𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘, save Grace Burgess collecting her things in a frenetic haze.
Fumbling with the buttons of her purple jacket, she did not notice a figure entering from the back entrance before the sound of a chair moving over the floor made her freeze. There was someone else in the room with her, and she slowly turned around.
It was Polly Gray, sitting in the corner of the room, staring right back at her.
"Going for good?"
"I heard there's trouble." The other woman fidgeted with the strap of her purse, readjusting it on her shoulder.
"Funny thing, instinct. See, I can normally tell about the person, but with you-" The barmaid interrupted her brazenly, losing the facade of poise she had moments ago.
"Look, the fighting's about to begin. We should get out of here."
"We know who you are." Polly said bluntly, making her freeze where she stood.
"I know. Caterina knows. Tommy knows about your dirty little secret. Turned out that copper as good as told him this morning." Polly reached back, extracting a long hair needle from her bun, its silvery glint winking dangerously in the dim-lit room. "But I wanted to hear it from your own lips."
The Irishwoman raised her gun defiantly in the direction of the Gray matriarch. "I am an agent of the Crown. I have the power to arrest and the right to use force. So, please, step out of my way."
"Like I say, instinct's a funny thing." Polly cocked her head on the side, mocking her. "You fell for Tommy for real, didn't you?"
"This gun is loaded. I am not afraid of you," her trembling voice betrayed her.
All the while Polly remained sitting calmly. "I feel sorry for you. Slip of a thing."
"Thought you'd come in here and stitch us all up. I mean, we've had some copper's narks in here, but you? You're the queen of them all. So, who are you?" Polly's eyes scanned the girl's appearance.
"Rich girl, I'd guess. Unionist. Ulster Volunteer. You thought Fenians, communists, low people they're all the same." She listed, spitting each word like a dagger. "Scum. Then you met Tommy."
Grace placed the gun on the counter, firmly striding towards Polly, rolling up her sleeves as if she was ready to fight. "I'll fight you with my fists and show you how a rich girl fights. I'm from a tough family, too."
"Nah." The older woman waved her feeble attempt of courage off, placing her pin back into her hair. "We women have more sense. Why don't you pour us both a drink?"
Polly took a seat by the bar, Grace procuring a set of glasses and a bottle of whiskey soon after. The Gray woman watched Grace's movements while lighting one of her fine cigarettes. "So, am I right? Did you fall for Tommy?"
"Yes," came Grace's quiet confirmation once she took her seat.
"Then I pity you."
"I think he'll try to kill me." Grace confessed her fear, looking at Polly over her glass of whiskey.
With a shake of her head, she denied it. "He's too soft."
"Soft?"
"Soft. Like you. He's not the one you should worry about." Grace knew who she was referring to and it only brought chills across her spine.
"You saved his life the night the coppers came. That's why we're drinking, not fighting."
Tasting the courage coming from the liquor, Grace asked Polly. "What was he like, before France?"
"He laughed, a lot. Wanted to work with horses, He was dead silent when he got out of that train, threw all his medals in the Cut. And then he met Caterina," her gaze remained transfixed somewhere over Grace's head, as if recalling a fond memory buried deep in her heart. Then it landed back on the Irishwoman and hardened like the steel modelled at the BSA.
"I will never forgive you. I will never take you in." Polly stated calmly.
"You come to Small Heath, a snitch from the Parish, worm your traitorous way into our lives only to stab us — in the back. You stood in the path of his redemption for your own personal gain. I will never forgive you, I will never accept you. And it's me who runs the business of the heart in this family."
She allowed herself a moment to light another tab. "You know that if you don't leave the city by tomorrow I won't be the one to kill you, but she will. You crossed the wrong woman in the worst possible matter. Run back to Ireland else you'll leave your bones in the Cut."
On her way towards the front door, the Irishwoman threw one last look to Polly. "Maybe what really upsets you is the thought that one day you might lose him."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
The ever bustling Garrison Lane was deathly silent as the remaining dozen veterans shuffled in. Caterina knew them all by name and by heart, and it brought her a sense of relief.
Thomas climbed on one of the factory ramps and look down at his military force that remained — family. "It's us. The Small Heath Rifles. And one very stubborn lady."
Thomas cleared his throat, turning to Jeremiah Jesus. "I know you vowed to God to never pick up a weapon again. But can you ask him from me if you can help us today?"
