Hello everyone! As noted before, this is the twelfth part of the second series of my Peaky Blinders FanFiction story "Ghosts of Our Past." To understand the main original character's origins, looks, and story line, please go back to the first chapter of this entire story, under the title "Ghosts of Our Past: A Dying Promise." All of the story is under this story line, so it will be easier for my previous readers to keep up with the updates. :)
As a personal note, I wanted to apologize for how long it has taken me to update. Honestly, it was due to a combination of things: a new job, new master's program, going back and forth between Poland the United States twice...and honestly, I also had horrible writer's block! I sat on this part for months, rewriting it several times. After reading through the series and a burst of inspiration, I feel like I finally crafted another addition worthy of the story line.
As always, thank you SO much for your favorites, follows, and reviews! Thanks to liv3006, Idcam, MarvellousFiend, and 44 for the kind words and reviews.
Enjoy! xxA
Part Twelve:
Many days had passed since I arrived in Small Heath and I quickly became settled into my surroundings.
Unfortunately, this did not mean that everything had gone smoothly during my transition back into the town and my introduction to the Shelby Company, Limited.
During these days, I wondered if I had taken on too much in my quest to have it all with Tommy Shelby.
Taking over the newly formed secretary and secondary advisor positions after the unanimous vote to offer me the positions at the latest family meeting, I swiftly realized how things were cracking under the seemingly controlled surface, due to a plethora of mishaps.
It all seemed to explode at once.
The first sign of trouble seemed to find me one early morning, as I went to check on the renovations happening at The Garrison.
There should have been men already there, painting the final touches on the walls. Our grand re-opening would happen within one week and we had no time to spare.
Instead, as I entered what would become the new pub, I walked into an unfinished mess of paint and left-over paint cans strewn around the room.
I swore loudly, kicking over a paint can for good measure.
How could this be?
Surely, no contractors would dare to cross the Peaky Blinders.
Thinking over the possibilities as to why the painters would quit on a job for the Peaky Blinders, the lone possibility came to my mind: Arthur.
In an attempt to keep Arthur out of trouble, he was given the responsibility to watch over the renovations at the Garrison.
It had been nothing short of a nightmare.
He didn't seem to supervise anything properly, as he much preferred helping himself to our future pub's inventory of assorted liquors.
Our whiskey supply was dwindling and we hadn't even opened yet.
Everything concerning the Garrison had become de facto my responsibility, as Tommy had been concerned with unspecified business and Polly had been rather scarce, as of late.
I didn't have time to question it. Instead, I took on the responsibility, as it seemed to be second nature to me by now, fixing the messes of men over and over again.
The only thing that I had tasked Arthur with in the end, was to pay the painters for the job. I knew it was important to save face, having Arthur interact as the leader of the project with members of the public, who were outside the family.
Although I had the inclination to question myself if even that had been a mistake, I put it out of my mind and I moved onto other messes.
After all, how bad could it be?
Now, it all became clear, as I evaluated the situation: it had been a stupid idea.
Something had happened with Arthur paying the painters and it meant that the painters were likely not coming back today.
Hearing the click of the safety being taken off on a handgun behind me, I was pulled from my thoughts and quickly swirled around to see an inebriated Arthur squint his eyes at me. He began to yell.
"I already told you, I ain't fucking payin' ya fuckers anymore! Get the fuck out"
Gaining the confirmation to my earlier, eerily correct premonition, I found that I had little patience for Arthur's state at 8:00am and my blood began to boil. Despite the loaded gun pointed at me, I snapped and I began to yell.
"Arthur, put that fucking gun down, it's me for christ's sake!"
Although the atmosphere was tense, I didn't feel scared, because I knew that Arthur couldn't shoot a fish in a barrel, in his state.
Keeping his revolver locked onto me, it seemed to take an eternity for him to realize who it was.
Finally, he put down the gun.
"Oy, sorry, you ain't the painters. Toni, my woman! Come have a drink with me!"
As he walked over to me, he tripped over the paint can that I had previously kicked and he fell onto the floor, his gun scattering across to me.
Walking over to him, I squatted down beside him.
