For Eloise, the day had begun with normal duties. She had reported at seven am and, in addition to caring for seventeen patients, as a bedside nurse had done a daily sweep and mop, dusting and fetched in the coal to maintain an even temperature in the ward.
'A nurse's notes are of utmost importance,' she muttered to herself as she stood at the large desk at the far end of the ward, whittling her nib to her individual taste. The flecks from the wood and the quick grating of the knife struck up an even rhythm as she recalled the rules that as a trainee had been bitterly drilled into her.
At first she had taken such care and pride over her whittling. Imagining that the pencils she used were the most important thing in her young life. Now, the short brunette simply came and went from the hospital- seven until eight- completing her duties thoroughly as though they were second nature. She filled the kerosene lamps, cleaned the chimneys and trimmed the wicks in her ward. As a graduate nurse- who was in (mostly) good standing with the director, she worked quickly and quietly, and prayed for her evening off each week. It was for courting purposes, but as the best kept secret in Birmingham, Eloise rarely left her small apartment aside from coming to work. Even her groceries were delivered, courtesy of her Uncle.
Alfred Solomons was a huge name in London. Camden precisely, which was where Eloise had been born. The only child of Henry Solomons, Eloise had been the shining star of the family, and pursuing a medical career had only made her more of a treasure in her family's eyes. Unfortunately this had also made her a target. When she had been told upon her graduation that it would be too dangerous for her to work in London Alfie had ensured that she had a job in Birmingham, under the protection of the Peaky Blinders.
And indeed, when chaos fell on her hospital wing that morning, it had not been the trolley with a body soaked in blood, the rush of doctors, or the screaming woman who had caught her attention. It had been Thomas Shelby that her eyes had been drawn to, the man who had arranged for her position in the hospital, the man who had provided her accommodation and agreed to keep her identity a secret.
A hysterical voice, "Please can we get some help here! Please! It's alright Michael, it's alright Michael you're gonna be ok, just keep breathing… just keep breathing."
Not that he had looked at her. He had stood in the flickering light, staring down with helpless bewilderment at the body, while two younger boys flanked him either side.
"Penetrating chest trauma! Three bullets!" a scream rang out, and Eloise immediately rushed to the bedside, staring for a second at the body which looked like it had been flayed open. His lungs heaved with effort and his hands clenched at his sides. From the amount of blood Eloise didn't know how he was still conscious, unless of course it wasn't his. Eyes snapped shut, nostrils flared, teeth gritted, he howled like an animal.
She didn't register who the man was, only that there were two obvious punctures, one at the bottom of his ribcage and one just below at his waist.
She reached forward, and tugged at the top of his blood-soaked shirt, to reveal two more bullet holes near the top of his chest. How was he still alive?
The hysterical woman was quiet for three seconds, as she nodded at the attention the man was receiving, and took count of the men stood beside Thomas.
She suddenly exploded, "No, no, I don't want fucking kids in here!"
Thomas blinked slowly and then he raised a hand to calm her as she shouted "I want soldiers, I don't want fucking kids who joined us for the sport!"
The younger boys grimaced, having never been on the wrathful end of the matriarch of the Peaky Blinders before, and were quickly ushered from the room by Thomas.
"I want men who served in here!" she demanded.
She pushed a doctor and Katherine, the director of the nurses aside, and Katherine pleaded, "Mrs Gray please..." But she didn't listen, she sobbed over the man on the table and it was only then that Eloise realised who the man on the table was- Michael Gray.
Polly was pulled away by Thomas, who tried to reason with her, "Let them do their job, let them do their job alright, I'll be back, with soldiers."
Despite Polly Gray's sobs, Eloise's mind worked quickly and she felt along the back of his neck, near the spinal cord. Three of the four bullets had been located but the forth was still missing.
She had treated one bullet wound before, Uncle Alfie's secret she called it. He had been shot in the chest but it was Eloise who found that the bullet wasn't in his back or in his chest at all- it had moved to his shoulder and it had been extremely tricky. At the damage these wounds had created though, she knew that this was not the low-velocity, back alley London gun-wound she had treated her Uncle for. This was four highly lethal high-velocity weapon wounds, and if they didn't act fast and transfer him some blood, Michael Gray would die.
Her delicate fingers grazed across his shoulder blade, and she found it.
"Fourth bullet," she said clearly, indicating to the senior doctor.
He nodded and managed a weak, "Well done Nurse Barrow," before he pushed the trolley away to surgery.
Eloise nodded once, not batting an eye-lid at the fact he had called her by the wrong name. That was who she was now, no longer Eloise Solomons, but Eloise Barrow. She blinked at the blood on her hands and sighed quietly before washing up and fetching a mop.
Eloise hadn't been to church in a very long time, but the following morning she attended Sunday mass in the town. She had been unable to sleep that night, and would have preferred to remain at the hospital to await the result, but as soon as he duties were complete she'd been ushered out not only by her superiors but also by the two mountain-built men who Thomas Shelby had hired to guard Michael Gray's room.
She should attend church more often, she knew, if only for the fact it would buy her another evening off work, but Ellie knew that more sincere prayers were said in the rooms of hospitals than they were in communion.
And Polly Gray must have been praying extra hard, because a few hours after surgery, by some miracle of God- Michael Gray awoke.
She shouldn't have listened, she knew, but she couldn't help but feel intruiged by the family who had aided her in continuing a medical career. She cleaned the fireplace, bonnet hiding her face from the two guard-dogs who had been promptly searched by Polly as she entered.
"He said you took four bullets, only one was live. One was ricocheted, two already spent," Polly spoke calmly to her son as he stirred awake at her arrival.
