"I believe the operative word there is woman," she points out coolly, but the rest she can agree with readily enough, and after all: she knows how few people people can answer those questions in the affirmative.
"I can. You are also aware of my other skills: riding and evaluating horseflesh, shooting, and keeping my mouth firmly shut."
He leans back again, satisfied. Honestly, she would be a big help, as he's quite grown to like her in the past half hour. If she decides to stay he'd be very pleased-- but she's not the kind of woman who'll be coerced into anything.
"There's no more space in the house for you, but we can find you lodgings. You can think about it, if you need to."
Indeed she isn't, and it has caused her not inconsiderable problems in her life before now. "I can find my own lodgings," she says immediately, unwilling to deal entirely on even earned charity. She's already accepting more than she's comfortable with, although she's also capable of recognizing that she can't eat or ride pride, or pull it over her head in the rain.
She doesn't have to think about it. She already had been, though she's not ready to play that card yet.
"What would be the duties, the pay? What of the rest of your family? Is it not their business as well?"
He waves off the first part- fine, she can find her own lodgings, it's no skin off his back. Besides, he'll more than likely own the man or woman running the place, and if anything ever happens he'll know of it.
"I'll call a family meeting, after we're done here. Talk it over." Though there's a certainty about him, a certain flippant quality, that implies they'll accept whatever Tommy decides. "We need someone to do the books. My brother's poor with numbers, and I need someone fast and efficient. I'd say six pounds a month would be good, to start with."
It's the tone that catches her, not by surprise - she isn't in the least - but it's interesting nonetheless. The kind of interesting that she can understand, or that can warn of more serious, better hidden problems.
But mostly, nodding in acceptance of the rest of the terms, of the explanation, she settles her arms on the edge of the table and turns her teacup a little more with her fingers, idly.
Despite himself, warmth always seeps into his voice when he talks about his family. He twitches a smile and raises his cup to his mouth, takes a sip before he speaks.
"I have two brothers who were in the war, and one who was too young to go. A sister, who thinks she's a nurse but barely knows how to apply a bandage, and our aunt Polly, without whom we'd all be homeless. And John has his four children he takes care of as a widower."
"The brothers that were in the war: they were in a separate unit, from you and your friends?"
The rest of it tells more of an interesting tale: an aunt but no mother or father or uncle, a brother who is a single father of four, and an assortment in between, to say nothing of Tommy himself.
She nods in agreement: yes, they were. It's all she's willing to give to that for the moment, unwilling to give more, unwilling to take more from his family.
"I look forward to meeting them, then. And to learning if this arrangement can indeed be as happy as it sounds at the moment."
He nods, satisfied. That'll do, for now- he's happy she's decided to try it, he's happy with the prospect of another capable employee. He exhales, sits up straight.
"Very well, then. I suppose you'd like the weapon back now?"
Letty isn't entirely sold on the agreement, but she's at least willing to give it more than a fair chance. She's under no illusions that she has a better option, of course, and much, much more of herself wants to trust him than doesn't. The rest barely makes a dent when these two points are considered.
Besides, she has never had a problem extracting herself from situations she finds intolerable, so she nods and sets her teacup down, mostly empty.
"I would, yes. I trust you found it useful while in your possession?"
"It saved me then, but I've kept it safe since returning. Come on," he urges, standing up and opening the doors back into the betting shop. It's up a flight of stairs, first, and he takes his time, lets her look around if she wants to again.
She's quick to fall in behind him, folding her coat over her arm and smoothing her skirts a little as she stands. She's ready for the noise and the movement of the shop this time, more familiar with the layout, so her gaze the second time around is more strategic: she looks at the boards, then at the men accepting bets, then at the customers coming in, and picks up an empty slip to look at while they walk, hands it off to one of the bettors as they pass through when she's finished.
When it's quiet enough again that she doesn't have to yell to be heard, she asks, "Do you still have ammunition for it?"
"I got some when I came back here," he says, as he goes to his knees in front of his bed. It takes some digging, with his uniform being underneath there as well, and some other things besides.
