Mr. Gallagher looked different. There was no physical change, but to Rose's eye, there had been a transformation. He was no longer a stern, apathetic businessman. He was a murderer.

Were she not so frightened of him, her contempt would likely have manifested in the form of biting words or disdainful glares. But as things stood, she held her breath as he greeted her the following morning.

Rose observed that he seemed a bit more himself today. Less haunted. More focused. He left shortly after Rose arrived, stating that he had a meeting with the current owners of the coveted empty lot.

“Gonna talk 'em down,” he said on his way out. “Not sure how long this'll take.”

Rose forced a smile onto her lips. “Best of luck, sir,” she responded.

“Luck's got nothin' to do with it,” Mr. Gallagher growled as he marched down the stairs.

Oh, I'm sure, Rose thought, disquiet festering in her mind. You make your own luck. By any means necessary.

【♖】

The day passed at a glacial pace, though far less eventful than Rose had anticipated. Mr. Gallagher came and went several more times, always hurried, never loquacious, and with his signature glower firmly back in place.

Never once did he carry the latest issue of the Post, or pause to ask Rose unusual questions. For the time being, it seemed she was safe from discovery.

Per William's instructions, Rose went to the Cavendish Kettle upon the work day's end. Once there, she had a cup of tea and perused a copy of the newspaper that a pair of gentlemen had left behind. Daphne's article, simply entitled Unknown Woman Found in Canal, appeared on the second page, and consisted of two short paragraphs.

Rose read the article with a sense of foreboding, but true to her word, Daphne had written the story to be as brief, vague, and unhelpful as possible. No specifics. Not a single word regarding Geneviève's dark skin, Parisian attire, or the marks on her neck. She was simply ‘a young woman,’ with no name, no description, and from nowhere.

Sighing in relief, Rose folded the newspaper and set it aside. Mr. Gallagher couldn't possibly feel threatened by that article. Good.

However, her relief brought forth an instant twist of guilt deep in her stomach. Nothing about this was ‘good.’ Mr. Gallagher would get away with murder, and little Jacques would grow up an orphan. That poor boy.

At half past the hour, Rose gave Mr. Cavendish a wave in farewell and moved on to the next phase of William's instructions. She made short work of the trek to Daphne's flat, and once there, rapped lightly on the door.

A moment later, the door burst open and Daphne greeted her with a smile. “Why, if it isn't Miss Appelbaum! Hello!” she announced theatrically. “Please, come in.”

Rose smiled as she passed over the threshold. “Thank you, Miss Lancaster.”

Daphne closed and locked the door behind her cousin, a look of elation on her face. “Oh, Rose!” she exclaimed in a stage whisper. “I've been all atwitter since you rang me last night! I realize you're merely trying to absolve the appearance of any possible association with William, but I feel like we're Wrens in the Great War! How exciting!”

“The Women's Royal Naval Service, you mean?” Rose clarified. She expelled a sound of amusement. “Nothing quite so dangerous or patriotic, but I do enjoy the comparison.”

“So, we wait until the top of the hour?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely. Then I have time to show you something of interest.”

“Interest?” Rose echoed, quirking an eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Over here,” Daphne beckoned. She led Rose to the kitchen, retrieved a garment bag from the back of one of the chairs, and held it aloft. “This arrived for you.”

“For me?” Rose repeated.

“Yes,” Daphne affirmed. “No more than five minutes after I'd returned home from the Daily Post's office, a courier came by with this from a department store uptown.”

“What makes you think it's for me?” Rose asked.

“The courier asked for you by name,” Daphne said. “Well, ‘Rose Appelbaum.’ That name. This is the address you provided when you were hired at the factory, is it not?”

“I'd nearly forgotten,” Rose realized. “Yes.”

“Well, there you are,” Daphne said. “Here. This came with it.” She presented Rose with a handsome gold envelope.

