Another chapter up. This one starts the actual storyline. As always..Enjoy!
A train whistle blared in the distance as Thomas Shelby stepped off the train. The war was over. Behind him, John and Arthur grabbed their bags and followed Thomas onto the train platform. There were crowds of people waiting for the soldiers to come home alive. Many would not. Many would spend the rest of their lives remembering those that fell for this war.
Thomas could hear the cheers of those waiting patiently. He wasn't in the mood to celebrate. He turned around, catching John and Arthur's eye, and nodded at his brothers. It truly surprised him they survived the war, but he knew his brothers wouldn't let someone kill them just because. Shifting the shoulder strap of his bag, Thomas pushed through the throng of people, hoping to find Polly and Ada.
He shivered in the cold, wishing for a thicker coat. That would have to be remedied the second he stepped foot into his home. Thomas looked around and realized things were going to change. People stepped out of his way as he walked through the train station and towards the ramp.
"Thank fucking God you three are alive," a familiar voice called out.
Thomas turned around to see Polly, and Ada pressed against the wall, waiting on them. A thin smile broke out over his face, seeing his family. Before he could open his mouth, a body barrelled into him, nearly knocking him over. He looked down to see the slight form of his sister, Ada. She held onto him tightly, sobbing before letting him go to do the same to Arthur and John.
Polly, a little more sedate than Ada, stepped up to him and looked up. He knew she could tell something was amiss with him, but it didn't seem to matter to her. Wrapping him gently in a hug, she gave him a squeeze before letting go. Thomas stood there, unsure of how to respond. He looked around, seeing people hug their loved ones, and the hugs returned.
But him?
He didn't know how to feel anymore. Something in the war twisted his mind, and he found he wasn't interested in anything. He could see the world around him, but he didn't care for it anymore. Polly beckoned him to follow them outside to the car that was waiting patiently for them.
Polly handed him the keys. "I hope you haven't forgotten how to drive, Thomas."
He felt the weight of the keys drop into his palm. He stared at it for a second before raising his eyes to see Polly climb into the car. With the five of them, it was going to be a tight fit, but it seemed no one cared. He handed his bag to Arthur before walking around to the front of the car to crank the handle sticking out. The engine purred loudly, giving the car a shake. He walked around and climbed into the driver's seat.
As the car ambled forward, it felt odd to be back home. Birmingham looked the same as it did before he left, except he could tell there was a somber air about it. The drive to Watery Lane was silent between the small family, it seemed that no one wanted to speak. Thomas drove past Maze's family house, ignoring it as he passed. Though he noticed the house looked empty.
The house came into view, and he slowed the car down. The street was fairly empty for this time of day, notching his curiosity a bit. He looked around, his hand coming to open the car and stepping out. Arthur handed him his bag as he stepped out.
Quietly, they followed Polly to the front door and unlocked it. Thomas lingered back, waiting for his family to step through the threshold. Following them a few minutes later, he pushed the door closed silently.
The smell of home hit his senses hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking he would never smell home again. His family spoke quietly in the parlor, all of them getting to know one another again. He sat his bag down heavily on the wooden floor and walked quietly toward the parlor.
"You all have rooms here," Polly said as he walked into the parlor. He leaned against the doorframe, watching them interact. "None of you are required to leave." She said, turning to face him.
Thomas nodded silently. There weren't words to describe how he felt for her generosity. Of course, he knew it wasn't generosity, but the genuine love of her family. Polly was fiercely protective of those she loved and would do anything to keep them safe.
That night, after dinner, Thomas tentatively gave Polly a hug before grabbing his bag and leaving. He walked down Watery Lane without speaking to anyone. No one approached him as he continued his walk. Half a block down from Polly's, he stopped in front of the house he'd been living at before he volunteered for the war.
He shoved his hand in his trousers, removing the keys Polly gave him. Inserting the key into the lock, he twisted the handle, pushing the door open. The house was dark, which wasn't unusual, but with his wolf's sense of smell, he could tell it was cleaned and refuelled. He found a light close to the door and twisted the brass handle, turning the flame up so he could see. Thomas set his bag down in the chair beside the front door and looked around.