"Might as well take advantage of living right next to the bloody Small Arms Factory, eh?"
That makes her smile, even as she finds herself looking around again, this time more furtive. It's his personal quarters, after all, and she's curious but not interested in being outright rude.
"As well as any other advantages that present themselves, yes, although that seems to be one of the better ones."
His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at her, and then straightens
up, holding a dusty but well-cared-for box. The wallpaper in his room peels
at the corners, but there are frames on the wall, dried flowers on the
sill, and the sheets are fresh. Like the rest of the house, it's old but
clean and cared for.
"There we go. Thank you for letting me keep it this long."
She notes all of it with a satisfied air, but she's also quick to refocus on and accept the box back into her possession.
She's also quick - not rushed, but prompt - to set the box on the nearest horizontal surface so she can open it and pull the pistol out, mindful even with it too light to be loaded that the muzzle points either straight up or straight down rather than at either herself or Tommy.
Letty still handles it with familiar, efficient ease as she checks it over, not in doubt, but merely as good practice and to reassure herself. The smile that takes her expression when she's satisfied is, with leverage once more in her hands, notably warmer.
"To say nothing of your patience in minding it while it took me this long to come 'round and collect it, yes?" she replies, fitting it back into place, closing the lid again. Then and only then do her dark eyes switch over to Tommy again, and her typical crisp, astringent form of teasing evaporates when she says sincerely, "Thank you, Mr. Shelby."
He'd had no doubts that she would know how to handle the pistol, both
because of where she was when she gave it to him and because of the person
he's come to know her as in this short time. Still, he's glad to observe
how carefully she handles it, even moreso when he sees how satisfied she is
when she handles it. It's a good look on her, and he can't deny that it's
pleasant to watch her.
"Tommy," he says, nodding, his hands in his pockets. "Please. I'm glad you
made it at all."
"Tommy," she repeats, confirming and acknowledging, picking her coat back up from where she set it to deal with the gun. The box under her arm now, she raises her chin a little, becomes more serious as she turns to face him.
"I should go and see about lodging, and give you time to speak with your family, then. When shall I return to learn if there are indeed any duties at all for me to perform, and what those should be?"
Polly and John, she repeats to herself, nods for him as she follows.
"I think that will do nicely, exactly as you say. I look forward to meeting your kin." She isn't surprised, as Roma, that Tommy's family puts love in his voice and his eyes. She's still curious about them nonetheless.
He lets her leave, gives her some advice about which direction to go in,
and then closes the door behind her.
He gets dragged right back into the business, like a river swallowing him
up, but he manages to tell his family members that there's a meeting later
on. They meet before dinner: John, Ada, Polly, Arthur, all together. He
tells them the story, and John and Arthur immediately agree: a nurse like
that, every soldier knows the worth of. But Polly is more paranoid about
bringing people in, and has a better eye besides, and she demands a private
conversation with her before they decide on anything.
Which is why, when Letty knocks on the door that evening, it's just Polly
and Tommy in the kitchen. There's tea in a pot on the table,
and Tommy clear his throat.
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"What company doesn't have use of a woman of your caliber, with your training? I'd be a fool not to offer you work, Letty."
He spreads his hands on the table, the wood heavy and scarred between his fingers. "Can you read? Do calculations?"
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"I can. You are also aware of my other skills: riding and evaluating horseflesh, shooting, and keeping my mouth firmly shut."
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He leans back again, satisfied. Honestly, she would be a big help, as he's quite grown to like her in the past half hour. If she decides to stay he'd be very pleased-- but she's not the kind of woman who'll be coerced into anything.
"There's no more space in the house for you, but we can find you lodgings. You can think about it, if you need to."
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She doesn't have to think about it. She already had been, though she's not ready to play that card yet.
"What would be the duties, the pay? What of the rest of your family? Is it not their business as well?"
