Meet Charlotte Norton. 

Meet William.

Meet Dean.

———————

Leslie's hand was tightly around Esmé's as she followed her close behind, still pulling, wanting to leave before it was too late but Esmé seemed to be in trance. She didn't even seem to hear that Leslie continuously called her name. Something pulled at her.

As soon as she stepped inside, her breath stuck in her throat. Apart from the enigmatic aura swallowing her, it was the beauty in the pubs' arrangement that drew her in. She let her eyes travel around, watching in amazement. The pub was large, a bar stretching along the wall to her left. Numerous tables with guests drinking and cheering as jazz music blasted through some type of loudspeakers.

The smell of alcohol surrounded her, numbing her senses. The more she watched the people, the more she even felt underdressed. The women drowned in all sorts of accessories, scarfs, long pearl necklaces. It was like a scene from the Great Gatsby. A British Gatsby. The men in suits, posh and radiant, all of them having a lover under their arm. A world, Esmé wasn't ready to step in. She felt small and vulnerable around all these extravagant, emitting people. She might feel anxious but she would never show tonight.

Straightening her back, she masked herself with an inner diva, she had to pull off now. The people's gazes traced her every move. They mustn't see her flurry. She studied the crowds, looking for the guide. But he was nowhere to be found. As she had expected. She could have seen wrong. It was absurd to believe that it had been the museum's guide.

"Let's just leave, my Lady." Leslie whispered in her ear, persistently trying to drag her outside but Esmé was solid as a rock. She was here. She wouldn't turn back.

"Lady Esmé Benson." A red-haired woman approached her. "What a pleasure to have you visit our pub." Esmé smiled, although she couldn't hide how surprised she was that the woman knew who she was. Her red hair was short, ending right above her shoulders, her green eyes holding a flirtatious sparkle in them, that'd make every man drop to his knees for her. Her black dress hugged her curvy frame, caressing the floor. She motioned to the bar, gesturing them to have a seat.

"My name is Charlotte Norton, my Lady." The way Charlotte studied her with a deliberate grin, emerged mixed feelings in her. Her heartbeat quickened the more she looked around. Ignoring this unsettling sensation with all her might, she sat down on one of the barstools. Leslie took the seat next to her, her hands fidgeting on her lap. The man who sat on her other side, scooted away, giving Esmé space. She mumbled a little 'thank you'. He nodded only, not giving her a glance with his back facing her.

"What can I offer you?" Charlotte stood on the other side of the counter, resting her arms on the table, beaming. Esmé tilted her head to the side with a questioning look,

"How do you know my name?" She asked with a straight posture, testing the waters first.

"Oh, I know everyone here." She chuckled, running her fingers through her hair before she turned around to pour drinks. "So, of course, I know who you are. There's nothing Char from the White Shore doesn't know. I'd make a good informant," She winked, putting two cups with clear liquor in front them. Leslie tensed up.

Esmé smiled, pushing the drinks back to Charlotte, "We'll just have some water." She gently declined.

"Well, that's not fun," Charlotte pouted, a daring glance in her eyes. "You don't just decline an offer on the house."

"Will you answer my questions, if I take on that offer?" Esmé lifted her brows.

"Depends on what you want to know, Lady Esmé." Charlotte's eyes locked on Esmé, her lips curving up, giving the illusion of having Esmé figured out. As if she guessed what Esmé wanted to ask.

Meanwhile, Leslie was progressively getting more impatient, moving closer to whisper into her ear, "Please, my Lady." Esmé sighed. She looked at her friend with an ensuring, warm smile.

"Don't worry." She took her hands in hers, squeezing them, "I got this." She noticed how Charlotte watched them amused, nibbling on her lower lip to stifle her smirk. She was clearly enjoying seeing how frightened Leslie was. If Esmé was new to this world, Leslie was too, never having left the Benson's house for such an occasion before. There was nothing amusing about someone being nervous but Esmé continued without bothering on Charlotte's smirk.

"It's about the people that own this place." She cut right to the chase, startling Charlotte, her eyes widening as she reached for the cup, she had poured herself. Swallowing a big shot, she huffed. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. A grin played on her lips.

The man next to Esmé seemingly stiffened, listening to her words. She was uncertain whether he was eavesdropping or not. But she did notice that he had turned around in his seat, facing the bar now, his gaze lingering on the liquor in his hands.

Charlotte had caught Esmé studying the young man, knocking on the counter table. "Dean, can you believe?" Charlotte nudged him. He didn't look at her when she leaned forward, trying to take a better look at his face. "She wants to know about the men that own this place." With that, a buzzy laugh erupted out her. Her head fell to the back, her chest vibrating.

Esmé couldn't follow anymore. What had been so funny about her question for Charlotte to have such an outburst? She was flummoxed. She stared at the bar lady, waiting for her to calm down. The man to her left, Dean, now fully faced Esmé questioningly.

"Now, that topic is taboo here." He stated, a nonchalant look in his eyes.

"And you are?" Esmé was sick of this. These people wasted her time. Where was the museum's guide?! She whirled around in her seat, staring into the crowd of dancing people and trying to detect the brown-haired man she had seen and that had brought her here. She felt Dean's gaze boring two holes into the side of her head.