Flabbergasted, Rose took the envelope from her cousin's outstretched hand and opened it. Within she found an equally handsome gold card. In nearly illegible chicken-scratch, it read:

Hello, gorgeous!
Bought you a little something to wear to the theater on Friday. Hope you like it. Thought it would look nice 'cause it matches your hair.
Can't wait to see you!
Jimmy

Eyes wide, Rose handed the card to Daphne and unzipped the garment bag. Inside was a dress. A tight bodice with capped sleeves greeted her, in the brightest, most garish yellow she'd ever seen. “Ugh, it's blinding!” she complained.

Daphne reached out to touch the fabric, and immediately jerked her hand away. “Scratchy as the bark on a tree! Honestly, who wears wool in the springtime?”

They peeled the garment bag away from the dress for further inspection, and found the back to be even less attractive than the front. A row of slippery pea-sized yellow buttons fastened with tiny loops of fabric ran from neckline to tailbone. There had to be forty in number. Perhaps more.

Both girls gasped and recoiled away from the affronting design.

“Oh, it's ghastly!” Daphne exclaimed.

“Abhorrent!” Rose agreed with a groan. “It's as though he chose the most unflattering dress imaginable for my coloring and figure!”

“Don't even think about wearing it unless you have a good, true hour to devote to doing up the back,” Daphne declared. “All those buttons! My goodness, imagine the wasted time!”

“I'll need two lady's maids to put it on,” Rose sighed. “To take it off, as well.”

“Leave it here,” Daphne said. “I'll help you enshroud yourself in this lemon monstrosity on Friday evening.”

After another handful of colorful insults, the girls enclosed the dress back in its garment bag just as the clock on the wall struck seven.

“Top of the hour,” Daphne announced. “Let's be off.”

She secured a cloche hat on Rose's head and pulled the brim snuggly around her face. The pair then left the flat together. Walking through the labyrinth of closely packed buildings to the back alley, Rose kept her head down while Daphne observed their surroundings.

“Not a soul in sight,” Daphne whispered as they turned the corner and entered the cramped alleyway.

A taxi awaited them. From the driver's seat, Elijah waved in greeting through the windshield.

Both girls climbed into the backseat, and Elijah tipped his cabbie bowler hat to them.

“'Evening, ladies,” he said with a cheeky smile.

“Good evening, Elijah,” Rose said, smiling in return. “This is my cousin, Daphne Lancaster. Daphne, William's nephew Elijah McQueeney.”

“Pleasure,” Daphne greeted him.

“Aye, I recognize you!” Elijah cried. “You were at the benefit! I remember your tit— Er, your dress. Quite nice, it was.”

Daphne laughed. “You remember my cleavage in that dress, you mean. Remember away. I'm not offended. My décolletage did look especially impressive that night.”

“That it did!” Elijah concurred with a wide grin. “Jackson and I were takin' bets as to...well... That ain't important. Off we go, ladies.”

Rose and Daphne shared a smirk. Then, per William's instructions, Rose bent double over her knees. To any passersby or other drivers they met along the way, it would appear that Daphne was the taxi's sole passenger.

Elijah inched the car forward, glanced both ways, and pulled out onto the street. “Next stop, the library,” he said.

【♖】

Kitty was packing up to leave the office for the night when the door swung open with a bang, and Jackson and Ransom sauntered through.

“Alright, Kitty?” Jackson said in greeting.

“Alright, yeah,” Kitty replied, a bit surprised by their sudden appearance. If they were meeting Liam for a drink, wouldn't they simply gather at the Broken Crown as usual? “You?”

“Aces,” Jackson declared. “Tuppence is in London!”

“I know,” Kitty stated. “I secured her train tickets.”

“And you're a lamb for doin' it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Enough bragging, Jack,” Ransom intervened, waving his hand. He turned to Kitty. “Will in his office, then?”

“He is, aye,” Kitty answered. She arched an eyebrow. “He expectin' you?”

“Oughta be,” Ransom said. “Was him that called us here, after all.”

“Ah. Well, go on, then.”

In unison, the brothers tipped the brims of their fedoras to Kitty and continued their path across the room to the door of Liam's office.

Odd. What were the three of them getting up to tonight? There was nothing written in Liam's appointment diary.

Kitty shrugged and shook her head. What difference did it make? The clock on the wall revealed that the hour was well gone seven, and her bathtub was calling her name. What those boys did after work hours was no concern of hers.

