The smell of manure mixed with rain and sandalwood caused Vivian's tired, idle mind to snap awake as she shut the doors of the stables behind her. It was quiet, other than the horses around her breathing and eating and the creaking of wood against her feet as she walked in the direction of Rosaline's stall. Vivian checked the other stalls as she passed. All the water containers were cleaned, fresh bails of hay strewn into the feeders, and the floors were spotless as usual, all thanks to Curly.
She didn't see the stablehand very often, and on the rare occasion she did, he barely made any kind of conversation. He was like a ghost, floating around the stables, but Vivian quite liked the quiet company his presence provided. And even though he didn't talk, he listened to her and seemed to take whatever suggestions she gave seriously - like placing the mirror inside the racehorse's stall during the day and taking it out at night, placing barrels of apples next to the doors, and putting goldfish in the water containers.
She continued to the stall where Rosaline was, and she made her presence known by gently rasping on the door, before she opened the window on the door, allowing the great, grey horse to stick her head through it. The horse, who looked like she had just woken up judging by her heavy eyelids, muzzled Vivian's hair in greeting. They had gotten to know each other a lot over the past two weeks, but Vivian was still in awe of the horse and the power that seemed to radiate from her. She was unpredictable. Some mornings she'd be slow to wake and even affectionate when Vivian greeted her. Other times, she'd bite and kick in an attempt to get free, eager to run. This morning, she seemed docile, but Vivian knew she'd wake up during training.
"Wake up, beautiful," Vivian said, giving her a gentle pat on the cheek. "You're running today."
She reached towards the lock on the door, and just as she was about to open it, the sound of clatter coming from the supply room caused her veins to go cold. Out of alarm, Vivian retracted her arm. Her mind raced to the worse case scenario - someone had broken in and was going to steal the horses. But then she immediately remembered where she was - probably one of the safest places on the planet, at least when it came to break-ins. No one in their sane mind would break into property owned by the Shelby's.
Her heart was still racing in her chest, but she forced her legs to move to where the noise came from.
"Hello?" She called, about to round the corner, even though her gut told her there wasn't any danger, she was still prepared to either fight or flee.
"I...it's just me...miss," a broken, stuttering voice muttered quietly, but without any other loud noise in the stables, she was able to hear it loud and clear.
"Oh, Curly, you gave me a fright," she said when she saw the hunchbacked man kneeling on the floor, holding a bucket amidst a puddle of water.
"S-sorry I was trying to reach the bucket," he said, motioning up to the ceiling, where there was a large crack in the foundation of the wood, large enough for the sunlight to light up the room. The rain had been falling steadily ever since late last night, and even though it was lightening up now, there was a puddle at least an inch deep in the middle of the floor. Luckily it hadn't seemed to reach any of the racks, where the majority of supplies were, though it did seem to reach some blankets that were resting in the corner. She'd have to hang those up to dry on a warmer day before it could start growing moss in the humid barn.
Vivian hurried to help him sop up the mess with a pile of rags, but the bucket was already filling up from the rain that was traveling down the roof, and some droplets smacked against the side of the bucket, making the puddle bigger than it already was.
"We need to seal up the roof while the rain has let up," Vivian said. "Do you know if there's any wood lying around?"
"C-Charlie keeps spare shingles in that chest just in case..." Curly said, pointing to a small chest that was tucked on the shelf next to all the grooming supplies. Charlie did seem like the type of person to keep spare roof shingles lying around. He always struck her as the it's better to be over prepared kind of man. She wouldn't be surprised if there was a gun safe and a month's worth of food and clothes stashed in this room for...another World War maybe?
She pulled open the chest and found that, not only were there spare shingles, there was a small cup of tar, nails, a hammer, and basically all she needed to repair the crack in the roof. The rain might make things a little more difficult, but it would probably be simple compared to the roof she had to repair on her tiny house. It leaked at least ten times every year, and she usually just repaired it with a towel underneath a piece of wood. Shingles would be much easier. And she wouldn't even have to climb up, they had a ladder already available.
"Hey, Curly, mind giving me a hand with the ladder?" She asked.
"Y...you're going to fix it, miss?" Curly confirmed in shock, his head shaking with disapproval, but he still did as she asked and grabbed the other side of the wooden ten-pronged ladder. "Maybe we should wait for Charlie?" He suggested. Vivian realized that this was the most she had heard him speak in two weeks, and his nervous stutter seemed to disappear the more he spoke.
