𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑'𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 memories as the cold and wet January trickled into an even bleaker February. By the beginning of the Lent they said their goodbyes to Ada and her new family, embracing fully the life of a political fugitive, with all the dangers it possessed.
For all that she complained of the perilous line of work her brothers chose to make a living of, she proved to be no better when choosing a spouse. Not that Cat would openly remark that, as Ada seemed determined to fall-out with most of the members of her family, mainly Thomas.
Both equally stubborn in their beliefs, they had a row hours before she was intended to leave for London. It was a somber occasion, though Thomas didn't show his face at the station.
Caterina's days were still spent working at the tiny bookshop in Digbeth, sorting the yellowed books alphabetically one week, or by writer the next, depending on her mood.
And as each week passed it detoriated, much like the shop itself. The monotony of the job left her mind numb, unchallenged, her heart and soul yearning for any sort of amusement.
To put it lightly, she was withering away in there and made a point to complain every time she sat down with Polly for a cup of tea, or something stronger.
By April she developed a habit of coming over to Watery Lane on Tuesdays and Fridays, and a church service on Sundays, though Finn had to be persuaded by a sweet afterwards.
"I need an assistant." Thomas announced grandly, striding from the betting shop and into the households kitchen.
His cocky gaze was pointed directly at Cat as he threw down the legal ledger on the table between the two woman, almost knocking the porcelain kettle off of it.
"Do I look like your bloody paper handler?" By the force with which she slammed down the cup onto its saucer, it was miracle it didn't snap in two.
The man in question leaned on the dishware cabinet, striking a match with his stealthy fingers. "No, you look pretty and know finances."
It was Polly's turn to butt in. "He's not wrong." She gave her a one over, pressing the remnants of her cigarette in the crystal ashtray.
"Thank you, Pol." Cat stressed sarcastically, turning back to Thomas. It was the first they'd spoken in months, besides stealing glances if their paths crossed at the Watery Lane or The Garrison, and his sudden need of favours from her left her confused.
"Worcester is on Tuesday." He puffed out some smoke, fishing out some bills out of his pocket, letting them fall into Caterina's lap.
"Buy yourself something pretty."
Burning rage hissed through her body, eyes narrowing into a cold glare shooting right through the dark haired man leaning on the cabinet. "Excuse me, do I look like a whore to you? I don't need your money!"
How dare he come sauntering in, demanding a favour and proceed to insult her? The nerve of that insufferable man!
"It's a revealing blouse." His eyes sauntered briefly downwards and onto her cleavage covered by a pale blue button up blouse that perfectly cupped her curves.
Her cheeks blossomed red, some of anger some of embarrassment.
Thomas pushed himself from where he leaned and strode upstairs, sensing the fury he would soon be a victim of. It took her a moment to compose her baring only to bolt after him, brandishing the unfortunate wad of money.
"Oi! Thomas Shelby you utter bastard-" A colourful string of Italian curses followed, sound of feet running up the wooden staircase and several doors slamming.
Now left alone in the quaint kitchen as the clock struck late afternoon, Polly Gray placed another sugar cube in her tea, satisfied.
Children.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
Tommy's Bentley roared over the country roads, breaking the tranquility of hills and plains surrounding Bromsgrove and Wychbold, Rashwood and Droitwich. Winter had already melted into spring, the greenery of English countryside turning vibrantly lush, dotted with fragile white and yellow buds, their heads peaking innocently out of the grass.
Stretching her legs from the long drive, she took a moment to admire the fuss and excitement sparking at every corner of racetrack. Well dressed gentlemen and ladies in their intricate headdresses exited their vehicles manned by immaculately dressed chauffeurs.
But while the posh guests entered by the main, grand entrance, most of them following into owners boxes for the best possible view of their property, the common folk that could afford a spot on the stands or over by the fence crowded at the two smaller entrances.
"It's been too fuckin' long." Caterina sighed, fixing her wide brimmed hat in the Bentleys wing mirror. Thomas offered his hand to her in a manner of a well-bread gentleman, the two making way across the gravel covered parking lot.
He certainly looked the part of an elegant businessman, in his sharp new suit and a shiny silver chain of the pocket watch glinting in the sun. The only remainder of Small Heath was his flat cap, the sliver glint of a blade bringing him a familiar comfort.
All around the track, every corner was littered with bookies shouting out today's odds, attracting all sorts of men and women, young and old, willing to take their chance for some luck and a couple of pounds.
The Shelby Company's pitches dominated among the other lesser ones, the lines of people shouldering each other to place their bets.
They were stopped at the entrance by a portly but pleasant man who was obviously acquainted with Thomas. "Mister Shelby, an honour to have you here! Please, please follow me to the owners box."
His newest horse, Major , was set to have a debut here at Worcester and both Tommy and Cat were eager to see the lovely horse Curly had trained for the past few months in action.
The man then turned to Cat, kissing her hand, and then throwing a suggestive wink in Tommy's direction. "Oh my what a beauty you have here! And what is your name sweetheart?"
"He most certainly doesn't have me. Caterina Cardinale." She placed her hand forward for a firm handshake, revelling in the way colour drained from the man's face. Even after everything, the Clarke name opened every door and made every Englishman's heart race a bit stronger.
"You missed it."
Cat flashed the smirking man a withering glare. "Did not."
"You enjoyed it." His deep chuckle resonated through his chest, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling at her expense.
"Stop it Tommy." She scolded, though there was no malice in her reprimand.
"Admit that you missed being the most powerful person in the room." He paused, waiting for her reaction.
"That job is beneath you."
"Said the bookmaker to a former gang leader." She retorted as quickly as he said it.
