Chapter 10 - A new face in an old town

May 23 1919

How Birmingham had changed over the last few months. How the Shelby's had changed. What had merely been an idea in Thomas' head had been effectively and successfully put into practice by Polly's intuitive and ruthless nature. Now, as Thomas rode through the streets of Small Heath on his tall and noble black steed, he could sense the tides turning. He sat high above the towns residents, his grey baker boy hat pulled down over his eyes. Little glints of light bounced from the edges of the cap, highlighting the razor blades which had been sewn carefully into the lining, paying homage to the families now almost infamous identity of the Peaky Blinders. People eyed him cautiously as he rode bareback through Garrison Lane. Policemen greeted him as though he was royalty, tipping their hats to him. Stopping off at his Uncle Charlie's yard, he climbed down from the horse and handed the reins to Curly. Enough time had been spent wandering around the streets. He had to get back to the Shelby household on Watery Lane. The betting parlour he had dreamed of was coming along nicely and he had begun targeting racetracks across England. His most recent purchase, Monaghan Boy was due to race at Kempton the coming Monday and his traveller background had brought him down to another part of town. Spells and fixing races infuriated his brother Arthur. Something Finn was now taking great pleasure in telling him. As Thomas made his way through the house, he pulled back the heavy curtains and pushed open the doors hidden behind. The noise and smell his him instantly. The unmistakable aroma of whisky and smoke hung in the air. What also wasn't surprising was the excitement of the men in the room in the run up to the Kempton races. Money was exchanging hands left, right and centre. John was rushing around at the far end of the room, writing odds up on the blackboard. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere and his hair was slicked back on his head.

"Tommy! Tommy!" he shouted down as his brother made his way through the crowd. "Look at the books. Just look. All on Monaghan Boy."

Thomas let out a rare smile as he glanced over the pages in front of him. Things were certainly coming together and the number of bets being placed on his horse was impressive. "Good work, John."

"Tommy!" Arthurs dulcet tones sounded across the room, essentially summoning his younger brother. "In here. Now."

Tommy could see the look on his face. It wasn't unusual for Arthur to walk around as if he was chewing a wasp, but on this occasion, Tommy knew exactly what had riled him up. Choosing not to make a scene, he followed, almost dutifully behind into the small nearby office, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the wall and sighed as Arthur poured out a glass of whisky.

"Now, you were seen doing the powder trick down at Garrison Court." He started.

"Times are hard. People need a reason to lay a bet." Tommy didn't move from his stance against the wall.

"There was a Chinese." Arthur continued, taking a drink.

"The washer woman says she's a witch. It helps them believe."

"We don't mess with the Chinese."

"Look at the book, Arthur." Tommy stated.

Arthur slammed his hand down on the table, shaking it. "Chinese have cutters of their own."

"We agreed Arthur." Somewhat undeterred by his brothers anger. "I'm taking charge of drumming up new money."

"What if Monaghan Boy wins, Tommy? You fixing races now?" Arthur rubbed his hands furiously, trying to channel his rage. "Do you have permission from Billy Kimber to be fixing races, hmm? Then whats got into you? You think we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber? Billy's got a bloody army!"

"I think, Arthur. That's what I do." He lifted himself from the wall and walked towards his brother, pressing his hands down on the table and leaning towards him. "I think, so that you don't have to."

Admitting defeat, Arthur sighed. "There's news from Belfast."

Tommy pulled open the office door and stepped back into the parlour. Arthur, however, was hot on his heels. "I'm calling a family council tonight at eight o'clock. I want all of us there. You hear me?!" He shouted after his younger brother as he disappeared out of sight. "There's trouble coming."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"On the house Mr Shelby." Harry Fenton placed the bottle down in front of him, smiling.

Thomas said nothing but placed two coins on the bar, taking a drag of his cigarette. He glanced over his shoulder and caught the eye of his former comrade, Freddie Thorne. Turning back to the bar, he waited until he approached.

"I'll take a mild." Freddie placed the empty glass down. Reaching over to the coins left on the bar, Freddie reached over and pushed one towards Harry, earning a concerned look from the barman who's eyes now flitted between the two. "Cheers Thomas. Good health to ya." He turned around and took a drink. Placing the glass back on the bar, Freddie lifted up Thomas' cap and inspected the edging. "Crown of a Prince. Soon to be King, I'd bet."