The preacher turned to Caterina. "Ma'am, you're Italian, your lot are pretty close to God. What does he say?"
"God says he doesn't deal with Small Heath, Jeremiah," she offered him a shy smile, grateful for including her.
"Good man. Arthur, Scudboat. You take the flanks. Just like at St Marie."
"Sir." The two saluted their commander, going off to hold their position.
"Curly, if any Shelby man dies here today, you bury us side by side." Poor Curly could hardly comprehend what was going on and yet he nodded all the same.
"All- all right." Curly nodded shakily. "You Miss Cardinale?"
Caterina offered him a small smile, not letting her anxiety show. "Hope you leave a spot for me."
"We've about ten minutes. Make your peace with whoever." The crowd dispersed, each man taking a minute to pray to God or think of their loved ones before the fray. Thomas climbed off the ramp, making way to where Caterina stood waiting.
"Stay inside the Garrison while we deal with Kimber," when he saw her sour expression, he took up a firmer tone. "Cat, I mean it, and it's not because you're a woman."
"You know I can't promise you that," she told him softly, her fingers reaching out to graze his hand. Taking her hand in between his two, he savoured the way her tiny one fit against his.
They stood there, holding each other for a moment too long for it to be considered friendly. "I know."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
"She's gone, then?" Harry called over to Thomas, the latter pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a bottle behind the bar. "You're not accustomed to not getting what you want, are you, Tommy? You wanted my pub and you took it."
"You got a fair price-" And I didn't want her. Not really. Not her.
"What I got was an ultimatum. Like you give to everybody. Do it, or else. And yet, it's funny." Harry gave a hollow laugh, throwing down his cleaning rag.
"Everybody round here, they want you to win this battle. I think, what it is you're bad men, but you're our bad men."
The bartender took Tommy's silence as an invite to continue talking. "Will you go looking for her?"
The dark haired man only blew away the smoke of his cigarette, impassively staring at the row of liquor on the shelves. "And why would I? She's in the past. The past is not my concern. The future is no longer my concern, either."
"What is your concern, Tommy?" Living? Dying? Not quite. He has been dying every minute since he had a gun placed in his hands.
"The one minute. The soldier's minute. In a battle, that's all you get."
There was little to no light down in the trenches, sometimes only an oil lamp throwing down its flickering light into the holes they dug. When the shovels sounded nearer, or an explosion rocked the earth around them, he'd look up in a desperate search for that yellowish, dying flicker of flame.
It was enough to give him hope to barrel through the moist ground, mud, with bare hands if needed. That very flame haunted his dreams now, never being able to quite reach it before it escaped his grasp once again.
"One minute of everything at once. And anything before is nothing. Everything after nothing." There was a weight lacing his voice,
"Nothing in comparison to that one minute."
It was a gust of regrets, all unforgiving and all at once; each and every what if and only just.
"Didn't you get enough minutes over there?" There was irony lacing Harry's voice, and a dose pity.
Thomas pursed his lips, downing the rest of the amber liquid in his glass. "Seems not, doesn't it?"
The front door opened, Caterina's voice calling for him softly. "Tommy, they're here."
Thomas turned away from the bar with a sigh, only to be stopped by the vision standing at the entrance of the pub; sun spilled like a halo over her lithe feminine form, and for a moment Caterina Cardinale resembled a divinity.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
Thomas pulled out his gun, checking the bullet count and dismantling the safety lock. The Kimber's men were already walking up to them, and they had to follow suit.
"Get your weapons out, boys, and load 'em up. Take your time. Hold 'em up in the air so as they can see what we've got." Billy Kimber instructed his men, hoping to scare the gypsy scum as he preferred to call the Blinders.
John was first to poke at Kimber's retinue. "All guns and no balls, right, Billy boy?"
"So, what do we do now?" Arthur quietly asked Thomas. Noticeably outnumbered against Kimber and his men, there was little the Blinders could do. "Just give the order."
"It doesn't have to be like this, Kimber." Thomas tried to reason, hoping to strike a deal with the man before innocent lives are lost.
"Too late for all that." Kimber scoffed. Lip curled in disgust, his eyes scanned the men opposite of him. "You've bit off more than you can chew, you little toerag. And now I'm going to take over this shithole."
