Fresh eyes woke to a cloudy, powder blue sky – the type where it was almost deceiving enough to believe the temperature might be somewhat pleasant. The bright white sun shone vivaciously, but every now and again concealed it's shine behind the silky veil of a passing cloud.
Verity had slept rather brokenly as far as sleepless nights went, her mind racing back and forth and the constant reminder she was once again in a foreign bed threw her conscious mind too far out to even begin to think about getting some proper sleep.
It was easy enough for her to awake at 6 that morning, expecting to be getting Charlie out of bed – but as she padded down the darkened hallway; she found his bedroom door open and a bed empty, sheets rustled yet curtains still closed. She smiled warmly to herself, the promise of a ride in the countryside on the horses had obviously made him more excitable than she could have ever imagined.
-
There was no sign of Tommy that morning as Verity joined Charlie's morning ritual – jam and porridge for breakfast, orange juice for Charlie and a steaming pot of tea for Verity. Upon her asking, Verity learned from Francis that Tommy had left early that morning for work. From that rather vague response, Verity knew not even Tommy's housemaid was allowed to really know of his whereabouts. She could only assume he was doing some work that was obviously so legal that it had to remain a secret.
Getting ready for the morning ahead, Verity managed to find some jodhpurs in the bottom of the chest of drawers in her suite. They were taupe coloured, comfortable and stretchy in material and looked barely worn. She could only imagine perhaps they may have been Mrs Shelby's at some point – a pair she may not of liked? She tried not to think too much about it as she slipped into them, pulled on a white ruched blouse, and brushed out her long dark hair. She looked very much the part of an Equestrian despite not having had much horse contact since being a child.
As she made it downstairs to the large hallway area, Charlie was sat by the fire – a tub of boot polish in hand and a brush. The sight was so sweet, she didn't know that many children who meticulously cared for their things.
It was only as her hazel eyes paid more attention, did Verity realised Charlie was polishing up another pair of boots besides his own small ones.
"These are mummy's boots." Charlie said once he was done, carrying the leather long boots over to Verity who looked at them attentively – recognising them as the pair she had worn last time she was here. The memory of it all made her shudder once again – despite the more positive shift in her contact with Tommy, she had never been made to feel so stupid than that day she came to Arrow House.
Her mind forced her into play back, recalling the images – trying so hard to get to know him, only to be mistaken for another one of his casual whores. She remembered how he'd said it so nonchalantly:
'Let's fuck.'
"They're lovely and shiny, Charlie." Verity snapped herself out of it, sitting herself down on one of the high-backed armchairs near the hearth as the little boy smiled on at her approvingly. "Thank you." She said graciously.
Upon lacing up the elegantly styled riding boots, Verity followed a very keen Charlie out into the chilly morning air. It was around 8 o'clock now, and the air was a lot less bitter than it had been when Verity first opened the window at around 6 to take in the fresh air. The birds were singing their sweet springs songs from the trees surrounding the vast acreage of Arrow House's grounds, sweet chirping soon lost to the sounds of excited boot soles running full pelt across the cobbles towards the stable block.
Very sensibly, Charlie had asked the stable hands to prepare his pony upon coming to collect the boots for Verity – something that the singer was incredibly impressed by but also slightly concerned about. She didn't know many men that took orders off a child – perhaps it was because these stable hands knew better than to cheek the son of Thomas Shelby. Still, she couldn't imagine Charlie would be impolite about asking them to tack up his little Welsh Section D pony.
The little gun grey pony was chewing somewhat temperamentally on a mouthful of golden hay, it's ears flat back as the grooms tightened the girth of the saddle around it's portly little stomach.
"I didn't say for them to tack up a pony for you." Charlie said sweetly to Verity, who smiled down at the little boy. "I didn't know what horse you wanted." He added.
"That's okay – I have a favourite." She smiled sweetly, remembering the little chestnut horse from last time, the sweet young mare with the white stripe down her face. It was strange how she'd seen that horse once and had connecting with it instantly.