"If you're done staring, you can tell me who the hell you are butting in?" A bitter tone reverberated in her voice. Being clueless as she was and seeing how they enjoyed leaving her in the dark and playing things secretive, pushed her nerves to the edge.

"Who the hell I am?" He was amused, propping his arm on the counter. Esmé turned to look at him. Watching him as he gulped down the last drop in his glass, his blue eyes never left hers.

His dirty-blond hair fell loosely to his face, casting a shadow on his features. His intense gaze behind his thin-framed glasses obscured his emotion. He licked his lips, before he took a deep breath. There was something about him that was intriguing. Strangely mysterious, pulling Esmé's strings, making her feel uneasy under his eye. She studied him carefully. He was tall, probably over 1,90. His shoulders broad, intimidating. His beige suit sat way too tight on his body.

"Like what you see?"

Esmé snorted.

"My taste isn't that bad," The corners of his lips twitched at her remark, his eyes seemingly glued to her, making Esmé feel more and more uncomfortable.

"Right?" Charlotte chuckled, drifting Esmé's attention back to herself. "He's all over every woman in this house."

"Dean." He introduced himself, holding out his hand. She didn't care about him or anyone else on that matter. But not wanting to come off rude, she took his hand, shaking it; his grip was firm.

"He is the owner of a beer brewery. He provides the alcohol here." Charlotte introduced him but Esmé shrugged in response, pulling her tender hand out of his strong grasp, wanting to focus back on what she was here for.

"So," She sighed, "You don't want to tell me about the Walker Twins?"

"Well, I know just as much as everyone else does. Twins. Run this pub. There are rumours going around that they're doing criminal things. Don't know what in particular, though."

"I don't believe you," Esmé lifted her brows, unfazed.

Charlotte played with her drink, swirling it around. "Lady Esmé, I work here. I know everything and everyone and I can tell you anything you want to hear. But these are dangerous waters - even for me. When it comes to the White Shore, my lips are sealed." She put the glass on the counter, "What happens under this roof, stays here."

"Too bad," Esmé sighed, propping her hands on the counter table. Now, she had to find the person that brought her here. Maybe she would get some information out of him. Whoever that was. She stood up, ready to leave and motioning Leslie to get up as well.

"But you didn't even drink anything," Charlotte protested, crossing her arms over chest with a pout on her lips, playing hurt.

"You didn't give me answers." It was as simple as that.

"Alright," Charlotte leaned back, her expression indifferent.

"You frightened her off, Char. You should have been more hospitable," Dean murmured, his gaze now travelling to Leslie who tried to hide behind her Lady, her gaze fixed on the glass of water in her hands. "Look at her."

This was it. He was so urgent. "Is this funny to you?" Esmé glared, her fists beginning to tremble.

"Kind of, yes." He looked up to meet her eyes. She wanted to slap that amused look out of his face but she bit down her frustration. This whole night wasn't going how she had imagined.

"Why are you even bothering us?" She propped her arms on her hips. She had no time to waste on such a snobbish idiot. "Mind your-"

"Dean," A third party stepped to their side, cutting her off and causing her to take a deep breath with her eyes tightly shut. Esmé reached for Leslie's arm, turning around to leave when her gaze landed on that certain third party.

Her jaw dropped. There he was. The guide. This was becoming more and more ridiculous. Her head started to ache. He avoided her stare as she lifted her finger, pointing at him with her lips pressed to a thin line. Her jaw locked.

"It's him," Leslie stated the obvious, surprised.

"You," Esmé huffed, "have some explaining to do." He frowned, shaking his head and ignoring her completely. Esmé nudged him with her finger, biting down on her lower lip, fighting the urge to curse.

"What is this woman on," He murmured, turning his attention back to Dean who had been glancing back and forth between Esmé and the young man with suspicion.

"William," He said, "Do you know her?" So, his name was William.

He studied Esmé, shaking his head. "Never seen her."

"But you led us to this pub," Leslie had managed to get over her hush finally. Her words caught Dean's attention, his brows shooting up.

But William frowned, huffing. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You're getting me mixed up with someone." His gaze lingered on Esmé before turning to Dean, "Winston Textile's director is here. He wants to meet you." Winston? As in Jack Winston?

"What for?" Dean wondered, getting up from his stool and exchanging glances with Charlotte who had watched the scene unfold. She walked around the counter, following Dean.

"He talked about his son's coming engagement. I guess, he'll want you to arrange the drinks." Esmé stiffened. This was her engagement. One she had declined for now. Maybe Jack hadn't talked to his father about it yet. She was on alert, not noticing that Dean's gaze lingered on her. He pulled her out of her thoughts,

"It was a pleasure, Lady Esmé. I hope, we meet again soon."

"I can't say the same about you." He didn't respond, spinning on his heel, he left with Charlotte.

Leslie watched after the man that made her feel uneasy but Esmé couldn't hold herself from examining William's behaviour suspiciously. He turned around, stepping away. She reached forward, grabbing his arm.