"You don't bet." Thomas didn't look at him, choosing to tap the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray in front of him.

"No, but these past few days I've been speculating."

"About what?"

"One of my union comrades has a sister, works in the telegraph office at the BSA factory. She says over the past week, they've had messages coming up from London to the brass. From Winston Churchill himself. Something about a robbery." His voice was lowered and he moved closer to Tommy. "A robbery of national significance, it said. She found a list of names, left on the telegraph machine. And on that list, was your name, and my name, together. What kind of a list would have the name of a communist and the name of a bookmaker side by side?"

Tommy put his glass down on the bar and turned to his former friend. "Perhaps, it's a list of men who give false hope to the poor? The only difference between you and me Freddie, is that sometimes my horses stand a chance of winning."

Freddie turned his body towards Tommy and leaned in close to him. "You know, there are days when I hear about the cuttings and beatings that I really wish I'd let you take that bullet in France."

Tommy smirked at his statement. But despite the bravado, he was immediately transported back to that rainy day in the trenches. They were exhausted. The sun had only just risen but they hadn't slept. The night had been long and weary, taken up with trench raids and surprise attacks on the enemy. It had been successful, but now, they were exhausted. He remembered the look on Freddie's face that day. He remembered it as though it was yesterday. His skin was grey and his cheeks hollowed. Unsurprising given the poor diet they had. As they started to make their way up the trench, shouts and screams sounded around them and suddenly, men were disappearing over the top. Hearing many German voices nearby, they both grabbed their rifles and instinctively climbed up the trench wall and out into the open land. The sound of gunfire assaulted their senses but Tommy had pushed it to the back of his mind as he had raced out ahead of his friend. One shot in particular rang out in his ears. He wasn't sure which direction it came from but It was only as he felt his body collapse to the ground, did he realise the impact of the shot. He waited for the pain to kick in, but he felt nothing.

"Get him out of here!" He was startled by the sudden shout from above him. Another soldier was perched down beside him, his gun aimed. A further shot rang out and it was only then that he realised the soldier had shot down an approaching enemy. "Are you deaf? I said get him out of here!"

Tommy's eyes had widened as it finally dawned on him that he hadn't been the one who was hit. He glanced over to his left to find Freddie lying beside him, motionless. Immediately getting to his feet, he had thrown him over his shoulder and ran back to the trench as fast as his feet could carry him. Fellow soldiers lay in wait for them, helping him back down into the trench. It was then that he realised Freddie had taken a bullet for him.

"Believe me, there are nights I wish you had." He was brought back to reality, pushing the memories from his mind. But they were only gone for a few seconds when the Garrison doors were swung open with a huge force. The punters around the tables jumped to their feet. Yelling echoed around the pub as Daniel Owen burst through the doors, knocking chairs out of the way and throwing tables around as if they were pieces of paper. Drinks crashed to the ground as Freddie and Tommy rushed towards the screaming man, finally grasping hold of him.

"They're gonna get me!" he screamed, resisting their grip.

"On three! One, two, three. Down!" Freddie shouted and both men pulled him to the ground, holding him down. "Breathe, Danny! Breathe!"

"They're gonna get me!" he cried into the wooden floor, tears pouring from the corners of his eyes.

"Danny. Danny, you're home." Thomas spoke soothingly, grasping onto the mans shoulder. "We're all home, in England. You're not in France. You're not an artillery shell, Danny. You're a man. Eh?! You're not a whizz bang. You're a human being Danny. You're alright. You're alright. You're alright."

He felt Danny's body relax. His eyes were still wide with fear but the outbursts had eased. Sensing this, both Freddie and Tommy pulled him to his feet. "It's alright." Tommy reassured him, gripping onto his shoulder and staring straight into his eyes. He could see the fear in his eyes. He gripped onto his chest as though he was having a heart attack. Beads of sweat poured down his face as realisation finally hit about where he was.

"Did I do it again?" his voice was high pitched with fear. Tommy nodded, causing him to finally allow the tears fall from his eyes and claw the hat from his head.

"You did it again, Danny." Tommy's fingers wrapped around the back of Danny's neck and he pressed their foreheads together. "You've gotta stop doing this, man."

"Mr Shelby, I'm sorry."

