𝙘 𝙝 𝙖 𝙥 𝙩 𝙚 𝙧 𝙛 𝙤 𝙪 𝙧
The Garrison, despite being barged through by a walking bomb the other day, had been cleaned with chairs replaced as if nothing had happened. The Peaky Blinders must have been true to reputation, Adelaide thought, as she walked up to the pub. Her chin was up, hat balanced evenly upon curled brown hair. The only thing that gave her nervousness away was the tight grip she held on her purse, though she suspected that would go unnoticed, given how busy the Garrison seemed to be. Even from outside, she could hear the loud shouting and cheering of the men inside.
With two hands, she pushed open the large doors and stepped through. Her expectations had been wrong. Heads- mainly drunk- turned her way, eyeing the dress and heels with hawk-like accuracy. She ignored them, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching, and a few looked away with a hoot. At the bar, a tall, gangly man waved her over with hands filled with glasses.
"I'm not sure you're in the right place," he said, eyes glancing up and down her figure warily.
"This is the Garrison, isn't it?" she asked, and the man nodded quickly, surprised by her voice. "I'm here about the job as a barmaid."
"Well that's another surprise today," he said and placed the glasses down to lean over the bar so she could hear him better over the shouts. "You're too late, the position is filled."
"Already?"
"Yes, just this morning. Besides, you wouldn't want the job," he said, shaking his head hard, as if he knew it for a fact.
With a hardened stare, Adelaide settled herself on the first seat at the bar, beside a wooden partitioning wall, and dropped her purse to the bench. He watched her with a cringe on his face.
"Well then, I've come this far, I may as well have a drink," she said, meeting him with a raised look.
He began to protest, "I don't think that's the best idea-"
"I'll have a drink," Adelaide said, interrupting him sharply. "Whatever's decent."
The barman slumped off begrudgingly, taking his towel with him, and Adelaide took the time to look around the room. It was packed to the brim- far too busy for the middle of the day. The floors were already glistening and sticky from the spilt drink and the stench of it hung in the air.
"There's the drink you wanted," a feminine voice said.
Adelaide turned to see a glass of whiskey placed in front of her. Behind the bar, stood the person who'd delivered it: a woman, no older than her, with curled blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, resting on a dainty, white blouse. She smiled, face flushed as she took a moment to just stand.
"Thank you," Adelaide said as she brought the drink up to her lips.
"You were here about the job?"
"Mhm, it's alright. There'll be others."
Though there would be none she would take. As she looked again at the barmaid, she noted the slight ruffle of her hair and the odd angle at which her collar fell.
"How has it been in here so far?" she asked, watching as the woman sighed.
"I haven't had a moment to think about whether I'd call it bad or alright."
"I'll say I haven't missed out on anything, then," Adelaide said with a smile.
"I suppose not," the barmaid said with a humorous sound, then she held out her hand. "Grace."
"Adelaide," she said and shook her hand. "You're not from around here?"
The Irish tilt of her words was obvious, though from where exactly, Adelaide could not place.
"And neither are you," Grace said, nodding her head in acknowledgement.
"No. Newcastle."
"Dublin," Grace said in response.
Adelaide glanced once again around the room as another roar rang out. This was no place for a delicate, Dublin girl as she appeared to be.
"So why are you here?"
"Somethings are best unsaid."
"Fair enough." Adelaide tilted her head but hummed out a response, choosing to change the conversation toward the barman, who was sending furtive glances her way. "I don't think your boss likes me being here."
"Oh, Harry?" Grace said. She turned to him and he swiftly looked away. "There isn't much he likes. It's probably his first time having a woman drinking in the bar for a long while. I have to say it's nice having a woman around. We're much more civilised."
"I'll raise a glass to that," Adelaide said and took another drink from her glass. "Is it always this busy in the daytime?"
It was not Grace, who responded, but Harry. "No. These lads are all on their way to St. Andrews."
"To pray?"
The barman hurried around her, moving the barmaid by her elbows as he slid another glass of golden brown liquid down the bench.
"That'll be the day," he said, letting out a brief laugh. "St Andrews is a football ground. The blues are playing."
Harry gestured his hand with a mug to a group of four men that were standing drinking and smoking next to the doorway.
"That's the forward line and the goalie, believe it or not."
The man busied himself at the opposite end of the bar, leaving the girls to themselves, letting Grace have a small break as she poured herself a gin. Small looks were sent their way every minute or so, but they were not unkind.
As the two drank, a small tap was heard from the small, glass window by Adelaide's seat. Grace hurried her way to open it, wiping her hands against her skirt before she pulled the screen open. Adelaide felt herself leaning forward unwillingly.
"I need a bottle of rum."
It was a voice she somehow recognised. A voice of the one man she'd ever heard speak with such devilish conviction, in a manner so handsomely laconic that it was effective. Adelaide leaned against her arm, casually, letting herself see past the frosted glass to the man who stood behind.
That startling appearance was immediately recognised. The Peaky Blinder on the horse. His head was void of a cap, revealing harshly-cut, brown hair, and deep-set eyes, easy to see. But it was his eyes that made her know, without doubt, that it was him.
Behind Grace, the barman leaned in to mutter anxiously in her ear. "Whatever it is, it's on the house."
She was thrown by the request and the coins that were already sitting on the window ledge, and she turned, she caught Adelaide's eye.
"A whole bottle?" Grace asked but was answered with a bored look. "White rum or dark?"
"Don't care."
As Grace left to retrieve the bottle, the man's eyes drifted her way, landing unblinking and intense, straight on her. Looking away felt like something dangerous, impossible. Her eyes didn't leave his until Grace returned, placing his drink on the counter.
"Harry said on the house."
The man pushed the coins forward then peered between the two women.
"Are you whores?"
There was no joke behind his question. Adelaide felt her jaw clench, her eyes fighting back a glare. To her side, Grace straightened, slim shoulders widening in offence.
"Because if you're not," he said, eyes trailing between them slowly, indifferently. "You're both in the wrong place."
He gave them no chance to reply as he turned on his heels, receding back into the comfort of the private room. Grace finally glared, slamming the windows shut behind him as Harry quickly joined her side.
"He's one of the ones you told me about," Grace stated bitterly.
"Grace, you're a friendly girl, but be careful," Harry said, as he brushed a nervous hand over the back of his neck, taking a deep swig of his drink. "If I say 'on the house', say nothing to whoever you're serving. If they decide they want you, there's nothing anybody could do about it."
Grace listened to him with thinned lips and a paled face.
"Lucky for you, since he got back from France, Tommy doesn't want anybody at all."
Tommy. Tommy Shelby. The leader of the Shelby family gang, the Peaky Blinders, as they had told her. Having seen him in the flesh, there was no denying it. His authority was told in the very way he looked as if he'd been born for the position, with his piercing eyes and mean appearance. It was in the way he held himself so confidently, and health out backhanded comments as if there were no consequences, for there were none, Adelaide knew. If she had been able to hold the true power of her position without an alias, she may have acted the same.
Adelaide took her leave, waving goodbye to Grace as she pushed herself from the bar. She gave one last glance to the private room, found a closed door, and pushed open the front doors of the Garrison, making her way to the flat with the knowledge that Tommy Shelby might've just called her a whore.
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