No one had lived here in almost five years, but with the help of Polly and Ada, they kept it clean. Stepping into the parlor, he sat down heavily on the sofa. Thomas placed his head in his hands, resisting the urge to scream. He was home.
It had been a month. A month of trying to get back to civilian life. Thomas watched the world around him wake up and the city came back to life, slowly. Men went back to work as their wives and daughters took their places back home. Though many women refused to leave the work they had become accustomed to while the men were away at war. He saw veterans walking around with missing limbs, whispering to those who talked to them.
Thomas spoke to his family first, surprising them. He knew it was time for him to step back into the role he had before he left for France. The Shelby's spent a quiet Christmas together before ushering in the New Year. Several days into the New Year, Thomas finally saw Mazella again. He thought of her often, though his thoughts were colored in anger at finding her at the Somme last August.
When he asked about Jameson and Elizabeth Hawthorne, Polly's face crumbled. She sat him down and told him that Jameson and Elizabeth died weeks before their return home. They caught the sickness that was spreading around the world. She made sure they were properly buried and maintained the house the best she could until Maze or Jacob came home to reclaim the house.
While the rest of the world mourned the dead and tried to get over the shock of the war, Thomas planned. He left Birmingham with practically nothing and came back with an idea. An idea, he hoped, he could fulfill and give him everything he longed for.
Thomas left Charlie Strong's yard after seeing a horse he was going to use for the first step in his plan. While he'd been gone, the Peaky Blinders kept the streets in order. Polly kept the family business running smoothly, and it was time for him, John, and Arthur to take back over. He walked casually through the busy streets, tuning out the noise as he walked. People stepped to the side as he walked, letting him pass freely.
Doffing his hat, he shoved it in his overcoat pocket before turning the handle to Polly's house. Finn rushed past him in a hurry to do something he didn't wish to ask about. As he stepped into the parlor, he could hear female voices.
"Polly, I don't-," he heard. He was still hearing Maze's voice inside, talking to his aunt.
Fury swept through him like an uncontrollable river. Images from seeing her at the Somme flooded his mind. He didn't get the chance to tell her what he felt when he last saw her. Now she couldn't run and tell him to fuck off and let her do her job.
He entered the parlor, his composure held together by a thin thread. Both ladies turned to see him walk in, the large double doors leading into the Betting house closed for privacy. He could hear men talking and coins clinking against wooden tables, but his major concern was in this room.
"You need to leave," he told Maze venomously.
She and Polly rose simultaneously, their tea forgotten. Polly opened her mouth to say something, but the look she saw in her nephew's eyes stopped her. The older woman turned to Maze and saw a mixture of anger and defiance in the younger woman's eyes.
"I'm visiting Polly," Maze replied dismissively. "I was invited."
Her dismissal angered him further. "I'm un-inviting you. You can leave," he motioned to the front door.
"Thomas!" Polly chastised before turning to Maze. "You don't have to leave," she told the younger woman before turning to Tommy with a glare.
"Thank you, Polly," Maze said, ignoring Thomas.
"I don't care," Thomas spat, walking further into the room. "Leave."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Maze snapped, crossing her arms in front of her. "You're not my fucking boss, Thomas."
He snarled, his eyes shifting to amber as the wolf surfaced. He should have left when she argued with him, but he didn't. The wolf itched for a fight and he was determined to get it. Anyone else would have left his presence the second his eyes shifted, but he watched as Maze kept her post.
"I will tell you what to do, and you're going to listen to me."
"No."
Thomas took another step toward Polly and Maze. In a flash, Polly was between them as an intermediary, trying to keep the peace between them. "What's going on?" she demanded, glaring at her nephew before turning to look at Maze.
"You ask him. He's the one with the fucking problem." Maze shot back, glaring at him.
"Out of the way, Pol," Thomas instructed.
He and Polly had a stare down that lasted for a minute before she nodded her head and stepped back. Maze's face didn't show surprise that Polly would step down and let Thomas handle whatever business he had with her.
"You," he turned to Maze, seeing Polly sit down in her chair, "don't get to talk to me like that."
"Oh?" Maze snarked, her eyes narrowing. "Why not? You're very comfortable talking to me like that."
"You-." he began.
"I what, Thomas?" she snapped. "Huh? I what?"