"Arthur, where the fuck are the painters?"
Briefly, he raised his head, mumbling drunkenly a slurred explanation.
"T-th-they asked me to pay 'em…..I-I set them straight, we already fuckin' paid 'em!"
As he tried to further sit up, he fell back down and groaned, the alcohol likely taking its further hold on him.
Furiously grabbing Arthur by the collar, I raised his face to look at mine.
"You bloody idiot, we haven't paid them yet!"
My admonishment was useless, as I realized he had already closed his eyes and passed out for the day.
"Bloody hell," I said, as I dropped his head on the ground.
Grabbing his gun, I clicked the safety on and I set it beside him, not bothering to wake him up.
Storming out of The Garrison, I walked to my newly purchased company automobile and climbed into the driver's seat, seething.
I sat behind the wheel for a moment to collect myself from the encounter with Arthur and it was my downfall.
I thought to myself that the day couldn't get any worse.
After some time, I realized that I spoke too soon.
The tapping on the passenger side's door brought me to look to my left to see none other than the man who haunted my dreams over the last two years. The man that I swore to kill, if I ever saw him again.
All of these years and he seemed to know when to find me when I least expected it.
I couldn't run forever.
Soon, his northern Irish accent filled my ears.
"Well, good day to you, Miss Paltrowicz-Casey. I must extend my heartfelt congratulations on your recent engagement."
It was none other than Inspector Chester Campbell.
The man, the murderer, and the attempted rapist.
My nightmares didn't portray him well.
He was even worse in person.
His devilish, wicked smirk was still the same, bone chilling sight after all these years. As he leaned into the car, bile threatened to make an appearance from my stomach at the proximity that we shared.
The fury that ran through my veins begged me to kill him on the spot, but the rational part of me held off on the impulse.
I would have to play nice.
Still, I couldn't hide the disgust lacing every word, as I spoke.
"Inspector Campbell, what a pleasure, as always."
Nodding, he lit his pipe, the smoke wafting into the car.
I felt like I couldn't breathe.
"I must say, a congratulations is in order for me, as well. It's Major Campbell, now."
This was becoming even more nauseating.
"Congratulations. To what do I owe this sincere honor, Major Campbell?"
Taking his arm off the door, he balanced on his cane, before continuing. As much as I wanted to smile at the realization I had left him permanently injured, the nausea was taking hold.
"Nothing extraordinary. I just wanted to confirm for myself that you had indeed returned to Small Heath, after all of these years. It seems to be you, even with the short hair."
I bit down on my lip, to quell the urge to say the most foul things that I could think of to this man.
Instead of my usual brazen contempt and vulgar hatred that would be a spectacle in a situation such as this, silence became the only noteworthy contribution to the situation.
The seconds passed so slowly, you would have thought time froze.
Tightly smiling, I attempted to excuse myself in an attempt to recover from the situation.
"Well, it seems that I have and if you'll excuse me, I really must be going."
Knowing he had nothing more to hold me for, he nodded.
"Tell Mr. Shelby that I send my regards. Since you're his secretary, please make sure to tell him that I'm greatly looking forward to our meeting later this evening."
Meeting.
What meeting?
Trying not to react and expose my ignorance to their relationship and private matters, I forced myself to smile and I nodded.
"I will be sure to pass along the message. Goodbye, Major."
As he began to slowly retreat, I tried to seem unrattled, as I started the car. With my hands shaking, I began to drive away in my automobile.
As I drove, I tried desperately to keep my hands planted firmly on the wheel, despite the violent shaking that began to take hold of them.
Desperately, I tried to think of anything else, but my mind kept returning to what had happened in and around the Garrison.
As I thought over the morning's events, it began to make me hate being in this town again.
In the short drive to Watery Lane in a car he had purchased for me, I began to resent Tommy's status and the whole way of life that seemed to follow me wherever I went.
You missed this place every minute you were away….you were born into this life and you fought to be a part of this...what is wrong with you?
In light of these thoughts, I sighed, realizing that I shouldn't be so angry with Tommy or his enterprise.
There was one fact that I was angry at: his reluctance to share the information that he was working with Campbell, in some way.
