I didn't get a moment alone with Tommy for more than two weeks after that.
I lingered about the house, earning raised eyebrows and questioning glances, though the Blinders all respected Tommy's authority enough not to question my presence and lack of handcuffs.
"Keep her safe," Thomas had instructed his brothers. "You hear word of Kimber's boys, you let me know at once." He'd turned to me, then. "You don't leave this house without me, do you understand? It's for your own safety."
As if I have anywhere to go, I thought glumly.
But by the end of the fortnight, I'd grown impatient and restless. I'd spent my days eavesdropping for hints of Peaky Blinder business, for anything that might be useful, but found little more besides the regular books and betting. Peaky Blinder horses still raced at my father's events, though the Shelby's themselves were careful not to attend. The horse I'd ridden hadn't yet raced. I felt strangely protective of him, and glad he hadn't yet been tainted by my father's line of work.
Though I was not technically a hostage anymore, somebody in the house was always keeping an eye on me, seemingly working in unspoken shifts. It was most fun when John would be on call, our conversations lightening my day a little. Arthur's turn involved a lot of insults, but every now and then his lips would twitch into a smile, and I got the impression he was strangely enjoying himself. Polly would open her mouth a few times, as if contemplating saying something, but would give a little cough and get back to whatever she was doing instead. Tommy hadn't been home longer than a few minutes at a time, and I found myself almost missing his presence. Almost.
The first lull in the procession came, and I found myself one morning all alone. The house was empty, silent, everyone having left for one appointment or another, leaving me seemingly forgotten.
I wasn't going to waste the opportunity.
The Garrison, I decided. I'd be able to slip into the crowd, huddle in a corner with a drink, and listen. No doubt, I'd pick up something interesting. The men of Small Heath would have looser lips than the Shelby's.
I slipped on an old brown coat — presumably another of Ada's, as were all my clothes of late — and hurried out the door, praying I wouldn't run into a Shelby on my way.
I got lost in the narrow streets of Small Heath, but muddled my way through and eventually found the pub. I didn't even think to check the sign, but went straight inside, only stopping in my tracks when I stepped into the large room and saw it was empty of all people.
Except for one.
Grace, the barmaid, was behind the counter, speaking to somebody on the phone. She had a gun pressed to the countertop, vanishing in a flash of silver as she heard the door open. But it was too late, I had seen it. We both froze as we saw the other.
Her arm twitched where she held the gun.
I had to think quickly.
"Please," I said, hurrying to her side, trying to appear out of breath, "you have to help me."
She stayed cold, cautious. "What's going on?" She asked, hanging up the phone.
"I've been kidnapped, I'm being held hostage, I only just managed to escape." I grasped the front of her dress, trying to appear desperate. "Please help me!"
She jolted into action. "It's alright, I'm with the police," she told me quietly.
I knew it, I thought. But I needed proof. I pretend to retreat slightly, as though coming to my senses. "You're with them," I whispered. "You're with the Shelby's."
"No! No no," she reassured me, reaching into her pocket for her badge. "I'm undercover. Look."
I took the badge from her, examined it. She furrowed her brow — I supposed she wasn't supposed to hand it to anyone — but her sympathy won over. I almost felt a pang of guilt for her. Surely it would be easier to work with her, to take the Blinders down together?
"Let's go. Not to the station, they're all paid off." Grace reached for her coat. "I'll take you straight to the superintendent. We can take a statement."
I considered it. I considered long and hard in those seconds I stared down at the badge. A neat solution to all my problems. Thomas Shelby in jail, and me... where did that leave me? Back to a life of being controlled, ignored, unable to do anything I wished? Constantly monitored by my father's accomplices?
Much like I am now, I thought sullenly. I clenched my fingers around the badge in my palm. Things needed to change. One way or another, I was sick of sitting back and letting my fate be decided for me by other people. I thought again of my vision — a house of my own, land, horses. But rather than enticing me, it now felt... empty. Fruitless. More days spent sat around with no purpose.
A roar of men's laughter echoed behind me. I stepped back, away from Grace, to see a crowd of Small Heath residents entering the bar, Arthur and John among them. Arthur frowned when he saw me. The others approached the bar, began giving their orders. Grace glanced at me, worry and suspicion across her face. I pocketed the badge quickly, heartbeat hammering against my chest.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked me in a low voice.
"I felt like a drink," I said, though my voice trembled from the adrenaline and fear. I stole a policewoman's badge. I was playing a dangerous game totally blind.
Arthur put an arm around my shoulders, steered me away from the bar. "Sorry, Kimber. Tommy's orders. Your father could walk up here any minute."
I gave what I hoped was one last, desperate glance over my shoulder to Grace. Please don't shoot, I silently begged. Surely my life wasn't worth blowing her cover for. Surely she knew these men were all armed, would all blow her head off if she tried...
And then we were out in the fresh air. Arthur continuing to chastise me, and Grace's badge in my pocket. I had all the proof I needed. A small, exhilarated smile spread across my face. A plan was beginning to form.
"I need to speak to Tommy," I told Arthur. "Now."