Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Letter #7

The whole thing is ridiculous, and thank goodness I was the youngest child and almost completely ignored by my family, and practically raised by the normal people who work around the Home. You learn a great deal when you are friends with the staff — and I even detest the word, but it's better than servants as my parents would say — and so there was never a time when I bought into the bullshit (please do forgive my language) and I didn't have the chance to become some propped up nightmare child. And ironically, my parents lament the fact, because now they are stuck with a grown daughter who's become an embarrassment by not upholding the ridiculous trifle that is events and galas and kissing the arse of the King's second cousin's wife's nephew's son.

I do apologise for rambling on. I have every mind to begin writing afresh on a new page, but I have to begin packing my bags shortly, and want to get this sent to you before I'm on a boat for a week.

I'm off to New York, at my parents' insistence, and I don't have much choice because I demanded their assistance with a matter and this was their price. It's only for a few weeks, to 'make an appearance' and 'keep ties with the family', which really means suck up to distant relatives in the hopes they'll send money our way. But honestly, I am depressing myself with all this talk, so back to our game. And in the meantime, I shall pray the Americas hold off prohibiting alcohol a little while longer, for my own sanity's sake while I am there.

How on earth can you call me mental for liking dawn when you proclaim to detest daylight in general? My goodness, brave soldier, you truly are a criminal, lurking in the night. Birds and clouds? How about sunshine, squirrels dashing across fields, the first cup of tea after a long night's rest? The smell of horse and hay, of leather saddle polish and a warm rug between your fingertips. What happens at night, I ask you? You cannot see anything and everything is asleep, anyway. How dull.

I am afraid neroli is not much to go by as it seems to be in a great deal of cologne, and I considered sending a few different types but then wondered if you'd have much use for it where you are. I thought the money and weight might be better spent on more useful items, and so I got more books and magazines. There's one in particular with some rather scandalous photographs I thought John might enjoy — but don't you go reading it, Arthur Shelby.

I am sorry to hear that about your parents. I get the sense you do not wish to speak further on the matter and so I shall not push it, but know you have piqued my curiosity as thoroughly as I did yours. I believe I've prattled on about my parents enough already, but if there is anything further you wish to clarify, you need only ask.

My perfect day? Alright. Waking up is already perfect as it occurs at dawn, which we've now established is the superior time of day, and the first thing I do is open my bedroom curtains and window. I air the bed, wake the dogs, and get myself ready for the day.

I take a cup of tea and then walk the grounds before breakfast, stopping at the stables only briefly to feed the horses. We have more than capable stable hands but I prefer to do it myself where I can. I'll join Lucille in the kitchen for an hour or two and chat as I help clean up, and then I shall go and see the horses before lunch. I exercise them all, but this is a perfect day, and so I shall take Arion through the woods, and maybe spend an hour or so in the arena practicing jumps. After that, I help the stable hands with maintenance, check supply lists, and fill out order forms if we require anything to be replaced.

Then it is lunch, and I sit and endure poking the plain cod and greens my parents insist on around my plate, before going back down to the kitchen and having Lucille make me a decent sandwich and another cup of tea. After this, I might follow Pauline from room to room and help her, or I might retire to the window seat and read a novel while the rain drizzles against the glass. There's usually a phone call or a meeting with somebody about trying to establish the farm, and then I clean up for dinner — by this point I smell decidedly like dogs and horses.

Usually, I'll have to endure one social event or another, or a group of people round for dinner at least, but you asked for my perfect day and so I shall dine with only the people I like. Perhaps you could be there. We'd have pork chops and whiskey, if you like.

Then I'll sit and play a little piano until my eyes are heavy and I'll settle the dogs in for the night before going to bed myself.

It must all sound rather boring to a nighttime criminal such as yourself, but to me, it is calming and simple. And so I must ask you describe to me your perfect day — night? — so we might compare.

Tell John I have spoken with Pauline, and his drawing is accurate, with only the minor rectification that her legs ought to be bent at the knees rather than flat.

I can assure you that plants undertake no such event in the interest of procreation. Or at least I don't think so, and I have no idea who to ask. As for the animals, they are naked all the time too, are they not? And so I suppose by that point there is no shame in such an act. But such things are expected to remain private between a man and woman. Even though that does make me a hypocrite for discussing such matters.

On that note, I have no objections to a return of the moustache.

Moving swiftly onward.

I cannot imagine ever getting bored of your letters. And we will be on the same side of the channel again soon — I know it.

There are many things I should like to say to Tommy with regards to his unsolicited advice, none of them unacceptable for me to put in writing, even after swearing multiple times already. However — and don't you dare let him glimpse this — his advice did work. I am not above saying thank you. But I am above allowing you to pass the sentiment forward.

You are a hero, Arthur. Please don't you forget. I am forever speaking of how hard you are fighting, how brave you are, and how proud I am. It is silly as we have not met, but I feel the same about you as women who speak of men close to them in the war — fathers, brothers. The like.

I sincerely hope the commanders listen to the pleas of us all and evacuate you soon. Until then, know that you are doing an amazing job.

Yours sincerely,
Astor. Lover of Dawn, Biscuits, and ashamedly of John's portraits.