Trigger warning on this one for domestic abuse and standard Peaky Blinders violence, which I know is canon and I am doing a close to canon retelling but obviously that's not the side of the show I lean into all that often, so just highlighting it here.

Chapter 109

"Harriet, sorry to call so late, how are you?" Rosie smiled at the woman who answered the door.

"Alright Rosie, how's yourself?" Mrs Lyons - Harriet - returned, her voice a little unsure, her eyes trained on him.

It had been like this all bloody night. His intention had been that he would just very formally whip round the houses, deliver the receipts of paid fines and that Rosie would be with him as a way of reminding people she was under his protection. But as it turned out, Rosie seemed to know half the women in the boody street well enough to be on a first name basis with them.

"Well, you get to know people when you're out the back beating rugs or peeling potatoes together or carting your loads down the wash-house," was all she'd said with a shrug when he'd commented on it after their fourth house, "And after that night when they all ran off to Sparkbrook - well, nothing to bond people like the nonsense their kids pull."

It was nearly ten. Sun was long gone and the kids were all abed. They'd set out after Rosie had put Lily down, Tommy had thought they'd be done just about as it was time to get Finn in and send him to bed too. Had thought it would be nicely timed for the two of them to have some peace and quiet and for him to be able to reward her for her efforts of the day.

As it was, he'd sent Finn in inbetween houses five and six on their rounds and here they were only just finally closing in on the end of their list…

But this was another one she was leading, it seemed. The routine they'd fallen into was that if a man answered the door, he'd do the talking and if it was a woman, she'd take over. And then they'd talk for at least ten minutes whilst he stood and smoked and tried not to roll his eyes.

"Aye alright, could have done without Finn giving me a right heart attack, wandering off down the railway line the other day," Rosie returned.

That was quicker than she'd gotten to the point in most of the other conversations, thankfully. Maybe she was finally tiring of it too.

"They'd fray your bloody nerves raw, the lot of them!" Harriet flared, shaking her head, "God knows what we ever did to deserve what they put us through. I'll say I had my moments growing up but our Richard's worse than me and his father would have been put together! Don't recall either of us ever being brought home by the police!"

"They make up for it in other ways though," Rosie smiled.

Harriet humphed, then went on, worry seeping into her voice, "Don't know how he'll be making up for this fine though. No concept of the value of money. I don't want it on his record that he went into that reform, don't get me wrong, but where we're going to find two pound and ten shilling, God himself only knows! We'll end up out on the street, scraping that up."

Rosie gestured him forwards.

"That's what we're here about, Harriet," Rosie said, indicating the receipt he was proffering.

The woman looked from him to her and the piece of paper and back again.

"The Peaky Blinders have paid all the fines for all the kids who were involved," Rosie explained, "That's your proof of Richard's fine being paid in full."

There was a silence before Harriet Lyons took the piece of paper from him with trembling fingers and stared at it a long while

"Why?" she eventually asked, looking up, her forehead creased, confused and mistrusting.

"We look after our own, Mrs Lyons," he told her.

"It's not that I don't appreciate it, Mr Shelby," she told him, knowing offending him wasn't a wise move, "But we don't need charity-"

"Mrs Lyons, you just said yourself how difficult it will be for you to find that money," he cut across to remind her.

"Well, yes, I mean - it won't be easy, but I didn't mean we wouldn't manage…"

"Harriet - the fines are a disgrace, asking people to pay that for their kids disobediences, it's daylight bloody robbery, ironically, from the bloody police," Rosie interjected, far more gentle than him, "This isn't charity - it's community. The kids all got up to it together, so we'll deal with it together. We're not having any of them sent off to the reform because of money. Like Tommy said, we look after our own - and we're looked after by them in turn."

They would look after them financially. They'd be looked after by mouths being kept shut and eyes being averted when needed.

Harriet Lyons cast Rosie a very long look, then finally nodded and put the receipt in her pocket.

"Well… thanks, I suppose, to both of you."

Rosie nodded encouragingly, "Well, we've got a few others still to deliver so we'll let you get back to your night."