Much like how she was instantly drawn to the broken mind of a criminal – falling into the web, her stubborn determination wanting to help him even though he pushed her away continually.
Approaching the far end of the stalls, Verity moved past the stable hands and the grumpy little pony expecting to see the bonny horse, head hanging over the stable door. But she saw nothing but an empty stable. Her panic, deep down, felt unsolicited. But she found herself caring a lot.
"Where did the chestnut mare go?" she asked one of the grooms, who was sorting Charlie's stirrup leathers. He looked at the singer's face with nonchalance that completely made her feel rather foolish and annoyed all at the same time.
"Oh, yeah, the youngster," the ginger-haired lad started, "I believe it went to May Carleton."
There was a sudden small dark chuckle from the other stable hand, who subsequently hid his face as he fixed the buckle of the strap at the side of the bridle.
"Who's May Carleton?" Verity asked, ignoring the childish sniggers. Her tone was calm enough, and the last thing she wanted was these two men thinking she was foolish for caring so much about a horse.
"Horse trainer." The man answered, turning over his shoulder to see young Charlie had rushed around the corner to the tack area to fetch his pony a ruby red apple and was far out of earshot. "And Tommy Shelby's little shag."
He moved past Verity then, carrying the rug that had been protecting the small pony from the elements and disappeared off to the distant end of the stable.
She felt... a strange whirring of emotions concocting in her stomach, like old washing going around in a washing tub – the water dirtying the more and more she thought about it. There were feelings she was trying to oppress, emotions she was trying to hide as she turned to face one of the horses as a distraction – which happened to be Tommy's prized Friesian stallion.
Why did this news cause her throat to tighten? To feel emotionally displaced and shunted from her relaxed and normal mindset? He was a grown man who could make his own free decisions, that were of no concern to her. He was her boss, she was no one to him apart from his singer, his earner yet... yet the statement hurt like a stake through the heart.
She punished herself – don't you dare – her mind continued on its course, careless and merciless of the emotions she was trying to damn back for the sake of her own sanity. Her brain replayed the images of last night, their talk in the office. The way his blue eyes shone in honeyed golden fire light, the taste of a strong gin and tonic on her tongue and the way he looked at her as she asked why. Why he was doing everything to help her. She never got an answer verbally but his beautiful blue eyes betrayed him more than a thousand German spies could ever betray that Sergeant Major. Those slithers of ice blue were a window pane surrounding an onyx pool, a glimpse past the hardy exterior of a dangerous, filthy rich man who should be – no, was, no good. Those eyes that could be seen right through in the right circumstance and when he let even just a fraction of his guard down and relaxed for a second.
She felt it now, strongly – upon recalling the memory, seeing his face. It crushed her internally when she realised, she was caring far beyond what she had ever expected to.
Much like the situation with the missing chestnut horse.
Swallowing hard, Verity caught the attention of the stable hand as he was passing her again.
"Get this horse tacked up, please." She said rather firmly, wanting to assert herself and not let them think she was some delusional damsel. The stable hand paused and gave her a look as if she had asked to mount up on a dragon.
"Miss, with all due respect that's Mr Shelby's horse. He don't like anyone else riding it." He mumbled, shooting a flighty look between the proud horse and the stubborn woman.
"I'm sure he'd make an exception for me." Verity said, her tone defiant enough that the stable hand weakened – he was caught between a rock and a hard place, he wasn't sure of Verity's true relationship with Tommy and so decided it was better to let her have the horse than to say no and get a bollocking from Tommy that way.
-
Feeling ten stories tall, around half an hour later Verity and Charlie left the stable block, through the wooden five bar gate and into the rolling countryside.
Charlie looked miniscule on his grumpy pony, who Verity had learned was called Gunpowder. The name seemed fitting, for such a small pony it didn't quite have a temper. But that seemed to be typical of all smaller horse breeds.
"Daddy's horse doesn't like anyone else riding it usually." Charlie piped up around ten minutes into the ride, as the two very different horses plodded leisurely across the green plains and down towards a small forest area, that had a delicate stream running right through the middle of it.
