18 June 1919

"He's my husband."

"And yet here you are Maggie."

Polly looked across the table at Maggie Fenton, who was fidgeting with a loose thread on her cardigan, looking at Polly desperately, as if she hoped all that she knew could be transferred through a look, rather than having to admit it out loud. She was a small woman, but her position, slumped back into the chair with her arms close to her body, made her look even smaller. She was nervous. Who wouldn't be if they were sat across the table from Polly Grey.

Maggie hadn't wanted to come. She'd put it out her mind the minute Harry had shut the door behind him, but later that day, after kissing her youngest son goodnight and settling in front of the fire, the thought had come stomping back to her, aggressive and intrusive. It had been all she could think about for the last four days. She'd even walked up to the Shelby house twice before, but both times had backed away, almost running back home in fear.

Maggie didn't know if it was a foolish decision to tell them what had happened, to willingly put her family in the open and seek mercy in the hands of the unmerciful. She hardly knew what to tell her sons, for fear they'd say something or go after their father, let alone what to say to the women across from her. To keep it a secret, to pray they'd never find out, was unreasonable. Polly Grey finds everything out, and the punishment from not telling would be worse than for. At least that's what she told herself to help make her feel less guilty about betraying him.

She knew what she was about to do meant his death. It was without question, nothing she could say, or beg, would stop it. And that hurt more than she ever thought it could, but Maggie had to think of her boys- of what the Shelby's would do to them. Her youngest was just a boy, barely thirteen, who still cried in her arms when things upset him. His life was worth so much more than his father's. It was the choice she had to make, even if it made her feel sick.

"Look, I don't have all day. Will you explain to me what it is he's done, or not?" Polly sighed, leaning back in her chair and striking a match to light her cigarette.

"It's about Eliza," she said cautiously, still fidgeting with the string of her cardigan, "about why she was arrested."

Polly's interested spiked, and she glanced up at Maggie through her eyelashes, a dark and curious expression on her face. Smoke curled out from her lips, and for a moment Maggie felt as if she was talking to the Devil. Or, at the very least, to God himself.

"Go on."

"My husband... he's been spying on your family- for the police. He's the one who. killed the Irish man, not Eliza, but he pinned the blame on her and fled."

There was silence. Polly's jaw tightened and she leant forward, putting her cigarette out and staring straight into Maggie's eyes.
"Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"Why?" She asked forcefully. "Why betray us? Why betray her?"

"I don't know!" Maggie whispered, frightened "I think for the same reasons I'm here today- to protect our sons."

"Arthur beat your eldest earlier in the year, didn't he?" Polly straightened up, leaning back in her chair and pointing at Maggie.

"Yes." Maggie nodded, trying to control her emotions, "and Finn always picks on my youngest at school." She blushed suddenly and looked away, "which is-I'm not supporting what he's done."

"You wouldn't be here if you did," Polly admitted, nodding. "So he killed Byrne, the man they say Eliza did."

"Yes." Maggie relaxed a bit, sitting up, "He told me he switched his gun with hers. And then I think he made some kind of agreement with the Inspector."

"The Irish Inspector?"

Maggie nodded and Polly cursed aloud. She rose and walked once around the kitchen, coming to stand beside Maggie, looking down at her.

"You know what you need to do now." She said solemnly, "I need to know where your husbands gone."

"I can't be certain," she trembled, trying to push away the guilt that rose within her, "but he has a brother in Manchester. He always goes to him when he needs help."

"The address, Maggie." Polly prompted.

"I just- I need to know I'm making the right choice." Her eyes flicked up to Polly's, and she swallowed nervously. "My boys must be safe."

Polly nodded once, curtly, and relief flowed through Maggie. It had all been worth it.

"10 Norwood Street, Old Trafford."

"Thank you, Maggie." Polly's hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing it. "It know it will be hard to tell your sons that their father is dead. For that I'm sorry, but for nothing else. He betrayed us, and that can't be forgiven."

"I know." Maggie whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

22 June 1919

It was still dark. The sun had not risen and the warmth of the summer day not yet arrived. Tommy Shelby hid in the black shadows of the alley, and to anyone who glanced out their window, all that would give his position away to them was the orange glow of his cigarette.

He watched the back of the house, eyes moving between the kitchen curtains and the bedroom upstairs. No one was awake yet, but that would soon change. When daylight broke, John and Eleanor Fenton would leave the house. Their daughter would leave for school half an hour later. Then Harry would be alone.

