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Blemished Silk | Chapter Nineteen - The Course of True Love

Chapter Index

Arthur Morgan x f!OC Longfic

Mature Rating - 3.2k Words

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Arthur!POV, Flirting, Angst, Pining, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Period Typical Sexism

Summary: Arthur finds Amelia at the sufferage rally.

Rhodes, May 1899

After the exchange of more letters, a threat of a murder and, of course, some rich boys’ drivel, Arthur had somehow found himself driving a wagon for a protest march. A wagon filled with loud, angry and passionate women, a dangerous situation indeed.

‘Let liberty reign!’ Ms Calhoon cried, earning her a loud jeer from the women in the back.

Arthur clicked at the reins, bemused as to how he even found himself in this situation, but he could say that for most things that happened to him. However, he could squarely say, driving a suffrage movement was not one of them.

The woman chanted and sang, their placards raised high and their voices fearsome and full of pride as Ms Calhoon directed him down the main street.

‘Mr Morgan, are you an old friend of the movement?’ she asked as men came to inspect the commotion, only to hurl insults and looks of disgust as they drove past.

‘I’m just a driver, Ms Calhoon,’ he said, as they rounded the corner near the saloon.

Arthur had been to the establishment enough times to know the sort and although he wouldn’t have expected them to take kindly to the endeavours of those women, he had never seen the outside packed with so many bodies. Their jeers nearly drowned out the suffrages song as he eyed the large group of men cautiously. He now understood why Beau was so desperate to not allow Penelope to join the rally.

‘Maybe a shotgun messenger…’ Arthur mentioned, ‘if it comes to it. But I hope it won’t.’ His eyes didn’t leave the road, his peripherals scanning at what Arthur could only describe as the beginning of a mob starting to form.

‘Our message will be delivered peaceably, Mr Morgan,’ the older woman said. ‘You can keep your shotgun to yourself.’

As they pulled onto the main road, a sense of uneasiness filled Arthur. Hopefully, this wasn’t about to turn ugly.

‘Look at these people,’ Ms Calhoon said, ‘it’s about to get exciting… I can feel it.’

Her words did little to help his nerves, as he could see a group of even more women chanting outside of the bank. As they pulled closer, the sea of pickets and skirts became clearer as the men, however, became more vitriolic the further they went on.

‘Mr Morgan, I give you the male of the species,’ Ms Calhoon said, her voice turning to a chuckle.

‘That’s a pretty dumb species, I grant it,’ he said, growing more wary as time went on.

As Arthur pulled the horses to a stop, and the women leapt from the wagon to join the others, it didn’t take him long to spot a familiar face in the crowd.

What the hell is she doing here? Arthur thought to himself, as he too lowered himself from the wagon.

As a group of men drew nearer with various threats and insults, Arthur made his way over to the woman with flaxen hair cheering along with the other women.

‘Now,’ Arthur said, walking up behind her and gently touching her elbow, ‘I did not expect to see you here.’

He chuckled as she turned around, her face at first confused, but soon relaxed into a smile.

‘Mr Morgan, what on earth are you doing here?’ Miss Edwards giggled, adjusting the weight of the placard in her hand. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re leading the rally?’

He laughed, an earthy laugh he rarely gave, feeling somewhat lightheaded as he shrugged.

‘Oh, I dunno…’ he nodded at the women around, ‘seems as good a party as any.’

‘I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you,’ Amelia said, her eyebrows raised with a smirk toying across her lips. ‘They’ll have your guts for garters saying those sorts of things.’

‘I don’t doubt it, ma’am,’ Arthur said as he turned to the bank, hooking his thumb into his gun belt.

‘Really though, Mr Morgan, what are you doing here?’ Amelia questioned, wrestling with both her sign and her sash. ‘I hope you’re not following me?’

She didn’t say it unkindly. In fact, as he looked over at her, her eyes flashed with an expression he hadn’t seen her wear. A playful dare as an audacious twinkle swam across her blue eyes, a challenge that Arthur could have easily risen to and would have died trying to.

