Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content.

The Deductionist

1919

A knock sounded off the door at number six and Clara sat herself up a bit straighter, clearing her throat as her brother Finn came over the threshold.

"Please, do come in, my good sir," Clara said before turning to Isiah. "Isn't it just as I said, Dr. Jesus? Our visitor has come at the exact moment his message said. Most prompt."

"Yes, yes, this is most excellent, my dear friend," Isiah said.

"Elementary," Clara answered as she turned back to Finn. "Please do shut the door, young chap. You must have a most terrible chill. I can tell from your red cheeks and the shivering of those shoulders. Come in, sit with us here by the fire. We'll hear your story. Don't leave out a single detail. I'm sure you won't mind the presence of my good colleague, Dr. Jesus." Clara waved towards Isiah. "His expertise is as much needed as mine."

Finn nodded, walking into the room, hat in his hand, and he lowered himself onto the settee. "Well, my problem began about three days ago…"

Clara and Isiah nodded, each of them resting back in an armchair near to the fire, peaky hats on their heads, stolen tobacco pipes hanging out of their mouths. Clara wore her brother's stolen coat, the extra length of black wool pooling on the floor.

"Wonderful, now remember not to leave out a single detail. We'll need to hear it all, even the details you believe to be most boring and utterly ordinary."

"Well, three days ago, that was um…Thursday," Finn said. "I bought some sweets from Hinkley's, shared a few with my sister, three sweets, so there were four left, but then I checked on Friday and there were only three. And then on Saturday, it was just the crumbs."

"It sounds to me like the sister did it, mate," Isiah answered, breaking character for just a moment. "I've heard a rumor that the girl likes her sweets."

Clara smacked Isiah on the arm and sent a glare his way. "That's quite wrong, doctor. The sister is a deliciously tempting answer, but an obviously incorrect one. Tell us, how many others are there in your home?"

"Well, it's me and my sister and our brother Tommy, but there are other people here all the while."

"Tell us more of these other people," Clara answered.

"My family runs a betting den, so there are always people about."

"Ah, a gambling den! Fascinating, yes, doctor?" Clara said, turning to Isiah.

Isiah snorted, smirking as he rolled his eyes. "Right, fascinating."

"Indeed," Clara said. "Ever so fascinating."

Clara stood, clasping her hands behind her back as she paced the floor from the front door to the threshold of the dining room. "Are there any other fam—"

Tommy nearly crashed into his sister when he passed through the open doorway and Clara stumbled back over the extra length of coat trailing on the floor behind her. She thrust out her hand and grabbed onto Tommy's arm to steady herself.

"What're you doing home?" he asked, holding her hand as she got herself untangled from the coat.

Clara's lips formed a small circle, a minute trace of surprise lingering on her features, as Tommy pulled the pipe from between her lips.

"Oh, uh, Grace told me to finish my work at home, said to bring my assignment to her later."

"She sent you off early?"

Tommy had been about to go check in on their progress. He had been planning on bringing Arthur to the Garrison anyway.

Clara nodded. "She had an errand. And I already did the work." She reached out for the stolen pipe, but Tommy continued to hold it out of reach. "So, it's really alright for me to be playing with Finn and Siah even though—"

"I don't want to play this game anymore," Finn said. "Let's just go out on the lane. Everybody's out."

"But, Fi—"

"What are you playing?" Tommy asked, glancing again at the confiscated pipe.

"Nothing," Clara answered.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"We're practicing," she answered.

Tommy continued to look at her, offering nothing more than his silent petition for elaboration.

"She's playing Sherlock," Finn answered, interrupting their staring. "Playing pretend."

"We're practicing deductions," Clara clarified, the description sounding more dignified to her than pretending to play at detective. "For instance, I know you've just been to see Uncle Charlie."

"And how would you know that?" Tommy asked.

Clara pointed to the thin coating of mud at the bottom of his boots. "Aunt Polly'll be cross with you for getting it on the carpet."

"And I'm sure John'll be cross with you for stealing his coat," Tommy answered.

Clara hiked the jacket up further on her shoulders, folding her arms over her chest. "I've only borrowed it."

Tommy hummed. "Borrowed it without asking, I presume."

"He seemed very busy," Clara answered. "And John doesn't mind."

"Isiah, you wanna go play in the lane?" Finn was behind the curtains peering at the neighborhood kids through the windows and Clara turned towards the boys.

"No, Finn. We're still practicing," she said.

"I don't want to play this anymore," Finn said. "It's boring."

"It's not boring!" Clara answered. "And we're going to solve real cases next."