"Oh? Well, if we have to use guns — let's use proper guns." Out of the factory on the side of the lane, Danny Owen and Freddie Thorne appeared, the latter carrying a deadly looking weapon in his hands
"Sergeant Thorne reporting for duty, sir." Freddie Thorne sauntered over to the front of the group, the machine gun slung over his shoulder relighting the confidence in other Blinders.
"You were saying something about being out-gunned." Tommy smirked at Kimber, both sides having raised the guns at each other.
The stare off was momentarily broken with someone pushing forward through the Peaky Blinder's rows.
"Buon giorno, signori." Caterina Cardinale stepped in between the two groups, determined to address the men Kimber paid to fight for him. Once the partnership between Kimber and Tommy broke, Billy Kimber reached out to another powerful family in Birmingham willing to offer their soldiers — the family led by Vicente Changretta.
"Signorina Cardinale, get out of here, you'll get hurt." Someone called from the back row, but she was determined to stop this folly without the seemingly inevitable bloodshed.
"I'm giving you a chance to make a right decision; step away from Kimber immediately and you will be forgiven for your service. I'm giving you a chance to escape the sinking ship, no questions asked." There were murmurs of discord among Kimber's lines, and the man himself turned red in irritation, his moustache twitching upon his ferret-like face.
"We're of the same blood of Sicily, no matter your allegiance to Changretta."
"Move?" A female voice interrupted her, and it came from behind the rows of Kimber's men. It was none other than Ada Thorne, dressed in a dramatic black garb, pushing a pram.
"What are you doing?" Came a screech from Freddie as his wife stepped in between two fighting gangs.
"I believe you boys call this "no-man's land." " The woman retorted smartly.
"Ada." The poor man was at his wits end, terror lacing his words.
"Shut up and listen."
"Have you lost your mind?" Freddie barked incredulously.
"I said shut up!"
"Now, most of you were in France. So you all know what happens next." Ada began, taking in a shaky breath. She was risking all she had, but if she didn't, she would surely lose her husband, her brothers, the woman she considered her sister in everything but blood. Ada Thorne was sick of guns, sick of war and death and suffering.
"I've got brothers and a husband here but you've all got somebody waiting for you. Now, I'm wearing black in preparation. I want you to look at me. I want you all to look at me. Who'll be wearing black for you? Think about them. Think about them right now. And fight if you want to, but that baby ain't moving anywhere."
She defiantly stood her ground, pausing for dramatic effect. "And neither am I."
Caterina stepped forward, shrugging Tommy off when he tried to hold her back, and stood by Ada's side, taking her hand in solidarity.
"She's right, you know." Kimber smirked venomously. "Why should all you men die? It should just be them who's caused it."
It happened quickly; Kimber raising the gun in Tommy's direction, a bang, the bullet lodging in his chest as the smug looking man smiled victoriously.
Another bang.
Danny Whizzbang now laid dead, for the second time, on the muddy ground, his lifeblood seeping into the cobbled stones.
"Don't shoot!" Freddie Thorne's voice echoed distantly in her ears.
Billy Kimber laughed grotesquely, ecstatic at the sight before him, and not at all aware of Thomas striding forward and pulling out his own gun.
Bang and the Birmingham's notorious kingpin laid on the dirty pavement of Small Heath, murky rainwater soaking his expensive suit.
"Ada, move away."
"Don't shoot! Hold your guns up!"
"Enough." Thomas roared, effectively shutting the crowd up. "Kimber and me fought this battle one on one."
"It's over."
"Go home to your families." Cat addressed what was left of Kimber's retinue once several men felt the scene. The remaining Italians looked at each other, uneasy, but nodded still. "And tell them who's the boss now."
"Scudboat, Curly pick him up." The two bent down to pick up Danny. It was time to patch up the wounds and bury the fallen.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
Noise and music flowed out of the Garrison where both the Blinders and Caterina's Italians celebrated swift victory over Billy Kimber.
"A toast! A toast to Shelby Limited! And to Cardinale Company!" It was John who yelled it out over the racket, one hand slung over Esme's shoulder. The newly made Shelby woman turned out to be a refreshing company to all, a lively heart of the party.
"Here, here!"
"To Shelby Limited!"
"Salute! "
Thomas raised his glass in salute, looking for the right moment to escape the ruckus. Once he wiggled out of Arthur's already intoxicated grip, he necked another dose of his liquid courage and went off in search of the enigmatic Italian woman that stubbornly defied him with each living moment.