Grabbing her handbag, Kitty rounded her desk and made for the door, only to be waylaid by the appearance of Crispin and Archie. The pair of adolescents nodded to her as they passed, all the while going on in excited hushed tones about some pretty girl they'd noticed at the pictures.

“Here to see Liam?” Kitty asked.

“Aye,” Crispin replied over his shoulder. “Family meeting.”

Befuddled, Kitty stared after them. That couldn't be right. If there was a family meeting, she would have been told. She would have been invited.

She was just about to express her thoughts to Crispin and Archie's retreating backs, when she nearly collided with Mickey Sullivan.

“Careful there, love!” he exclaimed, holding out his hands as a buffer. “Don't want any accidents in the office.”

“What are you doing here?” Kitty blurted.

“Oh-oh! Not very friendly!” Mickey declared, a teasing quality to his voice. “As it happens, I was told to be here by your boss, so's here I am! Don't need trouble.”

“Told to be here?” Kitty repeated. “For the family meeting?”

“That's right,” he confirmed. “And it's about to start, so 'scuse me, love.”

He bobbed and weaved around her, leaving Kitty blinking stupidly in his wake.

“What is the purpose of this meeting?” she demanded to no one in particular.

“That's need-to-know, Kitty,” came Audrey McQueeney's voice from behind her.

Kitty whirled around. “Audrey!” she exclaimed. “Need-to-know? Just what in the high holy hell is that s'pose to mean? I'm Liam's secretary! If there's a meetin', I need to know!”

“Not this,” Audrey differed in her famous flinty manner. “This ain't business as usual, Kitty. This is dangerous. Liam's playin' it close to the chest. Only those who will actually be involved need to know what's goin' on.”

Hands planted firmly on her hips, Kitty held herself to her full height and scowled. “Why?” she pressed.

Audrey gave her a look of condescension that said she should know better than to pose such a stupid question. “So, if you're later asked about your involvement or knowledge, you don't have to lie,” she stated, her tone flat. “Go home, Kitty. If ya don't hafta deal with James Gallagher, ya should be grateful. Ignorance can be bliss.”

Kitty gaped at Audrey as the formidable woman walked past her toward Liam's office. Her cheeks stung like she'd been slapped. Was the entire Mercer family keeping her in the dark now? What had she done to deserve such treatment?

Exasperated, she stalked to the front door, yanked it open, and stormed out. Once outside on the street, she lit a cigarette and took a long, calming drag. Bloody insulting, that's what this was. Insulting and humiliating. But what of it? Did she really want to attend a meeting about James Gallagher and his employee-poaching practices? No. She didn't. It had been a long day, and it was now bath and gin o'clock.

Kitty had almost succeeded in convincing herself that she was glad of the blatant exclusion, when she saw Elijah approaching from the alley behind the building.

And he wasn't alone. By his side was Rose Sinclair.

【♖】

The players had all assembled. Soon the pre-game strategy session would begin.

His hands in the pockets of his trousers, Liam gazed around his office at those who had gathered as they conversed and poured whiskey into glasses from the decanter. A small, but essential group. A few more blokes would be added later, but for their brute strength alone, not for their brains. Not for their input. Therefore, they didn't need to be here for this family meeting.

Audrey, Ransom, Jackson, Crispin, Archie, Mickey Sullivan, and when he arrived, Elijah. Those were the chess pieces Liam needed to win this game. His bishops, knights, and rooks. And Rose was his queen.

Just as her name took up residence in his mind, Rose walked through the office door with Elijah. Liam felt the tension in his stomach ease a bit.

“Made it in one piece, I see,” Liam said, addressing the two of them. “Any chance you were followed?”

Elijah shook his head. “Not on me life,” he swore. “Let Miss Lancaster off at the library, as planned. She knows to stay there for at least a half hour, then hail another taxi and go home.”

“Gave her the money for fare, did ya?”

“I did, yeah,” his nephew confirmed.

“Good lad,” Liam said with a nod. He turned to Rose. “Alright, Rose? Feel safe?”