"It's boring when you're not letting anyone else play detective."

"But someone has to bring us the case. It's a very import—"

"It is not," Finn argued.

"Well, you can play the Inspector, then," she offered. "He's—"

"I'm not playing a bloody copper," Finn answered. "We don't like coppers."

"Well, who do you want to play, then?" she asked.

"I want to play ball," Finn answered, nodding out the window. "They've got a game going."

Clara groaned, turning to the Isiah who had been busy staying out of it. He'd gotten quite good at it, not taking sides between any of the Shelbys, but one of the twins always succeeded at dragging him in.

"Siah, you still wanna practice, right?" she asked.

Isiah glanced away, met Tommy's eye for a moment, and then Finn's, before looking back to Clara. "Maybe we should play detective another day, Clara. It won't be as much fun without Finn."

"C'mon Isiah," Finn said.

Clara crossed the room and pushed on the door as Finn began prying it open. "But we have to practi—"

"Let the boys go if they want," Tommy said.

Clara remained in place, settling her back against the door, her fingers splayed out against the wood to affirm her grip. She planted her feet as Finn shoved against her, his hand yanking on the handle.

Tommy called his sister's name, beckoning her away from the door with a wave of his hand. "C'mon. We've got things to do anyhow."

"But Tomm—"

"I need your help with some things."

Clara looked to Tommy, her rigid body finally relaxing at his words, and Finn stumbled a bit as the door gave way.

'Need' was a bit of an overstatement on Tommy's part. He had the plans already in place, had little need for the influence or ideas of his sister, but he knew it was the easiest way to shift her away from fighting with her twin.

"What things?" she asked.

"Let your brother be on his way and I'll tell you," Tommy answered.

Clara took a few steps away from the door and Tommy turned his attention back to the boys as they prepared to leave.

"You two stay on the lane. Keep away from the Cut."

After receiving two small nods of acknowledgment from the boys, Tommy turned to his sister. She'd not made it all the way back to his side of the room, stopping a few steps away, studying at the pictures on the sideboard, old photos of the boys in their uniforms.

"You seemed awfully upset at Finn not wanting to play with you."

Clara shrugged, her fingers tracing the edge of one of the photo frames. "Because we weren't just playing some silly game, Tommy. We were meant to be practicing."

He nodded. "Right. To be detectives."

"To be deductionists," she corrected.

Tommy nodded, not entirely sure if his sister's word was something she'd made up, but understanding her meaning anyhow. "Well, you know your brother has different interests than you."

"Yeah, but he's always stealing Isiah away to play in the lane."

"Maybe Isiah has some different interests, too. I imagine he doesn't always want to be bossed around by you."

"I don't boss him."

"You do, Clara," Tommy answered, stepping closer. "You try to boss both of those boys and nearly anyone else who will have it."

It wasn't often these days that Finn allowed his twin to do much of the bossing though. Clara turned towards him and stumbled a bit again as she forgot about the coat ends, but she quickly caught herself, both hands latching onto the edge of the sideboard.

"Well, you boss everyone about and so does Aunt Polly," she answered.

Tommy scoffed. "That's because I am the boss."

"And what about Aunt Polly?"

"Well, she's Polly Gray. Can't imagine there are very many souls in Birmingham brave enough to question our aunt."

Clara turned back to the pictures, her finger tracing the line of the photo frame.

"Well, I'm Clara Shelby," she muttered, "and maybe I'll be the boss someday, your boss even."

"My boss?" Tommy asked. "You think so?"

Tommy helped her out of John's jacket and as he did it, he couldn't help but think that she was a bit of his boss already, had always been, really, unknowingly influencing his behavior, habitually calling forward a patience and saccharinity in him that he thought to be long gone, especially now. Tommy tossed the coat over the back of the settee and leaned against it as he looked at her.

"If you're gonna be the boss, you'd better keep up your training as a deductionist. You need to understand people in order to lead them. Need to study them, learn how to read them, ask the right questions."

"How do I do that?"

"How did you know I was at the yard?" he asked.

"From the mud."

Tommy pulled the hat from her head, tapping her with it before settling it on top of the jacket. "And you noticed the mud because you're perceptive."

Clara tilted her head as she considered it and then crossed the space between them to lean on the settee with him.

"Do you have a secret for me?" she whispered.

He smiled. "Ah, so you have been paying attention, then?" he asked, his voice a small step quieter.

"You waited for Finn to go," she answered.

"That brother of ours would've told half the lane before we'd even made it out the door," Tommy answered. "Can't have that, can we?"

