Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content, a smack to the back of the head.

Trust Me

1919

It was Clara's shouting that woke Arthur from his afternoon of dozing. He'd made a habit of it, slipping into an hour or so of resting his eyes while checking over the books in the back room. It was the second most regular of his tasks as the owner of the Garrison, the first being the steadfast consumption of whiskey and dark mild though both were rather predictable parts of his day.

"I don't have to redo it! I—"

Arthur shouted, a dazed 'Oi!' coming from his lips just a smidgen louder than the words coming from his sister's mouth. He met Grace at the door to the snug, pushing his hand out to stop her from shutting him out.

"Mr. Shelby, I—" Grace fumbled through her words as she met his eye, knowing fully well that the damage had already been done now that he was awake.

"What's the bloody problem?" Arthur looked beyond Grace to his sister's shaking form, so much throbbing anger in such a little body.

"She's the bloody problem!" Clara shouted, her rigid body seemingly stuck in place though she pointed across the small room to Grace.

"Now, Clara—" Grace began.

"I wasn't wrong and I won't fucki—"

Arthur stepped around Grace and swatted the back of Clara's head with his palm. The girl quickly worked to protect herself, putting a few steps between her and her brother. Arthur glanced at the barmaid for a moment, noticing her pink-tinged cheeks. It wasn't the first argument he'd broken up since they'd bought the Garrison, just the loudest of them.

"Apologize." Arthur waved absently at his sister as he said it.

Clara lifted her foot to step further away from him and Arthur caught her arm, tugging her back to his side.

Clara pulled at his stubborn fingers. "No, Arthur, I'm not—"

"You want another?"

"Fine," Clara huffed, grabbing his vaguely raised hand and holding it back. "I'm sorry for waking you."

Arthur cleared his throat. He had almost laughed and very well may have had he not had the beginnings of a headache and had he not already been through this particular song and dance with his sister a handful of times in the past few weeks. "Not to me. To Grace… for the language… and for all fucking the shouting."

Clara shook her head and Grace watched the pair, the same seething anger brimming in them both. It was a family trait that she'd noted, the Shelby ire, seen even more now that Grace was passing her days with Arthur and Clara for company.

Grace cleared her throat. "Oh, Mr. Shelby, really, it's—"

He turned away from his sister, his words coming out a bit rougher than intended as he spoke to the barmaid. "I told you to call me Arthur."

"Yes. Right. Arthur," Grace corrected. "It's all fine, really. You don't need to trouble yourself with our little disagreement. We'll just get back to work and—"

Arthur glanced at his sister, her fingers still working at getting out of his grip. He knew Grace would have no luck getting her back to task and Arthur didn't have it in him to listen to more of their arguing.

"No," he answered, pushing his hand through the hair that had fallen in his eyes. "I think you two've played more than enough schoolhouse for today. Take a few hours for yourself before the evening shift."

"Arth—"

"Grace, I insist. You've earned it. I'll take over with her."

Grace nodded once before turning to Clara. "We can start fresh next week, then."

"She'll be a perfect angel then, eh Clara?" Arthur turned to his sister, dropping his hold on her. Clara didn't answer the question or offer the slightest nod of her head as confirmation, but she had the decency to look a bit remorseful as she quickly slid back onto the bench.

Arthur glanced towards the door, waiting until Grace walked through it before he looked back to the girl. "Now, what the bloody hell was that?"

"Nothing," Clara answered, slumping back into her seat, arms crossed over her chest.

"Right," he answered.

"She said I was wrong when I wasn't."

"Yeah, well you and Tommy are never wrong, are you?" Arthur shook his head, repeating a sentiment that hadn't originated with him, something he'd overheard Polly say about the pair. "After that show, you can sit there and redo whatever you're meant to redo. Tommy will deal with you when he gets back."

Clara spent the better part of the hour since Arthur left her alone thinking on how she would explain the day to Tommy when he finally came to fetch her. They were due to go to the yard before supper, but Clara didn't think she'd be going anywhere except back home and up to her bedroom at this rate.

She had decided that the main trouble was Arthur had come in at the wrong time, when she was frustrated, a bit about some of the school work and a greater bit about whatever she was trying to work through in her head about Grace. And Grace had been getting frustrated by the whole thing too. Clara could tell now when she was testing the woman with her questions and her behavior, picking up on the slight shift in Grace's voice, fluctuating from meek to haughty, just a bit. Clara had learned the woman was more likely to let things slip when she was like that, more emotional and exasperated. She'd also noticed that Grace was quick to try to smooth things, quick to keep it between the two of them.