"Its alright. You go home to your wife now Danny. Get all that smoke and mud out of your head eh." Tommy guided him towards the door.

"Yes Mr Shelby. I'm sorry."

Tommy watched as he disappeared out of the door. He could empathise with him. He knew what it felt like to have never truly left France behind. True, he didn't have episodes in the same way Danny did, but he recalled the number of nights he went without sleep. The nights where he felt as though he was back in the tunnels under enemy lines. He would dream that he was surrounded by the mud and dirt as he scraped away at the tunnel walls. But then he would stop, because he could hear someone else. Someone else scraping. The sounds of the enemy pick axes were burrowed in his mind and he could find no escape from them.

"Mr Shelby, you need to do something about him." Harry was exasperated as he began picking up the damaged chairs and tables.

Ignoring him, Tommy made his way back to the bar with Freddie following behind. "Damn right Harry. You pay the Peaky Blinders a lot of money for protection. You're the law around here now, Tommy, aren't you? Maybe you should put a bullet in Danny Whizz Bangs head like they do with the mad horses. Maybe you'll have to put a bullet in my head someday too."

Placing his hat back on his head, Tommy made his way to the door. "Bring the bill to the Peaky Blinders." He pointed at Harry. "We'll take care of it."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

May 24 1919

The last trip she had made north remained fresh in her memory and as she boarded the train at Kings Cross, she sighed with relief as she managed to locate a seat, despite the large influx of passengers who boarded with her. Staring out of the window as the train pulled out of the station, she tried to force herself to relax, but somehow, she couldn't find the ability to do so. Her heart was racing with anticipation. She hadn't told her mother she was coming back for fear of news spreading. If Thomas was in Small Heath, she didn't want him to know. Drawing her line of sight away from the outside world, she scanned over the faces of her fellow passengers. Men were still trying to pack away large luggage cases. Women struggled with small children and families collapsed onto nearby seats, somewhat grateful of the sanctity of the carriage. The mood around was somewhat sombre and Emily felt as though she fit in perfectly.

"Heading home?"

She looked to her right. An older woman was occupying the seat beside her and she appeared to be travelling alone.

"Something like that. I live in London but my mother lives in Birmingham. I'm going back to visit them."

"Oh that's nice dear. My children don't make much effort to visit me anymore." She looked forlorn at the very mention of them. "Keep in touch with your mother. You'll never understand the joy it brings until you're in that position yourself. By then, its too late."

Emily nodded but didn't respond. She suddenly felt guilty. "I actually haven't seen my mother for a long time."

"Oh really?" she looked surprised.

"I was in France for quite some time. During the war. I'm a nurse." Emily explained.

The woman's mouth slightly gaped. "Oh, dear. How very fortunate that you came home in one piece. I'm sure your mother is excited to see you."

"I haven't actually told her I'm coming. You see, I wasn't sure if I could. I'm not just going back to see her. There was a man. A soldier." Emily looked down, wringing her hands profusely. "He lives in Birmingham. We were writing, back and forth. I haven't heard from him in some time though. I wasn't sure if I should come, in case he stopped writing because he didn't want anything more to do with me. Or if something had happened…." Her voice drifted off, the thought of anything having happened to Thomas felt like a punch to her stomach.

"Oh, dear." The woman lifted a gloved hand and placed it gently on Emily's clasped fingers. "If anything, at least it will give you some closure. It can't be easy, I understand. But, if its any consolation, if he has purposely stopped writing then he is a foolish young man letting a beauty like you slip through his fingers."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "Thank you. I think I just need to know either way."

The woman nodded and gave her hands a quick squeeze before releasing her. Emily leaned back in her chair and allowed her eyes to close allowing the rock of the train to send her into a soothing sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She walked like a woman on a mission with her green coat and skirt contrasting against the dull Small Heath background. Heading straight for the Garrison pub, she pushed open the door to find the owner sweeping up the floor.

"I'm here about the job as a barmaid." Her accent was an unusual sound to Harry's ears and it caught him by surprise. Lifting his head and pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he stopped what he was doing and turned to face her.

"Are you mad?"

"Am I what?" she asked, slightly perturbed by the question.

"Do you know about this place?" he asked.

She took a few steps towards him. "I saw it in an advertisement."

Glancing over her again, he turned back to the job he was doing. "Jobs been filled."

