14 May 1919

Elizabeth awoke to a cold room, the sound of rain and wind whistling against her window told her a spring storm had arrived. She dressed quickly and warmly, pulling on thick stockings and a heavy, cotton dress. As she left her bedroom she saw that the flowers she bought fresh last night were still in a vase on the kitchen table, ready to take with her. Elizabeth wrapped herself up in a big coat and a scarf, readying for her trip to the graveyard in the early morning. She wrapped the flowers up in brown paper and locked her door behind her, heading out to brave the weather.

Her mother had passed away on the fourteenth of December, eighteen years ago, and on the same day, every month since, she'd gone to visit her. At first she went with her father and her brother but then, eventually, she went alone. Whilst she was in France, Polly had promised to take the tradition up herself, providing Elizabeth with comfort to know they weren't alone. This was her first time visiting in several years.

She had an empty morning, her shift at the Garrison wouldn't start until the afternoon today, but it would take her late into the night, so she was keen to get some quiet time alone before her busy evening. Harry Fenton hadn't lied when he'd said the Garrison had changed. The men would come earlier, drink more and stay later. She'd worked four shifts already and not a single one hadn't ended in a fight or an upturned table.

Drunk men were bad enough, drunk and haunted men were worse.

The streets were empty as Elizabeth made her way out of Small Heath, the few people she saw would rush past her, heads bent to keep the rain from their faces. It didn't take her long to reach Charlie's yard, where she would follow the Cut up a hill and to her family, but she stopped on the way to greet Curly and Charlie. She'd seen the pair of them about the Garrison and Watery Lane in the past week, but it would nice to speak and have a conversation with them.

Elizabeth was walking out of the building they'd taken shelter in whilst talking, when she collided with someone walking in, sending her spinning around in the wet mud. Tommy caught her by her arms before she could fall, pulling Elizabeth close so that she could regain her footing. She had to stick one arm out and around his back to avoid the flowers being crushed between them, leaving her pressed up against him with a hand on his chest, his own hands holding onto her elbows. She looked up at Tommy, whose hat kept the rain from falling in his eyes. Eyes that shone bright against the murky sky.

"You alright?" He asked, not moving. Elizabeth nodded up at him, breathless from the collision, "where you heading?"

"Visiting family," she replied, managing to find her voice. She tilted her head in the direction of the graveyard, to indicate that she meant visiting their graves, but she knew Tommy would understand. There was a kind of pity in his eyes that she recognised as he looked down at her. It made Elizabeth sad.

"Do you want company?" She stilled slightly at that, surprised by the offer. She knew it was just Tommy being kind, the look he gave her told Elizabeth enough to know he couldn't really come, but it was still unusual of him to ask and it made her heart beat faster, until she was sure he'd be able to hear it.

"You know I won't be alone, Tommy, but thank you."

"Ok, just try not to get to cold, ey." She smiled at him, relaxing in his arms, before suddenly remembering how close they were standing. He was warmer than she'd realised, so when she pulled away the cold air hit her chest, forcing Elizabeth to wrap her coat back around her.

"Don't think I'll have much luck with that."

They stood for another beat, Elizabeth smiling gently at him, before she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder to see him still watching her as she rounded a corner.

Another surprise came when she finally made her way to her three gravestones, seeing an older man knelt nearby. He was sitting before Miss Cartridge's grave, one she'd never seen occupied before. As she knelt herself, and murmured her prayers and blessings, Elizabeth was conscious of him watching her. She looked to the side and was happy to find him startled when he noticed her staring.

It hadn't been hard to find out where her family's graves were, and what day Elizabeth Scott visited them. Mr Fenton had provided all the information Chester Campbell needed to know. He'd arrived early in the morning, glad to see she wasn't there yet. He had spent some time inspecting the graves, noticing the contrast between the three. The one closest to where he now knelt was the oldest, kept as tidying as possible, but still not free from the elements, which had left it looking weather-worn. It belonged to her mother, Dorelia Scott, and featured little other than her name and dates. The one along was Edward Scott's, her father, and the furthest away belonged to her brother. George Scott's grave was the newest, still bright and clean, with his military station engraved below his name. An old grave beside the three, with grass growing up in front of it, sunk slightly into the ground, belonged to a Margaret Cartridge. It was enough to tell him that clearly no one visited her, so he took his position there, just as footsteps behind him told him he wasn't alone. He watched as she knelt down, splitting her bouquet of flowers between the three and whispering some prayer. She turned to look at him suddenly and he startled, not expecting it.