But if Clara offered any of that as an excuse for her behavior, if all she had to say was that she didn't like the woman or that she didn't trust her, Tommy would make the exact same points that Polly had made at the church.

He'd say that Clara hadn't minded Grace back when her cuts needed cleaning or when the woman had convinced him that the field trips and working with the books were an important part of the lessons. He'd say she wasn't so critical when Grace had found a school for her.

If she voiced any of the concerns about the woman not being a proper teacher, an almost ancient and well-beaten argument at this point, Tommy would remind her that she knew better than to not respect a person because of their status. For good measure, he'd probably remind her that there was no problem with Grace asking things about her, getting to know her.

And if she told him she'd been misbehaving because it often got her more information than being sweet had, if she told him that Clara's unpredictable behavior elicited more truth from the woman than anything else, she didn't imagine she'd like the result. Clara figured she'd get more than a few smacks to the back of the head and a half-hearted threat for that.

But Clara still didn't want to tell Tommy what she was really thinking about Grace either. Clara knew he wouldn't like hearing the argument she'd been collecting evidence for, would probably get angrier with her for that particular deduction than he would be for the whole mess she was already in.

She had seen how Tommy reacted when other people brought up women. He'd been that way a bit before the war because of how things ended with Greta, but it was worse now than she remembered it being then, a topic not to be touched upon, even more taboo than the subjects of Ada and Freddie or Flanders Blues.

Clara's stomach turned when she heard the front door open. She wasn't ready for the coming argument, hadn't yet properly prepared herself to deal with Tommy yet, and she moved to the snug's open door to gauge her brother's mood, not that it much mattered. She knew Tommy's demeanor made easy shifts, especially when it meant going from agreeable to irate.

Clara relaxed a bit, moving into the main room as Isiah pushed through the door. She moved further into the pub only to slow her movement when she heard Arthur as he stepped out of the back room.

"Isiah, what can we do for you?"

Isiah took another step forward, pulling off his hat and crumpling it in his hands. "I uh, Tommy said I should walk Clara over to the yard. He got caught up with a meeting."

Clara started moving again, intending on making it to Isiah's side of the room, but she didn't make it past the bar before she felt a hand on her arm.

"What did I tell ya?" Clara opened her mouth to answer but Arthur cut her off, shaking her a bit. "I told ya to stay put until our brother got here to deal with you, eh?"

"But Siah's said he's not coming."

"Yeah, and that's all the more reason for you to still be in the snug like I told you."

"But if he's not coming—"

"If he's not coming, then maybe I'll bring you round to him."

Clara gulped, looking away from Arthur's gaze. They both knew Arthur wouldn't deal with it. It took quite a bit for the eldest Shelby to get to the point of doing any real telling off of the kids, but Clara didn't quite like the idea of being delivered to their brother midday, either. Not under the current circumstances because though Arthur wasn't great at the telling off, he was quite good with the telling on.

Isiah stepped forward, summoning a bit of courage to interrupt the standoff. "Uh, Arthur, I uh…I think there's a lot of work for us at the yard. Seemed important to Tom that we got over there...for Charlie."

Arthur sighed, rubbing at his temples. He knew it was easier for him to send her on her way with Isiah, to get her out of his hair for the rest of the day. He glanced down at the boy. "And you're gonna walk her over?"

Isiah nodded. "And stay with her. Tom said he'd come and bring her back to the lane when we're done."

Arthur looked down at his sister, pushing her toward Isiah. "Fine, go on down to Charlie's. Make sure you do what he tells ya. None of that lip you've given me today."

Isiah watched Clara balancing on the edge of the Cut, her feet pacing back and forth across the stoned edge with a lack of concentration so distinct on her part he wasn't exactly sure how she was still standing upright. After escaping Arthur's reluctant chastisement at the Garrison, she talked at Isiah nearly non-stop, using the narrative as a way to work out issues about her family, the outpouring of words like a stream of consciousness though she'd left out any particulars on the barmaid.

They both loved being with the horses, but there was a certain sweetness in having a bit of time to themselves, and in having it for longer than was wise, so Isiah had humored her purposeful stretching out of their journey to Charlie's yard, but something in the pit of his stomach was telling him to move her along.

"We should probably be going soon."

Isiah said it casually, cautiously, following the words by skipping a rock across the water.

Aside from the two times Tommy dropped Clara off to stay with him, it had felt almost forbidden for the two of them to spend any decent amount of time alone since they'd been found out about the visits to Ada, but Tommy had sanctioned this. Or at least, he'd sanctioned for Isiah to walk her to the yard and help out for the afternoon. He hadn't necessarily sanctioned their lazy pace or their meandering by the Cut, though.

