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"It's Your Grace to you."
Thomas Shelby was amazed at how fast his brother was recovering. Considering the said chances of him not surviving by the doctor, he was marvelled John Shelby did not just recover in the one week after he was shot; he now can even lift his arm to fire a bullet. Though with a still slightly visible wince every now and again.
John had asked about his wife and children's whereabouts, and upon telling him that they have gone to ride with the Lees, Thomas had to give him a bit of whiskey. To calm the nerves. It didn't work, though. John threw his glass of whiskey across the room and almost hit the nurse if it weren't for Arthur, holding him back. He kept going on and on about how he would find his wife and give her hell, but Tommy forbade him.
Until this war is made, nobody leaves. John at first didn't listen, of course; that's how Tommy knew his John was back. That stupid, irrational rashness inside of his younger brother is what makes him, well, John Shelby.
Tommy has also notified John and Michael - who is also recovering as fast as John - that they're expecting company. New company. He had told them that the company was an aristocratic family, and at first, their eyes went as wide as polo balls.
It was quite a picture; they contorted into deep confusion and shock with their bandages on their faces. John was instructed to lay low for a while, as nobody other than the family and some close people know he's alive. Not even his estranged wife, who left him just because she couldn't bear it.
When he and Michael were discharged from the hospital, he was even hidden underneath a blanket, leaving the second youngest Shelby brother grumbling all the way home to Small Heath.
Today they're holding a quiet celebration at the back of Charlie's yard to celebrate John and Michael's sacrifice and how fast they're recovering. It was a very quiet little get together meant for only the closest circles in the gang. The party was also a small thing for Tommy to mend his relationship with his aunt, Polly.
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Small Heath was very empty these days. As the quaint little town's ins and outs were heavily guarded by the city's ruler, the Peaky Blinders. They even went as far as protecting the docks, trains stations, and bus stops in the city. Blocking and escorting anyone who might have a business here. So far, there are no slip-ups. But Tommy doesn't believe so far.
He wants forever.
The CEO of Shelby Company Ltd wants these bastards to stay outside of Small Heath and let Tommy come to them and slit their throats. So they can all be done with it, but he knows it's not that simple. He needs a brilliant idea, and for the first time in his life, he doesn't have it.
The little dinner party had started merrily, with Charlie and Johnny Dogs arguing about some bird and potatoes. Tommy didn't quite hear. The guests of honour have also come. Michael and John sitting on Tommy's left side while Arthur was on the right. John and Michael have both been very well; they were even laughing hard at jokes thrown by the other men as they drink their alcohols to keep them warm in this cold Birmingham air.
John was the subject of teasing here, with men teasing him about his wife. He would answer with somewhat a mix of a mad grumble and a laugh. And, of course, Arthur would jump in to save his younger brother from feeling extreme humiliation. With all of the merriness going on, Tommy can't seem to focus on anything.
His primary focus is now on his aunt, who was still ignoring him, smoking at the far end of the yard. She wouldn't even join the celebration held for her son. So Tommy approached her with a drink and a cigarette in hand.
He took a seat beside Polly on the steps, "Don't even try to talk to me."
Tommy's cheeks hollowed as he took a drag from his cigarette, "I won't."
"I'm only here because Michael told me to help you."
"Pol, I'm fucking sorry, alright, for what you and the others have been fucking through. I-"
Polly scoffed, "What we've been through? We've been through death, Tommy. And for what? Your own fucking benefit. So don't you dare tell me you're sorry."
"You don't think I feel guilty every fucking day? Why am I held guilty for everything, eh? Grace's death, your almost death, Danny Whizzbang's death. Does it occur to you that it might be-"
"Tommy, Tommy!" Came Curly running to the yard, looking breathless as ever. His trademark panicked voice cut through the merriment of the event. He was so breathless, Tommy thought he had asthma. "What is it, Curly, eh?" Now the attention has gathered around the stubby lad.
"Cars, Tom. B-Blinders cars entering through Greet, by n-now they're nearing the Garrison." Curly stuttered. Tommy was confused by this.
They're Peaky cars, what is the fucking matter?
"Curly, Curly, look at me, hey. If they're Peakys cars, then let them through. The people stationed at every entrance knows this already. Stop fucking pacing."