"Do I know you?" Elizabeth Scott asked, catching Chester Campbell of guard.

"I- uh- no, you don't. Do I know you?" He replied, trying to adopt the same, defensive tone.

She laughed lightly, a sweet sound, and held out her hand for him to shake.

"My name is Elizabeth Scott, I live nearby." He accepted it hesitantly, looking her over.

She was beautiful, to say the least. She had deep-set, brown eyes that made him feel like she was seeing every part of him. Her cheekbones were high, her face slender and defined, but there was something inherently kind about the way she looked. Dark, red hair fell to mid-chest, heavy from the rain, which ran in rivulets down her face, a drop falling from the corner of her mouth.

"Chester Murray." He replied, deciding it was safe enough to use his first name, but choosing to adopt his mother's maiden name as well. He noticed her looking strangely at the flowers he'd picked quickly on the way here, tossed at Miss Cartridge's headstone.

"I normally give her roses, but your flowers look nice." Chester froze, snapping his eyes back up at her. He cursed Fenton for not warning him that she knew this woman as well, getting ready to walk away, when she continued. "I didn't mean to offend you, Mr Murray, I hope you don't mind that I give them to her, only she's kept my mother company all these years. I just like to thank her."

He let out a breath, smiling up at her, relieved his game wasn't over.

"Thank you, Miss Scott, that's kind of you."

"Can I ask how you know Maggie? I've never seen anyone visit before."

"I'm a distant cousin," he replied, reciting what he'd planned, "we were close as children, but grew apart as we got older."

"Have you moved to Birmingham?"

He tried not to look too annoyed at the questions she was asking, not keen to answer things he had to be careful with.

"No, I'm working in the area, but I thought it right to pay a visit or two to her after all these years." Elizabeth looked satisfied with that answer, smiling at him, something Chester found he wanted to make her do more often. "Where do you live in the city?"

"In Small Heath, best place if you're looking for a drink. Come to the Garrison, I work there most days."

"What about the gangs?" He asked, testing the waters. Her smile dropped.

"What about them?" Elizabeth's answer told him all he needed to know about where her allegiance lay. The dark look she gave him was threatening, daring him to ask more.

Damn you, he thought, they don't deserve your loyalty.

"I meant nothing by it, just I've heard people talk is all, I wouldn't want to get hurt."

"There's nothing to fear as long as you keep your head down." Her look had softened slightly, but there was still a coldness between them, and one that wasn't because of the weather. Campbell could tell she was testing him as much as he was testing her, he just hoped Elizabeth didn't realise it as well. "And you'd be safe with me at the pub."

"What do you mean?" Campbell asked, hoping to get more from the conversation.

"Only that I'm good at keeping the boys in line, I've had a lot of practice." She laughed again and leant forward suddenly, clutching onto her flowers so they weren't swept away by the strong gust of wind. He hadn't bothered with his own flowers and had to watch as they went flying away across the graveyard. "Oh your poor flowers. Here, take a few of mine."

"I wouldn't want to take them away from you-" He began, but she insisted, pushing a few into his hands to lie against Miss Cartridge's grave.

"Where did you serve?" Elizabeth asked as she rose slightly to rearrange her blossoms, "if you don't mind me asking, that is."

Campbell ground his teeth slightly, watching her through the corner of his eye. He could easily confess the truth, but a part of him thought that if he did, he'd likely never get far befriending her. Another part was desperate for the chance to finally not have someone look at him so ashamed.

"I was a Second Lieutenant, fought in the Somme, Passchendaele, Amiens.." He was simply listing battles he had heard men talk of, ones he imagined it reasonable he'd be at, but stopped as Elizabeth paused at the mention of the Battle of Amiens, turning to look over at him.

"Amiens, really?" He nodded slowly, watching as her eyes unfocused "I was at Abbeville for the last two years of the war, just North of Amiens, though I'm sure you know where it is. Perhaps we were there at the same time? We treated your boys in more serious conditions, first priority patients. It was an ugly fight, you were very brave."

Chester couldn't help but smile, warming to the praise.

"That's very kind of you." He stood up, brushing his hands on his coat and picking up his hat. "I'm afraid I have to go, but I hope to see you soon."

"You'll come get a drink at the Garrison, yes?" She asked, shaking his hand again.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be there soon enough."