He snarled. He could feel the wolf itching to break free and put her in her place. It momentarily distracted Thomas when John and Arthur came into the parlor. He didn't dare glance at them, but he could feel their interest in the argument. Thomas had told no one he found Maze in the middle of a battlefield.
"Why didn't you stay home?" he snapped, finally getting to the crux of the problem.
Her mouth dropped at his sudden change of questioning. "Why does that matter? The war is over, Thomas."
"You were supposed to stay home."
"But I didn't," she replied with a shrug. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions."
"Not this you weren't," he countered, looking down at her slight frame.
"Yes…. I….. Was!" she snapped. It was like their first fight. He was convinced he was right and she was wrong. "You still don't have the right to tell me what to do," she seethed, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed at her and how his stance changed.
"You should have listened when I told you to go home."
"Oh, ho!" she cried out sarcastically before turning her attention back to him. "And pray tell, Thomas, what was I to do... hmm? Shoot myself in the fucking leg to go home?"
"It would have been better! You could have died there!" he shouted back, losing his temper.
"So could you!" she countered, leaning against the edge of the table. "You could have died too." She repeated softly.
"Maybe I should have shot you…"
Gasps rang around the parlor at that statement. Maze felt the blood drain from her face before anger replaced it. Having listened to him enough, she turned around and grabbed her hat and gloves. Shoving them on, Maze glared at Thomas once more before stalking past him.
He grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him, her hat toppling from her head. "Where the fuck do you think you're going? I'm not done."
"Well, I am!" she snapped, jerking her arm from him.
He took several steps close to her, backing her up toward the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest as his tall stature overwhelmed her senses. Maze grunted, feeling the wall press firmly against her, trapping her. She looked up at him defiantly, daring him to do something. Thomas could not stop himself as his hand came to cup the side of her neck, his thumb rubbing against her lower lip. He pushed her head back, forcing her to look up at him. He pressed his body closer, trapping her. Fury pulsed in him like a song, the beat matching his heart.
"Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?" Thomas mumbled, his nose inches from hers. He could feel her breath tickle his lips. He was so close to her. Sparks ignited in his brain, touching her skin.
His mind warred. The wolf urged him close to her. The anger he felt rolled inside him like scorching lava, but he couldn't keep his hands off her. They stared at each other for a minute, neither of them saying anything as the anger boiled between them. Neither were backing down from their argument, each convinced they were right and the other was wrong.
"You wanted me to leave Thomas, so stop being so fucking impertinent." Maze snapped finally, though her tone lost much of its venom.
The wolf howled loudly in his head, causing him to wince. He shook off the rush of anger he felt and looked back down at her. Tiredly, he sighed, closing his eyes. He didn't want her to leave. "Just fucking leave…," he finally conceded.
"Fine," she snapped, "then move."
He removed his hand from her neck and stepped to the side, letting her pass. Thomas refused to turn around and watch her pick up her hat, mumble an apology, and walk out. Thankfully, she didn't slam the door as he expected. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn't enough. He wasn't done yelling at her for being so reckless with her life. In truth, when he found her at the clearing station months ago, it was fear that rocked him before anger replaced it.
When he finally gained control of himself, he turned around to face his family. They were all staring at him in shock. This was the first time they'd seen him and Maze argue about anything in front of them. Without saying a word, Thomas turned and walked out of Polly's in search of something to do.
Another light snow fell as Thomas walked through Small Heath. It started snowing the night before and hadn't let up till morning, leaving half the city covered in white bliss. In the distance, he could hear children laughing as they threw snow at each other. He wished he could live like a child, carefree, without the worries of an adult.
Ahead of him was the Garrison, the pub he and his brothers frequented. Thomas hoped that within the year he could gain the pub for his own.
"Mr. Shelby!" a man's voice called from behind him.
Slowing his steps, Thomas lowered his cigarette and turned around to see a lanky, well-dressed man coming toward him. He waited patiently for the man to catch up.
"Can I help you?" Thomas asked, eyeing the man carefully.
"I have a business proposition for you, Mr. Shelby," the man replied quickly.