"Kate, I mean it. One week more and you'll shoot up the regulars." His hand at the small of her back guided her to their respective seats, leaving a searing spot once he removed it.
He leaned in to the right.
"The thrill of it. Paper checks, coins, wads of money going over your hands." His lips were dangerously close to her ear and she could feel his warm breath down her exposed neck.
"Protection from your father."
The Italian scoffed slightly, sitting up straighter in her seat. "I don't need you to protect me. I'm a big girl."
"I know, but think it over. Working for me."
She bit her lip, considering the offer. "That's bloody nepotism Shelby."
"I need someone good with money, finances, someone experienced in this legal business." He listed, and she knew he was using his persuasive voice to worm the idea into her head.
"I'll hit you." She batted her eyelashes at him, the saccharine of her smile not mirroring the intentions.
"And someone to antagonise Sabini in the future."
Cat paused for a moment, mulling over his words. "Well, if you let me put a bullet through him, we can talk business."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
"Do you bet, Mr Shelby?" Lord Apswych asked, stretching over the seats, a glass of scotch firmly in his hand.
"Not while working."
"Would you place a wager with me, Miss Cardinale?" Spoke the woman that must be Lady Apswych - at least twenty years younger than her husband and a permanently sour expression upon her lips. Her artificial smile revealed her obvious intentions and more importantly, what she thought about the two of them.
"Why I'd be delighted, Madam." Caterina replied, throwing the woman her best smile.
"Two hundred pounds on Misty Eve."
One of the men in their entourage nodded in appreciation, twirling his copper moustache.
"A fine horse, bread by the Carleton's. You see, the husband of the-"
"Why good sir, let me finish. I say she'll come last today. What say you?" A mischievous smirk played in the corner of her lips, challenging the people around her.
It caused an uproar of disagreement from the other occupants of the box. "Absolute madness!"
"Preposterous!"
"It's insulting even to suggest.."
"Then you would place a different bet on your name?" Cat asked innocently, wide eyes blinking at Lord Apswych, causing him to splutter and cough for a moment.
"Three hundred on Misty Eve for the first place."
"I say Green Mile, two hundred pounds!" One other man piped in.
"Good luck gentlemen." With another charming smile she picked up her binoculars, focusing on the race just about to begin.
The stands held their breath as the blank pistol announced the start and horses bolted from their paddocks and down the track.
Misty Eve took the lead in the first part, followed by Lucky Dawn and Major. Green Mile was not even in the first five. Cat followed their movements eagerly as they entered the second half, the tide soon turning unexpectedly. Misty Eve slowed down, other horses quick to catch up with her and leave her behind in the dust.
Cat's knuckles turned white from the grip she had on the binoculars, springing from her seat once the contestants passed the finish line.
A wide smirk flooded her features — just as she predicted, Misty Eve came in last, shocking the crowds around the track. Tommy's horse, Major debuted almost perfectly, with a third place.
"My my, it seems today is my lucky day. I take checks or paper bills, but it is also negotiable in diamonds and other jewellery." Cat let her eyes linger on Lady Apswych's emerald necklace on purpose before linking her arm with Thomas.
She could sense he was pleased with the outcome of the race by the way her stood straighter, walked a little grander to the main hall where they booked a table for a drink and a bite to eat.
Worcester was not a bigger deal than Cheltenham, but still no expense was spared; flags and colourful ribbons livened up the grand hall, and an orchestra preformed in the for corner of the room.
"I want to dance." She announced not even a moment after they sat down. Perhaps she was still drunk on her victory, head far off in clouds of delusion, but she was beyond eager to dance after so long.
She turned to Tommy with a pair of pleading eyes.
"You've got plenty of options." He nodded slightly to where the friendly aristocracy from the owner's box heatedly argued over canapés and caviar. She scrunched her nose in distaste — caviar was not that tasty anyway.
"God forbid Tommy Shelby has fun." The challenging tone of her voice persuaded him to get up with a mocking sigh, offering his hand.
As he led her to the dance floor, he let his eyes wander around the room, taking every detail in. A sense of deja-vu overcame him, remembering the last time he held her so close. "This is just Worcester though."
"A few months ago we dreamed of this." Her brow furrowed as they spun around the room.
"You're always ten paces ahead. I know that look; calculations, details, ideas. It's a bloody war machine in there." She poked his temple playfully only for her fingers to be swatted away.
"Why remain where you are when there's still room for improvement?" He challenged, and she had to admit he was right.
"Establish yourself firmly here first. Those grey haired fossils don't respect you — yet. This little show we put up today was just the beginning. They still see you as an up-jumped racketeer, not a proper businessman."
Thomas scoffed half-heartedly. "I don't need their respect, I need their money and fear."
"Fear produces rebellion and that's the last thing you need. Play your act as a gentleman risen up from the poverty, the chivalrous war veteran, whatever you like. You'll polish your manners for when you talk with these relics, too."
"And you'll obviously need me." She concluded in the end, mustering all her confidence.
It was his turn to raise his brow in question. "Oh really?
Neither of them noticed the way they left no room between themselves as they dance, nor did the seem to care. His left hand pressed against her waist, almost possessively holding onto the woman in his arms.
"Well, someone has to keep your uncouth manners in order." She traced the outline of the lapel of his suit with her right hand, trying not to make contact with the hypnotic blue eyes boring into the side of her head.
"Is it a deal, Kate Cardinale?" His voice lowered, almost persuasively so for her to meet his eyes with a determined look.
"A deal, Tommy Shelby."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
now that we've established some things, it's time for a time skip — stay tuned