15 May 1919

The street was full as Elizabeth made her way to the Shelby house, the road a state of chaos. Around her children were crying, men and women were trying to gather belongings strewn across the mud, some people even slumped unconscious against the walls. She checked on a man as she past, mumbling half-awake as his wife sobbed into his shoulder, desperately trying to get him to stand up.

"What happened?" She asked, crouching down to inspect the wound on his head.

"Coppers," the lady cried, hot tears of anger slipping down her cheeks, "torn down our bloody houses, pulled us all out 'a bed. Said it was in agreement with the Peaky fucking Blinders."

"Jesus," Elizabeth whispered, picking up a towel beside her to apply pressure to his cut. She got the woman to hold it tight and when she looked at Elizabeth's face, recognition and anger dawned across it.

"You tell those boys we pay them for their protection, good and proper, and all they do is fuck off and let this happen. Your bloody pub wasn't even touched." The woman went back to crying, pressing the towel against the man's head as she helped him up and back inside their house. Elizabeth carried on walking down the road, not unconscious of the looks she was receiving. One week back in Small Heath and they all remembered who she was affiliated with. She had forgotten what being connected to the Peaky Blinders was like.

She opened the door to the Shelby house, entering the kitchen to find Polly at the table. The doors were open into the Den and men were moving in and out, inside almost as busy as the street.

"Why did you let this happen?" Elizabeth asked Polly, shrugging of her coat.

"Oh thank God you're alright," she replied, rushing over to embrace her.

"I'm fine, they only came down this road, I didn't even know 'til I got here." She sat down at the table with Aunt Polly. "Some woman down the street said it was in agreement with the Peaky Blinders? Is she right?"

"No, the Coppers lied to them, made it look like it was our fault because the boys were away."

"Where were they?"

Elizabeth buttered a slice of toast that Polly set down in front of her, along with a steaming cup of tea.

"Dealing with the Lee's."

She looked up, grimacing. Polly took note of the look and rolled her eyes along with her. The Lee's had caused trouble with them for as long as she could remember, a deep-set rivalry between the two families. Elizabeth glowered and took an angry bite of her toast as a memory came to mind.

It was seven years ago, Eliza and Ada had gone looking for wild fouls that Curly had seen in a nearby field, when some Lee girls appeared from behind a group of trees. After noticing Ada and Eliza were Shelby's, they started yelling all kinds of mocking things, some in Romani, which the two of them understood, but also in Gaelic. The shouting had escalated quickly, both sides yelling at each other, and though there were twice as many Lee girls, Ada and Eliza decided it would be a good idea to try and fight them. They'd both gone home to Polly with bruises, (and the biggest telling-off they'd ever received), but the other four girls had run away in tears, with bleeding noses. Tommy had laughed until he'd cried when Eliza told him, much to the annoyance of Aunt Pol.

"I know you're thinking about when you and Ada decided to be Blinders for the day, Eliza, but don't even go there." Polly spoke up, snapping her from the dream.

"The Lee family are trouble Polly, you know it, any deal with them isn't worth one Bob"

"Believe me, I know," the woman said, sighing, "Johnny Dogs was the one who organised it though, he's riding with them."

"Johnny Dogs is in town?" Elizabeth asked, lightening up at the change in conversation. He was a kind man, and one she got on well with, it was always nice to see him.

"Aye, I'm sure you'll see him around. Anyway," Polly stood up and fetched a box from the counter that Elizabeth hadn't noticed until now, setting it on the kitchen table. "I was sorting through some things in my house and I came across this, it's your old art things that you gave to me to look after."

Her breath left her as Polly lifted the lid, staring down into years worth of memories. She brushed her fingers over metal tins of watercolour, thick notepads, paintbrushes, bundles of pencils tied together with string. Lifting them out gingerly, Elizabeth laid the supplies across the table, taking in the bright paints and her sketchbooks that were overflowing with drawings, spread out across the kitchen surface like a scattered rainbow. She had bought only graphite to France, sketched quick drawings of the men and the country.

It had been a long time since she'd painted, and Polly seemed to think the same.

"I always loved to watch you paint, you looked just like your mother."

hope you enjoyed! i've been managing to write more than usual recently, which is good. i have realised, however, that my time frame for this story doesn't match the tv's for several reasons, including the fact mine is set in summer and not winter. However, considering this is england, the weather was never going to be brilliant anyway, so i hope it can be excused!

e x

(11/06/2020)