Polly had called a family meeting four days ago, after Maggie's visit. She's explained to them all what she'd been told. It had taken a lot on her behalf to convince the boys to calm down.

"The coppers might be watching him." She'd told them sternly. "Don't give them another fucking reason to keep her in there. Think it through."

And so, reluctantly, Tommy had agreed to be careful. And he had certainly played the part of dutiful nephew, waiting in Manchester for three whole days, watching the house, learning their routine and surveying the area.

But Polly hadn't needed to worry. There were no coppers- there was no one. It was almost enough just to know that the Inspector had abandoned Fenton and hung him out to dry. Almost.

He still wanted him dead though.

Fenton hadn't left the house once in the days that Tommy had been watching, and the only reason he even knew Harry was in there was because he'd caught sight of him when the girl had left the house yesterday, and had forgotten to shut the door. He'd approached nervously, darting back and forth like a bee, slamming it shut and retreating into the house. Tommy had wanted to kill him then and there, but remembered Polly's warning, and kept himself under control.

Since France he hadn't had an issue with control. As a boy, he'd been volatile and hot-headed, easy to piss off and even easier to get a reaction from. It had also been easier to make him laugh and smile and love- but that was beside the point.
Now, reborn in blood and fire on the frozen wastelands of France, he was a changed man. He was cool, calm and unmerciful. Like a stalking tiger he'd crept back into Small Heath with a need for control, but no way to expand further than his land. The guns had provided that way, and from the minute he'd seen the stolen shipment, a plan had clicked into place in his mind, and he saw himself ruling the whole bloody country in a year.

Liza fucked that all up.

He'd got her letters and knew she was coming home, but it still did nothing to change the gut-wrenching feeling inside him when he saw her for the first time. It was an indescribable emotion, what it felt to finally see her again- his Liza. The girl that never, ever failed to steal his breath, to make his heart beat faster and his judgement disappear. Suddenly, with her back in his life, Tommy didn't feel very cool or calm and was, for a moment, his younger self again. Free-spirited and more than willing to love and be loved. His plan fell to pieces before him, as he looked across the kitchen at her.

Power and control melted away, replaced by a series of images that passed through his mind. Marrying her, having children and grandchildren, growing old down Watery Lane and being perfectly content for the rest of their lives because they had each other and that's all they ever needed. It didn't feel like anything mattered in those few heartbeats, because he had her again. He thought of all the things he should say to her, that he should have in those letters, about how she was all he could ever think about and that the thought of her was what kept him alive. Or even what he should have said all those years ago, on that platform in 1914:

That he'd loved her- had since he was 22- and still did seven, fucking years later.

But then he remembered real life, and how none of that could ever happen, because it had been four years since they'd last seen each other, and in those four years everything had changed. He wasn't who he used to be, the kind of person that could be happy with a simple life. Now, he wanted more, needed more, and there was no place in his life for a wife or kids.

And even if he was weak enough to let it all happen, Liza would never go for it, not any more. She might think she knew who he was, but she had no fucking idea. No one did. Tommy had been to hell and had come back alive, with the devil in his heart.

He had left her letters unanswered for four years and then hadn't even bothered to meet her when she arrived home. And even once she was back, he'd fought with her, insulted her, and handed her over to Kimber like she meant nothing to him. It was no use pretending what he'd done was anything other than what it seemed. Kimber wanted an hour alone with her in exchange for a signed deal, and in that moment Tommy had felt it was worth it. He was fairly confident he'd figure out a way to stop Kimber before it went too far, but the man he'd become was more than willing to risk that not happening. He had been prepared to let him hurt her.

Tommy knew if he let her into his heart even for a moment, she'd be repulsed by what she saw.

However, none of that changed Tommy being here. None of it changed him waiting until the girl had gone, before slipping into the house through the backdoor, using a key hidden in an alcove that he'd seen them use. None of it change him edging silently up the stairs, the click of his gun, the wide-eyed, terror-filled look that Harry gave him as he opened the door and pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

None of it stopped the blood that splattered thick across his face when he pulled the trigger.
He admitted to himself, as he ran quickly out of the house before the neighbours came knocking, that killing Harry hadn't really changed anything. His heart still ached for her. His mind still screamed for vengeance, for retribution, for anyone and anything to pay for them taking her away.

Tommy slowed down, wiping the blood from his face and giving himself a minute to catch his breath. He didn't like weakness- even before France weakness had meant death, but it meant it now more than ever.