"Two had passed through John. The last thing I remember was his face. I watched him go. Where's Tommy?"
"Don't worry about Tommy just get better."
"Where is he?"
"Tommy's back, we're all back. Garrison and Watery Lane, Charlies."
"I need a cigarette."
"No. I've made a decision."
"Give me a cigarette Mum."
"It's not allowed."
"It's not allowed?"
It most certainly was not allowed, under any circumstances, but as Polly handed her son a cigarette, Eloise made sure to keep her focus on the cinders, who was she to deny a man who had just evaded death a smoke?
"I've decided we're gonna to get away."
"Oh yeah?"
"Just me and you, Australia. I've got a magazine. America's no good, cause that's where they are, but there's no Italians in Australia."
"I think there are Mum," he groaned, bending his arm to drag again but it was promptly snapped off him.
"Bad ones I mean," she retorted, taking a drag herself.
"Have you stopped taking those prison tablets?"
"Now don't you worry about me,"
"I do."
"Just you get better. The doctor says it'll be five weeks then you'll be up and walking. Now... there's a boat that leaves on February 13th"
"Tell Tommy I need to see him. Tell him to bring a gun small enough to put in the chamber pot in case they come-"
Again Eloise busied herself with the patient notes at the other end of the room, seemingly unconcerned with who 'they' were. How many enemies could one boy have?
"I've banned Tommy from coming."
There was a pause, as he watched her carefully.
"Are the lads at the factories at work-"
"Forget the fucking factories…"
"Is there any word of them going out on strike?"
"We're going to Australia. Just be you, me, your sister."
He sighed deeply and shook his head.
"I found out where she was buried, somewhere outside Melbourne."
"Listen Mum, I'm gonna get better slowly. But you need to get better fast. Without you he falls apart and without him… without him they'll take us all. You've got to get us through this. And I promise, I'll board that train with you and we'll go to Australia."
The hope in Polly Gray's eyes was difficult not to stare at, but Eloise managed it as she saw in her peripheral the woman stood and kissed her son on the forehead.
"Keep those men the other side of the door," Michael insisted, "their chatter annoys me."
Polly nodded and took a final glance around the room, her eyes lingering on Eloise for a moment before she stormed out of the ward, no doubt to scold the watch-dogs.
Eloise wondered if Polly had left the bottle of liquor on Michael's table on purpose. Pouring a glass of water, Eloise hurried over, dropping the water onto the table and picking up the hip-flask quickly, sweeping them into her pinafore. If there was one thing she had learned growing up on the streets of Camden, even if it had been part of dynasty, it was how to have light fingers.
"I'd prefer one of those," Michael Gray insisted, nodding from the water, to the whisky which Eloise had taken away.
"It won't do you no good," Eloise replied shortly, before reaching for his patient files to see when his vitals had last been recorded. She pursed her lips, understanding why he was overdue- no nurse dare interrupt Polly.
She pulled the whittled-sharp pen from behind her ear and glanced to the clock on the wall, well aware of the Gray boy's eyes on her.
"And you're my doctor are you?" he wheezed, leaning forward as though he were about to snatch it from her, but wasn't able.
"As good as," she assured him with a small smile, before she reached for a clean thermometer. "Open your mouth please," she held out the small device.
A wicked smile danced across his lips, despite the obvious pain in his eyes, "I'd prefer it if you opened yours."
Having learned a quick tongue from her father and Uncle, she couldn't help but snap back, "Did your mother teach you to speak to women like that?"
He smirked and inclined his head to the left, as though he were privy to a secret that she didn't know, and Eloise couldn't help but stare down at him, supposing that there was a lot that he knew that she didn't.
Unfortunately for Michael, there were things Eloise knew too. That there was more than one way to take a temperature for example.
"Open your mouth so I can take your temperature," she retorted, leaning over him and waving the thermometer in front of his face, "or I'll stick it somewhere else, and it will not be pleasant."
He wheezed, half a laugh, half in pain, and opened his mouth obligingly. Eloise took his temperature quickly and then the reading, placing the thermometer on his tray table. Before the reading- average- slipped her mind, she reached into her bonnet and pulled out one of her sharpened pens.
He was looking at her awkwardly, she could tell, and she so she wasn't surprised when he stated, "You're fairly young to be a qualified nurse."
Without missing a beat, she pressed a full stop to the notes and returned her gaze to Michael before replying, "And you're fairly young to have taken four bullets in some sort of gang war, yet here we are."
A coarse chuckle left his mouth again, before his eyes winced in pain and her look of defiance turned to compassion automatically.
Eloise replaced his clipboard on the bed, and reached for the glass. She quickly glanced towards the door and, seeing that the armed men were still outside the door, quickly threw the water down the sink. With her fast fingers, she pulled out the hip-flask and poured less than a shot of whisky into the glass. Tucking the thermometer into her apron, she smiled and held the glass out to him.
"Sleep," she instructed, "that's Doctor's orders. Your body will heal faster if you are asleep."
He glanced again at the men behind the door, then at the glass suspiciously as if half sure she might be about to poison him. He reached over, took the glass and drank the shot, wincing again at the movement, but relief passing over his face as he sank the drink. His eye-lids fell to a close and Eloise took the glass, making a mental note to rinse it out herself before putting it on the kitchen-trolley.
For the first time in a long while she stopped in at the grocers on her way home from work and brought herself a bottle of brandy. It was silly, she supposed, drinking alone in her small apartment, but after lighting a fire and heating a bath of water she felt content sinking into the water and drinking enough brandy until she dozed off.