"Why?" Clara asked, finally looking at him, stopping her pacing for a moment. "Uncle Charlie's not expecting us yet. And you still haven't told me what you know about Flanders Blues, anyway."

It was the single question she had asked of him, the single opportunity she'd given him to talk at any sort of meaningful length and Isiah had yet to take up answering her in any real way.

"I still don't think we should be discussing it."

Clara glanced at him again, this time through narrowed eyes. "Tommy said it was 'cause they can't forget."

Isiah watched Clara place her foot once more on a wobbly stone, the block's tilted angle just steep enough that she stumbled. Isiah swore as he stepped forward and caught her elbow, pulling her back a few paces as the stone landed with a distinct plunk in the murky water.

"Second time I've rescued you today, Miss Shelby," he smirked, still holding her upper arm.

"A fearless knight in a shining flat cap," Clara smirked, tugging the hat from his head and pulling it over her brow before curtseying deeply before him.

Isiah shook his head at her as she stepped away, picking up a rock and turning back towards the Cut.

"You didn't rescue me before though," Clara continued as she practiced the motion of skipping the pebble across the water's surface without releasing it. "Arthur was just drunk again."

Arthur had been drunk, or hungover, rather, but Clara knew what she had said wasn't entirely true. Isiah had saved her by showing up the way he did, saying the things he said in a way that convinced Arthur to simply let them go. He'd saved her at least a bit, even if the saving was only temporary.

"We really should get going," Isiah said.

"What's your hurry?"

"Just not looking to be answering for you not being where you're supposed to be again so soon."

Clara glanced up to see Isiah had stuffed his hands into his pockets. Her shoulders slumped as she dropped the stone in the water, not bothering to skip it. "Well, you didn't have to come with me if—"

"Yeah, I did." Isiah rubbed his neck before stepping forward and clasping a hand on Clara's shoulder. "Look, I made a promise to your brother."

"Another promise to Tommy?" Clara groaned.

"Yeah, I said he could trust me to make sure his sister doesn't fall in the Cut and to make sure she gets where she's meant to be on time." Isiah waited for her smile before continuing. "And I agreed to run the bets sometimes and play lookout and—"

"Funny, Siah," Clara said, shrugging out of his hold and stepping away.

"No, Clara, I'm serious." Isiah straightened his shoulders, an easy smile on his face. "I'm a Peaky Blinder now."

Clara sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and swallowed hard before she shoved past him, setting off in the direction of her uncle's yard, the buildings and people around her a blur as her feet moved swiftly across the pavement.

It took Isiah only a minute or so to catch up but they were already a few blocks from the Cut when he finally stopped her on a street of back to backs. Isiah tried to catch her eye but Clara deliberately focused elsewhere, on a random window in the building across the street or on a mother passing by with a pram.

He wasn't sure why exactly, but Isiah hadn't expected Clara to be upset about the news. He'd tried to tell her the night when his father had gone to help with Arthur, but he'd lost his nerve just before. It had all felt too soon then, too new, and she'd been in a bit of a state that night anyhow.

Isiah felt more confident with the news now, more assured that it was a good thing. Working for the Shelbys and taking on Tommy's assignments allowed him a chance to prove he could be trusted again, and it gave him an opportunity to earn a wage, better than anything he'd get in the factories or a shop. There were perks to being a Peaky Blinder, perks that went beyond the protection that had already been bestowed to him on account of being considered nearly kin.

"So you're mad at me now?"

Isiah noticed the distinct lack of reaction she was putting on. Not a thing in her stance changed, the only movement coming from the wind in her hair.

"Right, so that's a bloody yes, then?"

"Just leave it, Isiah."

"C'mon, Clara. This is a good thing."

Clara glanced up at him, sighing, because she'd learned too much in the last year about what her brothers did, what being a Peaky Blinder might mean. She hadn't known what any of it meant before the war. And before this business with Ada and Freddie, she hadn't been privy to the boys making death threats either, but things had changed.

She'd seen her brothers come home bloody and beaten or with bloody knuckles they'd used to beat someone else. She'd heard stories from Finn about how the Peaky Blinders wielded the blades in their caps, something he'd seen firsthand when John, Tommy, and Arthur took him to the fair. And Clara knew that the business with the new copper, whatever that business entailed, was because of Blinder business too.

"They do bad things, Isiah, dangerous things."