And fucking hell, was love a weakness.

23 June 1919

"Please, sit Miss Scott," Campbell gestured to the bed, "I think you'll find what I have to say fascinating."

Eliza sat reluctantly on the bed, looking up at the Inspector, who towered over her. He tossed the file he held at her, the thick paper hitting her arm. Every day since Campbell had first seen her over a week ago, he'd come into Eliza's cell and handed over her file, with threat after threat, from spending the rest of her life in prison to execution by firing squad. Quite frankly, she was half-tempted just to accept him, if it meant a change to her current mind-numbing days.

"I've read through it a hundred times, Inspector." Eliza sighed, not even bothering to pick the file up this time. "I get it: if I refuse, you'll take me to trial. The issue though, is that I'm not afraid of that happening. I'm innocent and any half-decent lawyer will be able to prove that. Owning a gun that uses the same bullets that were found in Mr Byrne is not enough to say I am guilty. And these witnesses that you've bribed and threatened-" she laughed aloud, "if they were able to be persuaded by you, I'm sure they'll have no problem being persuaded by the Peaky Blinders."

He had no reaction for her. No shouting or threatening, but rather he just smiled his cold smile and nodded, which was enough to unnerve her slightly.

"Why don't you give this file a look through," he suggested kindly, gesturing towards the cream papers, "I promise it'll be so much more interesting today."

Eliza hesitated, but the nervous feeling that was growing in her chest won her over, and she picked it up. Opening the file, she was greeted with a hazy photo of what could only be Tommy.

"What is this?" She demanded, looking up at the Inspector.

"That, Miss Scott, is our new deal. You've made it clear that a threat on your own life is not enough to make you break, so now I am threatening someone else's life."

He picked up the small stool that was in the corner of her room and brought it over, settling down opposite her.

"You were right- your file would never be enough to condemn you, not to death at any rate. Witnesses can be bribed again and judges aren't fond of circumstantial evidence." He gestured into the air as if to put all that to one side, "photographic evidence though? Oh, now that's quite different, isn't it?"

He tapped his finger on the picture of Tommy, which must have been taken from a window- his figure slightly blurry as he walked out a house she didn't recognise. Still, it was undoubtedly him, because the angle had managed to capture his face perfectly.

"That is a photograph taken by an undercover operative I had placed in Manchester. This operative watched as Thomas Shelby waited by this house for three days, before entering and killing its occupant. He took this photograph as he left. Would you like to know who the occupant was, Miss Scott?"

Eliza already knew. She'd read the front page as he'd spoken, and in big letters was the name Harry Fenton.

"Why?" she asked hoarsely, mouth dry, "why kill Harry?"

"I believe it was because of you." Campbell replied, leaning back in his seat and smiling at the pained look on her face. "Mr Fenton was working for me, you see Miss Scott. For months now he's been spying and watching you and your people. A month ago- not by my orders I must add- whilst attempting to get information from him, Fenton killed an Irishman that he'd seen with Mr Shelby at The Garrison. Can you guess who that irishman was?"

Campbell was enjoying this. Eliza tried to keep her face still, but it was hard with the things she was being told. She didn't want to believe Fenton could be a spy. He'd known her since she was a girl, they'd worked together for years. In many ways he was a father figure to her- and now he had framed her for murder.

"Byrne." She whispered. "He's the one who killed him. And the gun.. Jesus- he framed me!"

Tears stung her eyes, and she took a sharp breath to keep herself under control.

"You are good at this." The Inspector rose, standing above her again. "I'll leave you with that file, Miss Scott and I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I won't trouble you for a while, to let you think, but before I leave, please look at the last piece of paper."

Eliza picked the sheet out from underneath the pile, but didn't really need to- she knew what it was.

"If you still don't accept my deal by the end of the month, Miss Scott, I will let you go. But I will also execute that arrest warrant for Mr Shelby, and with evidence like that, even the half-decent lawyer you claim you'll get won't be able to defend him. Refuse me, and your Thomas will die."

a quick psa: it highly doubt you care much, but its been bugging me for months that i ever thought it was realistic that i could make ada six months pregnant. its been on my mind and i finally bothered to change it, so i wanted to let you know i now have her as three months pregnant in the chapter when its all revealed. i doesn't change the story (just my timeline for future content but oh well) but just so you all know its been altered and i do have some knowledge of basic biology (or at least i do now lmao). anyway- hope you enjoyed this chapter!

e x

(26/01/2021)