sᴇɪᴢᴇ
꧁꧂
Pᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴅᴅɪɴɢ ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ɪᴅᴇᴀs, ʙᴜᴛ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴠᴀʟᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅ ʙᴀᴄᴋ.
Her room was exactly as she'd left it, practically untouched, her dresses hanging in the same order in her wardrobe. Valentine knew what dress she would wear though: a beautiful silver slip, reaching her knees. Not too daring yet not too plain. She didn't know how she would sneak out of the house in such a thing, but it didn't matter.
Today was Grace Burgess and Thomas Shelby's wedding day, a day that Valentine could say she had never expected, though it seemed not many had. It came with a solemn feeling, one of something missing, something of her own that want there. She could put a name and meaning to that feeling- but that was too truthful, and too painful to say aloud.
As her car eventually pulled to the large, stately home, it seemed the party was already on commence. The entrance way was as grand as any high status home, filled garishly with a large, swooping staircase and beautiful, Italian marbling- the most expensive kind, no doubt. The main ballroom was as impressive too, the vast space taken up by a live jazz band and swarms of guests drinking and dancing.
Valentine entered the room, taking her own glass politely as she searched the many faces, eyes slipping over the slurred smiles and devilish glances. She'd never seen something more daring and sinful that the higher class let loose. It was unsettling. She knew it far too well from the nights she'd be tugged along with Jean Pierre and his sister, meeting in rooms even larger than the one she was in, decadent and regal and bathed in gold.
She was here for one reason and one reason only, that much was obvious. But the room seemed to be filled by everyone but the Shelby family. It was only as she wove her way through the crowd, the empty champagne glass loose in her hands, that the absurdity of her plan truly hit.
Valentine hadn't spoken to the man in more than a year, let alone seen him. The thought of it was overwhelming, knocking her suddenly off course. She toppled desperately forward, dropping her glass carelessly to the mantle piece that stuck sorely from the wall she gripped to. Panting, Valentine leaned her head against the bare wall, catching the breath that had been sucked from her lungs.
Foolish, was all she could hiss to herself.
"I heard there were intruders but I didn't expect it to be a young woman."
Valentine wanted to swear upon hearing the voice of Polly Gray by her side. She leaned backwards face turned away as she straightened herself to answer.
"Surely my gender bares no relevance?"
Valentine tipped her head, finally turning to look at the woman with her chin raised. Polly looked no older than the last time she'd seen her. The life she chose to live had obviously taken its toll, and yet she was still elegant in the way she held herself, so proud and high class.
"Perhaps not. But when she's french and we don't have a clue who she is... maybe it does matter," she said, eyes boring straight through.
Valentine let out a breathy laugh as she brought a new glass up to her lips, taking her time to allow the sparkling liquid to sooth her throat before returning it to its resting place against her stomach. She suddenly felt parched, her lips dry and in need of biting. She was afraid that any moment she would start up a sweat.
"I recognise you." Polly began. "From the prison."
The exact phrase she was dreading to hear.
"I thought you might." She said, exhaling shakily.
"What was your purpose there that day?" Polly asked firmly, shifting so she stood directly within eye line.
Valentine wondered if she was worried, if she was scared that she knew about what had happened there that day between her and the inspector. Or perhaps Polly was suspicious, wary of the coincidence of sight, given that Michael had been there. Either way, Valentine had to swallow back the anxious lump that formed in her throat.
"What else would I be doing in a prison? I was visiting someone."
"Who?" Polly insisted.
"I'm not sure you'd like the answer to that," Valentine said, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them.
This was Michael's mother. He would never forgive her if she'd let it slip. But Polly was already suspicious.
"And I don't care. Who was it?"
She paused. "Family." A nod. "I was visiting family that day."
"But you didn't, did you? I checked. None of your family were in," Polly said, a smirk on her face.
Valentine's head snapped toward the woman in shock. "So you know who I am?"
"Don't distract me, Miss Dubois," she said. "What were you doing?"
"By now, Polly Gray, I would have thought that you of all people would know not to ask questions that you don't want the answer to."
Polly shifted, arms folding across her chest, glass being discarded on the table beside. She thought for a moment, her head tilting as she knew she wouldn't receive anything more.
"Why are you here tonight? Not a single person has recognised you, I bet," she settled on asking.
"Another question you really don't want to know the answer to," she said. "I admire you, Polly. More than you could probably realise. But I really do wish you'd stop asking things I can't answer."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both," she said. "For your sake and mine."
"So I say we come to an agreement," Valentine began, watching as Polly's ears perked. "Why don't we come to an understanding that I mean no harm by being here. You have my solemn word, if that is enough."
"Your word?" Polly exclaimed. "If you admire me as much as you say you do, you'd know I'd never take someone's word, even if I give it myself."
Valentine smiled fondly. "I know," she said. "But perhaps I can be a first."
Polly remained silent, studying her with intuitive eyes, with the gaze of someone who knew what she was looking for. Valentine couldn't stand it. So she placed down her glass, nodded her head and slipped away through the crowd, leaving Polly to gaze at the wall she'd once leaned against, head full of question.
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