Caterina stood a few feet from the entrance, a cigarette lit between two fingers, looking off somewhere in the foggy distance of the Garrison Lane. "Not celebrating?"
"Contemplating." She inhaled another drag of cigarette before she met his gaze. It fell on his dress shirt, soaked with blood from Kimber's shot.
"You're bleeding." Her gasp made him glance down too — the stitches Jeremiah had sawn onto him after removing the bullet seemed to have loosened, letting the blood flow freely down his chest.
"It's nothing." He retaliated, only for her to let out a short laugh. Stubborn as a Shelby..
"Come here. Can't have you bleeding to death after such victory." She was already fumbling with the bandage wrapped tightly around his chest, adjusting the pressure applied to the leaking wound.
"It's just a scratch."
"It's a bloody bullet hole, Thomas. Stop being a hero for one moment and let me help you." With determination in her dark eyes, Caterina made a quick work of fixing the bandage, without noticing the way Thomas's eyes followed her every movement.
He placed a finger underneath her chin, making her still the fumbling fingers. Cerulean blues of his eyes darkened, causing the pulsating heath in the pit of her stomach to bubble and seethe.
How mad it made her feel, the way one look could make her lose the sold ground beneath her feet. The feeling was far more intoxicating than any liquor, any cigarette.
The proximity of their bodies allowed them to feel the buzzing heath radiating off each other, and Cat could feel her heart beating in her ears. Thomas was staring at her lips and if only, if only she stood up on her tiptoes-
With one soft push, hand pressing against his chest, she stepped back. The unbreachable wall she built around her heart resurfaced, shielding it from the cold reach of heartbreak, inevitable if she allowed them to fall.
"I won't be the second choice. Good night Mr Shelby."
"Where are you going?" He called after her, as she disappeared down the Garrison Lane, hands firmly in the pockets of her dark coat.
It was the hardest thing she had ever done, she realised, dully aware of the tears waiting to spill down her pale cheeks. "There are debts in need of settlement."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
As soon as Polly saw Thomas reenter The Garrison, she strode behind the bar, pulling out a finely wrapped bottle of champagne. She swayed slightly, trying not to bump into any of the revellers still dancing around the floor, making her way towards him.
"Shall I open it?" She grinned, already halfway drunk on happiness and whiskey. "It's one Cat bought for a special occasion, a fine vintage it says."
"Not tonight Pol."
"What did you do?" Polly demanded sharply, but once she noticed the resigned face of her nephew she softened her voice, setting the unfortunate bottle down on the bar.
"Thomas, dear, tell me."
"I fucked up Polly." Thomas Shelby stared at the amber liquid sloshing happily in his glass, mocking him with the very shade he wanted to forget. Or did he?
"Fucked up grand."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
The evening train bound for London would be arriving in no more than ten minutes — a fact which Inspector Chester Campbell knew and which is why he rushed Grace through the halls of Birmingham Central Train Station, most eager to escape the clutches of the damned city.
"Who comes there?" Inspector Campbell called into the dark of the station hallway.
A form entered from the inky darkness, taking shape of a coat clad person, firm strides against the marble echoing against the walls.
"Death in a form of a woman," came a hollow reply, slowly materialising from the shadows.
It was not hard to recognise the voice heavily laden with the remains of Sicilian heritage, and Chester immediately pushed Grace behind him in protection. Caterina Clarke was on a path of vendetta. "Did you come here to finish to job?"
"Cat please, we're leaving." Grace tugged at Campbell's arm, eyes flittering between the clock on the wall and the gun wielding woman in front of her.
"I trusted you, and you sold yourself for what? The king and the country?" She did not even bother to glance her way, instead held her revolver firmly pointed at Chester Campbell's head.
"Go on, shoot." Campbell dared her, knowing how it made rage bubble within her. The infamous Italian temper of hers was about to resurface, like a thunderstorm in brewing.
Grace clutched at the Inspectors coat like a frightened child, pleadingly looking at the person she used to call her friend. "Please Cat, for the friendship we shared, let us go-"
"God save the King, innit?"
Campbell had a gun in his hand. In the distance, the train broke the evening silence.
A single gunshot.
"No!"
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
a chapter that broke my heart writing it — hope the impact was effective
merry christmas to all of you celebrating x