Ghosts of the Past [ RDR2 - Arthur Morgan ]

Chapter 29 - High Society

WORD COUNT - 1966

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The busy, smoggy streets of Saint Denis felt suffocating in comparison to the open fields and small towns the gang were used to. The steady clip-clop of hooves echoed along the cobbled lanes outside as Arthur stood before a mirror with Dutch, Bill, and Hosea, adjusting their bow ties with varying levels of frustration. Freshly bathed and shaven, with pomaded hair slicked neatly into place, the men looked out of place in their stiff, tailored suits.

Arthur's gaze kept drifting to the golden glint of the make-believe wedding ring on Bill's finger. Each glance sent a sharp twist through his chest. Rosemary on Bill's arm, even as a ruse, felt wrong in a way Arthur couldn't ignore. But the plan was the plan, and he swallowed his pride, though the knot in his stomach wouldn't ease.

"How much longer do I gotta sit here and watch you fools get dressed?" Lenny Summers called from a chintz armchair at the back of the tailor's shop, his impatience cutting through the quiet.

"Until we're ready, Mr. Summers," Dutch replied with his usual calm authority, giving his bow tie one last tug.

The tailor bustled back and forth between the men's section and the women's, where Rosemary was being fitted. Her muffled complaints about the corset being too tight floated through the curtained door, drawing chuckles from the gang.

"Until you're ready," Lenny muttered, slouching further into the chair. "For god's sake, hurry it up, will you? A man looks a fool just sittin' here waiting."

"Sir, is the lovely Mrs. Danielson ready?" Dutch asked the tailor, using Bill's assumed name for the night.

"One moment, sir. I shall check for you." The tailor smoothed his lapel with practiced precision before stepping briskly toward the curtained door. "Miss Pessie?" he called. "How is Mrs. Danielson coming along?"

"Mrs. Danielson is ready, sir!" came the reply, cheerful and precise.

"Good," Arthur muttered, giving up on fussing with his bow tie as he stepped away from the mirror, his movements sharp with impatience.

The tailor intercepted him, hand outstretched in silent suggestion. "Shall I fix your tie for you, sir?"

"No," Arthur growled, brushing past without a glance. He stalked to the front desk, snatched up the linen bag containing their usual clothes, and tossed it toward Lenny with a careless grunt.

Lenny caught it with a muted, "Jesus, Arthur," shaking his head as he slouched further into his chair.

The tailor's lips tightened as he watched the display, his practiced composure slipping just slightly. Though he said nothing, his stiff posture and quick glance at the bag betrayed his thoughts. These men might be dressed for high society, but they wore their rough edges like a second skin.

"C'mon, everyone. We got a party to be at." Dutch laughed as he patted the tailor's arm, slipping a tip into his pocket. They stepped outside into the cool night air, the carriage waiting just beyond the flickering gaslights.

Rosemary wasn't far behind, and Arthur froze when he saw her.

A golden-hued dress shimmered faintly under the gaslight, catching every step she took. The fabric clung elegantly, cascading into soft folds that brushed just above the ground. A glimmering brooch at her collarbone and delicate lace details added richness, making her look untouchable—like she belonged to another world entirely.

Arthur's throat tightened as he dragged his gaze away. "You look... fine," he muttered, though his voice came out rougher than intended.

Rosemary approached him, her eyes flicking to his crooked tie. "Hold still," she murmured, stepping close to adjust it. Arthur didn't argue, though the proximity made him feel clumsy and out of place. Her fingers brushed against his chest as she worked quickly, her voice low and teasing. "Shame about the change in plans. I'd much rather be playing Mrs. Callahan tonight."