Clara smirked. Tommy was right, of course. Finn couldn't help himself when it came to sharing information.

"Well, what is it then?" Clara prompted.

"Something for Arthur, something he's always wanted," Tommy said.

"Something to make him feel better?" she asked. "Can we get him a dog? I think a dog would cheer him."

Tommy smiled. "I said the thing Arthur's always wanted, not you."

"But a dog could be for all of us."

"You're not getting a dog," Tommy answered. "Got enough wild animals running about this house with you and your brother."

Clara pouted. "We're not even very wild, Tommy."

"Wild enough to keep me busy," he answered. "Now should I tell you what I've got planned for Arthur or not?"

"Is it very expensive?" Clara asked. "Whatever we're getting him?"

Tommy bobbed his head. "It'll cost," he finally answered.

"So, we're getting him a pub, then?" Clara suggested.

Tommy nodded, a bit of genuine shock coming to him. "And how'd you know that?"

"Everyone knows that. He always says it." Clara cleared her throat. "Someday, I want to own me own pub."

"He does, but the thing is, not everyone listens, Clara. Not everyone pays attention, eh?" Tommy said. "Not everyone's like us."

Clara smiled at that, the thought of being similar to her brother, clever like Tommy, perceptive like Tommy.

"Right, so, we're gonna buy the Garrison," he said. "It'll give our brother a bit of purpose, keep him busy."

"He's really always wanted a pub, Tommy, almost as much as I've wanted a dog."

Tommy nodded, exuding a gentle scoff and ignoring his sister's rekindling of the dog agenda, something he hadn't heard out of his sister in some time, and not with any true regularity since before France.

"Arthur Shelby, manager and owner of The Garrison Pub. The title suits him, eh?"

"Yeah, and I think we should get some biscuits, too, Tommy," Clara said. "To celebrate."

"Yeah? Are those for you or for Arthur?"

"He won't want to eat them alone," Clara answered. "We can share."

"Oh, you'll share, eh?"

Clara shrugged, giggling as Tommy his fingers found the side of her neck and she quickly caught his hand, stopping his attack.

"Can we make it a surprise?" Clara asked. "I think he'd like a surprise."

Tommy humored his sister and let her help come up with a strategy for the surprise. He suggested that, out of the two of them, she was the better suited to go to the Garrison and check to be sure Harry was at the pub. She had a good excuse to be there, seeing as she had an assignment for Grace, and Tommy would rather go to Arthur alone. She'd seen enough of Arthur being in a bad way, and if John's warning was any indication of how he'd find Arthur at St. Andrew's today, Tommy didn't want Clara seeing it, so as to give himself an extra few minutes, he'd assigned her to stop by Hinkley's as well.

"Clara, sweetheart, what're you doing here?" Harry stepped around the side of the bar, wiped his hands on the towel over his shoulder. The place was nearly empty, that lull in the afternoon while most people were still at work.

"Is Grace here?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Do you need her?"

"She told me to bring my assignment back when I finished. Did she say when she'd be back?"

"Not today, I'm afraid. I gave her the night off. She's got the early shift tomorrow if you want to come back then."

Clara shook her head, sighing as Harry headed back behind the bar. She'd been planning on Grace being there, had planned to begin her practice right then.

"Do you know where she went?"

Harry turned back to the girl. "She was meeting someone, I think," he said. "Imagine she's home by now though."

"Does she live close? Do you think I could just go drop it off?"

"Oh, well, she's just down off Barwell Road in the old boarding house."

"And you're here for the night then, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Why do you—"

"See you soon Harry."

"What—"

Clara was already out the door before Harry could get a proper question out. Barwell Road was close, near to Hinkley's, and the prospect of seeing where Grace lived more enticing than stopping back to the Garrison in the morning. She hadn't exactly expected Grace to be home, had expected to stand at the threshold of her room on the second floor and be met with the echoes of her knocking and the useless rattling of a locked doorknob, but Clara stepped back, a bit startled as the door opened and Grace looked down at her.

"Clara?"

She stuttered out a quick greeting, her words finding themselves as the initial shock wore off. "Harry said you lived here," she offered.

"Oh," Grace answered. "Is there something wrong? Is your bro—"

"I have the assignment," Clara answered, "the one from before."

Grace took the papers from Clara's outstretched hand. "Yes, of course. I forgot I'd asked…well, never mind that. Thank you."

Clara leaned to the side, just a bit, a slight shift of her torso and a tilt of the head, so she could see a sliver more of the room, the little bit that wasn't shielded by Grace's body or the door. She was as unaware of her own shifting as she was of her rubbing her wind-chapped hands together.