Thomas raised an eyebrow, but motioned the man to follow him. They walked in silence toward the Garrison, kicking loose rock as they did. Entering the pub a minute later, Thomas twisted the handle to the small private room he commandeered years ago for business meetings. Closing the door, he rapped on the small double glass window door, letting Harry know he needed something.
The small double glass window opened a second later, revealing a harried Harry. "I need a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses," he said, placing two coins on the sill after Harry handed him the bottle and the two glasses.
Taking his seat, he twisted the cap to the bottle and poured the whiskey into the glasses before sliding one over to his prospective client. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled his Afton's out, setting the box on the table before grabbing a cigarette and lightning it.
"You said you had business with me?" Thomas inquired, lowering the cigarette.
The man nodded, "My name is Grant Welling and I've heard you can acquire anything," the man began, catching Thomas' interest.
"And what are you looking to acquire, Mr. Welling?"
The man pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat. Opening it up, he looked over the order. "I need four BSA Model K motor bicycles."
Thomas looked at the man carefully. The motor bicycles wouldn't be easy to acquire. They would have to be stolen from the BSA factory. He had a few ears there that could tell him when the next shipment would be.
"How much?" Thomas finally asked, tapping his cigarette against the glass ashtray and picking up his drink. He sipped it slowly, waiting for an answer. "You know they're £130 a piece."
"I'm willing to offer you £250 for all four of them," Mr. Welling offered. "That's half of what four would cost me at the lot."
"All right." Thomas agreed. "When do you need them?"
"I'll give you a week," Mr. Welling said, finishing his drink before leaving.
Thomas learned from his contacts at the BSA they would have a shipment of motor bicycles ready in three days, giving him plenty of time to have a few of his men to pick them up. He knew they would be in crates, and he hoped they would be smart enough to pick up the right ones.
He was at home the night his men lifted the crates for the motor bicycles. Thomas chose not to tell anyone about the motor bicycles, figuring it was another job that needed to be done. He would tell them afterwards. He didn't know that by sending his men to pick up the stolen goods, it would change the course of his life.
"Tom!"
"Tom!"
Thomas rose from sleep, hearing his name being called from outside. Rubbing his hand over his face to shake away the sleep, he walked over to the window and peered down to see Curly standing there holding a lantern.
"Tom! We've got a problem!" Curly shouted, shivering in his overcoat.
Thomas grabbed his overcoat and eased into quickly before grabbing his hat and keys. Rushing down the steps, he jerked the door open and stopped in front of Curly. "Talk to me."
"We've got a problem with the shipment," Curly said urgently.
Thomas raised an eyebrow at Curly but dutifully followed him toward Charlie Strong's yard. The night was bitter as he hurried down the empty street. Tucking his collar up around his neck, he fished his hand into his overcoat and pulled out his cigarettes. Lighting one, he flicked the match into the snow.
Arriving a few minutes later, Curly led them to the docks where Charlie was leaning against the crate, smoking.
"Tell me," Thomas said, flicking the cigarette to the side.
Charlie nodded his head to the crate. "It doesn't sound like motor bicycles in there."
"It's a crate full of stolen goods. What did you expect it to sound like?" Thomas asked, eyeing Charlie. He couldn't believe they had pulled him out of bed for suspicion. "Let's open it."
Charlie walked off to grab a crowbar. He was back within minutes. Holding it steady in his hands, Thomas stood back and watched as Charlie and Curly pried the lid off the crate. What they saw in there concerned them deeply.
"Holy shit…," Thomas muttered to himself, his vision swimming as his eyes scanned over the opened crate.
Inside the crate were guns. Thomas walked over to the opened crate and, with Curly's help, pulled a shelf out and looked inside. Lowering it to the ground, they wrenched it open to find a Lewis Machine Gun.
Anger boiled in him, mixed with confusion why his men pulled this crate instead of the one that had the motor bicycles in them. It wouldn't surprise him if his men were drunk and pulled the crate from the proofing bay instead of the export bay. Thomas knew inside the BSA factory there was a still that made gin inside the factory. His men must have stopped there for a drink before doing their job.
There would be hell to pay for this mistake.
Between Thomas, Curly, and Charlie, they broke apart the crate and found out there were twenty-five Lewis Machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammunition, fifty semi-automatic rifles, and two hundred pistols with shells.
