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ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏᴍᴍʏ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜɪs ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ's ɪɴ sᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ, ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ sᴄᴏᴡʟ ᴏɴ ʜᴇʀ ғᴀᴄᴇ.

It had been a week since he'd last seen Polly and even longer since Tommy had returned from his honeymoon with Grace, and even still, she'd been off the entire time. His cousin sighed, shaking his head as he entered the room, as if he'd been expecting it.

Michael was left to wait in the corridor, his hands impatiently forced into his pockets in a bid to stop him from fidgeting. Urgent yet hushed, their words drifted in from the study, his mother sounding flustered the entire time. He walked toward the door that separated them, placing his head toward the wood, his ear flat. Their voices quietened to no more than a whisper.

"She was a young girl. French," Polly hissed. "I'm sure of it. I talked to her myself."

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she had her eyebrows raised and a smirk present on her chapped lips- Polly thought she knew something that Thomas didn't. And it wasn't often that Tommy Shelby was caught out on something. Michael shuffled, pressing closer to the door.

"Come on then," Tommy said gruffly, "Did you get a name, Pol?"

She scoffed. "I didn't need to. I know who she is."

"And you couldn't lead with that?"

"She's a Dubois. The youngest. She has to be."

Michael paled, his breath catching dangerously in his throat. He tried to muffle the strangled coughs with a hand, but he was distracted, his thoughts tracking the last time he'd seen Valentine and when she'd even been in the country. She'd apparently been at the wedding. Under the same roof as he'd been. Surely it couldn't have been her...

He remembered that night in a blurred haze. He'd never been as good at holding drink as his brothers had. Michael flushed at the thought of Valentine spotting him among the crowd, his eyes flying straight past her as a woman trailed behind him. God, he felt sick.

"I've heard of their business. They have ties with the Changretta's," Tommy said. "Did she say why she was there."

The Changretta's. Michael had never heard the name from Valentine's lips. He frowned.

"She said that she meant no harm. I don't know whether to believe it or not." Polly replied. "But the girl was at the prison when I was visiting Michael, I saw her with my own two eyes."

Footsteps echoed from inside the study, the light beneath the door being blocked by thick shoes. Michael stumbled backward in time for the door to be swung open, Tommy appearing with a smirk on the other side.

"You've already heard the conversation Michael, so what can you tell me, eh?" He asked, nudging his head for the younger boy to join them in the office room. Michael stepped in hesitantly, standing opposite to his mother who stood, still with a scowl, a cigarette between her fingers.

"I haven't heard much about them," he said, shaking his head. "Just that it's the father that's running everything."

"What else?"

Tommy stared at him, his smirk dropping. Did he know? Micheal felt paranoid, his head about to break into a sweat at any minute. Michael's eyes glanced towards his mother before speaking, Thomas caught his gaze himself.

"Their daughter is in France. That's all I know."

Tommy raised a brow, waiting to see if he would elaborate. But Michael said nothing more and glanced away, avoiding eye contact. Tommy sighed, lifting himself from against the table.

"Well, if everything's covered, I'll be off," he said, stepping out of the room. Micheal followed him out, showing him to the door after his mother's request.

Tommy stopped.

"I won't embarrass you in front of your mother but there is something you're not telling me," he began, and Michael coughed awkwardly trying to hide his surprise.

Michael paused in thought. "The daughter- Valentine- is in an arranged marriage to a man named Jean Pierre Moreau." He chose his words carefully as he gained back his composure, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning slightly as he stood.

Tommy stopped again, perfectly still despite the chill in the air.

"You recognise the name, Tommy?"

He shook his head. "How do you know this?"

Michael frowned. "Just rumours is all. Heard some of it from Isaiah. Some from the pub across the way. You'd be surprised by how much you can get to know."

"Alright." And with that, Tommy stepped away, disappearing down the drive and toward the car that waited by the road.

The name Jean-Pierre had spooked him. Tommy had to know something more. Michael sighed. He wondered if he had a single secret that Tommy didn't know.

But that didn't matter. If Valentine was truly back, if she had in fact been at the wedding, he had a whole lot of work to do. And that started with seeing her first.

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