The Sharpest Jewel | Alfie Solomons |

~ Chapter 47 ~

London, 1924.

Florence's shifts at the hospital had been grueling, leaving her drained and barely capable of anything but collapsing onto her sofa at the end of the day. Harriet, ever the meddler and eternal optimist, had picked up on Florence's mood. She'd been trying for weeks to get Florence to come out with her, and tonight, she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Look, Florence, you've got to let yourself unwind. Have a bloody drink, listen to some music, maybe even—dare I say it—have a laugh," Harriet said as she leaned against the nurses' station during their shared break. "I unwind just fine at home, thank you," Florence replied, sipping her tea without looking up from her chart. "No. Sitting on your sofa with your dog while listening to the rain is not unwinding. That's brooding." Harriet crossed her arms, her tone firm. "You're coming. End of discussion. Drinks after your shift." Florence sighed, glancing up at Harriet's determined face. There was no use arguing; once Harriet decided something, there was no dissuading her. "Fine. One drink. That's it."."Atta girl!" Harriet grinned, clapping her on the back before practically skipping away.

Harriet had been unusually secretive about their plans for the evening. After their shift ended, she practically dragged Florence out of the hospital, promising something "fun" and "absolutely unlike anything else." Florence got dressed throwing on a deep green dressed a very nice one she bought a while ago but didn't get chance to wear. She never got chances to wear nice dresses these days. She grabbed her purse and coat quickly heading out the door and to where she agreed to meet Harriet.

"Come on you're going to be late." Florence heard the red hair call from under the street lamp making Florence jog lightly in her heels to meet her "well aren't you a pretty sight Florence." "Why thank you I could say the very same for you." Florence hooked arms with Harriet as the woman guided them to whatever promise of fun awaited them. "No questions, Flo," Harriet had said with a wide grin, tugging her down the street. "Just trust me."."Trust you?" Florence muttered as they weaved through the narrow streets of Camden. "The last time I trusted you, I ended up on a blind date with William."

"That was an experiment," Harriet shot back, unbothered. "And this will be much better, I promise. Just keep an open mind." Florence rolled her eyes but let Harriet lead her. They turned down a quiet, unassuming alley, where Harriet knocked twice on a battered wooden door before pushing it open.

The sound hit Florence first—a pulse of music, laughter, and lively conversation. Then the sights followed. The room they stepped into was dimly lit, smoky, and packed with people. Men danced with men, women with women, some swaying together in slow rhythms while others laughed and toasted their drinks. On a small stage at the far end of the room, a performer in a sparkling dress and exaggerated makeup crooned a sultry tune, their voice rich and enchanting. Around the room, some patrons were dressed in sharp suits, while others donned glamorous gowns.

Florence stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide as she took it all in. "What... what is this place?" she asked, her voice low. Harriet smirked, looping her arm through Florence's and tugging her further inside. "This, my dear Florence, is where the real fun happens in London. Welcome to a proper speakeasy." Florence nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from a couple two beautiful women—dancing close together, their foreheads pressed together as they swayed.

"How do you even know about this place?" Florence asked, turning back to Harriet. Harriet grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. "Because I am this place Flo." Florence asked a smile playing in her face. "Are you actually ?". "I'm gay, Florence," Harriet said plainly, as if she were discussing the weather. "Figured you might've guessed by now you're a rather smart woman."

Florence's brow furrowed for a moment as she processed this. Then she shrugged, surprising even herself. "I suppose it makes sense. You're always talking about how you like your blondes under your shoe." Harriet laughed loudly, patting Florence on the arm. "Exactly! Now, come on, let's get a drink."