"No need," Vivian insisted, holding the ladder with one hand and pulling open the stable doors with the other. The warm, muggy air of the stables opened up to the cold, freezing air, and she instantly knew that the jockey would have a hell of a time riding Rosaline through the mud. Luckily, Rosaline didn't dislike the rain, and unlike many horses, preferred walking through puddles as opposed to jumping over them. "It's an easy fix," Vivian insisted, propping the ladder against the rain gutter. There was no place to prop it other than the front, so she would have to climb a bit to reach the leak. She tugged it to make sure it was secure, before she retreated back in to grab the box of supplies.
When she came back, Curly was shaking nervously, and she have him a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, Curly, I do this all the time," she said, testing the ladder. It was much more stable than the one at her home.
"I shouldn't let you do this." But he didn't make an attempt to stop her, probably knowing that Vivian was going to do it despite his insistence.
"You can, and you will," Vivian said.
"W-we should wait for Thomas."
His concern was endearing, if not slightly irritating. She probably knew more about fixing leaks than Thomas, but then again, no one would ever expect a woman to know how to hold a hammer. "It's not a big deal. Just hold the ladder. Make sure it doesn't fall with the wind."
Curly nodded, holding the sides, though his shaking hands probably made it more unstable than before. Vivian kicked off her shoes for stability, and used one hand to hold the small tool chest, while she used her other hand to steady herself. It only took a few seconds to get to the top, and it was considerably less slippery than Vivian expected it to be. She looked down. She was barely fifteen feet up. This was nothing.
Making sure the ceiling below her was stabilized, she started to crawl across, pushing the tool box over with her knees to the gaping crack. She noticed that the shingles were bent in around it, so the rain mixed with wind must've caused it concave in around the foundation. She removed the damaged shingles with the hammer, before using the brush to run the tar over the crack. The wind and rain had lightened up, but it was still freezing up there and her hands shook as she placed the shingles down and started to hammer down the nails.
Just as she was finishing up with the last nail, she heard the sound of a car door closing, followed by the sound of distant footsteps. She paused for a moment to listen.
"What's going on up there, Curly?" Thomas. His deep, smoky voice is unmistakable. She turned and looked down to confirm her suspicions. Today, he was dressed in a black suit with grey cuffs and tie, and his blinder cap had a small rip in the bend, revealing the sharp point of a razor blade. He looked so small and unintimidating from up here, like an ant.
"Miss Carter is fixing a leak," Curly told him, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "But I told her not to!"
"On the roof?" Thomas asked, his words shocked, but his steely voice was emotionless and unsurprised.
"No, on the floor," Vivian said sarcastically, and she wondered if her snarky comment went unheard.
"Was that sarcasm, Miss Carter?" Thomas asked with mock shock, reminding her that her sarcasm had indeed been acknowledged.
"Of course not," Vivian said. Again, sarcasm.
"How's everything going up there, Miss Carter?" Thomas called after a moment and a part of her hoped that he would climb up after her just so she could kick the ladder down and knock that everlasting smug look off of his face.
"The leak is fixed," she announced, applying some pressure on the shingles to test their stability. The tar hadn't completely set, but it was hardening up quickly, and it seemed like it was going to settle before the next burst of rain.
She put the supplies back in the small chest and started to make her way back down the ladder. She was eternally glad that she was wearing trousers instead of a skirt. No doubt Thomas would've enjoyed sneaking an unhindered peak at her knickers.
Once her feet touched the ground, she adjusted her thin coat and looked over at Curly, who looked like he was going to faint with relief now that she was no longer up on the roof.
"See, Curly, no big deal," Vivian said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Will you put this back for me, please?" She asked, handing him the red, metal box.
Curly nodded, and grabbed it. "Th...thank you, Miss...Miss Carter," he said, his nervous stutter returning to him.
"And fetch Rosaline, would you, Curly?" Thomas asked, and Curly nodded his reply.
"Can I help cleaning the water?" Vivian asked, remembering the mess that still needed tending to.
She started to follow him inside when he didn't reply, but Thomas brushed her arm, stopping her in her tracks, "He can handle it. Cleaning up messes is what we pay him for."
She turned and looked at him from the corner of her eyes, and then towards the large horse van. She was surprised Thomas was so early. It couldn't have been past 9:30, and she didn't expect him to pick her up until noon. A part of her - a really big part of her - wanted him to be a no-show again. A half-hour drive with Thomas Shelby was something she could never be prepared for. Just being around him for a few minutes left her feeling small, powerless, and see-through.
"Are you ready for the drive, Miss Carter?" His voice was steady, and Vivian wondered if there was a little bit of anxiousness there that he didn't let on. After all, he couldn't have enjoyed her company anymore than she enjoyed his.
"Is the jockey going to be there?"
Thomas nodded. "Kennedy will be there, as promised."
