The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~Chapter 28~

Small heath, Birmingham, 1922.

A few days later, the morning light filtered through the streets, casting a warm glow over Birmingham that softened its usual rough edges. The town felt quieter than usual, as if it, too, was savoring this fleeting moment of peace.As Florence stepped inside the betting shop, she was greeted by the usual creak of the door and the low hum of the city outside. Esme stood at the counter, absentmindedly thumbing through a pile of betting slips with a look of faint disinterest. When she noticed Florence, a grin tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Morning, Flo." Esme said, brushing back a stray curl that had escaped her loose braid."Morning, Esme." Florence set her things down and leaned against the counter. "How are you feeling?" She nodded towards Esme's rounded belly, the subtle swell that spoke of new life amidst all the chaos.

Esme snorted, the sound light but tired. "Oh, you know. Just counting down the days till this little one decides to make an appearance." She rubbed her belly with one hand, the motion both protective and weary. "Swear to God, if I don't get a full night's sleep soon, I'm going to lose my mind."

Florence chuckled softly. "Can't be long now, right?"
Esme sighed, rolling her eyes. "Can't be long enough, that's what. I'm not built for all this waiting. Used to think I had patience, but this one's testing me, I'll tell you."

They shared a moment of companionable silence, punctuated only by the faint scratch of paper and the occasional clatter from the street outside. Esme's eyes turned thoughtful as she looked at Florence. "You ever think about kids, Flo?" she asked, her tone more genuine now, less teasing. Florence's smile faltered just a touch, her gaze dropping to the polished wood of the counter. "I used to," she said quietly. "Life didn't exactly go that way, though." Esme's expression softened, losing its usual sharpness.

Florence smiled, a hint of warmth spreading through her chest at the brief, genuine exchange. Before she could respond, the bell over the door jingled sharply, breaking their conversation. Thomas strode in, his presence commanding as always, eyes sharp and assessing as they swept the room. Polly followed, her gaze landing on Florence for just a moment, an unreadable expression flitting across her features. Arthur brought up the rear, moving slower than usual, a brooding storm in his eyes that made Florence shift slightly.

"Morning," Thomas said, his voice low and controlled, a hint of tension threading through it. "Morning," Florence and Esme echoed, their lighthearted conversation now a distant memory as the three figures made their presence felt. Esme gave Florence a sidelong glance.

Thomas's gaze flicked from Florence to the ledger resting on the counter, then back up at her, assessing her with that sharp, calculating look he always wore. "How's the books?" he asked, his voice steady but with an edge of tension that never quite left him. Florence nodded, her hands brushing a stray hair from her face. "They're good, all up to date actually. If you need me to sort anything else today, I could." She offered a small, tentative smile, trying to break through the ever-present sternness in his expression.

Thomas's jaw twitched slightly, a shadow of a smile that never fully formed. He took a moment to look over at Arthur, who was fidgeting with the cuff of his coat, his mind clearly elsewhere. The silence stretched, making the room feel tighter, more claustrophobic. Polly watched from the side, her eyes narrowing as she picked up on the subtext that seemed to flow unspoken between Thomas and Arthur.

Thomas shifted his focus back to Florence. "Good," he said, his voice dropping slightly, as if signaling the weight of what he was about to say. "Tomorrow night, you'll be going with Arthur. There's a meeting in Camden Town with a few of the men from down there." Florence's heart sank, though she tried to mask it with a neutral nod. She knew of one gang in Camden but that was long ago and she refuse to admit it was still alive she rather accept that they had all died in the war and a meeting with the likes of Arthur in Camden Town spelled trouble more often than not. She knew the type of gatherings Thomas orchestrated, and she knew that her role would be more than just taking notes.