Instead, I had to learn it from none other than Major Campbell himself.
Why didn't Tommy tell me about the impending meeting?
Maybe he didn't want you to fall apart again...he views you as fragile.
I sighed, realizing that he probably thought that he was protecting me, by keeping me in the dark.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but it felt as a storm was brewing as I placed the car into park. I felt like I was the only one that could see it coming, though I had no way to prevent it.
Knowing my thoughts would further cloud the clarity I needed for my work, I decided to push them out of my mind for the present storm of paperwork that would soon find me.
As I opened the doors to the betting dens of Watery Lane, I walked past the growing line of men in front of Esme's desk, to Tommy's office, which he had so graciously allowed me to use.
It seemed fitting, considering the fact that Tommy seemed to conduct most of his business throughout Small Heath, rather than in the confines of this space.
As I took off my coat, I took my cigarette case out of my coat pocket and I strode to my place at Tommy's desk. I began to look through the invoices that required documentation for Polly and I began to lose myself in my work.
A few hours later, it was only the knock on the door that seemed to take me out of the trance that had taken hold. I blinked, looking at the clock to see that a large portion of the day had already passed by.
Placing the receipt invoice on the desk and putting down my pen, I looked to the door and acknowledged the knock behind it.
"Yes?"
"May I come in?"
Sighing, I closed my eyes to suppress the childish inclination to deny permission to enter the office, as I knew that I had to make an effort with my future sister-in-law.
"Yes, please come in," I said.
As Esme entered, she looked around the room, before closing the door behind her and locking it. She hesitated, stopping next to the door. Anxiety etched her face.
Although I generally avoided having her in my company, compassion won over the pettiness in the moment, due to her present state.
"You look like you need a drink, Esme. Have a seat. Rum?"
Relaxing, she nodded, before answering.
"Yes, please."
As she walked over to take a seat in front of the desk, I stood up quickly and walked over to the credenza that housed a few bottles of rum among the sea of whiskey, courtesy of Alfie Solomons. I poured us two glasses and I walked over to her, placing the rum on the desk in front of her. I took my place behind the desk, taking a seat.
We silently toasted, taking small sips of the liquid.
Realizing that I held the power in the situation, I spoke first.
"What's on your mind, Esme?"
Truth be told, compassion was not the only motivation for my inquiry. I was also curious as to why she sought me out in her moment of turmoil. I was not the likely candidate to confide in, though I realized in that moment, she likely had no one in the family to confide in, besides John.
She swirled the rum around in her glass, likely considering these things, before speaking.
"Have you noticed how Pol really hasn't been available lately? Why she won't even deal with me?"
I paused for a moment, a bit irritated at the question and surprised.
The only thing I had come to notice as of late, was how incredibly fucked up everything seemed to be and how Tommy and Polly seemed to be absent. I had assumed it had to do with business.
Business took precedence over nearly everything.
"No, Esme, I cannot say that I have. My attention has been on more pressing matters, but please tell me, why exactly is this so? Have you had a quarrel between you?"
"If you call holding a knife to my throat a quarrel, then yes."
Peaking by interest, I bid her to explain.
"Pol was at a seance at Mrs. Pryce of the Patch's home…a Gypsy medium. She was trying to find information about her children—"
Children?
It was then that I remembered a distant conversation that took place at Esme and John's wedding. Polly had mentioned children, but she quickly moved on from the topic as quickly as it had come up.
Seeing my face, she paused, before continuing.
"—they haven't been with her in some time. She sought out the medium, because she thinks her daughter has passed on to the next life. I wanted to warn her that Mrs. Pryce is a charlatan, that she'll just tell Polly what she thinks she wants to hear or what she is thinking…..she wouldn't hear none of it...Polly held a knife to my throat and swore me to secrecy. While I honor secrecy, I am worried about her. Polly ain't the same, Ton—-Antonina. I'm worried about her. She seems so sad."
Taking this information in, I realized that there was so much about this family that I didn't know or think about. I felt a slight, unfamiliar pang of guilt at how little I had paid attention to Polly's sullen mood and general absence. I just assumed it was due to the chaos of everything.
