Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 23

"Thank you for all your help," I tell May as we stand in the auction barn.

She rubs a reassuring hand against my arm. "Transporting six horses is no trouble at all when you do it for a living, as I do."

I smile at her. I cannot look at the horses waiting for their new homes — it feels as though Luca is stripping me of everything. As though this is personal.

Maybe it all began as early as the fur coat.

I tuck my necklace beneath my jumper as May and I walk through the barn, looking curiously at all the horses on offer. She is here to find potential for the races. I couldn't buy a horse here even if I wanted to. But still I nod and give my opinion where she asks for it, pointing out thoroughbreds that seem well-priced or flighty. We examine one in particular, just beside one of my own that is for sale, checking its confirmation when a string of words catches my ear.

"...Confirmation's not ideal, he's just a little long in the back..."

I turn around. Three men in caps and black coats are stood examining my horse. I cannot see any of their faces, but still I bristle, taking offence.

Perhaps it is just because it reopened the wound, reminding me of the same words contained in one of Arthur's letters.

Perhaps it is because I am so furious with my circumstances, and here I can unleash my frustration without risking the murder of people I love.

"Excuse me?" I say, approaching the men with my arms folded across my chest. "There is nothing wrong with his back, and his confirmation is fine."

The man who spoke glances at me only briefly, flittingly, with high cheekbones and piercing eyes. "If you say so."

One of the other men glances up at me also, and his eyes widen. He walks quickly across to get the attention of the last man of the group, who has strolled a couple of stalls over, out of earshot.

"I do say so, as it's my bloody horse," I say. "And I won't have you saying false things. I expect you're hoping others will overhear and be less interested, driving the price down."

"A fair tactic," May agrees, standing by my side.

The man rakes his eyes up and down May. "That right?" He asks.

"...Think it's fucking her," I hear the second man say, pushing back through the crowd and dragging the other one to join us.

When the third man speaks, there's something in his voice that captures my attention before I've even laid eyes on him. "Highly fucking doubt it, John."

Time slows down. The crowd thins, and the two men have returned, and all I can do is stare.

Just as he is staring back at me.

I'd know that face anywhere. I spent so many nights looking at a photograph of it, trying to imagine it in person. I wrote so many words with it in mind. Countless hours, trying to decipher how it might change with a smile, with a frown, with laughter.

I wasn't expecting his eyes.

They are just as piercing as his brother's. Just as blue.

I can see how blue they are.

"Astor?" He says, his voice astonished.

I can no longer feel my feet on the ground. "Arthur Shelby," I respond in a whisper.

I'm vaguely aware of May shifting beside me, of the rude man's eyebrows raising a little, before I realise he must be Tommy. The one who worked out I had approached my uncle, paying him almost the entirety of my trust to evacuate the soldiers at Gallipoli. And the man Arthur referred to as John is his brother — the one who sent me so many drawings. The one who wrote me a joking letter, just the once.

He isn't joking now, as he eyes me with distrust.

Arthur lifts a hand to adjust his tie, and I see it there.

The watch I sent him.

"Suppose it's Changretta now," Arthur mutters.

I cannot speak. My throat is too tight, and the barn is too hot, with so many people.

"Actually, it's not," May says coolly. "She kept her name."

Tommy glances between us all. "Shall we leave you two to catch up?" He asks.

"Absolutely not," I say quickly. My head is spinning, and I need some fresh air, before I truly embarrass myself and pass out. "The bidding is about to begin, and I have six horses I must tend to."

I try to turn and leave, to escape, but Arthur speaks again, and I find I am powerless when he does so — immobilised.

"Six horses? Why... Why are you auctioning your horses?"

And though I'd refused the offer of being left with Arthur, I suddenly find the others have disappeared off to other stalls, May and Tommy walking closely together.

"Luca feels I need to downsize," I say. My voice is small.

Arthur raises his eyebrows for a moment in thought. "Right. I see. Which, ah... Which ones?"

"Not Arion, thank goodness. Just the one Tommy proclaimed is too long in the back," I say, pointing. "The four others along this row here. And I cannot see Lascelles in her stall. Perhaps she has already been tended to privately."

Arthur grins, trying to hide it with his hand. I glance at him questioningly, wondering how on earth he could be smiling. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he says quickly.

"No," I push. "You must tell me now."

He shakes his head. "It's just... You talk like your letters, is all." He smiles again. "Proclaimed."

I frown. And before I realise what I am saying, the words have slipped from me — as though this truly is just another letter we are writing one another. "Brave soldier, are you teasing me for the way I speak?"

His jaw tightens. His eyes shine, and I cannot tell with which emotion — reverence or heartbreak.

He says, "Wouldn't dream of it."

I take in every detail, scarcely able to believe it truly is him. His moustache returned to its former glory — the detail sends a flush to my cheeks, as I recall all the ways in which we mentioned it. His face is slightly lined, more so than in the photo he sent. Aged by war. He stands with his hands in his trouser pockets. His frame — oh, that frame — is tall and lean, with his tailored suit fitted against him in every masculine way. He's taller than I expected. When I breathe in, he smells of neroli and petitgrain.

The sound of a banging hammer reverberates through the barn. People move at once to the auctioneer's stand. Arthur shifts, tearing his eyes away, and it is only then I realise he has been taking me in just as intently as I have been, him.

"I ought to find my brothers," he says, as the crowd moves past us.

I nod. "I should be with May."

But even amongst the crowd, we are not separated as we approach the auction area. I can feel the hem of his coat brush against my hand as we walk.

"She's doing alright now, then?" Arthur asks. "What with her husband, and all?"

I nod. "I don't know she'll ever be alright. But she's doing all the important things again. Eating and sleeping and the like."

"And you?" He asks me seriously.

I frown at him. "Pardon?"

"You're, uh, eating and sleeping and that?"

I ought to lie to him. And say yes, perfectly well, thank you. But I find myself unable to do it, and the longer the silence stretches before us, the more obvious it will be that I am lying. "Not so well," I finally say, as we reach the right area. "You?"

I see his throat tense as he swallows. "Not so well either."

The auctioneer begins to speak. I have to lean in to Arthur to say to him, "Perhaps I'll see you afterwards?"

His jaw clenches, and his eyes shine again. "Perhaps," he says, mocking me once more.

I find myself smiling as I leave him, for the first time in so long.

I find myself unable to think of anything else.