They actually only had one more house to visit, the one they'd been putting off.

Paul Clayton Snr yanked his door open, looking out with a confrontational glare.

He began to demand, "What do you mean, calling at this hour?" but he saw Tommy, realised who he was addressing and by the end of the sentence had pulled his tone in - a little.

Not enough though.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, "Apologies for the late hour, Mr Clayton, but we have some business to settle."

"What business do you have with me?"

"It's about your son, Paul."

"What's he bloody done now?"

Over the man's shoulder, Tommy saw his wife stand from her chair, pulling her cardigan tightly around herself. She didn't move to approach them but the mention of the kid had got her attention.

She was a frail looking woman and he couldn't remember her appearing out on the street the night of the kids adventuring off to Sparkbrook.

"A group of them were caught trespassing on the railway line," Tommy drawled, as if bored of the conversation.

"What's that to do with you? The police caught them?"

"Yes, they did," he nodded, "And they've all either to have a fine paid for them or they're headed for a fortnight in the reformatory."

"Where they might learn a bit of discipline, speaking for my own he doesn't seem to have picked any up from me or his mother. I've told them both, she's been too soft on him whilst I've been working to keep a roof over his head, not been around to give him what he deserves half the time."

"I think Paul's had plenty, he's no worse than any of them," Rosie spoke up, "It's not as if he was found on the train line on his own."

Paul Clayton Snr gave her a filthy look.

"Do you know who I am, Mr Clayton?" Tommy asked, his tone cold and dangerous, his head dipping a little so the blade in his cap would flash in the light.

The man gave a curt nod.

"You know what I do?"

Another nod.

"Then you won't look at her like that again, or you'll find yourself with no eyes to look at anyone with. You understand me?"

Tommy could see fury moving beneath his Paul Clayton's features - the man wasn't used to being stood up to. But he wasn't quite stupid enough to talk back either.

"What do you want about Paul?" he eventually asked.

"Oh no," Tommy said, tilting his head and shaking it, "I asked you a question - if you understood or not? I'm expecting an answer and I'm not moving on until I get it."

"Tommy," Rosie murmured.

He didn't take his eyes from Paul Clayton's.

"Go on, answer me."

The man looked as if he was going to say something, then clenched his jaw and nodded.

"No," Tommy said, a single head shake this time, his eyes drilling into Clayton's, "I want to hear you say 'Yes Mr Shelby. I understand.' Just so I can rest easy, knowing you do." He took a single step closer to the man, and took off his cap, playing with it in his hand, "Or, if you don't understand, tell me, so I can give you a demonstration."

"Thomas," Rosie said, more sharply.

He ignored her again. The man was a bully. Do him good to get a taste of his own medicine.

"Paul - please," Mrs Clayton said, her voice barely audible.

Clayton turned his head over his shoulder and roared, "You stay where you are and keep your mouth shut Mary."

"So you can answer her and not me?" Tommy growled, realising why Rosie had been trying to get him to stop.

"I understand, Mr Shelby," the man bit out.

"Good. Now let's get something else clear. I don't like men who pick on ones smaller and weaker than them, don't like men who pick easy targets. So if you take any of your anger at me out on your wife or boy, it'll get back to me and you'll find yourself without hands to raise again. You understand that too?"

The man's features almost seemed to bubble with fury, but he eventually, through clenched teeth, managed to say, "Yes."

"You want a fight, you know where to find me, Mr Clayton. I'd be only too happy to oblige. Or let my brother John oblige in my place, from what I hear he'd love to have an excuse to take a good swing at you."

"I've no quarrel with either of you."

"And if I was you, Mr Clayton, I'd conduct myself in a way that ensured we didn't find ourselves having a quarrel with you."

"You said you came for business, about the boy," Clayton said, his face red, spit flying from his mouth as he made an effort to control his tone.

Tommy nodded, taking a step back and putting his cap back on his head, "Aye. Well, as I said, I don't like bullies who pick on people half their size - which is what I reckon has gone on with those boys being lifted from the train line. Coppers took a nice opportunity to lift some kids rather than do any real work."

"And so what if they did?"