"I've seen him buck off all the yard boys." Charlie then added as the horses marched carefully down the sloped descent into the mouth of the deep green forest. The young boy couldn't keep his eye off the composed nature of the Friesian stallion, the rigidity it usually maintained when someone other than Tommy sat on it's back was all but diminished – it's carried it's head beautifully, was soft in the mouth and listened obediently to each one of Verity's directions.
"He seems to really like you though, Verity." Charlie called, sounding pleased as he leaned forwards in the saddle to pat Gunpowder's neck after the pony obediently pulled away from a patch of lush grass for once.
This news made Verity feel admittedly smug, she didn't really believe animals could be picky for certain people but after hearing Charlie's stories, she was surprised.
"Maybe it's a sign." The young boy added, as Verity smoothed her hand along the Friesian's silky black neck. A small smile of amusement tugged at the corner of her pink lips.
"Sign of what?" she asked him, the horses plodding to a gentle halt at the edge of the tranquil stream – that trickled peacefully in the midst of the forest chorus – among rustling leaves and sweet blackbird song.
Charlie hesitated – his mouth opened as if he was going to confidently come out with what he intended to say but something stopped him. He instead looked at Verity momentarily, and withdrew himself from what he had planned to say.
"Nothing, I was being silly." The boy excused, drawing the reins short in his hands as he turned Gunpowder around. "Let's go back up to the field, I want to canter!"
With that he kicked on and excelled the lazy pony onwards, Verity did find the sudden behaviour a little odd but, she couldn't pressure him into saying anything.
She had a burning suspicion it would just be something to do with her and Tommy anyway, and so pushed the moment behind her, kicked on and followed Charlie at a steady trot.
—
It wasn't exactly clear how, but a whole month had gone by. Spring had sprung, the days grew longer, the roadsides turned yellow with sweet daffodils and Verity finally was getting used to the work life balance of travelling down to London for a mere two nights to travel back.
She enjoyed being at the club when she was there, she had missed it more than she thought – even with it's drunk patrons shouting loudly and consuming illicit substances on the bar tops. It could sometimes be the most glamorous place in the world but also the biggest hole in London – but it was her workplace and she had very much grown to love it.
Not to mention seeing Scarlett was the best part of her week, the women would have regular phone calls through the week for a chat but seeing each other on a Friday and Saturday was the best part of their weeks respectively.
Scarlett seemed very happy, which Verity was pleased about. It seemed Arthur had finally come to his senses and picked his girl over the allure of a certain white powder – and Verity was glad he had seen clarity and made the right decision. She was over the moon for Scarlett, who had never been brighter in herself. It seemed like everything was falling into place for her.
On this particular Saturday night, Verity was waiting to complete her set later in the evening. The club was alive, bodies jostling and dancing on the marbled white dancefloor as Scarlett crooned away to a song herself and Verity had co-wrote some time ago – titled Only 1. Scarlett had thought it very trendy and revolutionary to pair a word with a number, and thought she was the next best thing for doing so. With her vocals and the vivacity of the jazz backing band, the song had gone down a storm and certainly roused excitement and dancing from the crowd of partygoers. Verity found she couldn't help herself whistling along as she sat at the bar, tall glass of gin and tonic in hand. It was time like this she was so grateful for Scarlett being able to draw practically every single body to the dancefloor – it meant Verity could have a quiet think and get her head together before her own set.
"Evening."
The voice right in her left ear caused her to jump slightly – turning around frantically to face the source.
"Tommy, you frightened the life out of me." She sighed, laughing it off as she set her glass down on the bar, smoothing her hand down the front of her iconic red dress.
"Can't exactly whisper in here over that." He gestured his head towards Scarlett and the band onstage, fishing on the inside of a very smart grey jacket for his signature case of cigarettes.
Cocking her head, Verity couldn't recall seeing this suit before. And it finally sunk in that Tommy looked entirely different from when she usually saw him storming through places in his long line gunman's style coat and his peaky cap. No, this looked like a business suit – and an impeccable one.
