Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Letter #10

May 1916

My dearest Astor,

Never in my life have I been so happy to hear from a non-crook or criminal.

We're moving back into France, which should be better than Egypt, but the journey's taking a fucking lifetime. I'm currently on a boat myself, and feeling pretty fucking lucky not to be sick like yourself, but half the men here are. I'd ask you to send candied ginger, but I expect we'll be well in France by the time it comes through.

I won't lie to you, I'm bloody exhausted by this point. Tommy and I did volunteer as sappers in the end, and it's been months of training in explosives and engineering and all sorts of tests. Didn't think I'd pass them, but so far it's been flying fucking colours. Worst bit is, Tommy said the hardest work's not yet even begun. We'll be digging tunnels beneath enemy lines to place explosives. It's bloody clever. Didn't think I'd be accepted into the tunnelling company to begin with, but here we are. Hopefully it means I'll help to end this war sooner.

There's whispers among the men here that we're heading for a big battle. The Army often don't give us our orders until the battle's already fucking waging upon us, something about operational security and all that. But we're all feeling a bit uneasy. Something's off, in the air. Seems like we've all been rushed back to France in a hurry, from all over the place.

Anyway, your supplies continue to boost morale more than I could ever fucking explain to you. I'll have to repay you somehow when I'm back home. Not that I'd be able to afford anything even nearly fancy enough, mind. But you tell me what it is you want, anything in the world, and I'll make sure it's yours. With every sip of tea or whiskey and every time I brush my teeth or shave my neck, I'm reminded of you. Your kindness. John's taken to referring to you as my wife. Ha. Can you believe it? Bless him. Gives me a good laugh each time, silly bugger he is, always joking around like that. Heart of gold, though. Heart of gold.

Back to your Christmas. I apologise for jinxing your day, but the way you described the church service did give me a good laugh. And I'm more surprised to learn you're not a superstitious woman. Aren't all superstitions based on truth? Maybe that's the gypsy in me talking. But you're not god-fearing, and you're not superstitious, and so I have to ask: What do you believe in, my girl? I'm curious to know.

Christmas has been different each time for us. First year, we had a truce of sorts on the frontlines. Played cards. I enjoyed the last of the biscuits you sent, and it tasted better than any roast dinner. Last year we were on the boats to Egypt, but we were all pretty fucking relieved, even if our Christmas dinner was a tin of tuna. (Followed by whiskey and a cigar from your care packages, which went down a fucking treat, I can tell you). In many ways I guess this was our second Christmas together. I'd say I wonder how many more until the war's over, but I'd rather not think about it if I'm honest.

Your time in New York does sound like a nightmare. You tell this Changretta bloke he better behave himself, alright? Them crooks and criminals are dangerous fuckers, you'd better stay well clear of them. Some of them don't even clean their pigsties.

I assure you, my girl, any mockery on my part is well over now I have seen the breadth of your weapons. Fucking gorgeous, all of them hung up on the wall like that. Almost makes me cry they're not being used. You reckon you'd have an easier time killing men than animals, maybe start rounding up a few of the ones giving you a hard time, just so your rifles can do anything other than collect dust. Maybe start with Changretta. Save me the job once I'm back home. Heh. But don't go burning any houses down, no matter how down you might feel.

And I am sorry to hear you've been feeling down. It's strange being able to sympathise with you — in the sense of wishing I could do more, could do anything to ease your pain, but knowing we're stuck so far apart from each other. Even if I was there, I'm not sure what I would do to cheer you up. I get the sense you'd rather shovel horse shit than go to the ballet or the opera. (Literally). We could go for a horse ride together. Despite being no expert, I did grow up on horseback, and I'm sure I'd even be able to keep up with your jumping. Otherwise, we could go for a picnic somewhere. Or even go to the seaside together. Build sandcastles and stroll along the pier. You might hate these ideas completely, maybe I'm getting it all wrong. I've never thought about these things before, if I'm honest.