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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘, save Grace Burgess collecting her things in a frenetic haze.
Fumbling with the buttons of her purple jacket, she did not notice a figure entering from the back entrance before the sound of a chair moving over the floor made her freeze. There was someone else in the room with her, and she slowly turned around.
It was Polly Gray, sitting in the corner of the room, staring right back at her.
"Going for good?"
"I heard there's trouble." The other woman fidgeted with the strap of her purse, readjusting it on her shoulder.
"Funny thing, instinct. See, I can normally tell about the person, but with you-" The barmaid interrupted her brazenly, losing the facade of poise she had moments ago.
"Look, the fighting's about to begin. We should get out of here."
"We know who you are." Polly said bluntly, making her freeze where she stood.
"I know. Caterina knows. Tommy knows about your dirty little secret. Turned out that copper as good as told him this morning." Polly reached back, extracting a long hair needle from her bun, its silvery glint winking dangerously in the dim-lit room. "But I wanted to hear it from your own lips."
The Irishwoman raised her gun defiantly in the direction of the Gray matriarch. "I am an agent of the Crown. I have the power to arrest and the right to use force. So, please, step out of my way."
"Like I say, instinct's a funny thing." Polly cocked her head on the side, mocking her. "You fell for Tommy for real, didn't you?"
"This gun is loaded. I am not afraid of you," her trembling voice betrayed her.
All the while Polly remained sitting calmly. "I feel sorry for you. Slip of a thing."
"Thought you'd come in here and stitch us all up. I mean, we've had some copper's narks in here, but you? You're the queen of them all. So, who are you?" Polly's eyes scanned the girl's appearance.
"Rich girl, I'd guess. Unionist. Ulster Volunteer. You thought Fenians, communists, low people they're all the same." She listed, spitting each word like a dagger. "Scum. Then you met Tommy."
Grace placed the gun on the counter, firmly striding towards Polly, rolling up her sleeves as if she was ready to fight. "I'll fight you with my fists and show you how a rich girl fights. I'm from a tough family, too."
"Nah." The older woman waved her feeble attempt of courage off, placing her pin back into her hair. "We women have more sense. Why don't you pour us both a drink?"