"Tommy, what are you going to do?" Charlie asked, removing his hat and taking a seat on a nearby crate.
Thomas rubbed his hand over his mouth, his mind thinking furiously at the opportunity that landed in his lap. Crouching down, he leaned back against the crate of guns and wondered why the BSA had these loaded up to be shipped off. It made little sense until they figured out the crate was bound for Libya.
The smart thing to do was to drop it off somewhere so the coppers could find the missing crate. His hands would be clean, and no one but Charlie and Curly would know about it. But for Thomas, he saw an opportunity that he knew he couldn't pass up. Someone important would come looking for this crate and that someone would give him anything he wanted as long as he handed back the guns.
He knew at that moment he couldn't let the guns go back to the coppers peacefully. Thomas knew they would accuse him of stealing and set him to hang. He couldn't have that. He turned to look at Charlie. His uncle, who somehow was one of the voices of reason in the family, looked at him expectantly, but didn't say a word.
"Leave them here," Thomas said, rising to his feet.
"Tom….," Charlie protested.
"Leave them. I'll think of something in a few days, right?" Thomas instructed, reaching into his jacket and fishing out a cigarette.
Charlie nodded quietly and rose, motioning for Curly to help him close the crate when Thomas left.
Two days later saw Thomas walking into the Betting House. It was busy with the hustle of coins clinking and money being counted. John stood at the large blackboard at the far end of the room. As he passed the tables, Thomas casually looked around the room, ignoring the chatter of men until John accosted him.
John opened a large red ledger to the current betting pool for Monaghan Boy. "Look here!" he exclaimed happily, eliciting a smile from Thomas. Clapping his brother on the back, Thomas wandered off in search of Arthur.
"Tommy!" Arthur shouted across the noisy room. "Get in my office, now."
Thomas walked past the tables and to Arthur's small office. While his brother was the leader of the Peaky Blinders, they had discussed that Thomas would take over. It was something that Arthur did not like. His brother didn't understand why Thomas wanted to take over, but it irritated him.
Entering the office, Thomas closed the door with a slight slam. It was small and dark compared to the rest of the Betting House. He leaned against a filing cabinet as Arthur sat down and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Thomas wondered how many glasses his older brother had by then.
"I heard a rumor you did the powder trick in Chinatown," Arthur began, lowering the whiskey bottle and setting it on the desk with a thump.
"They say she is a witch," Thomas replied quietly.
"We don't mess with the Chinese or the Italians," Arthur snapped, throwing his drink back and setting the glass down.
"We agreed, Arthur, I'm taking over. I'll be leading the Blinders…"
"Yea?" Arthur retorted. "What about the Pack, eh? Don't you have enough fucking shit with running the Pack?"
"We've only returned home," Thomas replied quietly, his gaze unflinchingly.
"Have you read the Grimoire?" Arthur inquired, leaning back in his chair.
Thomas refused to speak. He hadn't touched the book since they handed it to him after his first shift. He could handle running the Blinders, but the Pack responsibilities were something he didn't want, even at twenty-one.
Arthur scoffed at his younger brother. "And you want to take over the Blinders…" Arthur paused, rubbing his chin. "You haven't even tried to lead the Pack."
"That's enough!" Thomas snapped, stepping quickly to his older brother, his eyes shifting to amber.
His older brother rose from his chair, changing the subject. "You're fixing races without the permission of Billy Kimber! I'm guessin' he don't know that, does he? You think...we can take on the Chinese and Billy Kimber…"
"I think, Arthur...so you don't have to," Thomas retaliated quietly. "It's what I do." He ended the conversation, opening the door to Arthur's office.
"We have news from Belfast," Arthur continued as Thomas stepped through the threshold. "Family meeting! Eight o'clock!"
Thomas heard his brother but continued his walk out of the office. Maneuvering his way through the Betting House, he all but ripped the front door open in his anger. Stepping out into the overcast afternoon, he placed his hat back on his head.
Arthur had a point, he conceded. While Thomas wanted to take over the leader of the Blinders, he hadn't made a move to lead the Pack either. He rolled his head from side to side, knowing the full moon was close at hand.
