Nothing Will Change

Chapter 8

"There's a woman waiting for you in the prep room Rose," Richard barely lifted his head as she slipped through the door of the tailor shop, coat off her shoulders and on the stand.

"Right," she said, hurrying past him and into the room. Night time was becoming long and dreadful, tossing and turning until she eventually ran out of time to sleep. And in the several hours she lied there, it was in contemplation. She was a good girl, never burdened with bad things she has done. Rose never had to be scolded by her parents for being rude or misbehaving, only ever innocence like sneaking out to see the sunrise. Which she supposed was an act of misbehaving. It only became recent that she had to take a step backwards and evaluate if her associations were being born of innocence or something incautious.

Though how many times she tried, she was never regretful. She felt no remorse to how she could steal the gaze of Tommy Shelby, how it appeared only her who captured it. It was a rarity she found it, little to none were able to hold it for more than seconds. But with her time slowed, the gods gifting them more time just to peer behind the browns and blues of each other's eyes. Vanity in how she kept his gaze locked in the palm of her hand, except gentle like it were a thousand diamonds she had promised to keep sacred.

An old woman stood just impatient enough to make Rose blush, apologizing for keeping her. The woman kept her purse in her hand, a look of disgust then on her face, as though she had caught Rose sneaking out of a bush with a boy. Immediately flustered, Rose gestured for her to sit down, though the woman just raised a brown and turned her face away.

"It smells like him," she spat, judging the walls and floor like they too were under her penalty.

"Who?"

"Don't act dumb with me dear," she turned to her "I came here for a dress, not to talk about that Shelby."

Swallowing, Rose held back a comment about what exactly she meant, and opened her sketchbook, allowing the woman too look through it. It was then she flicked her purse onto the table, and it was then she sat down and started to look through. Most of the dresses were made for women much younger than her, though Rose would not judge if she asked for one. Unlike how Polly had embraced older age as an extension of beauty, this woman did the opposite. But perhaps her judgemental tome rendered her unable to be as stunning. But Polly was also judgemental, though her's were quite warranted. Not unwelcomed.

"Any you like ma'am?" Rose asked, hands folded on her lap.

"Yes," she spun the page to show an elegant mid green dress that was modest and ageless. So at least she had good taste. Rose nodded with a smile and noted it down, tallying up the costs, "you better not overcharge me."

"Oh I'll sure won't be doing that. In fact, I get told a lot I undercharge," she attempted a joke, but the woman was still judging her. The same look, an unflinching face. It was too common in their town. Too many faces hard as stone that were carved in the same expression. At least some were warm, at least some were carved in a stone that was reflective and beautiful and not gray and aging in moss. She must not judge herself, but being scrutinized hardly left her a pleasant taste.

"You may be pretty but that's exactly what those men prey on," the woman exclaimed as Rose finished tallying the bill, "do you think they'll let you live so bold?"

"I don't understand what you mean," Rose glanced up.

"People watch and people talk dear. They talk of the fawn haired woman who is not afraid of Mr Shelby or his gang," the woman glared "how she won't last anymore than a year in this city, especially not with the eyes Mr Shelby gives her. The eyes of wanting like the devil eyeing an angel-"

"And what makes you believe this angel has no chance? Why do none come to stop me, why do they watch afraid?" Rose interrupted "it's because they are. He holds power over you all, and I don't understand why. He has no control over me, because I don't let him. And maybe that's what draws the beast in, something he knows even he cannot possess without trying first."