4.
My mother raised an eyebrow when I told her the deal we'd struck, putting down her sewing with a thoughtful look. I'd been back at the shop less than fifteen minutes but I'd already told her everything—almost everything, at least. I hadn't told her that I was sure Thomas Shelby had almost kissed me; then I'd have to explain that I hadn't been careful, and that I hadn't really cared at the moment. And I certainly couldn't tell her that he certainly knew I had secrets. She'd only worry; admittedly she would be right, but I just couldn't help but feel like I wanted him to know he didn't know everything about me, to know I was more than just a seamstress's daughter, even if he didn't know the rest.
"A distraction, Rose?" she asked, shaking her head. The afternoon light slanted through the windows and caught her red hair, framing her face with fire. "I don't much like the sound of that. And I certainly don't trust Thomas Shelby." She rose, crossing the room to place her hands on my shoulders. She was eye level with me, but I felt small suddenly, like a child, and that exhilarating moment of freedom and carelessness was gone as fast as it came. "You're to stay as inconspicuous as you can, Rosie, you hear me? I don't want any nonsense, I don't want anyone to notice you. It's hard enough to keep the boys away as it is, love." She cupped my face with her rough, worn hands. "Don't give anyone a reason to want to know more, do you understand?"
I nodded, chafing at the restrictions but already feeling the pull of the unswerving acceptance of her rules that I'd had for years. As a child I'd been petulant, always wanting things my own way. But I'd grown enough to recognize that my mother often knew best, and she always knew how to keep us from arousing suspicion—and that was of the utmost importance if we were going to be of any service to the IRA, to our country, to our people.
"I understand, Ma," I said, reaching forward and pulling her tightly against me, suddenly full of love for this woman who was so strong and fierce but also so loving and careful. "I understand."
She patted my back and returned to her sewing without another word. That was always her way; to impart instructions or lay down rules and then never mention it again, trusting me to make the right choices. And I always did.
I woke early Sunday morning, far before I was supposed to. Quietly, I got out of bed, splashing the cold water in the basin on my face. I had no idea what I was going to be doing today, but I had a feeling it would be different, to say the least.
Carefully, I dressed in one of my nicer dark blue dresses and put on worn brown heeled shoes and the crucifix necklace my father had given me, before sitting carefully in the armchair and watching the streets below, lit only by lamplight. Drunk men stumbled home, some stopping to vomit, some falling at the side of the road to close their eyes. Men and women walked past them, hand in hand and laughing, here and there taking their pleasure, and I felt a pang of suppressed jealousy that they could be so easy and open with each other.
Finally, I put my things in a small purse and kissed my mother goodbye. She murmured a smothered "be careful" in her sleep before her eyes fluttered shut again, and I left. The streets were still dark, and a few men shouted obscenities, but I was used to ignoring them. For all my mother's protection and teaching, there were a few things I had had grown accustomed to on my own.
The Garrison's lights were off and the sun was just peeking over the tops of buildings by the time I arrived. Taking a deep breath, I pushed on the door, almost surprised when it gave; I'd been half-expecting it to be barred still, for me to have gotten the wrong day.
But I never got the wrong day, and Sunday was certainly no change from the usual.
Thomas Shelby, Arthur Shelby, and various other men milled about, some drinking, some talking. They barely registered my presence; only a few short looks, and they were back to their beers and conversations. An atmosphere of nervous energy and excitement filled the room, weighing down the air.
I made my way to Tommy, who sat at a table looking blankly ahead, an untouched pint in front of him. He was clearly thinking, and I was loathe to interrupt, but I didn't know anybody else and I couldn't stand milling about feeling entirely out of place.
"Mr. Shelby?" I said softly, and he looked at me immediately. For one disturbing moment it was as if he saw right through me, but then the blue gaze focused on me, and he gave a slight smile.
"Rose," he said in greeting, gesturing to the seat across from him. I sat down carefully, tucking my dress under me.
"Ah—what are we doing today?" I looked around at the men, who were clearly itching to be gone from The Garrison. "I didn't quite know there'd be so many...people."
"We're going to London," Tommy said smoothly, bringing the beer to his lips and eyeing me across the small table.
"London?" My first thought was of my mother; it was highly unlikely we'd make it to London and back in one day, and she needed me at the shop. "I can't—"
"We have an agreement, Rose. Or do we not?" His voice was soft, nonthreatening, but it held a steel note of calm seriousness.
"We do," I agreed after a moment. "But I can't just leave my mother, I didn't tell her I was going to London, she'll be so worried…She's only got me, you know." Suddenly I was irritated by him, for putting me on the spot like this, for expecting me to drop everything to follow him around England and inconvenience my mother.
"Aunt Polly will take care of your mother," Tommy said. "She knows where to find her, she'll know what to say. Don't you worry."
"Polly?"
"Yes, Polly. My aunt. She's part of the business."