"Calm down, Curly, mate," John called out.
Curly nervously looked around, pacing left and right. "N-no Tommy, there were women. Your men caught women, dressed in big fur coats, and they're coming, Tommy. A-and they don't look happy."
Right after Curly uttered the last word, three Bentleys - the standard Peaky Blinder car - rolled up and stopped near where the Shelbys stood. Polly, Arthur, John, and Ada unanimously looked at Tommy, confused.
Tommy didn't return their stares, as he was confused himself. What the hell is going on?
A high pitched, affluent-accented voice came from inside one of the cars, "Where the fuck are we, Irene?"
"I have no idea, Imogen. And for the last time, stop tugging on my Chanel dress."
"God, save us all."
"I have never seen this much grey in my life."
"Those puddles are nightmares if they're to be walked by my new shoes."
"Oh gosh, are those dining tables near the pile of rust?"
The Shelbys looked at each other as if they're listening to a loony bin's patients. Rich loony bin patients.
Three members of the Peaky Blinders came out of the car and approached the family.
"Tommy." They regarded. Tommy nodded, his eyes demanding answers from the three.
"We found these ladies at the station, Tommy. Carrying dozens of baggage with them, asking around where their fucking porters are."
"They almost stumbled upon the Changrettas guarding the station near us, Tom."
"Stupid enough to ask where Mr Thomas Shelby's office resides. We had no choice, Tom, in a time like this, Italians everywhere. So, we took them by force." The last man, Tommy believed, was the cousin of Scudboat, said.
"And your pea of a brain suggested to bring them here, eh, Lovelace?"
"Well, Tom. They said they're daughters of some kind of duke, so we thought Tommy better have a look at this."
As Lovelace finished his sentence, all Shelby family members, even the guests, perked their heads up. It can't be.
"Right, take them out of the car, Lovelace, Paul, Reggie."
All three men came to open the car doors, helping the ladies out of the car. They all looked magnificent, majestic even. Tommy knew in one glance that all six ladies were well polished, well educated, and well fortuned. Not to forget snobbish and hellish.
They all wore dresses and big fur coats that he knew costs more than all of his pubs and Charlie's yard combined. On their necks, which to Tommy's attention are different shaded, adorned with necklaces ranging from pearls to diamonds to gemstones, all shining too brightly for the dullness of Small Heath.
They wore silk gloves, one of the signs of critical social members. Every movement carried out by the six ladies seemed graceful, calculating. It was as if they were even scared to hurt a fly.
Thomas glanced at all of his boys had their jaws practically in the puddles, their eyes wide as if they see meat. A bunch of them already mentally calling dibs on one of them.
What a bunch of fuckups.
Even his brothers can't seem to look away, heartbroken John seemed to be recovering quite quickly.
Then, that's when Tommy's icy blue orbs locked with certain brown ones.
Dueling, clashing.
Blue against brown, seeing which one's are going to quiver and break its trance first. Thomas searched through those eyes, looking for anything that might give away the secrets of its owner. Nothing.
It was his eyes that betrayed him. He looked away too quickly as if Tommy's eyes were automatically bowed down to the eyes of the opponent. The lady looked down as she descended the high car, swatting Lovelace's helping hand in the process. "I can stand on my fucking own, fucking kidnapper."
The owner of the swatted hand looked surprised, not expecting the dainty, refined woman's language. Honestly, Tommy didn't either.
The lady wrapped her fur coat tighter around her body, grimacing at, well, everything around her. It was apparent that not many of them were accustomed to this kind of environment.
She went to stand beside the rest of her entourage. Her brown eyes dance through the crowd, staring at her entourage with such curiosity and excitement. Tommy cleared his throat after taking a drag from his cigarette. "Welcome to Birmingham, ladies. I'm Thomas Shelby, and these are my-"
The lady with the sun-kissed skin interrupted, "It seems like, Mr Shelby, you should fix the way you treat your guests."
Daughter of the Duke of Devonshire, Thomas noted.
Tommy's lips formed a slight ghost of a smirk, gesturing a mockery curtsy to the six majestic angels in front of him, "You Excellencies? Is that how to address you, people?"
The brown-eyed from before smirked, Daughter of the Duke of Westminster, not even taking Tommy's insult into account, "It's Your Grace to you."