She was right. Kitty was right. Not a single word she'd uttered rang untrue. Wherever Liam was, Rose was there, too. A phantom that followed him from place to place, no matter how hard he tried to push her from his mind. Even the other night in his study. His hands and mouth had been on Kitty, but his mind had been on Rose. It was Rose he'd seen every time he'd closed his eyes.

Therefore, yes, Kitty was right. He'd gotten a shiny new toy, and immediately tossed the old one aside. But his behavior toward the new toy had been just as off-putting. Which meant Rose was right, as well: his was a lonely, dreadful life, and he'd brought it upon himself.

These realizations weighed heavily on his mind and body, and he leaned forward, pressing his palms to the surface of the desk to steady himself. When had he ceased to be astute and self-aware? Where had he left his most important observational traits? Had they died along with Clementine?

A guilt with which he was completely unacquainted began to spread through Liam's stomach, causing a bout of nausea to travel up his throat. It was beneath him to become entangled with such base emotions, but his treatment of Kitty had been crass. He could see that now. They had so much history together, the two of them. She'd been steadfast and present when others had deserted him. He didn't love her, and he knew he never would, but that was no excuse to take her loyalty for granted.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down at Kitty's desk and made his way through the documents that required his signature. Once he'd finished, he piled the papers neatly together, tucked them back inside the folder, and got to his feet. 

Retreating to his office, Liam poured himself a generous glass of whiskey and downed it in a single gluttonous gulp. He needed to leave. To get out of here. The offices of Mercer Industries suddenly felt suffocating and claustrophobic. He had the urge to begin clawing at his own skin.

He needed a distraction. Any distraction would do, so long as he wouldn't be trapped alone with himself and his thoughts. But he couldn't tolerate his brothers or the rowdy atmosphere of the Broken Crown. Not tonight. Not while in this state of mind.

Between Rose's excruciating silence and Kitty's justified contempt, the doors that were open to him tonight were few in number.

...But there was someone. One person who had to know precisely how he felt. One person who was likely just as lonely as he was. That door might be closed to him, as well, but it was worth a knock.

Grabbing his fedora, Liam made his way out of the office and into the dimly lit streets, a single destination in mind.

【♖】

“So,” Jimmy said for the third time. “You, me, the new Charlie Chaplin comedy, Sunday evening. Is it a date?”

Rose gave him her best enthusiastic smile. For someone so arrogant and entitled, Jimmy seemed to lack the unshakable self confidence one would expect from the image of the young man in Mr. Gallagher's photograph. Was he honestly worried that she'd break a date with him? Simply not show up? Find someone else to accompany to the pictures in the next forty-four hours? Rose found his behavior odd, but the oddity made him slightly less repugnant, so she refrained from speaking on the issue.

“Yes, it's a date,” she confirmed. Steeling herself, she reached across the table and briefly squeezed his hand, praying he'd recently washed it. “I can't wait. I honestly don't remember the last time I went to the pictures.”

Jimmy's eyes took on a lustful gleam. “Been awhile, eh? Well, that just makes it more special then. I love goin' to the pictures. There's comfortable seats, it's dark, sorta private, gotta sit close...if ya catch my meanin'.”

“Oh, I catch it,” Rose said, hoping her voice sounded playful rather than disgusted. She could feel Jimmy's knee pressed against hers beneath the table, a clearly intentional violation of her space. She shifted in her seat as subtly as she could manage and gave him a tight smile.

“So, gorgeous, the night is still young,” Jimmy declared. “Whatcha wanna do now? I'm open to just about anythin'.”

I'm sure you are, Rose thought. All manner of things. Clothing optional.

She was in the midst of piecing together an excuse to get away when a young man about Jimmy's age approached their table. He had coarse dark hair, splotchy skin, and a severe underbite that made him resemble a caveman. Rose was certain she'd seen him the night before last at the Lion's Den among Jimmy's ‘friends.’

“Oi! Who let this tosser in here?” the young man exclaimed, clapping Jimmy on the shoulder. He glanced at Rose and his eyes widened comically. “And why's a lass like you in here with him? Ya lost, love? I can show ya to a better table.”

“Shut the hole in your face!” Jimmy shot back, guffawing loudly. “Posh lass like Rose here wouldn't be caught dead with the likes o' youse!”

“Rose, is it?” the young man asked. “Fittin' name for such a beauty.”

“Kind of you to say,” Rose said with a gracious dip of her head. Inside, she cringed. Couldn't any man under the age of twenty-five possess a thimble full of decorum? Apparently not. “And who might you be?”

