The Rose of Birmingham | ᴘᴇᴀᴋʏ ʙʟɪɴᴅᴇʀꜱ

Twenty-Two | ʀᴏꜱᴇ

It was late afternoon by the time Rose succeeded in finding Thomas' place of work. She had never been to the offices of Shelby Company Limited, and therefore didn't know the location, but it mattered little as apparently every other person in town was readily knowledgeable of the address. A question or two to a couple of passers-by, and Rose found the building with no trouble.

However, when at last she walked through the doors of Thomas' office, she discovered he was not there.

A tall, dark-haired secretary with piercing eyes gave her a look of bored disdain. "He's gone," she told Rose. "He and his brother had a couple o' meetings to attend. He won't be back this evening."

"Oh, I see," Rose said. She shifted her garment bag from one arm to the other and frowned. "Pity I missed him."

The secretary eyed the garment bag in suspicion. "That for him? Didn't realize he was gettin' his suits delivered now."

"Oh, er, no," Rose said, hugging the garment bag to her chest. "No, this is mine, um...? Forgive me, I didn't catch your name."

"Lizzie."

"Lizzie. Yes. Alright. Pleasure to meet you, Lizzie," Rose said in an attempt to win the cold woman over. "My apologies for the trouble. I was just hoping to speak with Mr. Shelby."

"So you said," Lizzie sniffed. "Do you have an appointment? If so, it wasn't made by me."

Rose bit her lip. She didn't understand this woman's open hostility. "Not an appointment, per se, but he will want to see me."

"Many-a-girl says that, pet," the secretary remarked with a flippant wave of her hand. She took her time lighting a cigarette and exhaling the smoke in Rose's direction. "As I already said, he's gone for the day. You could try again tomorrow, if you're so inclined."

"I see. Thank you."

Rose left the office, bemused. Why would Thomas' secretary take such an instant disliking toward her?

It made little matter. If Thomas wasn't planning to return to the office today, then he'd likely be at home. She'd see him there.

【♤】

Back at Arrow House that evening, Rose found Thomas in his study. He was seated at his desk, habitual cigarette dangling from his lips, and a disgruntled scowl marring his face as he read the neat rows of words typed upon a sheet of business stationery.

"Thomas?" Rose called softly. When he neglected to answer, she advanced further into the room and laid her garment bag across the back of a chair.

Her employer glanced up, his scowl alleviating a bit when he saw her. "You're back," he observed, exhaling smoke. "Half expected ya to run off. Good day?"

"Well, your secretary doesn't like me. But otherwise, it was, yes," she replied, choosing to ignore his jab. "Dare I ask about yours? You look preoccupied. Something the matter?"

Thomas held up the stationery, then released it and let the page drift down to the surface of the desk. "Letter from James Gallagher arrived at me office today."

"Oh?" Rose asked. By his tone and demeanor, she deduced that correspondence with this sender was something undesirable. "Gallagher? Why does that sound familiar..? Oh! He owns an automotive factory in town, doesn't he? A few of the refugees gained employment there."

"O'course they fuckin' did," Thomas grumbled. He assaulted the innocuous ashtray, extinguishing his cigarette with far more force than necessary.

Rose smirked. "Given your feelings about Russians in general, I should think you'd prefer to have them employed at a business that you don't own."