"Kennedy?" Vivian asked. The name sounded familiar. Then, suddenly a newspaper headline from about a year ago popped into her head. She remembered the black and white picture of a stallion, taking a nose to the ground mid-race, with his jockey still clinging tight to his reigns. She couldn't help but gasp. "Kennedy? As in Tim Kennedy? The man who rode his last horse so hard he had a heart attack?"
Thomas seemed surprised that she knew the name, and he smirked a bit. "He's the best in the business."
"He's also aggressive and forces the horse through foot traffic when there's no space to run." She was in shock. This was the man she was trusting with her horse?
Although he didn't currently have a cigarette in his mouth, Thomas inhaled and exhaled like his lungs were filled with smoke. "Dear Rosaline needs a jockey that's as tough as her trainer." Vivian wasn't quite sure if she should have take that as a compliment, and if it was, she was certain that Thomas was just buttering her up so she wouldn't be upset. "Kennedy doesn't back down. We can get someone more timid if you'd like, but horses don't do well with timid jockeys."
Vivian still didn't like it, but he had a point. "I'll know it when I see it."
Curly brought out Rosaline and led her towards the horse trailer.
"Will she be uncomfortable back there?" Vivian asked, not wanting her to be cooped up in a small, uncomfortable space. She could imagine the horse kicking down the door and leaping out in the middle of the drive.
"It's bigger than the average horse stall," Thomas said, and when Curly opened the back door and led the horse inside, she saw that Thomas wasn't lying. There was enough space to fit three horses in there. Fresh hay coated the back, and there was a dozen small windows on all sides so she could get some light. She would probably be more comfortable than Vivian in the passenger seat, and she wouldn't have to deal with Thomas Shelby either.
Vivian went around to sit in the passenger seat and tried to mentally prepare herself as Thomas slid in besides her. The air became heavy from the smell of cigarette smoke, gunpowder, and whiskey that seemed to radiate from Thomas. He started the van. When it roared to life, Vivian realized that she had never ridden in a horse van before. The thought made her even more uneasy. Not only has she never driven with a horse in the back, but she also has never driven with Thomas Shelby in the past, and she was trusting him with not only her life, but the life of the very important race horse in the trailer. It didn't help that the air in the van was too warm and muggy.
"Please tell me you're a good driver," Vivian mumbled, trying to push down her nerves.
"Miss Carter, I an excellent driver."
She didn't have to look at him to know that he had a smug look on his face.
"Why don't I feel reassured?" She crossed her arms and pressed her finger against the window, drawing a little snowflake on the fog of the window to distract herself. She wasn't looking at Thomas and hardly noticed when he tossed a large hat and silk scarf onto her lap. She looked over at him in confusion. "What's this?"
"To hide your face," he said simply. Vivian was so shocked by the gesture, she couldn't really think of anything to say, and Thomas must've seen the look on her face because his smirk widened and he said, "No need to thank me."
"Who knew? Thomas Shelby has a heart after all," was all that Vivian could think to say as she wrapped the scarf around her neck and tucked her mop of blonde hair up into the hat. The scarf was soft and silky against her face, like a glorious, fluffy pillow - better than any pillow she's ever had.
"I wouldn't count on that, Miss Carter," Thomas said, and it sounded a bit like a threat. Don't trust me or it'll hurt.
"Everyone has a heart. Some are just blacker than others," she said. Something her mother told her a long time ago.
"How poetic," he said in a sarcastic tone of voice that caused Vivian's head to snap towards him.
"Is that sarcasm, Mister Shelby?" She mocked in the same tone of voice he used on her just a few minutes prior.
Thomas hummed and went quiet for a moment as he put the car in drive and started down the alleyway, away from the Docks, and towards the street where they had to wait for the cluster of working vans to clear the area before they could move through. She tied the scarf tighter around her neck, wondering if she could make it tight enough to choke herself to death. What would Thomas do if she died in here? Probably open the door and kick her out before she could start to rot and stink up his fancy caravan.
Luckily the traffic on the street wasn't heavy at this time of day, and Thomas avoided the center of town, but the few people that were lurking around openly stared at his car as they passed, trying to peek in the windows. Vivian sunk down in her seat, feeling their interested, prying eyes.
"What are you so afraid of?" Thomas asked, glancing at her as she pressed her back against the bottom of the seat, trying to stay out of sight. The question wasn't meant in an accusing or rude way. He seemed genuinely interested in her answer. For once, he wasn't looking at her with a stone, cold stare. His eyes were a little open with curiosity. "Most of these people don't even know who you are."
"I'd like to keep it that way," Vivian said, crossing her arms over her chest and staring up at the ceiling. Even the ceiling looked lavish with the grey, felt lining that looked comfortable enough to sleep on. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but you're a bit like royalty around here." Though Vivian knew for a fact that Thomas noticed. There was a strange kind of self assurance that surrounded him, and Vivian was certain that it was a level of confidence you only got when everyone knows your name.