The young man smacked Jimmy on the arm in hilarity. “So proper-like, this girl! Way too good for you! Her father owe your father money, or somethin'?”

“Shut it,” Jimmy scoffed, shaking his head. “Gregor, this is Rose Appelbaum, me da's new secretary. Rose, this is me mate Gregor O'Conner. His father owns the Seven Bells.”

“Oh, yes, the friend you mentioned earlier,” Rose said, nodding in recognition. She turned to Gregor. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. The food was positively delectable. I look forward to dining here again.”

“Me da' will love hearin' that!” Gregor declared. “He wants the Bells to be the best restaurant on the canal. Thank ya kindly, Miss Appelbaum. And nice to meet you, too.” His eyes toured the length of her figure without a hint of subtlety. “Very nice.”

“Alright, alright, shove off!” Jimmy said, swatting at his friend. “Our evening ain't over. We don't need a bloody third wheel.”

“What?! You are joking, ain't ya?” Gregor cried. He gave Jimmy a look of incredulity. “It's sixes and sevens tonight, Jim. Dice! That's your best. You're comin', right?”

“Gambling?” Rose asked, genuinely interested. If Jimmy was losing his father's money at cards and dice, that would make for some useful ammunition. Especially if Mr. Gallagher was unaware of his son's activities. “Do you do that often?”

“Never misses!” Gregor announced, answering for his friend.

“I've missed a few,” Jimmy argued, a disgruntled expression on his weaselly face.

“Pffffft, no, ya haven't,” Gregor scoffed. “Not even for a pretty face and a nice pair o' legs.” He ogled Rose again. “No disrespect intended, Miss Appelbaum.”

“None taken,” Rose assured him. She waved the comment away, hoping they'd continue to divulge damnatory information.

“So, like I says, ya never miss,” Gregor repeated. “Don't lie to me, Jimmy. I only look stupid.”

“Ya look stupid, alright,” Jimmy grumbled. He tossed Rose an apologetic glance. “I would like to join 'em. Just some friendly wagers. D'ya mind?”

“Of course not,” Rose said with a smile. If he went off to gamble with his friends, she could escape. At last. “We've had a lovely evening, we'll see each other again on Sunday, you should go have fun with your friends now.”

“Fuck yeah!” Gregor exclaimed, loud enough to inspire the other dining patrons to turn and glare in his direction. “Listen to the lady, Jimmy. She knows what's best for ya!”

“You're a keeper, Rose,” Jimmy said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. “And no mistake. Lemme just get ya in a taxi and on your way home.”

“Splendid. Thank you,” Rose said, allowing him to help her up. She glanced down at the collection of empty glasses and plates on the table. “Wait, wait. Don't we need to pay?”

“Pay?” Jimmy echoed. He fixed her with a blank stare. “Pay for what?”

“Well...dinner?”

Jimmy and Gregor burst into chortles. “Nooo!” they chuckled in unison.

Once outside the restaurant, Jimmy looked both directions down the busy street and let out a loud, sharp whistle to flag down a taxi. A nondescript black cab immediately pulled up next to them. As Jimmy approached the vehicle, the cab driver rolled down his window and grunted a greeting. Beneath his uniform bowler hat and the overhead lights from the streetlamps, his face was in shadows.

Jimmy handed him a wad of pound notes. “Make sure the lady gets home safe,” he instructed, motioning to Rose. “I'm Jimmy Gallagher, and I'll know if ya fuck up. Home safe. Alright?”

“O'course, sir!” the cabbie appeased, taking the money.

“Rose, I'll see ya Sunday. At the theater,” Jimmy said, taking hold of Rose's hand. “Can't wait.”

“Nor can I,” she lied. Much to the displeasure of her gag reflex, she stood on her toes and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. “Until Sunday.”

From behind them, Gregor sang a taunting, “Oooooooooh!”

Before Jimmy could respond or react, Rose pulled her hand free of his, slid into the backseat of the taxi, and slammed the door shut.

As the vehicle pulled into traffic and started down the street, Rose could see Jimmy waving to her in a way that made her downright embarrassed for him.

“Oh, thank heaven,” Rose sighed, resting her head against the back of the seat. What a long, long night this had been.

From the front seat, Rose heard the cab driver begin to chuckle under his breath.

“Beg your pardon, is something funny?” she asked, a bit affronted at his lack of professionalism.