"Would you like to come in for a moment to warm up?"

Clara's eyes flicked back to Grace for a moment.

"I…um…maybe just for a moment."

Grace pulled the door back to allow Clara in. It was a small space, an entire home fit into the four walls of a single room, and Clara's eyes swept over it all in a few seconds, from the neat decoration to the clean floors, from the absence of any personal photographs to the red dress hanging over the door.

"Did you finish your errand?" Clara asked as she walked to the window, exploring the room though she kept her hands to herself, stuffed deep in her pockets to avoid the temptation.

"My errand," Grace repeated, offering a smile. "Yes, I did. Thank you."

Clara turned to her, glad her fidgeting hands were hidden. "Tommy thought I did something to get in trouble."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for—"

"It's okay. I told him you let me go," she answered. "That's a pretty dress."

Clara pointed to the back of the door and Grace turned, her cheeks flushing. "Oh, yes, thank you."

"Is it new? Aunt Polly only lets me wear my really nice dresses for special occasions…or for church. Is it for a date? Ada wears nice dresses to go see a boy."

It was the most information Clara had voluntarily offered the woman, the closest Clara had ventured into talking about family and Grace responded in-kind, loosened slightly by the girl's sudden openness.

"No, um, not a date, exactly. A special occasion, though, I suppose." Grace turned to the stove, lifted the kettle. "Would you like tea?"

Clara shook her head, stepping towards the door. "I should go. Tommy's waiting on me."

Clara hopped up from her seat on the stoop when she saw Tommy come through the church doors. She'd only just made it back to the church after stopping to Hinkley's, the red in her cheeks from her running rather than the cold.

"Where's Arthur?"

"He's coming," Tommy answered. "We're all set?"

"Harry's there." Clara nodded, holding up the bag. "And I got the biscuits."

"Good girl," he said as he lit a cigarette. "You been waiting long?"

Clara shook her head. She was about to explain, about to give him some story about walking around the block a few times since it was cold, and spending extra time at Hinkley's and with Harry, but Arthur came out into the street before she needed to.

"Is this my surprise, then?" Arthur asked, swaying a small bit as he came to stand by them. "You brought the baby by for a visit?"

Clara smiled up at him, but stayed next to Tommy, biting her lip. She'd barely seen Arthur in the preceding weeks, been kept at a bit of distance from him, whether through chance or the purposeful maneuvers of the rest of her family.

"Well, come here, sweetheart." Arthur kneeled down, setting down the bottle in his hand and opening his arms to her. "I won't bite."

Clara idly passed the biscuits to Tommy as she stepped forward, latching her arms around Arthur's neck.

"I told you someone's missed you, Arthur," Tommy said. "Asked after you every day these past few weeks."

"Is that right?" Arthur ran his hand down the back of her head. He pulled her back and placed a kiss on her head."I've missed you, too, Clara girl."

Clara smiled. "Tommy and I have something special for you," she said as Arthur stood up, her hand still in his.

"Something more special than you?" he asked, bringing her cool hand to his mouth for a kiss. "I don't believe it."

Clara turned to Tommy. "Can we do it now?" she asked.

Tommy nodded and Clara squeezed Arthur's hand, towing him along, the youngest leading the oldest back down to Garrison Lane to purchase a pub and celebrate with a bag of biscuits given to her by Mr. Hinkley.

"Alright, there Arthur. It's time our sister got home," Tommy said, waving him back over to the bar though Arthur only ignored him, continuing to spin Clara in dizzying circles.

"But we're celebrating!" Clara shouted as she giggled, her head falling back against Arthur's chest as he swung them around.

"Well, that's enough celebrating for now. I'm sure Aunt Polly is waiting on you for help with supper."

Tommy nodded towards the door, in the direction of Watery Lane.

"But I won't be in trouble if I've been with you."

"Yeah, but I will," Tommy answered.

Arthur stopped his spinning but kept Clara in his arms as he brought them back towards Tommy.

"But you said you were the boss. What's the point of being big if Aunt Polly can still yell at you?" Clara asked.

"That's a damn good question," Arthur answered.

"I believe I said there are not many souls in Birmingham brave enough to question her."

"But—"

Clara shouted, the strangled sound masked by the clattering of a table and chairs as Arthur resumed his swinging, a bit too close to the furniture. She attempted to grasp the offending foot and ankle, but Arthur's hold limited her reach.

"Oh, fuck. Sorry there, sister."

