☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
~~~
Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Monday morning saw Rose back at her desk outside Mr. Gallagher's office, grateful that she could sit and concentrate on her tasks without being pawed. Still exhausted from her Sunday evening outing, she stifled a yawn behind her palm.
Mr. Gallagher stalked through his office door with a loose heap of papers. “Miss Appelbaum,” he addressed her, his tone brusque as ever. “Got an assignment for ya.”
“Of course, sir,” Rose chirped. “How can I be of assistance?”
Her employer set the haphazard stack of papers down on the desk in front of her. “This great bloody mess is the reason I had to sack my last secretary,” he stated. With a scowl, he stared at the mass of paper and shook his head. “That was supposed to be a list of all me workers, but as you can see, it's just scribblings in her bloody chicken-scratch. Names, dates of birth, addresses…”
Rose picked up the first few sheets of wrinkled stationery and glanced at the written contents. Notes were scrawled in every which direction across the paper's surface, in no discernable order. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “This is...disorganized.”
Mr. Gallagher huffed. “Disorganized, my arse. You're bein' kind, Miss Appelbaum. It's rubbish. Completely worthless the way it is. But it looks like all the information is there. D'ya think you can compile a functional employee directory outta that muddle? I know it'll take some time.”
“Of course, Mr. Gallagher,” Rose assured him. She sifted through the papers, each more difficult to decipher than the last. “It may be a lengthy project, but I'll begin right away.”
He exhaled in what she took to be relief. “Well, that's a weight off me mind. Much appreciated. Name, telephone number, address, date of birth, and date of hire, alright?”
Rose jotted down each item as he listed them. “No trouble, sir,” she said. “Would you like the list to read alphabetically by surname or chronologically by date of hire?”
The now-famous grimace that Rose understood to be a smile appeared on his face. “Wouldn't have thought to say one way or the other. Clever girl,” Mr. Gallagher praised her. He scratched his cheek. “Better make it chronologically. Easier to add new employees later on.”
“I agree, sir,” Rose said, already plotting how she would get a copy of the list to William. “By date of hire it shall be.”
“Good,” Mr. Gallagher said.
With the assignment given and accepted, Rose expected her employer to return to his office. Much to her surprise, he lingered.
Glancing up, she gave him a prompting smile. “Is there something else, sir?”
“Ya went to the moving pictures last night, I hear,” Mr. Gallagher commented, his tone much too off-hand to be convincing as small talk. “With Jimmy?”
It was all Rose could do to keep a straight face. James Gallagher wanted to know the particulars of his son's date. How precious!
“I did. Yes, sir,” Rose said. She forced herself to swallow the giggle that wanted to escape from her belly.