Still, what did Esme expect me to do about the situation?
"I know what you're thinking...why should you help me? I haven't been the kindest to you—"
"A bit of an understatement—"
"—and I am sure you wished Polly finished the job. I know, I broke my vow of secrecy. But I'm telling you, because I feel it in my blood to help Polly. I need you to talk to Thomas and I need the two of you to take care of this. Not for me, but for Polly. Can you do it?"
I looked at Esme, searching her eyes for a hint of dishonesty. Much to my dismay, she seemed to be telling the honest truth and she seemed desperate.
"Sure, anything for Polly. We will take care of it."
"Thank you. I trust you to fix it."
I simply nodded at her.
Sensing that we no longer had anything noteworthy to share with one another, she pushed herself to get up and turned towards the door.
Thinking about her motivation for confiding in me, I realized that I needed to let go of my misgivings for the woman. Feeling a bit more kind to her, I cleared my throat to signal that I had something to say.
"Esme?"
"Yes?"
"You can call me, Toni."
She smiled and I think I had something resembling a smile on my face.
As she exited, I looked to the clock, sighing. There was still so much to do. I turned back to the mountain of paperwork and invoices.
At half past eight, I paused to take a deep breath and smoke a cigarette to clear the exhaustion settling in my bones. Listening to the silence, it was apparent that the betting dens were empty and void of everyone. Pushing the paperwork away, I placed my head in my hands, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes for only a moment.
The next thing I knew, I felt the familiar hand caressing my back, before I heard his voice.
"I don't think we pay you to sleep, Toni."
I smiled, raising my head and opening my eyes. After he took his hand away from my back all too soon, I leaned back in the chair and looked to him.
"What a pity, I could use paid rest after these last few days."
"I looked for you at home, but the maid had told me that you hadn't been home since the morning. I figured that you would be here."
"Well, everything is a bit fucked up, Thomas."
He moved slowly from behind to the space in front of me, studying me, before turning his attention to his desk.
Looking over the paperwork scattered before me, he moved it aside to lean on the desk. He inhaled a drag, blowing out the smoke. Raising an eyebrow at him, I took a cigarette from my case in front of me and struck it. As I inhaled the smoke, I studied him. It was only after a moment that I realized, he was waiting for me to elaborate on my last statement.
"Things are a bit of a mess here, Thomas, and I'm not referring to the papers you so kindly pushed aside."
"How so, Antonina?"
"Have you really not noticed, Thomas?"
He looked at me, raising his brows. I sighed, realizing that I would have to paint the picture for him to see it.
"For starters, I walked into a mess at the Garrison today. Paint cans everywhere. The decorators and painters were nowhere to be seen. After some investigation, the painters doing the Garrison want paying. Arthur forgot that he didn't pay them and pulled a gun when they asked, so they've stopped and everything's green."
"Alright, well, just pay it."
Rolling my eyes, I took a drag off of my cigarette.
"You're not going to question why he didn't pay?"
Tommy shook his head, lighting a new cigarette. Irritated, I admonished him.
"Thomas, he forgot, because he was so fuckin' drunk. He even pulled a gun on me, when I walked in, because he couldn't even tell who I was. We cannot conduct business like this, Tom. If word gets out that we don't pay for services, we lose our legitimacy. It needs to be taken care of."
Like the mastermind he was, he sat for a moment thinking about my words, carefully.
"Right, it will be dealt with. Pay them and see to it that all of the finishing touches are taken care of by you. Is that all?"
Giving him a cross look, I shook my head.
"Polly pulled a knife on Esme. Polly is rather unhappy."
"What does this have to do with the bigger picture of business?"
"We are talking about your family, Thomas. It is about their happiness. Esme came to me today to say that Polly visited a gypsy medium, in search for her children. She believes one has died. She desperately is seeking information about them. Esme confronted her about it, trying to advise her that the gypsy medium was a charlatan and Polly pulled a knife on her. Things are not the same. After some thinking, I think we need to find them, Thomas, or at least, we can find some information."