Get a grip of yourself, Morgan, he thought to himself as her features danced around him and his stomach knotted. A bet, a challenge, something so much worse. Something so tempting he wouldn’t dare say the words aloud.

Clearing his throat and suddenly feeling rather abashed, Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks growing in temperature.

‘Not quite ma’am. Business… Supposedly,’ he replied, his hand instinctively hovering over his holster for a brief second as he tried to avoid her gaze.

He’d known women, seen women and thought of it all, yet there was something in her face that whispered to him. A loneliness that only she could cure, a satisfaction that none of the others had given. Yet, as he stood there, a good head taller, a damn sight meaner, she intimidated him in a way he didn’t care to admit to. It was although only she was there, even amongst these formidable and admirable women. She shone far further and far above the rest of them, creating a sea of beige around him.

‘Ah, I see,’ she said, tilting her head towards the young woman in a flouncy white dress, ‘Miss Braithwaite… I assume they’re paying you well for enabling those star-crossed lovers or some such?’

Arthur turned to her, raising his eyebrow, curious about how poorly kept the secret of the Gray boy and Miss Braithwaite was.

‘You know?’ He said, scanning the crowd.

She laughed as the crowd continued to chant around them.

‘Oh everybody knows, it’s hardly as though they’re discreet, Mr Morgan,’ she said with a coy smile, staring on ahead.

However, before he could question her any further, Ms Calhoon made her way to the top of the steps in front of the bank.

‘Ladies and Gentleman,’ she called as the women quieted, ‘this is a great day for all of us!’

Needless to say, the boos and cheers came in equal unison.

‘For today is the day we begin to live as equals,’ Ms Calhoon continued, earning a very loud cheer from Miss Edwards.

Arthur looked to his side to see her smiling up ahead, her face more alive than ever before.

‘This is unnatural!’ a man at the front cried, his thick southern drawl in some clear distress at the idea that women would have a say in the world they live in. ‘This is nonsense!’

Arthur sized the man up, who clearly had very little brains about him. Those were the ones that were always ready to start the trouble first, he found.

‘Fair, equal and free!’ Ms Calhoon cried, her presence towering over the crowd, ‘just as the Founding Fathers intended.’

And the exchange of insults continued. Two men pushed past Arthur and Miss Edwards, as he looked sharply around. He felt the static of air change around him as they pushed themselves further into the crowd as his hand moved back over his gun.

‘Miss Edwards,’ he said in a low voice, ‘I think it’s best you go home now.’

‘Home? You can’t be serious?’ She said, her eyebrows furrowed. ‘I’m here for the cause, Mr Morgan.’

‘And a fine cause that is,’ he said, grabbing her arm light as though she was as delicate as a bird, as he steered her away from the crowd. ‘But this ain’t safe no more. I get paid to protect you.’

‘I beg to differ,’ she said, pursing her lips. ‘You are paid to protect the estate, not myself.’

Arthur sighed, giving her a light push as she looked at his hand wrapped around her lace covered arm. He could feel the heat of skin underneath her dress, the faintest of tenses as he continued to lead her.

‘All the same, ma’am,’ he said, frantically looking over his shoulder, ‘it’s best you go.’

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes challenging him but in a very different way than before, as though she was trying to solve a riddle.

‘Please,’ he said in a low voice.

Slowly, she gave a sigh and nodded her head.

‘Very well, Mr Morgan,’ she said, ‘don’t cause any trouble, though.’

Miss Edwards returned to the wagon, placing her placard down and ventured down the main street to presumably wherever she had hitched her horse.

Arthur waited until she had made it out of sight before turning back towards the commotion.

He delved back into the crowd, following the two men who seemed to have an unnerving purpose to them.

‘What the hell you doing here, boy!’ the fat one yelled, as Arthur saw the puff of hair that belonged to Beau.

Pushing through the women as politely as he could, Arthur could hear the exchange but wasn’t quite able to distinguish the words. As he got closer, it was clear there was no pleasantries being exchanged.

‘Beau!’ Arthur yelled, walking up to the boy. ‘weren’t we just leaving?’

