MAY, 1912
CAMDEN TOWN

-

Granted, Dorothy was still a nobody. But at least she had a safe roof over her head, was warm and fed, and had a job that didn't involve spending a day horizontal. 

Working under Laurence Bailey had proved fulfilling; he paid her well, treated her well enough, and in his own way, protected her. He made no moves to call off hecklers, but just working for him was enough to make people stay away from her. 

Claudia, Bailey's wife of two months and the barkeeper, was lovely. Where Laurence didn't protect or help her, she stepped in. She stopped men from grabbing her as she walked past simply with a look or a slap of the hand, and kept Lillian safe, sat behind the bar or running errands. 

On the day they had arrived, she had even turned up at their hotel room with a bag full of old clothes for them to wear. They were all a little big or oddly patterned, but they had been ecstatic. They were the only new clothes they had gotten their hands on for almost two years. 

Plus, none of Gallaster's goons had come for her. Maybe her "nobody" status played in her favour here. None of them knew who she was - by extension, they couldn't come and find her. Everything was well.

Apart from one little incident. 

One dusky summer evening, Dorothy had been serving up a tray of beers to one of the tables, her long, thin hair pulled out of her face by a band, wearing a white collared shirt and a black skirt, her uniform for the bar. She was smiling politely as she placed the last of the beers down on the table, laughing at one man's half-funny joke. Then, she turned and headed back to the bar, tray under her arm. 

It was crowded that night, and loud. The men were singing a raucous sea shanty of some kind. Both Claudia and Laurence were singing along with them, arms around one another, swaying to the rhythm of the song. This was rare - usually Laurence was tucked away in the back, discussing tattoo patterns with a customer, and Claudia was serving along with Dorothy. But everyone seemed to be in good spirits tonight. It had caught on with the pair. 

So, with all the noise and dancing, and with both of her employers busy, nobody really noticed when Dorothy was seized by the arm on the way back to the bar, and shoved to the wall. 

Her tray clattered to the floor as she let out a gasp. Automatically, she kicked out at whoever had grabbed her, her arms flailing as she tried to hit them. But her body was pressed to the wall before she could escape, her hands pinned by her head by her wrists. Her head was spinning, images of Gallaster flashing before her eyes. It was happening again. It was happening again. 

"Well, you're a piece, aren't you?" The man said, his breath fanning on her cheek, and Dorothy's body went limp as she stopped struggling, knowing she was trapped. She finally looked up at the man properly, meeting his dark brown eyes. They were brimming with corrupt intentions. "Why haven't I seen you round here before?"

"Get off me," Dorothy hissed, and shoved at him with her body, but he barely budged. 

"Cool it, doll, cool it, cool it," he said soothingly as he tightened his grip on her wrists, ignoring the venomous expression on her face. "Look, just keep it down, and I'll try not to hurt you too much."

"No, no, no, get off me!" Dorothy started to shout, but she was drowned out by the singing. Even so, the man's eyes widened a little in panic.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed in her face, and wrenched her arms down with strong hands. One clamped over her mouth, the other remaining on her slim wrist. He barely moved when Dorothy started trying to escape, yanking her arm away from him desperately. He started dragging her across the room as if it were nothing, keeping to the walls. 

Dorothy's eyes widened when she saw he was heading for the door behind the bar that lead to the alley.

"Get off me," she shrieked, but it came out muffled under the man's palm. He paid her no heed, instead focusing on reaching the door without Laurence noticing.

Dorothy's breathing became laboured, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she began to descend into panic. No. She couldn't let this happen again. Her eyes darted around, searching desperately for something she could use as a weapon. But, to her dismay, absolutely nothing. There wasn't so much as a bottle lying around she could smash and cut the man with. 

Tears began to fill her eyes. Damn Claudia and her tidy fucking pub. 

The man was practically dragging her across the floor. Dorothy had no means of escape. No-one would be able to hear her if she screamed. She couldn't shake him off. It was going to happen again - only this time, she wouldn't be able to stop it. 

Her eyes closed. 

She stopped struggling, and tried to listen to the singing. It was slow, almost happy. It calmed her, just a little.

Just let it happen.

But then - 

There was a sound of something colliding with the man's skull, and he let out a strangled cry, his face contorting. Unable to keep control of his body under the pain, he doubled forward, and released Dorothy to clutch his head.

Without thought, she sprang away from him, making for the other side of the pub, all her emotions kick-started into overdrive. Her eyes were wide and streaming, her breathing loud and wheezy, her heart hammering as she went into a panic.

But before she could get even a few feet from the man, she felt skinny fingers fix onto her wrist, and she whipped around violently to see Lillian at her side.

Still panicking, all Dorothy could do was stare at her sister, panting, crying. But Lillian said nothing either. Her eyes still fixed on hers, she released Dorothy's hand and laid a finger on her lips. Despite the state she was in, Dorothy managed to gain enough calm to nod and remain quiet.

Only then did she notice the gun in her sister's hand, hidden underneath a wooden board she had used to hit the man. 

Slowly, Dorothy raised her gaze up to Lillian's, who was still staring at her resolutely. The singing in the background was as loud as ever.

Then, the latter held out the gun to her, and gave the smallest nod. 

A wordless exchange, that spoke louder than most.

In moments, Dorothy had the gun hidden behind her back, and approached the rapidly recovering man quickly.

She knew it was the gun that Claudia kept under the counter. She also knew it had a silencer equipped. With that and the singing combined, it would be enough to conceal the gunshot.

So, just as the man managed to haul himself up and take a swing at Dorothy, she closed the distance between them, clamped a hand over his mouth, pressed the barrel into his chest and -

The gun barely made a sound. But the widening of the man's eyes and the feeling of his blood seeping into the front of her shirt was enough to make up for it. 

Because Dorothy saw that she had made a man who was about to assault her hurt. She saw fear, pain, and defeat in his eyes, felt blood blossom from his wound - she had made all that happen.

And, as the singing came to an end, Dorothy smiled.

-

That night was kept between Lillian and Dorothy. Neither of them spoke of it again, so Laurence never found out. Dorothy didn't want to lose her job - she didn't doubt he was fire her if he found out she'd shot a man in his pub.

The man survived, of course. But he disappeared the day after Dorothy shot him. Whether he was hospitalised indefinitely or went into hiding out of shame, she didn't know. But she did manage to find out who he was, casually slipping it into conversation with Claudia one quiet night at the pub.

His name was Martin Salvatore. He was a Italian gangleader, one who was just a few rungs down the London bosses ladder from Anthony Gallaster. According to Claudia, he had sexually harassed multiple women, using his influence for his own gain - and he murdered the women who refused him. He was, in Claudia's words, an utter scumbag - and Dorothy had put a bullet in his chest.

It made her feel shamefully good.