I nodded slowly. "Right. Well." I couldn't very well back out now, and I knew my mother would understand; I'd just been unprepared to leave her, even for a night, and I felt like a child being taken from its mother, already missing her warm, reassuring presence.
Oh, grow up, O'Leary.
I had other matters to attend to, and I had a responsibility; my own feelings had to come second.
"Are we going, then?" I asked, and he gave another small smile at my impatience.
"Arthur," Tommy called out, gesturing to the tall, mustached man. He reminded me of a hawk, long limbs and bones and intimidation. "I believe we're all ready. Shall we go to London, boys?" His voice was raised enough that the rest of the men could hear, and they all shouted their assent, raising their glasses to their apparent leader—Tommy.
After swallowing the rest of their drinks, the men filed out of the pub, laughing and joking and slinging their arms around each other's shoulders, like young soldiers itching for a battle.
"How are we getting to London?" I asked suddenly, realizing the thought had never even occurred to me. I walked with Tommy, arms folded in front of me, feeling an unfamiliar awkwardness at being the only woman.
"You'll see," was all he said.
We made our way through Birmingham; people were beginning to stir, some from their beds and others from wherever they had fallen on the streets. I saw one woman prodding a still-drunk man with her broom, telling him sternly to get out of her front doorway and go home.
Finally, we reached the docks. Waiting there was the biggest car I'd ever seen, with a front cab section where the driver and a passenger would ride and a back with a large canvas covering it.
So, we're taking our own private transportation. How lovely.
I'd never even been in a car before, only buses and trains and ships, but I tried to keep my surprise off my face. The rest of the men climbed into the back, except for Tommy, Arthur, and a younger man—almost a boy.
After a short discussion, the two of them climbed into the back of the big car. It was just me and Tommy, and he gestured to the cab in the front.
"You'll ride with me, up here. Alright?" He had already opened the door on the passenger's side, and the thought quickly crossed my mind that it seemed like the first time he'd actually asked my assent instead of assuming compliance. With a smile to Tommy that I hoped concealed my nerves, I climbed in, tucking my skirt under me and nodding at him to shut the door. The car smelled different, new but somehow dusty at the same time, as if it had just been purchased but had already seen heavy use.
I could feel my pulse racing, heart beating fast, and I did my best to ignore it. I'd never been out of Birmingham in all my time in England, and I had no idea what to expect of London. Even more, I had no idea what the Peaky Blinders expected of me once we got there. I licked my lips, pressing them together as Tommy settled himself beside me, trying to focus through the somewhat grimy windshield in front of me and ignore the fluttering in my belly. If I was going to earn the trust of Tommy, the trust of the Peaky Blinders, I had to be braver than this. I had to be able to accept the unknown and face it boldly; embrace it, even.
The first part of the drive passed in silence, until we were out in the open, swathes of green rolling by behind lines of trees. I was entranced, staring out my window at the wide fields and trying to ignore the old familiar ache of homesickness as I thought about the beautiful lush greenness of Galway, when Tommy interrupted my thoughts abruptly.
"We're going to the Eden Club tonight. We have to find out how many of Sabini's men are in there, how many we're going to need to plan for."
I turned, looking at him. He was looking at the road, profile relaxed but focused. His lips look lovely from this angle. A sudden flash of memory reminded me of the odd, intimate moment we'd had before Campbell had burst in, and I felt suddenly embarrassed, too close together in the tiny cab.
"Plan for? What're you planning for?" I asked, focusing on the issue at hand.
He grinned, but it wasn't like the smiles I'd seen before. This one was predatory, like a cat that has trapped its prey; I could see how intimidating, how downright frightening Thomas Shelby could be.
"We're expanding our business, to London. And we need to send a message." He turned his head, catching my eye, and I saw a flicker of excitement in the deep blue. "That we mean to take London, and no one's stopping us."
"No one being Sabini?" I asked, wondering how much was too much to ask.
"No one being Sabini," he repeated softly, eyes forward again.
"How are you planning to send such a message?" I continued, trying to keep my tone casual. I still wasn't sure what he'd guessed about me, and even if he just thought I had a few harmless secrets, I doubted he wanted me meddling in Peaky Blinders business. I had to test my limits, though, see how far I could go.
"You'll see," he said again. I let it go, instinct telling me it wouldn't be smart to push the subject, and instead asked him what his business actually was. After a pause, he began talking about horses and racing and gambling, and I let him continue uninterrupted, the morning sun and motion of the car swaying me to sleep.
I woke with a start, momentarily confused by the strange surroundings before the memories flooded back. I was in Thomas Shelby's car, and it was at least late afternoon, going by the sun's position. We'd stopped moving, and a look out my window told me we must be in London; the houses were tall and fancy, imposing, and I fought down the surge of unease that came from being a lone Irish Catholic woman in England's capital city, never mind a young woman alone with a gang apparently intent on causing trouble.
The door opened beside me, and I looked down, surprised to see Tommy.
Was he waiting for me, then?
"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep," I said quietly, putting my hand in his as he helped me down from the cab.
