some for later so I don't get bored," she baited him.
"I promise you you'll never be bored my darling girl, not so long as I have breath in my body," he told her, then kissed her gently before, "Now, are we going dancing?"
She smiled up at him, "Can you dance me in my room? I think Lily will keep herself awake till we're back and I don't fancy a tantrum in the morning because she's overly tired."
"Alright," he nodded and kissed her, "I suppose that's what you do when you have kids, isn't it?"
As always, thank you for reading, reviewing and messaging me, I so very much appreciate it!
Re this chapter The Gipsy Princess was a real operatta, and the plot is as described, I've linked to some background on it in this post on my tumblr for anyone who is interested : findinghisredrighthand dot tumblr dot com /post/632364759998676992/chapter-57-details and that post also includes a picture of the Lanvin dress Rosie is wearing in this chapter.