“Very funny!” the cabbie declared. He abandoned his attempt to keep quiet and laughed at full volume. A laugh she recognized. “Sorry to say, but I just don't think your new beau is a good match for ya, Rose! What a fuckin' git!”

Her name spoken by the familiar voice caused Rose to startle. She leaned forward in her seat until she could see the cabbie's face beneath the bowler hat perched atop his head.

She gasped. “Elijah?!”

“At your service!” Elijah said, a grin on his full lips.

Rose was beside herself with relief. “I couldn't be happier to see you! Truly! But how? How did you know where to find me?”

“Ah, ya take me for an amateur, Rose,” Elijah teased, his teeth shining white in the dim lighting. “Been watchin' you and that bloody tinker since ya left Gallagher's factory together. Was all set to intervene, y'know, if he got too handsy.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked at her.

“I'm in your debt,” Rose said. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder in thanks. “But how did you know to watch out for me?”

“Liam,” Elijah answered.

“Ah. Of course. The all-seeing eye.” She shook her head, miffed at herself for feeling gratitude toward her blackmailer. “Well, Elijah, thank you for the rescue.”

“My pleasure, Rose,” he replied. “Least I could do, after what ya did for me at the benefit. And like ya said: we're friends. Right?”

“Right,” Rose confirmed. “We most certainly are.”

“So, Miss Appelbaum,” Elijah said, putting extra emphasis on her alias. “You're me fare. And I've been compensated handsomely for your safe delivery.” He held Jimmy's money aloft with a cheeky wave of his hand. “Where to?”

Conflicted, Rose gazed out the window at the dim, smog-filled streets of nighttime Manchester. In truth, she didn't know where to go. Or what to do. If she allowed herself a moment of forthright honesty, there wasn't a single place in this dreary town that felt like home.

【♖】

In the pursuit of drowning her sorrows, Daphne was halfway through a cheap bottle of red wine. The cheap stuff hit her swifter and harder than any quality vintage her family would approve of, and it typically left a nasty hangover as a next-day souvenir.

Under normal circumstances she wouldn't drink alone, but this had been the single most wonderful and horrible day in recent memory. Possibly, in her entire life.

Wonderful because, at long last, Mr. Hughes had made Daphne a senior editor. The dream job was hers, along with a handsomely increased stipend and her own office.

“You earned it,” Mr. Hughes had said that afternoon. “That piece on the Mercer fundraising benefit made ya invaluable to this paper, Miss Lancaster. Gotta keep ya on now.”

Daphne had left Mr. Hughes' office in a daze of disbelief and heady euphoria. It had happened. She'd done it.

...Or had she?

Had she truly ‘earned’ the job, as Mr. Hughes claimed? Or was there simply a formidable bug named William Mercer in his ear, telling Mr. Hughes to give her the position?

Hattie had whooped and applauded, exclaiming that she wanted to take Daphne out to celebrate. “We'll have somethin' posh. Like champagne! And maybe find some lucky gents to give us that lay we're both cravin'! If we only find one, I'll let you have him. Just this once, o'course.” A playful eyebrow wiggle had followed.

But Daphne had declined. There was only one person with whom she wanted to celebrate, and that person wasn't speaking to her.

And therein lay the ‘horrible’ part.

Topping off her glass again, Daphne took a hefty, unladylike swig. She didn't even taste the wine as it ran down her throat. She was numb all over. She hadn't slept. And guilt had saddled up on her shoulders like a fat child demanding an endless piggyback ride.

Never had she felt so wretched and alone.

Rose hadn't spoken to her since the night of that irate telephone conversation. And she wouldn't return any of Daphne's calls. No messages. No popping by for a bit of gossip. Nothing. Therefore, Daphne knew she was deep, deep in the doghouse.

Deep enough to get drunk alone.

She took another long pull from her glass just as a crisp knock sounded at the door. She startled, nearly spilling the crimson liquid. Who on earth could this be? No one ever came by for a visit so late in the evening.

A little gasp escaped her. Rose! It might be Rose! Sporting her first genuine smile in days, Daphne discarded her wine glass on the kitchen counter next to the bottle.

With a stumble in her step, she dashed to the entrance foyer. Fumbling a bit, she lifted the lock and threw open the front door.

What Daphne saw on the other side couldn't have surprised her more. However, her astonished expression quickly transformed into a glower, and her hand squeezed the doorframe hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“You,” she seethed, equal parts furious and shocked. “Just what in the hell do you want?”

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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