"Alright, I'll take care of Polly, Toni," he said, briefly pausing to flick his cigarette ash into the ashtray.
"Another thing….why didn't you tell me about your meeting tomorrow?"
"Which meeting are you referring to, I have many-"
"With Major Campbell. Why didn't you tell me you're working with him? What game are you playing, Thomas?"
Looking up at him, his eyes bore straight into mine. I raised my eyebrows, as the seconds elapsed and I waited for his explanation.
Instead, he cleared his throat and he got up from the desk. He began to speak, which furthered my agitation.
"Now I need you to write a letter for me that needs to go out today. I put it in the diary."
"Are you really going to bloody avoid my questions?"
"This will help answer your questions.I assume you know how to address a formal letter?"
I looked at him, raising my eyebrows and stubbing out my cigarette. Getting out a pencil, I turned to him.
"What kind of fucking secretary would I be if I didn't know? I can kill and I can write, Thomas Shelby."
"Fair enough, Ms. Paltrowicz. Dear Mr. Churchill-"
I dropped my pencil, looking at him with my mouth open.
"Has your pencil broken?"
Ignoring his sarcastic question, I cut to the point.
"What are you doing, Thomas?"
"I don't believe I asked you to interrogate me, I believe I asked you to write-"
"Don't be wise with me, Thomas Shelby. This is not a game. This is Mr. Winston Churchill."
He stubbed his cigarette out, looking at me with exasperation. Likely not used to someone questioning his instructions in quite some time, he was weighing the next words out of his mouth carefully.
"Yes, I am aware of whom I am writing to."
I stared at him, not bothering to budge a muscle. He nodded, lighting another cigarette to replace the finished one.
"As I tell you what to write, you'll get the answers to your many questions. If you have questions afterwards, I will answer them, Toni."
Breathing deeply and closing my eyes for a moment, I opened them again and I grabbed the pencil.
As he spoke, he paced around the room, seeming to look off far away in the distance.
"Dear Mr. Churchill,
I've been approached by an agent of the Crown to carry out a task, as yet unspecified.
His name is Major Campbell and I believe he reports to you.
Therefore, I decided to make direct contact with you to make sure that certain things are clearly understood.
Mr. Churchill, you should know that I am a former British soldier and if you look at my war record, you will see that I fought bravely at Verdun and at the Somme. Also, you will see that my actions at Mons saved thousands of Allied lives.
My American fiance, Antonina Paltrowicz-Casey, served as a Red Cross medic nurse on the front lines of battles. She served at battles, most notably the Battle of St. Quentin Canal, where she tragically lost her British-born husband David Casey, who you may know as a hero of the battle. She witnessed such loss first-hand, representing the thousands of wives and mothers who gave their husbands and sons to serve our Allied forces.
I know that you resigned your ministerial position and the safety of an office to go and fight on the front line with the men.
I read that you fought bravely, Mr. Churchill.
Therefore, I hope that we will be treated in any dealings we have with a degree of respect, soldier to soldier.
In exchange for my services and on behalf of our family, I would like to formally request that the Colonial Office would grant our enterprise an Empire export licence covering India, Malay Peninsula, Canada and Russia. We plan to transport manufactured goods from Birmingham to the Poplar Docks.
My demands are slight and my sacrifice in service of my country will no doubt once again be great.
Yours sincerely,
Thomas Shelby"
As I finished the letter, I let my pencil fall to the side.
It was overwhelming, to say the least.
Though my mind was swirling with thoughts on the subject of Campbell and an official export license, I couldn't help, but feel my thoughts continually loop around at the words 'David Casey' on the page. I couldn't help, but feel guilty.
It seemed that I never thought of him anymore. What a shameful widow I was.
How much of a changed woman I was from 1918, when he had died.
Trying to move away from the guilt that plagued me, I came to my dead husband's defense instead.
"He was Irish, you know."
Tommy looked at me, exhaling cigarette smoke.
"David. He was very proud of it and he despised the British Crown. How do you think I knew about the green confetti in the Garrison, Thomas?"
"I don't think it would be wise to let the honorable Mr. Churchill know this, given my requests."
His words distracted me from the pain in my chest.