"Where have you been, dressed to the nines?" Verity asked, the mildest tone of teasing to her voice as she led her gin glass to her lips – painted a dangerous, vixen red. "Have you been to see Mr Valentine?" Even recalling Eli's name made her feel irrationally angry – she couldn't let her past experience with the man go.
Tommy watched her for a moment, before taking the silver cased lighter to the end of the cigarette – the temporary vivid spark throwing light across his handsome features.
"Fortunately not, that's still all Arthur's business." He said, tucking the lighter back into his pockets as another lit cigarette added to the scent of tobacco swirling through the smoky air of the club. "I've been to see someone at the Estate agents, about getting you a house."
"Oh, and how did that go?" she asked, as much as she had been enjoying her time with young Charlie and the more relaxed conversations she had been having with Tommy in the evenings – the thought of her own place was still lingering heavily in her mind.
A sigh followed by a plume of smoke, as Tommy fished the cigarette from his lips, his blue eyes holding steadily onto her own.
"They've told me they'll accept an application from me on your behalf but, it might take up to six months to process.."
Her eyes fell away from his trapping gaze, staring off into the distance as she contemplated that. That was no short amount of time, that was half a year! Another half a year on top of the month she had already been there. She felt confused, lost, perturbed and admittedly uncomfortable. Why couldn't they just accept her as a woman who earned her own money rather than needing backing from a man like she had no bloody capacity!?
"Then I'll have to find somewhere else to stay." She sighed quickly, looking up and seeing the furrowed frown on Tommy's expression. "I can't... I can't impose on you for that amount of time..."
The disapproving look on Tommy's face did not shift, he sought another long draw from the cigarette before he even thought to reply.
"If I had a problem with you staying I would've said something by now." His tone was low, stern – grounding. It pulled her back down like a force of gravity from her ruminating that was sending her up into the clouds.
"Charlie loves having you around, Verity." Tommy then added, his words feeling so alien yet she couldn't help but stare at him, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. "He's never been happier since you came to stay."
She had known he was pleased with her being there but hearing it from Tommy himself felt all the more affirming and approving. It gave her a sense of belonging that she had lost when she had been forced to let go of everything she knew.
"It's his birthday next week, for fucks sake, you wouldn't wanna spoil that, would you?" he cocked his head, blue eyes wide and awaiting an answer.
She knew the answer and it had been sitting on the tip of her tongue merely milliseconds after he'd finished talking.
"No, of course not."
"Good," Tommy replied, putting the cigarette out in the glass ashtray that sat between them. He hesitated a moment, his eyes focused on the cigarette as it burnt out in the smoky glass dish. Verity somehow could not stop herself from watching every gesture, eventually their gazes met as he braved himself to look up.
"You should know you are welcome to stay." That vulnerability was back in his tone, something she'd only ever gained glimpses of over an evening glass of alcohol at the fireside. Despite the bold, brash and bellowing notes of the band and Scarlett's angelic belting notes – she heard that rare glimpse of gentleness in his voice louder than any trumpet could ever hope to be. It resonated with her, reminded her of why she felt the way she was feeling. Yet despite this, she had questions she still needed answering – other sides of Tommy she needed confirming with herself before she could ever fully consciously be comfortable with... these emotions.
She thanked him with a wordless nod, turning back to face Scarlett and the band – watching her perform in elegant black tulle grown, long brown hair tied in a high pony tail as she swayed peppily at the microphone.
Verity Grant was many things; but she did not have eyes in the back of her head. Yet for all she knew in that moment, she could've acquired them overnight – for she felt Tommy's eyes burning onto her skin intently, and wondered just exactly what was going on his mind. What was he really gaining from all this? What was his real plan?
Was she a singer, a pawn in a game – or did she mean something past the limelight and the clatter of coins?
-
A/N: God this chapter was boring. It was a mess and I am SORRYYYY. I had a plan in my head but the conviction of it was so different, I hope the next chapter comes together better and I am intending to make it do so!