‘Who the hell is this?’ the man said, holding a fat, pink finger up to Arthur’s face.

Arthur was running out of patience as he took Beau by the shoulder, pointing to the alleyway on his left.

‘Follow me round here,’ he said, his voice leaving little room for questions. ‘Quick, now, Beau.’

They both moved towards their horses, mounting them with little haste.

Beau lead the way, charging through the dust covered town, the hooves of their horses kicking up clouds of red around them.

They left the commotion behind them, reaching the edge of town and continued into the meadows.

‘I ain’t voted before… but I’m kinda getting hot for voting rights,’ Arthur quipped as he looked over his shoulder to ensure they were not being followed.

‘I don’t know whether to take you seriously or not, Mr Morgan,’ Beau said as he kicked at his horse. ‘I saw you talking with Miss Edwards, from the Edwards Estate….’

Arthur eyed the back of his head from under the brim of his hat, suddenly feeling just as alert as he did moments before.

‘I wasn’t aware you two were so… close,’ Beau said, raking his hand through the mound of hair.

‘We ain’t,’ Arthur said sullenly.

‘It seemed quite the opposite!’ Beau said, as he slowed his horse to a canter.

‘She’s my employer, s’all. Ain’t no more than that,’

Beau turned to look at him with an arrogant smile.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man.

‘And if you tell anyone that, I’ll shoot you dead.’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘You know I’ll kill you if I have to.’

Beau let out a laugh as Arthur kicked his horse back into action, his eyes constantly darting around the landscape.

‘Oh, the drama of romance! It’s quite exhilarating, isn’t it?’ Beau quipped as they pulled up to the old battlefield, which was still adorned with remnants of the past.

‘Now listen here, boy,’ Arthur said, dismounting. ‘I don’t recommend spreading lies you can’t keep up with.’

Beau turned to him as he slid from his own saddle. Now far more nervous that he was off the back of a horse.

‘Of course,’ Beau said, his voice quiet and low.

Arthur was mad, and in any worse frame of mine would have shot him as he promised. Yet, he knew behind the rage and anger, there was something, a feeling that crawled through his chest every time he saw Miss Edwards. A strange kind of regret that he had never really felt before. A desire that had not been there before. He swallowed down the lump that rose in his throat and looked away from Beau.

‘You know,’ Arthur said, ‘you should leave. Take your woman with you.’

‘I will.. as soon as I have enough money,’ Beau said, patting at his gold patterned waistcoat.

The boy turned to his horse, opening up the saddlebag and reaching his arm in, pulling out a large billfold.

‘Here, your payment for today, and thank you, Mr Morgan,’ Beau said, thrusting the money at Arthur, who took it in kind.

Beau smiled at him as he pulled himself on top of his horse and cantered off down the road.

Lighting a cigarette, Arthur took a pause for thought, scanning the old battlefield that held a haunting serenity. He imagined the screams and sounds of gunfire, finding an odd sense of comfort in the presumed chaos.

The meadows around the town gave a stark contrast to the politics and high opinions that were found in Rhodes. The surrounding fields held their own presence, not as wild as the western or northern landscapes, but a docile tranquillity that harboured a certain sweetness and innocence to them.

Stubbing out his cigarette, he hoped that Miss Edwards had made it back to the estate without any bother and a part of him wanted to go back there to see her.

He knew he was being foolish, acting like a young man in some vague attempts of courtship, and he chided himself for his lack of judgment. It seemed even after all these years; he was still an idiot when it came to pretty smiles and skirts.

Dutch had made it perfectly clear, however, what the gang’s next steps were, and he was forced to remind himself of his mentor’s words on the boat. He knew Dutch was right. Distractions would only do more harm than good and as he climbed upon Montague, throwing his cigarette end, he decided to return to camp.

The road was slow and easy, the afternoon sun still firmly high in the sky with a distant promise of clouds that whispered on the horizon.

Montague whined softly, his head flicking side to side as his back legs moved uneasily.

‘Easy there, boy,’ Arthur said, patting at his neck as he looked across the ground, expected to see a snake or some other venomous critter. Yet he saw nothing, as he pulled his horse into a gentle trot.

