Celia,
I have decided to write to you as I know that you are the one I can trust to relay this to our family. Samuel has fallen ill, and the doctors do not seem hopeful about his situation. In spite of that, we are doing everything we can to make sure he sees his way through this. 
Please do not rush to board a ship home upon hearing this news. We know that you would want to be here with us...with him, but we would feel horrible if you uprooted your life a second time to come back to what was left here. 
I will write when I can to update you on his condition. 
Until then, send Mom and Dad our love. I am sorry to hear about PaPa - his passing was hard on me too. 
Your's truly,
Joseph Farraday
                          
Closing up the letter with tear-filled eyes, Celia tried to let this new information sink in. Her nephew, who had only been the tender age of three, was fighting a serious illness an ocean away from her. Joseph and Katherine must have been heartbroken. She couldn't fathom the idea of seeing her own child going through something like that. The clanging of the front door's bells broke her out of the staring contest she was holding with the folded up letter.
                          
When she looked up her eyes fell on a man whose favorite color was surely black, being that he was wearing a black long coat, black suit jacket, and a pair of black trousers. The only varying color was the pop of white coming from the buttoned up shirt that was peeking out from underneath his vest. Celia made sure to quickly wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands before he noticed she'd been crying. An emotional woman greeting you certainly wouldn't put a positive start to a business transaction. The man finally looked up when he stopped in front of the counter, his eyes finally becoming visible from under his - you guessed it - black peaked cap. His eyes brought more color into the mix, the shade of blue being both the richest and coldest Celia's ever seen. They were intense as he stared back at her, and she knew from one look that he hid secrets behind those eyes. 
                          
"Your name, sir?" Celia asked the man then, feeling relieved when her voice came out strongly instead of in a scratchy tone. Thankfully this interaction gave her something to think about other than what was happening back in America. 
                          
"Thomas Shelby," he answered, clearing his throat then. Celia was able to see him fish a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and slit one between his lips as she was going back to find the man's items. When she returned with three separate, full suits, the man was blowing the smoke from his lungs out into the room. She couldn't call him on it though, as Mr. Robinson didn't mind when patrons smoked in the shop. Hell, he almost always had a cheap cigar around him while he was working. 
                          
"That'll be three pounds, Mr. Shelby," Celia stated after setting the suits on the counter in between them. She then busied herself with the cash register as she waited for him to produce the money. 
                          
He stood still though. "Oh I don't pay for suits, love," he spoke then after he realized what the woman was waiting for. His words made her look at him, a dumbfounded expression present on her face. Who does he think he is? - she thought to herself - everyone here pays for suits. 
                          
Before another word was spoken, Mr. Robinson was making his way from the back in a hasty manner. "Mr. Shelby! I'm so sorry. I've told her, but she must've forgotten," he frantically apologized to the man on the opposite side of the counter. "Always in your head at the most important times, aren't you, Celia?" he chuckled awkwardly then as Celia turned to stare at her boss with her mouth slightly agape. What was going on here?
                          
"'S not a problem, Mr. Robinson, just a misunderstanding," the man stated, lips curving upward just slightly as he focused his gaze on her.