Arthur gathered Clara up close, turning her towards Tommy. "Think we should amputate it, Tom, or just go ahead and put the poor little thing out of her misery?"

Tommy made a brief examination of the ankle, noting the smirk peeking through his sister's exaggerated pout. "Oh, I think she'll live to walk herself back home for supper."

Clara slumped in Arthur's arms, going completely limp as she closed her eyes, imitating the dead.

"Tom, I don't know. I think a little examination is in order. We gotta make sure she's still among the living, eh? Maybe a tickle test?"

Clara's eyes shot open as Arthur's fingers moved across the spots easily accessible to him while she was trapped defenseless in his arms. She struggled against him, giggling and screeching as her brother held her tight. There was something about her giggling that made the rest of the things on a person's mind fall away, something so innocent there, that Arthur and Tommy were both smiling. Even Harry smiled when he heard it, and he'd been nearly hell-bent on remaining sour for the remainder of the evening.

"Alright, alright. I think she's had enough there, Arthur," Tommy prompted after having to defend himself from a flailing boot nearing his head. "And a pub's no place for an eleven-year-old."

Arthur stopped his tickling and settled his sister on her hip, her chest heaving as she fixed herself, tucking her hair behind both ears.

"It's my school too though, Tommy."

Arthur snorted. "Well, she's got ya there, Tom."

"It's your school when the pub's closed and it's about to be opened, so it's time for you to go."

Clara turned to Arthur, her arms wrapped around his neck. "Arthur, can't I please stay at your pub?"

"Not tonight, love. Maybe when you're older. Tommy's right. You're too young for a night at the pub," Arthur said. "Drinking age is what these days, Harry? Twelve?"

"I believe it's fourteen, Mr. Shelby."

"Oh, right," Arthur answered. "Well, it'll be a couple more years then, Clara. You think you can use that busted ankle or should your old brother carry you home?"

"I guess I can walk," she grumbled. "Though I'd much rather just stay here with you."

Tommy sighed, shaking his head at the dramatics as Arthur lowered her to the ground.

"You coming with us, Tom?"

Tommy shook his head as he took out his cigarette case. Something in him knew Clara didn't want him to come. She wanted Arthur to herself, a fact that Tommy decided he'd not let bother him. She'd not had Arthur in quite some time, not the happy, joyful Arthur, at least. And Tommy had her now a few mornings a week, and he had time with her when she was with Grace. He'd had more of Clara than anyone else. "You two go ahead."

With the Garrison so close to Watery Lane, Clara knew her time with Arthur was limited so she set their pace with purpose, emphasizing the imagined hobble in her left foot as she slipped her hand into his.

"Arthur, can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said.

"How do you know when people like each other?"

"How do you what?" Arthur asked, stopping them both.

Clara swallowed. "I mean how do you know if a boy likes a girl or a girl likes a boy?"

Arthur rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. "I, uh…well, when I said anything, I didn't think…You're really too young to be liking boys."

"I don't like any boys, Arthur. I just need to know."

"What do you need to know about that for?"

Clara shrugged. "Just in case."

"Just in case," he repeated. "Right. Okay. I'll tell you, but only so you can tell a boy to keep on walking if you think they like you. Is that a deal?"

Clara nodded, shaking Arthur's outstretched hand before they resumed their walking.

"Well, for one, you'll see more smiles. A person smiles when they talk about their sweetheart and when they're talking to them. They can't help it."

"What else?" Clara prompted.

"They'll be making excuses to be around them," Arthur said. "And then the girls like to get all pretty, don't they? But all that only matters if they're nice, from a good family, and gonna treat you right, eh? Don't want you to go marrying off to the first boy to give you a couple of smiles."

Clara scrunched up her face. "I wasn't asking for me, Arthur! I don't want any boys smiling at me."

Arthur smiled. "Good, let's keep it that way," he answered. "We'll find you a nice husband when you're old enough."

"I don't want a husband," Clara said.

"No?"

Clara shook her head. "I'm gonna be a boss."

Arthur chuckled. "Boss of what?"

"Whatever I want," she answered. "Tommy said I could be as long as I keep up my training."

"What training?"

"To be a deductionist."

Arthur glanced down at his sister. He had never heard of a deductionist, and he hadn't been subjected to her reading from the detective books, so he had not a single clue as to what his little sister was talking about. Assuming it was just another one of those things, some clandestine conversation between Tommy and Clara that he'd never be privy to or properly appreciate, Arthur gave her nearly the same answer he'd give Tommy in a comparable exchange.

"Alright, sister, whatever you say."