"It was in yesterday's paper." She rebuffed.

"Believe me love, I'm doing you a favour." She was keen and unrelenting, that he couldn't deny."

"I'm not asking for favours. I'm asking for employment." She was getting irritated now.

Harry stopped again and straightened himself up. A smile appeared on his face as he looked her over yet again. She was pretty. Naturally so. He couldn't allow her to spend any time here. They'd eat her alive. "You're too…..nice."

"How would you know?"

"And too pretty." He continued. "They'd have you up against a wall."

She was persistent though, handing him references and beginning to finish up the jobs he still had to do. All whilst carrying a tune to the Irish folk song, Carrickfergus. Taken aback, Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

"In Ireland, my singing made them cry and stop them fighting." She explained.

"I hope you know a lot of songs."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hello!"

Grace turned, relishing the slight break from the rowdy crowd who surrounded the long mahogany bar. For an afternoon, she hadn't expected it to be this busy and wondered how Harry had been managing on his own for so long. She took a few tentative steps towards the man who had appeared at the hatch. His presence filled the small space and from what she could see of him, he was incredibly well turned out. Caught by surprise, he stared at her for a few seconds too long before finally collecting himself.

"I need a bottle of rum."

Grace opened her mouth to speak when Harry's voice sounded beside her. "Grace, whatever it is, its on the house."

"A whole bottle?" she asked. "white or dark rum?"

"I don't care."

She turned away from him and made her way back along the bar, lifting a bottle from the shelf. She could feel his eyes burning into her the entire time, but she didn't allow herself to turn back around until she was taking the bottle back to him. Placing it in front of him, she spoke. "Harry's says its on the house."

"Are you a whore?" he asked suddenly. Her mouth opened slightly, somewhat unsure of what to say. "Cause, if you're not, you're in the wrong place." And with that, he turned and disappeared from her sight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thomas lay in bed that evening. He lit a small candle before reaching into his drawer and pulling put the long pipe. Piercing the small ball of opium resin, he placed it within the pipe and hovered it over the burning flame. Resting it down on the table, Thomas lay down, placing his head on his pillow. He allowed his eyelids to close, praying for some solace during the night ahead. It was immediately clear that was not going to happen. Behind his eyelids, the images of him, Danny and Freddie appeared. Their faces were wet and sticky with dirt and sweat as they crawled along the tunnels. As the screams and shouts sounded in his subconscious, Thomas' body jerked awake and he immediately sat upright, taking deep, hurried breaths. Rubbing his eyes and feelings the beads of sweat form on his forehead, he tried desperately to push the thoughts away. He thought back to the events of the day. Leaning back on his pillow, he closed his eyes and pictured the new barmaid. Grace. He had heard Harry calling her Grace. It suited her. She had taken him by surprise, being unaware that Harry had employed such a girl to do such a horrendous job. Her voice was soft and she looked incredibly out of place, serving in the Garrison. He couldn't deny she was attractive, and what surprised him the most, was that he had noticed. Apart from paying the occasional visit to Lizzie, the local whore, he hadn't even thought about another woman. Not since the war. Not since Emily.

Emily.

He couldn't understand why he had never heard from her again. It had been so long since her last letter. Just over a year. He sat up and pulled open the drawer once more. Pulling out the pile of papers, he began reading through them. So much emotion in her letters. Feelings that he wasn't even sure if he understood anymore. He read over the last letter he received from her. Confusion was evident in her words at the mixed feelings she felt about being sent home. He could empathise completely and had explained this in his response to her, but she had never replied. Was it right that he felt guilty for finding Grace attractive? He had never even given another woman a second look since arriving home from France but now, he was feelings things he hadn't felt in months. He was under the impression that he and Emily would have met again after arriving home. He had been hopeful that she would have been there, waiting for him. He remembered scouring the station platform when he had arrived back in Birmingham. Sure, he was pleased to see his family again, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed when he didn't spot her face in the crowd. He closed his eyes and conjured her image in his mind. Despite it being a long time since he had last seen her, he could picture her almost immediately. How could he forget her long ebony coloured hair against her tanned skin. She looked somewhat exotic. The first time he heard her speak, he was almost shocked to hear the cockney accent come from her lips. Opening his eyes again, the image of her disappeared. He knew he had to move on with his life, and he had an idea of exactly how to do that.