During the years of the war, not being able to shift was hell on the three Shelby brothers, and now, being back home, the wolf itched to be free to run. The frigid winter months kept the men inside, pacing their homes until the snow melted. He shoved his hands in his overcoat to keep them warm as he walked down the street.
Now they returned home. It was time for him to lead the Pack and the Blinders. Arthur didn't have the vision, nor the ambition to lead the Blinders and the Shelby family to where Thomas envisioned them to be. He wanted it done before the next decade was done.
Ten minutes before Arthur's impromptu family meeting, Thomas stepped into Polly's house, closing the door quietly. Inhaling, he caught the scents of family on the other half of the first floor. Shoving his hat into his coat pocket, he removed the coat and tossed it over a chair. He grabbed the handle, twisting the knob, and entered the Betting House.
Everyone turned to look at Thomas as he entered the room. Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room to lean against the filing cabinet and away from his family. He watched Arthur pace around the room, waiting for eight o'clock.
"These gentlemen returned from Belfast last night," Arthur began, pointing at two Blinders behind him as he stood at the head of the table. "They were sitting at a pub and learned that a Special is coming to Birmingham."
"To do what?" Ada asked, lowering the paper to the ground that Arthur handed her a few minutes ago.
"To clean up the city, Ada," Thomas said, reading the paper he took from John's outstretched hand. "He's the Chief Inspector from Belfast. He's spent the past few years cleaning it up and running out the IRA."
"How do you know that?" Arthur asked, miffed.
"I asked the coppers on our payroll," Thomas replied evenly.
Arthur glared at his younger brother. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Thomas recognized Arthur's hostility towards not knowing first. He didn't deem the information critical to tell Arthur earlier. The copper hadn't arrived yet to do any damage to the city.
"I'm telling you," Thomas replied as Arthur threw back his whiskey.
"So why send him to Birmingham?" Polly asked, lifting her eyes from the paper and toward Thomas.
He didn't miss the glare Arthur sent Polly when she deferred to him. "All the strikes at the BSA and in the influx of Communists, I suppose."
"This has nothing to do with us, right?" Polly asked, tossing the paper aside.
"Not that I know of," Thomas replied.
John scoffed, looking around the room. "We're Peaky Blinders. We're not scared of coppers."
"Until he arrives, we'll keep an eye out," Polly confirmed, looking at the boys.
"Onto other business," Arthur said, resting his hands on the table.
Everyone stopped to look at him, wondering what he was on about. Thomas gazed evenly at his brother, hoping that Arthur wouldn't bring up the Pack issue. Several of their men were a part of it, waiting for Thomas to take the lead and do what they have to secure the Pack and keep them safe.
"Don't," Thomas said quickly, glaring at Arthur.
"Don't what?" Polly asked, looking between the two and wondering what was wrong.
"It's not women's business," Thomas replied.
"I ran this enterprise for years. What's wrong?" She reiterated.
"Pack business," Arthur answered before Thomas could.
Thomas scowled inwardly. This was Arthur's way of trying to be an arsehole about it earlier.
"What about it?" Polly pressed again, looking at Ada before turning back to the boys.
Thomas opened his mouth to dismiss the conversation, but Arthur beat him to it. "Thomas wants to take over the Blinders, but he hasn't called a Pack meeting."
For the first time in years, Thomas wanted to shoot Arthur. Pack business wasn't women's business. The wolf in his head growled quietly at Arthur's impertinence and impatience.
"When was this agreed to?" Ada asked, looking around the room.
"Days ago," Thomas supplied quietly.
"Where's the Grimoire, Aunt Pol?" Arthur asked.
She eyed him warily. "It's locked up. No one is supposed to touch it but Thomas."
"Then give it to him!" Arthur snapped, slapping the table hard.
"Only when he asks for it," she replied, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray.
Arthur snapped his head up to look at his younger brother. "Then fucking ask for it. Open the fucking book and do what you're supposed to do!"
Thomas said nothing during Arthur's rant. "Thought this was Pack business," he hissed, glaring at Arthur.
"Well, everybody now knows you have done nothing since you've gotten back. You want to take over the business, but you won't open the Grimoire and lead the Pack. Grandad ordered you to do it before he died."