"No need for apologies. I was just having a smoke."
"Right. Well. Where are we?"
"You're staying with Ada. My sister." He gestured to the house in front of us, placing a gentle but firm hand on my back and guiding me towards the door. "I'll be back at six." He paused, as if debating what to say next. "You won't be in any danger, Rose. I haven't brought you here to cause you harm." With that, he knocked on the door firmly, and it swung open to reveal a small, pretty woman with short brown hair and an annoyed expression on her face.
"Ada," he said, looking at his sister carefully, eyebrows raised at her outfit of a robe and not much else.
"Tommy," she said in a steely, soft voice.
"This is Rose O'Leary. You'll look after her, make sure she's ready to go to the Eden by six."
She appraised me and I tried to keep a level, blandly pleasant expression on my face. With a nod of her head, she indicated I could go in; stepping onto the plush carpet of the front hall, I did my best not to marvel at the luxuriousness of her home.
"Off with you, now, Tommy," she said behind me, and I turned just in time to see him standing in the doorframe, hands in his pockets, face shadowed by his cap, before she shut the door.
She turned to me, brown eyes surveying me silently. "How d'you know Tommy?" she asked, with the same abruptness as her brother.
"We have a deal," I said steadily. It was rather a lot, being in this strange new city with strange new people and no idea what was going to happen, and my nerves were jumpy. "He offered me and my mother protection, if I would help him. So I'm helping him. I think."
She laughed shortly, shaking her head.
"Your poor mother."
I swallowed, unsure of what to say and deciding it would be better to keep my mouth shut. She heaved a sigh before waving me up the stairs.
"Come on, we'll have tea. And then I need to get you ready, or Tommy'll have a fit."
Easily, she put her arm through mine and led me upstairs to a grandly decorated living room. We passed the afternoon comfortably enough; I told her the story I told everyone about why we'd left Ireland, what we were doing in Birmingham, and she told me about her son and deceased husband, waving away my sympathy when I offered it. She was as strong and steely as her brothers, and I couldn't help but feel that the Shelbys had inherited some kind of specific personality trait that made them all so unflappable.
Eventually, she made me change into a blue-green dress with thin straps going over the shoulders and matching heeled shoes, draping pearls around my neck, and pulling the ginger curls off my neck to pin up. Red lipstick was the finishing touch; Ada pulled back with a smile, letting me look at myself in the little vanity mirror. The dress brought out the green of my eyes, and I'd never worn so much makeup and jewelry. Despite the nervousness I'd felt all day, there was also a twinge of excitement at going out all dressed up, something I had experience all too little of in my life.
"Ada?" Tommy's voice, deep and loud, reached all the way upstairs to us. I hadn't even heard him come in. She rolled her eyes, apparently accustomed to such behavior, and turned to yell over her shoulder.
"We're up here, Tommy!"
I looked at the clock—five minutes to six. How prompt.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then he appeared in the doorway to Ada's room, wearing his usual suit but this time without a cap.
"She's ready," Ada said approvingly, stepping back to let me stand. I suddenly felt self-conscious, overdone, but Tommy looked approving, as well, with one eyebrow raised and a half smile he concealed with a hand over his mouth.
"She is," he confirmed, clearing his throat and returning his face to its usual expression. "Shall we?"
"Mm," I said, surveying the black suit and white shirt underneath, buttoned all the way up, exposing just enough of the strong, elegant lines of his neck. I couldn't keep myself from staring, at least just for a moment. "Thank you, Ada," I said after a beat, remembering my manners.
"Of course," she replied, before adding in a harder, more sarcastic tone, "Anything for Tommy."
He bowed his head in a half-mocking salute before turning to the side, allowing me to pass through the doorway. I could hear him conversing shortly with his sister behind me, and I made my way downstairs and through the entrance to see a car waiting outside; this one was smaller, more elegant, the sort of car a rich man would drive. I raised an eyebrow, silent; Tommy Shelby had more money that I had even imagined.
He cleared his throat behind me, pulling me out of my fascinated reverie. "Ready?"
I shrugged, still looking at the car and realizing I had no idea what I'd gotten myself into.
"I suppose," I answered, descending the last few stairs. I walked round the car, admiring it, and opened the passenger door for myself before realizing the polite thing would've been to let Tommy do it. Tommy himself said nothing, but returned to the driver's seat on the other side of the car. Without missing a beat, he started it up and rolled away from Ada's house. The nighttime summer air breezed warmly across my face, pulling a few curls free from the pins. The excitement I'd felt earlier was growing now, filling my stomach and spreading through my limbs, making me almost dizzy, and I felt the head rush of freedom I'd felt the other day in The Garrison, the one that had pushed me to touch that soft lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.
I looked across at Tommy, his lovely profile looking forwards and the dark hair spilling forward across his face, the closely cropped sides contrasting darkly against the smooth, pale skin of his face. My nervousness was almost completely gone; whatever was waiting, whatever Thomas Shelby had in store for me, I was ready for it.