The pressing matters of business pushed away my grief at hand.
Lighting a cigarette, I spoke.
"So, most of my questions have been answered, but this one: when were you going to tell me about Campbell, Thomas?"
Lighting another cigarette, he shook his head at me, as if I was not paying attention.
"Toni, you knew he was coming back to Small Heath-"
Growing irritated, I interrupted him.
"That's not what I meant, Thomas. When were you going to tell me that my life was further in danger?"
"Antonina, I am taking care of this on my own. You are not in any dan-"
"Thomas, you had me write an entire appeal that mentioned my dead husband by name and his war record, plus my own service in the Great War. Don't lie to me."
Sighing, he walked over to me and he leaned against the desk, closing his eyes.
Standing up, I stubbed out my cigarette and I took his face in my hands. As his eyes opened, I could see the hesitation in his eyes.
"Thomas, I know that you are not used to answering to anyone, but Polly in this family, but I need you to be honest with me. You promised me that you would. I love you and I am going to be your wife. I knew what I signed up for, when I agreed to marry you. Please."
Not waiting for an answer first, I kissed him. Although it took him a moment, he kissed me back, before pulling away and sighing.
The words began to spill out from the lips that had just touched my own.
"Major Campbell approached me in the hospital, after our attacks. He knew about an assassination that I conducted for the IRA, after the incident at the Garrison. I have been tasked with an assignment. It will likely be another assassination. My cooperation is contingent on your life and my own. I will do what it takes to keep you safe, but I do not trust Campbell. I saw a business opportunity, as well, so I took it."
Although a million words lay at the tip of my tongue and I felt my anger rise at how little he had told me of the IRA and the deal with Campbell, I bit my tongue. I knew how much it had taken him to share these little snippets, after years of not having to answer to anyone, but Polly.
So despite the gravity of his words, I smiled at him and I nodded.
"Okay, thank you for telling me."
Cocking his head, a weird smile played on his lips. Rolling my eyes, I stepped back from him and I began to gather the scattered papers into a pile. Just as I was about to close the diary, the words "London" caught my eye under the next day's agenda, after "meeting," which I assumed was the meeting with Campbell.
I sighed loudly.
"Were you going to bother to tell me that we were going to London tomorrow, Tommy?"
"There is the irritated Antonina that I've come to know and love again. But love?"
"What, Thomas?" I snapped, growing tired of his condescending tone.
"A good secretary would know the week's events ahead of time."
Closing the diary and throwing it on my desk, I replied sharply.
"No, I think that I just have a bad employer. He never seems to be around and when he is, he is rather trying. You know, I did see a nice ad in the paper about a secretary position at the hospital-"
Taking me by surprise, he turned me around and he kissed me to cut off my words, before pulling away.
"While that may be so, I think there's something that I can do to make you stay...a nice incentive."
"Sex is not going to pacify me this time, Thomas Shelby."
He smirked, as he continued.
"Let's take a short trip, after we see Alfie."
Although I was still annoyed, he slightly caught my interest.
"Is this a business related trip? I dare say, I'm touched."
Smiling, he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear.
"I was actually thinking a night away from business. You, me. Maybe some horses. Whiskey. A world away from all this."
Looking into his eyes, his gaze melted my heart. I knew how much he wanted to impress me and keep me happy in the midst of all the chaos that came with his world.
When I spoke, my tone was softer than it had been in a long time.
"I would love that, Thomas, but I don't know how to ride a horse."
"Well, I'll have to teach you then. The three of my weaknesses in one night: you, whiskey, and horses."
Kissing me, he pulled away, ever so quickly and he pulled out his pocket watch.
"I need to be off to sort some things before tomorrow. I'll send a car for you at eleven in the morning and we will be on the way. Don't worry about packing, I'll send for some things for you."
Sighing, I nodded and touched his cheek.
Business was never far away, no matter how much we could pretend it wasn't.
"I'll see you tomorrow then."
Nodding, he turned and pulled his cap out, walking out the door.
I couldn't deny how conflicted I felt, watching him walk out the door.
I was still the woman, waiting for a man to finish business to return to me.