"The Peaky Blinders paid the fines, Mr Clayton, for all the boys involved. So none of them will be going to the reform to learn any of their discipline."

The redness in Paul Clayton's face spread down his neck, disappearing under his shirt, and the areas in the man's pointed face where they stemmed from got even darker, turning practically purple.

"You - you - you - you had no - no fucking - no fucking right! You - you - fucking - people - you - you think this street - this city - is yours! It - it isn't!" he eventually got out, spit firing in all directions from his mouth as he spluttered, too incensed to speak coherently, some of it landing on his chin, staying there, making him look like a red ham with fat dripping.

"Paul," Mrs Clayton said, taking a few steps from their sofa to just behind him, reaching out a hand and brushing it on his shoulder.

The man turned and backhanded her in one swift movement, cracking across her face with a preciseness that could only have come from years of practice.

Tommy moved, his hand going to the man's throat, pushing him across the threshold of his own home, slamming him against the wall and pinning him there, the hand curling tighter and tighter, Paul Clayton choking and gasping under it, his face somehow even more blotchy than it had been when he'd been shooting his mouth off at the door.

"What did I tell you?" Tommy growled.

He held Clayton for a while, watching him writhe and splutter. He noted Mrs Clayton was silent as she watched, not begging him to stop.

He let go and Clayton fell to the floor, gasping, where Tommy kicked his face, watching with satisfaction as blood spurted before he landed another in his stomach. The man curled on the ground in a fetal position.

"Rose," he growled, flicking his eyes to where she stood in the doorway.

She nodded, she was listening, ready to obey.

"Go get Arthur and John, bring them here."

She nodded, turned and went, wordlessly.

"Mr Shelby," Mrs Clayton finally whispered his name.

"You sit yourself down Mrs Clayton," Tommy said, making his voice as kind as he could, not taking his eyes off the man in a heap on the floor, "Our Rosie will make you a cup of tea just as soon as she's back."

"Yes Mr Shelby."

The commotion must have carried, because a small, nervous voice, more like his mother's than his father's shook out, "Mum?" from behind the door on the other side of the front room.

"You go back to bed Paul," Mrs Clayton said, her voice slightly louder than it had been when she'd spoken to Tommy, but still shaking.

"Mum - are you alright?"

"I'm alright love. I want you to go back to bed though."

Tommy knew from listening to the kids that Paul Clayton junior wasn't well liked. Knew Isaiah and Finn and the boy had had words - and probably more than words - because the kid seemed to try and throw his weight around a bit. But listening to him ask his mum if she was alright from behind a door - that reminded Tommy a bit too much of himself for comfort. And knowing how his father had gone to Sparkbrook, strap in hand, to humiliate him before dragging him home for his hiding - aye, that tinged a little too well with the childhoods experienced under Arthur Shelby Senior at number six as well.

"Tom," Arthur junior's voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked over to see both his brothers and Rosie returned.

"Rosie - you make Mrs Clayton here a cup of tea. The two of you stay inside until I come back in. Boys, bring Mr Clayton outside, we're needing a talk, man to man."

There was a glow in John's eyes as he and Arthur came in and grabbed an arm apiece, dragging Paul senior out onto the street, taking great care to do it none too gently.

Rosie obeyed him without a word, nodding and heading straight through, opening the door that would lead to the kitchen and the stairs. He wondered what she was thinking. He wondered if the kid would be behind it or if he would have gone back to bed as instructed.

He didn't have time to wait and find out though on either count though, he turned on his heel and followed his brothers out the door, closing it behind him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Mrs Clayton, your husband won't be coming home tonight," he told her, standing across the room from her, clasping his hands behind his back.

She looked at him with wide questioning eyes and a trembling lip. Rosie, sat beside her on the sofa, reached over and took one of the woman's hands, squeezing it a little.

"Rose here has work tomorrow. What's going to happen is this, Mrs Clayton - we've had a word with your husband."

The word had involved knocking some teeth out and breaking a nose and left wrist. John had enjoyed delivering that oration.