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"I'll call a family meeting, after we're done here. Talk it over." Though there's a certainty about him, a certain flippant quality, that implies they'll accept whatever Tommy decides. "We need someone to do the books. My brother's poor with numbers, and I need someone fast and efficient. I'd say six pounds a month would be good, to start with."
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But mostly, nodding in acceptance of the rest of the terms, of the explanation, she settles her arms on the edge of the table and turns her teacup a little more with her fingers, idly.
"Tell me about them? Your family."
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"I have two brothers who were in the war, and one who was too young to go. A sister, who thinks she's a nurse but barely knows how to apply a bandage, and our aunt Polly, without whom we'd all be homeless. And John has his four children he takes care of as a widower."
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The rest of it tells more of an interesting tale: an aunt but no mother or father or uncle, a brother who is a single father of four, and an assortment in between, to say nothing of Tommy himself.
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"I look forward to meeting them, then. And to learning if this arrangement can indeed be as happy as it sounds at the moment."
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"Very well, then. I suppose you'd like the weapon back now?"
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Besides, she has never had a problem extracting herself from situations she finds intolerable, so she nods and sets her teacup down, mostly empty.
"I would, yes. I trust you found it useful while in your possession?"
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When it's quiet enough again that she doesn't have to yell to be heard, she asks, "Do you still have ammunition for it?"
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"Might as well take advantage of living right next to the bloody Small Arms Factory, eh?"
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"As well as any other advantages that present themselves, yes, although that seems to be one of the better ones."
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His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at her, and then straightens up, holding a dusty but well-cared-for box. The wallpaper in his room peels at the corners, but there are frames on the wall, dried flowers on the sill, and the sheets are fresh. Like the rest of the house, it's old but clean and cared for.
"There we go. Thank you for letting me keep it this long."
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She's also quick - not rushed, but prompt - to set the box on the nearest horizontal surface so she can open it and pull the pistol out, mindful even with it too light to be loaded that the muzzle points either straight up or straight down rather than at either herself or Tommy.
Letty still handles it with familiar, efficient ease as she checks it over, not in doubt, but merely as good practice and to reassure herself. The smile that takes her expression when she's satisfied is, with leverage once more in her hands, notably warmer.
"To say nothing of your patience in minding it while it took me this long to come 'round and collect it, yes?" she replies, fitting it back into place, closing the lid again. Then and only then do her dark eyes switch over to Tommy again, and her typical crisp, astringent form of teasing evaporates when she says sincerely, "Thank you, Mr. Shelby."
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He'd had no doubts that she would know how to handle the pistol, both because of where she was when she gave it to him and because of the person he's come to know her as in this short time. Still, he's glad to observe how carefully she handles it, even moreso when he sees how satisfied she is when she handles it. It's a good look on her, and he can't deny that it's pleasant to watch her.
"Tommy," he says, nodding, his hands in his pockets. "Please. I'm glad you made it at all."
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"I should go and see about lodging, and give you time to speak with your family, then. When shall I return to learn if there are indeed any duties at all for me to perform, and what those should be?"
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He opens the door for her, politely, to let her out of the room as he escorts her downstairs.
"Polly's at the market now, and we've a meeting later on today- if you'd like to share supper with us, we can talk about it beforehand. Say, six?"
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"I think that will do nicely, exactly as you say. I look forward to meeting your kin." She isn't surprised, as Roma, that Tommy's family puts love in his voice and his eyes. She's still curious about them nonetheless.
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He lets her leave, gives her some advice about which direction to go in, and then closes the door behind her.
He gets dragged right back into the business, like a river swallowing him up, but he manages to tell his family members that there's a meeting later on. They meet before dinner: John, Ada, Polly, Arthur, all together. He tells them the story, and John and Arthur immediately agree: a nurse like that, every soldier knows the worth of. But Polly is more paranoid about bringing people in, and has a better eye besides, and she demands a private conversation with her before they decide on anything.
Which is why, when Letty knocks on the door that evening, it's just Polly and Tommy in the kitchen. There's tea in a pot on the table, and Tommy clear his throat.
"Letty, this is Polly."
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