"And being seen with me makes you royal by association?" He raised his eyebrows at his own implication.
"Or a whore, more likely," Vivian said.
The men of Birmingham weren't known for sleeping with reputable women, and she knew that Thomas was no exception.
Though, now that she thought about it, Thomas Shelby was most certainly not limited to whores. Nearly every woman in England, even some married women, would lay over for Thomas in a heartbeat, even if they didn't know who he was. He was attractive, Vivian would give him that. You'd have to be blind not to think so.
"Why do I have the feeling that it's not you're reputation you're trying to protect?"
Vivian's ears burned. Was there a point to all these questions? "You don't know anything about me."
"I know more about you than you think," he stated.
Vivian's heart suddenly tightened and she found it very hard to breathe, or maybe it was just the scarf that was becoming like a vice around her neck. "Is that right? And what do you know?" Her throat was tight, and she prayed it wasn't noticeable in her voice.
"You were married once," he said, confident in his answer. He stopped the car to turn a corner and Vivian's head snapped in his direction. His eyes matched the color of the sky outside of the window when he looked at her. "You touch your finger for a ring that isn't there."
He looked down at the hand that was clutching the fabric of her trousers. Sure enough she was unconsciously rubbing her ring finger with her thumb, something she never even realized she did. She forced her hand to loosen, cursing the habit.
"Oh?" Vivian swallowed to keep her voice from cracking. "And how do you suppose my so called marriage end?"
"He abandoned you, and you moved here for work," he guessed. This time, his answer was less confident.
Vivian felt an intense relief. He obviously wasn't as perceptive as she thought. So he knew she was married once. The majority of the population is or will be married. That didn't mean anything, she told herself.
"You're arrogant in assuming he left me," Vivian said, turning her head to look out the window as the last of the big city melted away with the rain. The traffic dissipated, along with the people, and Vivian sat up in her seat and started to take off the scarf. It was soft and felt nice against her skin, so she kept it loosely tied over her shoulders. "You know what I think?" She asked, after a moment.
"What is that, Miss Carter?"
"I think it drives you mad that you can't figure me out." She looked over at him, surveying his reaction. His nose twitched slightly, and she could see the light splash of freckles that decorated the bridge of his face.
His hands tightened a fraction of an inch on the steering wheel, confirming that she was, indeed, correct.
When Thomas didn't speak again, Vivian turned to look out the window, letting the silence creep in. Vivian didn't mind the silence, and neither did Thomas, it seemed. But while he was no doubt stuck in his head, she surveyed the city slowly creeping out into the distance, replaced with rolling, green hills and a canopy's of trees. It was weird to think that, before Birmingham, there was just this beautiful land, unbroken, for miles.
From besides her, she could hear Thomas fumbling with his coat and she turned to look at him just as he pulled the tin can from his pocket, placed a cigarette between his teeth and pulled out a matchbook. He released his hold on the wheel to light his cigarette, and Vivian's body tensed as the car drifted slightly off to the side.
"You're going to kill us, let me do it," she said, reaching her hand for the cigarette.
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, silent mirth dancing in his eyes, but he handed her the cigarette, which was damp from his tongue, and the matches. She placed the cigarette between her lips and struck a match, but pulled it out of her mouth to light it. She handed it back over to him with the end flaming.
"You don't smoke?" He asked, taking in a deep, slow inhale like the cigarette was his oxygen and he needed it to breathe.
"No." Vivian shook her head, waving her hand around her face as he started to fill the air with smoke. Even out in the country, it seemed, she could never escape it. In the city, the smoke came from the factories. Out here, it was Thomas smoking like a chimney. "It tastes disgusting," she commented.
He breathed it out again, this time slow and controlled, causing rings to form that floated up and disintegrated into the ceiling. Show off.
"You surprise me," he said, and Vivian shrugged. She knew not smoking was an uncommon social construct. Again they drifted into silence. This time it was short lived and much to her surprise, Thomas broke it first. "Where did you learn to fix roofs?"
"What?" Vivian blinked from her brief daze and looked over at him, realizing he just asked her a question.
"Where did you learn to fix roofs?" He repeated, pulling his cigarette from his mouth and flicking the ashes into the tiny ash tray next to his seat.
Of course his car has a built in ash tray.
Vivian's lips turned to a frown. She couldn't understand why it was so unusual for a woman to be able to do a little home-maintenance.
"I have to fix the roof of my house every winter and spring, and I don't have enough for a new one, so I have to fix everything myself. I also know how to fix loose door handles and squeaky hinges in case you're wondering."
That answer seemed to satisfy Thomas, and he didn't say another word for the rest of the car ride.
***
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