"He will not be back here tonight. I have men stationed around your house and he's been told if he comes near it, he will regret his decision. This is to give you time, Mrs Clayton, to make a decision about whether he will come back at all. Tomorrow, Rosie will call in on you after she has finished work, alright Rosie?"

She nodded.

"It'll be around half past five. If, tomorrow, when Rosie calls, you would like your husband to be allowed to return - you let her know and I'll have my men stood down and we'll get word to him that he's welcome to return. If you decide otherwise Mrs Clayton, you will be free of him forever. Regardless of your decision, Mrs Clayton, you are now under the protection of the Peaky Blinders and you will remain so. Do you understand?"

"I - I think so, Mr Shelby," she nodded.

"Your husband has had it made very clear to him that men who bully and beat their wives and children will not be tolerated, Mrs Clayton. I think I can say with some certainty, you need have no fear. But you'll take tonight and tomorrow to think on it before you make any decisions."

She nodded.

"Mrs Clayton," Rosie said gently, "Please remember when you're making that decision - it's for your son as well as yourself."

Mary Clayton nodded as Rosie got to her feet, slowly taking her hand out of the other woman's grip.

"Speaking of your son," Tommy said, flicking his eyebrows and reaching into his pocket for the receipt, putting it down on the sideboard, "That's the receipt for his fine being paid. Why we came over in the first place."

Rosie took a few steps towards the door, motioning for him to follow.

He gave a nod to the woman still sitting, seeming somewhat overwhelmed by shock, on the sofa, "We'll say goodnight then Mrs Clayton. Apologies again for the lateness of the hour."

He crossed the small room, his hand going to the small of Rosie's back, opening the door and then, just as they were about to leave.

"Mr Shelby…"

They stopped and glanced back.

She had turned on her sofa to face them, not, he reckoned, able to stand.

"Yes?"

"Your sister - you're - you're looking to find her, people say?"

He nodded.

"She goes to the bathhouse on Montague Street on women only days, Mr Shelby."

He blinked, then nodded, "Thank you. Rosie will be by tomorrow for your decision."

Community. Just like Rosie had said to Mrs Lyons. They looked after their own and they reaped the rewards.

"Where is Mr Clayton?" Rosie asked, once the door had shut behind them.

Her voice was grim and his insides churned a little. He had been so sure of what the right thing to do in the moment was that he'd almost forgotten that, though he knew she knew what he did, he had tried to hide most of it from her directly. Tried to keep it as an abstract idea in her head rather than give her explicit knowledge she couldn't unknow.

"Walking it off," he replied.

"Crawling it off, more likely," Arthur drawled with a grin.

He was waiting outside the house while John got some junior peaky boys together to do the night vigil.

She nodded, folding her arms.

"Tommy."

"Yes?" he asked, his voice curt, slightly dreading what he thought she might say.

Upbraid him for what he had done? Tell him it wasn't his decision to have made?

"No matter what happens, her decision tomorrow will be to let him come home. She's - she's an abused woman who will be so frightened at the idea of building her own life now, who has lived in a state of fear for so long that she won't know how to get out of that."

He nodded. He suspected as much, but he hoped she might choose otherwise. And he hoped they had scared Clayton enough that he'd never risk raising a hand to her again.

"Tommy - I wanted the job I've got because I wanted to try and help women and children," she continued, picking over her words, "But Polly's right, there are processes to it, the way the council does it. Processes you don't need to go through."

He furrowed his brow, took out a cigarette and lit it, rolling it across his lips and inhaling before asking, "What are you saying Rosie?"

She looked him directly in the eye, her chin raised, her voice sure and steady then as she said, "I'm saying it might be the most helpful thing if Paul Clayton's walking it off found him walking himself into the cut."

He blew out a stream of smoke to cover his surprise. Or maybe surprise wasn't right. Maybe he wasn't surprised at all. Maybe he was just surprised it had taken so long.

"And not finding himself to be the strongest of swimmers?"

She nodded.

"Arthur?"

His brother nodded.

"I'll leave it in your hands then," he said, throwing an arm around Rosie's shoulder and leading her back to the sanctity of number six.