Then Arthur smelt it, the acrid fumes of smoke. He looked over the treeline, the sky a hazy blue. Arthur followed the smell until he saw it. The soft gentle plumes of dark clouds, floating without care up into the sky.

He reached down and grabbed the gun that sat at his hip as he spurred his horse onwards. Slipping off of the saddle, he crouched, shuffling into woods at the edge of the road. He heard the sound of men, and as he got closer, saw their makeshift camp. He kept low behind the trunk of the tree, minding his footsteps to cause as little sound as possible.

The clearing had been set up hastily, yet neatly, blankets spread along the sides of the fire pit, where men stood smoking, drinking, laughing and carrying on as normal. As he peered around the tree, he saw the guns slung over their shoulders and resting in their holsters.

Arthur ducked below the tree line again and ran lightly between the bushes towards the tent, keeping his eye on the men who remained unaware of his arrival. His heart pounded in his ears as he stopped beside the small white canvas shelter.

‘I still don’t know why Colm is so set on followen dem down sout’,’ one man said.

Damn O’Driscolls, Arthur thought to himself as he rested on his haunches.

‘Ain’t your job to know, just do as you're bloody told!’ another shouted back. ‘Bastards, kept stealin’ dis dat and the oder from us. Sooner we put a bullet in dem, the richer we’ll be!’

‘Seems like a waste o’time if you ask me,’ a new voice spoke up, ‘we could be robbin’ a bank, but instead we’re sittin’ around like a bunch o’mugs.’

Arthur focused his eyes, raising his pistol. Five men, six bullets. He pulled the hammer back slowly, attempting to soften the sound of the click as he aimed at the men above him.

Bang, bang, bang.

Three went down, a red mist exploding from their heads as they fell to the ground like autumn leaves. The other two turned to the men, yelling as panic erupted as they brought up their guns, looking around for the intruder.

Arthur stepped from the shadowed cover, aiming his weapon once more. Both men froze as Arthur fired off another two bullets into the one of the men’s chest, crimson blood spilling across him as the blood gushed freely.

Just as he was about to turn, to finish off the last O’Driscoll, he felt a warm trickle down his hard. Fighting to not look, his arm felt limp followed by a bright white hot flash of pain.

He pulled the trigger and the last man fell.

It was over before it even began as the five bodies laid on the floor motionless, blood seeping across the stubby green grass as their eyes stared open, frozen in their last earthly thought.

Arthur stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees beside the fallen body. Looking around at the carnage. He wiped his face, tasting the metallic taste of the metal on his tongue as he looked at his arm. A small red patch was already beginning to form. He shrugged off his jacket, inspecting the hole.

From what he could see, it seemed just as though it was just a graze as he slowly wiggled his fingers and clenched his fist. It hurt, they always did, but no bone was hit and it seemed as though the bullet didn’t embed himself.

Pulling one of the dead men towards him by his ankle with his working arm, and reached for his belt. Attempting to unclasp it with one hand, the throbbing started to settle in his other arm as he grunted through the pain. Pulling the belt free, he stood, making his way back to his horse.

Reaching into the saddle back, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, releasing the cork with his teeth as his arm gave another twinge of pain. Pouring the alcohol freely, feeling as though the flesh was curling underneath the alcohol as the searing burn churned through him, sinking it hooks into his bones.

He gulped the drink greedily, letting the liquor sting its way down his raw throat, numbing his senses. He fiddled with the dead man’s belt, wrapping it tightly around the wound, pulling the leather with his teeth as he clamped down the buckle. He felt faint as the pain slowly subsided from a brief moment as he took three deep breaths to calm himself.

Grabbing at the saddle horn, he threw himself onto the top of his mount, trying to separate the pain in his mind and focus on the road ahead.

Nothing’s ever simple with you, is it Morgan? He sighed, kicking lightly into Montague, urging the horse back to camp. Hopefully, Ms Grimshaw wouldn’t give him too much of a hard time when she inevitably patched him up.