The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~ Chapter 12 ~

Camden, London 1912.

The next day, the bakery's atmosphere was noticeably subdued. The familiar scent of freshly baked bread filled the small space, but the usual warmth and lighthearted banter had all but vanished. Florence moved through her tasks like a ghost, her hands working the dough with mechanical precision while her mind remained elsewhere, still tethered to the unsettling events of the previous night.

Val and Betsy, who normally filled the bakery with chatter and laughter, exchanged concerned glances as they watched Florence. They knew something was off. Florence, usually quick to smile and joke with them, seemed miles away, withdrawn into a silence that was unlike her.

Finally, Betsy, unable to hold back any longer, broke the quiet. "Flo, love, are you alright?" she asked gently. Her voice carried a warmth and concern that softened the words. Florence kept her gaze down, her fingers kneading the dough more forcefully than necessary. She gave a small nod, but it was unconvincing. Val caught Betsy's eye, silently warning her to tread carefully.

"The dance... it didn't go as planned?" Val ventured cautiously, stepping closer and wiping her hands on her apron. Her voice was soft, probing but careful. Florence paused, exhaling deeply as if trying to release the weight pressing down on her chest. She could feel their concern, and part of her wanted to brush it off, pretend everything was fine. But she couldn't shake the lingering fear, the helplessness she had felt. And the memory of Alfie—his sudden appearance, his unexpected intervention—was still vivid in her mind.

"There was... something that happened," Florence began quietly, her voice lacking its usual steadiness. She glanced down at her flour-covered hands, her knuckles white from the pressure she'd been putting on the dough. "Some man—drunk—grabbed me outside the hall when I went to get some air." Betsy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, Flo!" she whispered, horrified. "Did he—are you hurt?"

Florence shook her head, her throat tight. "No, I'm alright," she replied, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "Someone stopped him... this man—I don't even know who he is. He came out of nowhere, just dragged me back to the dance hall. I think... I think he's Ollie's boss." Val's brow furrowed with concern. "Christ, that must have been terrifying."

Florence let out a shaky breath. "It was. I didn't know what to expect. I thought... I thought he'd either walk past me like everyone else or fucking expect something in return for helping me, like most men would. But he didn't. He just... shouted at Ollie. Tore into him for leaving me alone." Betsy's eyes widened in realization. "Is that why Ollie walked us both home? His boss ordered him to?" Florence nodded, her lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "Yeah. He didn't give Ollie much of a choice. Told him he had to make sure we all got home safe."

Val shook her head in disbelief. "Well, at least someone had the sense to look out for you" Florence, still uneasy, shook her head. "I thought... I don't know. I thought he'd expect something, like every other man seems to. But he didn't. He barely even looked at me after. Just did what he had to and left." The memory of Alfie's cold, commanding presence sent a chill down her spine. There had been no softness in him, no gentle reassurances. He had acted like it was merely business, like he was doing his job—nothing more, nothing less.

Betsy frowned, still reeling from the shock. "It sounds like you've been through the wringer, Flo. That man—whoever he was—sounds rough, but at least he helped you." Florence sighed, trying to shake the tension from her shoulders. "It's over now. I'm fine," she said, though the words sounded hollow even to her.

They returned to their work, but the tension lingered. Even as the bakery filled with the comforting smells of baking bread and pastries, the weight of what had happened stayed with Florence, a reminder of how close things had come to going terribly wrong.