"Is this how you're going to act?" She asked, her voice low. "You know me. We met before."

William stopped in his track. Esmé could hear her heartbeat in her ears, bounding and making her feel dizzy. This was too overwhelming. Everything. William might be the only one here to understand and help her. Esmé's knees slacked, disrupting her balance. But William didn't help her steady her posture.

"You shouldn't let anyone find out though." Her breath stuck in her throat.

What? So, he did remember. Esmé was really going insane, slowly but certainly.

He looked back, "You should be careful whom you talk to. Don't trust anyone that-"

"Who are you?" Esmé blurted out, rushing. She was confused. But relieved. She was not alone here. This was really him. Everything felt bizarre but she felt relieved nevertheless.

"I'm William. I'm not who you think I am. But I know who you are." Her eyes grew wide. Suddenly he wanted to leave again but Esmé held him firmly.

"Wait, you can't just leave like this! How do you know me?" She begged him almost. Feeling too thrilled to act wary right now. Not noticing that strangers' eyes watched her. Her excitement took the best of her. "You need to help me."

"Not today. But we'll meet again. Until then, watch your back." He locked his eyes with her eyes, earnest worry in them. "I don't know much-" He stopped, taking a deep breath. He gazed around carefully. He moved closer only for her to hear, "But beware of that woman with the green bracelet." Esmé listened all ears.

"And never forget your own name, Rose." He mumbled the last bit.

She was frozen on her spot when he left, the music around her engulfing her, her senses and thoughts going wild. He knew her name. Rose. This was a good thing, right? But why was she so certain that the guide in the museum had never asked for her name. And why did she feel as if she was falling deeper and deeper in a hole, she wouldn't be able to get out so easily?

Esmé plunged onto the barstool behind her, gulping down the knot in her throat. Leslie was just as shook. Her hand travelling up Esmé's arm in an act of comfort.

"What did just happen?" She asked, murmuring more to herself. Esmé didn't have an answer either. Even if she tried to bring an explanation, nothing would make any sense. This was absurd, bewildering, just plain stupid. Suffocating -- Esmé needed some air.

"We should go," Esmé stared at the clock that hung on the wall, behind the bar. 9:45 pm. Wyatt would be waiting for them at the bus stop. Leslie nodded in response, reaching out to help Esmé get up.

It was in that moment, a strident scream pierced through the pub. A woman. She was outside but her voice shrilled inside. Everyone fell into silence, only the music continued to play, but seemingly in the background as if it played behind a thick wall. Then the sound of a gunshot struck. And chaos erupted.

Esmé watched the scene unfold, people rushing towards the door, screeching tables and chairs. The screaming of young women, followed by the noise of plates and glasses shattering to the floor. Leslie was frozen next to her, her hands covering her ears, her eyes tightly shut.

But Esmé felt numb. She had believed that nothing worse or confusing could happen but it had. Her arms swung to her sides, not having the will or power to move an inch.

"What is going on?" Charlotte asked with an undecipherable expression as she rushed to William who peaked outside the window to see.

"I guess, it's those Camden Boys again." Someone said but she didn't who that voice belonged to. That name rang her Esmé's bells again. Everyone talked at once, staring outside.

Esmé pulled herself together, stepping towards the window. She tried to see, hoping that nobody was hurt. But it was dark and chaotic. She felt terrified, her hand tightly around Leslie's. Some men were having a fight, yelling and pushing. One of them held a gun, shakily pointing it to a tall dark-haired man whose face Esmé couldn't recognize because of the lack of light.

But she noticed that he was holding his arms up, slowly moving closer to the nervous middle-aged man to reach out and take the weapon out of his grasp.

"He'll sort this out." William stated, "He won't let anything happen right in front of his pub."

"Who?" Esmé asked, her hands against the cold glass, trying to hold the heavy curtain from falling into her vision. Everyone watched the tall man. He had this authority to him, making the people around him remain still. He grabbed the gun out of the other's hand, seeming as if he told him comforting words with a smile on his lips. Esmé didn't understand what was happening. When William didn't answer, she asked again, "Who is going to-"

She had stepped back, noticing that Dean was on the other side of the bar, watching her. Suddenly, she froze, her lips dry. But Esmé didn't know if it was because of Dean's eyes or William's next words,

"Ellis Walker," He said, rolling his eyes, "Obviously."

~~~

It was later that night in the dimly lit bar, a few acquaintances sipped their last drinks, evaluating the happenings from a few hours ago.

"Esmé Benson, you say?" A young man chuckled, an amused look in his features.

"I wonder what brought her here." The red-haired beauty swirled her glass, caught in deep thought.

"Whatever it is, you should keep an eye on her." The man said sincerely.

"And on William," A second man added, who had been leaning against the wall on the other side of the room with his eyes closed. His big frame cast an even bigger shadow. "Journalist William."

"Why me?" The woman asked, huffing.

"Because you're Char. You should even befriend her." The second man sighed, staring out the window into the dark starry night. The night. Those dark clouds. They were the only thing he couldn't escape from. The stars, witness to all their secrets.

"She's a Benson. And the Bensons will pay for their greed with their children."