“I do,” she said. “I adhered to all of your instructions to the letter, and I'm certain no one could have followed me from Mr. Gallagher's factory.”

Liam nodded again. “Glad to hear it.” He pivoted, addressing the room at large. “You lot remember Rose Sinclair?”

A chorus of corroborative responses rang out, including an enthusiastic whistle from Ransom.

“Ain't never seen this bird before in me life!” Mickey said, differing from the rest.

“Aye, but I told ya about her, didn't I?” Liam questioned him, his eyebrows elevated in irritation.

Mickey seemed to consider this before answering. “Ya did. Yeah.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“No problem, Will.”

“Good. Let's move on.” Liam's icy eyes toured the room, daring another in attendance to interrupt him. “As I mentioned to each o' ya, Rose here has been workin' as James Gallagher's secretary. She's also been feignin' a courtship with his son, Jimmy. The information she's been successful in gatherin' is invaluable. Because of her, we've learned more about Gallagher in one week than we have in the cumulative time since his arrival in Manchester.”

There was an amassed hum of appreciative sounds from all the attendees. Most raised their glasses in Rose's direction.

Audrey gave Rose a respectful nod. “Takes guts to do what you're doin'. Many wouldn't take the risk.”

Ransom let out a string of awed obscenities. “Said it before, and I'll say it again! Whatever you're payin' her, it ain't enough, Will!” he declared.

“I agree, Ransom,” Liam said. He glanced at Rose. Her cheeks were flushed with what he took to be pride. Good. She deserved to be proud. Clearing his throat, he addressed the group: “That's why we're here tonight. There's no compensation enough for the danger Rose is now in. We need to pull her out. And soon.”

“It's been dangerous since the start,” Audrey stated. “What's changed?”

“We've always suspected James Gallagher was a murderer,” Liam said. “Even bereft of definitive proof, no man gets where Gallagher is without puttin' a few others in the ground. We know that to be true. Don't we?”

Liam made eye contact with each of his siblings and his nephew. Elijah and Jackson nodded in silence. Ransom gave an affirmative grunt.

“That we do, Liam,” Audrey concurred, her expression somber. “We know it well.”

“Aye,” Liam said. “Well, what's changed is that we now have that definitive proof. Gallagher is a murderer. And apparently, he's got no qualms offing women.”

“You serious?” Jackson exclaimed. “Who'd he whack, then?”

Liam grabbed the copy of the Manchester Daily Post that sat atop his desk and turned to the second page, displaying Daphne's minute article for all to see. “The woman in the canal.”

Ransom nearly choked on his whiskey. He hacked a violent cough until he righted himself, then rasped out, “You are joking, ain't ya?”

Liam shook his head in impatience. “Am I known to joke, Ransom?”

“This is certainly not a joke,” Rose cut in. “The woman's name was Geneviève. I met her briefly. She was a Can-Can dancer from Paris, and Mr. Gallagher's lover.”

“Merciful fuck,” Audrey cursed, expelling a sound of disgust. “Why the hell would he kill her, then?”

“Two or three months back, Geneviève gave birth to a son,” Liam answered with information Rose had provided. “Gallagher's son.”

The room erupted in a cacophony of incredulous shouts and protests. Liam allowed this to go on for several seconds while he took out a cigarette and lit the end. Exhaling smoke, he made an abrupt cutting motion through the air. “Alright!” he commanded, volume elevated. The racket ceased. “Enough of that. We're here tonight to strategize a way to end this. For good. Get Rose out, take Gallagher's assets, and restore our power. I believe we can accomplish the full measure in one night. Rose and I came up with a plan.”

Jackson exchanged a hungry glance with Ransom. “What's the plan, Liam?”

“Gettin' to that,” Liam promised. “But first, ya need to know all the moving parts involved. So, let's all sit down, shut our traps, and have a listen. Shall we?”

He received a silent chorus of nods as each attendee grabbed a chair and sank onto the seat.

“Good.” Liam nodded in approval, then turned to his partner. “Rose?”

She met his gaze with her own, and the two of them shared a fervent look. “Yes?”

“The floor is yours, love.”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ VOTE! ☆