Thomas growled at his brother, his eyes shifting to amber at the way Arthur spoke to him. "Don't fucking start, Arthur. Just don't."
"And another thing," Arthur added, ignoring his brother. "Mind telling the family why you put your hands on Maze?"
All eyes turned to him, but Polly's. Apparently, Maze told her about leaving and going off to war. It didn't surprise him that Maze confided in Polly. The two women had a close relationship. It was because of Maze's friendship with Ada that the woman in question knew the family as she did.
"We had an argument."
"What over?"
"That's our business."
Arthur scoffed loudly, reaching for his empty glass and refilling it with beer instead. "Haven't been home but for a few weeks and he's already keeping secrets." He lowered the glass to the table with a loud thunk. "That's not how it works here, Tommy."
"It's not a secret," Thomas rebuffed.
"You're not telling us," Arthur challenged.
Thomas let his gaze fall to Polly, who gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. She knew it was their business, but she was curious about his behavior towards the younger girl. He sighed, pulling his gaze away from Polly, and looked at John. His younger brother raised an eyebrow at him.
"Fine," Thomas conceded. "I found her at the Somme in the middle of a fucking battlefield."
"Jesus Christ," Ada muttered to herself.
"How did you find her?" John asked, reaching for his glass of beer.
"I was injured, along with Freddie Thorne, and they sent us there." The room became quiet at the implication that Thomas had been injured. Ada's face became white hearing about it.
"Why did you act that way toward her?" Polly asked quietly, fiddling with the sheet of paper Arthur brought.
"I don't know.."
Several days later, the Garrison was half empty when Grace Burgess walked into it. She read the file about the pub and part of her job was to gain employment there. Her boss knew about the men who ran Birmingham and learned about the pub. It would be their way to get inside information.
She wasn't sure what her boss was looking for, but it was her duty to do her job correctly. As she walked into the Garrison, she recited the story they concocted for her. The pub smelled like old beer and cigarettes, and she pulled the second set of doors open. Inside, it was half full with just a few patrons sitting around.
There was a middle-aged man wiping down a table with two beer glasses in his hands. She surmised he was the owner or landlord.
"Excuse me," she said, gaining his attention. "I'm looking for employment."
Harry scoffed, shaking his head at her. "Position filled."
"The ad was in yesterday's paper," she informed him.
He sighed and stopped wiping the table to look at her. "A nice lady like you doesn't need to work in a place like this."
"I can do this." she replied, walking across the room and started picking up the empty beer glasses. She would have snatched his dingy towel, but her hands were full. He watched her walk over to the bar and around to set them down.
He didn't want a woman working here. Nothing ever came good for a woman working in a pub. This one was quite pretty and the wrong man could do many bad things to her. But he needed help and unemployment was high because of the lowered number of men coming back from the war and the women being sent home. There were too many jobs open and not enough people to fill the positions.
Harry wiped his hands on the dirty apron he was wearing and set the beer mugs down. He knew he was going to regret this. "All right, the position is yours."
Grace smiled at him. Step one of her assignments completed. She didn't want to work in the dingy pub, but her boss sent her here. Now all she had to do was wait for the right person to step through the pub.
"Afternoon, Mr. Shelby," Harry said, rushing to around the bar to grab him a bottle of whiskey and a glass.
Grace whirled around to see Thomas walk in and toward the bar. She hid a smile that threatened to show on her face. This might be one of the men her boss sent her to investigate. He slapped his hat on the bar top and fished out a cigarette. A bottle of Sadler's appeared a minute later with a clean glass. He placed two coins on the bar top and twisted the cap open to pour him a drink.
"Harry, what's she doing here?" Thomas asked quietly, pulling the ashtray to him.
"New employee," Harry said, wiping down the bar.
"Hmm…," Thomas said under his breath, then turned to look at Grace.
She was a nice-looking girl, but she carried an air about her. She wasn't quite the working woman that would normally work in a pub. Thomas stared at her for a minute, envisioning what she would look like in his bed, before turning around and picking up his drink.
"Hope it works out for you, Harry."
Harry said nothing else but went back to his work. Grace bid her goodbyes to Harry and walked out, feeling eyes on her as she did.