"You think I don't already know?" Isiah knew more than her. A great deal more, but he had no intention of getting into that, had actually sworn to Tommy that he never would get into it with Clara or Finn without his say so. "And anyway, your brother says I'm too young for any of that. Won't even let me have a gun."

Clara glanced up at him. "Really?"

Isiah nodded. "Said I'd be best served first learning to protect myself with my fists. Has me going 'round to the boxing club down in Digbeth a few afternoons a week." When Clara didn't offer an argument to that he continued. "I'm just doing little errands for now, running bets, playing lookout," he said. "Looking after you, keeping you outta—"

"I don't need anyone—"

"I know you don't," Isiah cut in, "but let's humor your brothers, Clara. Let them think you're getting protection when you're really just bossing me around for the afternoon, not like they wouldn't believe it, eh?"

Isiah nudged her when she didn't respond.

"It'll be fine," he said. "Trust me, Clara."

Even though Tommy sounded calm, his tone even and his words coming out at a steady pace, Clara felt on edge at hearing her brother's voice in the stables and she'd focused intently on the conversation he engaged in with Charlie for several minutes before coming to find her.

It was too early for Tommy to be coming to the yard. She and Isiah had really only just gotten started, and they were finally having a good time after a bit of a rocky start. Clara was just beginning to trust that there could be some merit in Isiah's notion about not a thing having to change. But Tommy's presence quickly soured those thoughts, reminding her that if Isiah was a Blinder now, he'd be Tommy's soldier first and her friend second.

"How were things today with Grace?" Tommy asked as he arrived by the stall she was in.

Tommy repeated the question when the first ask didn't get any response from her and Clara had a feeling he wouldn't stand for having to repeat himself a third time so she shrugged, hiding behind the horse whose coat she was brushing. Clara had gone there as soon as he walked through the gate, her hands growing sweaty around the brush while he finished up with Charlie and then sent Isiah off before coming to her.

"That good, eh?"

Clara began muttering her explanation, assuming that he'd already been filled in by Arthur. She had the thought that if that was the case, his opinion on the matter, and her fate as well, were likely already set regardless of what she had to say about it.

Tommy cleared his throat. "I can't hear you."

Clara stopped her brushing, taking a deep breath as she looked up towards the ceiling. "I said she was wrong and I'm not redoing those papers."

She nearly shouted the words, taking care to annunciate though she stayed behind the horse and just out of his view. Despite Arthur telling her to redo the work, she had left it in the snug, completely untouched for the hour during which she had waited before Isiah arrived.

Tommy ignored the raised voice. "It's good practice, Clara."

"Not if I wasn't wrong."

"Shouting at your teacher's not wrong?"

Clara moved further into the stall, finding the horse's face, looking into the mare's brown eyes as she let her fingers skim across the animal's soft fur, her words coming out softer as she spoke to the horse rather than her brother. "I don't want her teaching me anymore."

"And why's that?"

"Because I don't need her. I'll teach myself."

"There better be more to it than that. Come out from there."

Tommy had left the Garrison that morning with everyone in good spirits. Clara had been in the snug working quietly on some assignment. Arthur had been going through the motions as a bar owner while Grace flitted between the two, helping Arthur with the books and making sure Clara was on task.

Clara peeked around the horse at his suggestion and Tommy took the opportunity to pull her through the entryway, swiftly closing the gate behind her while she protested.

"Arthur said you were also arguing with him about coming here."

"I had to help with the horses and Isiah walked all the way down to get me, so..."

"He walked all the way down Watery Lane to Garrison Lane?" Tommy asked.

"Y—yes," she sputtered the answer out, realizing it sounded silly, but crossing her arms over her chest and nodding her head to accompany the word anyway. "And you didn't have to send him home early and you didn't have to come here either. We were getting on just fine without—"

"I needed Isiah to run an errand. Now tell me what happened with Grace."

Clara shrugged. It was clear Arthur had already told him so she wasn't keen to deliver an inconsistent account, or any account, if she was being honest. Silence felt safer for the moment.

"You've been through it with me and you've been through it with Polly already, so what's the problem now?"

Tommy had thought the chat with Polly would be enough to set things straight, but it clearly hadn't been. At her continued silence, Tommy lifted her to sit on an empty barrel before leaning back against the opposite wall.

"We can sit and wait right here until you're ready."

Clara gripped the edge of the barrel's lid, flexing her legs out in front of her as she considered it. Though it was still early and she could easily wait a few hours before becoming hungry, Clara knew she would never outlast her brother's patience. He'd have them sit shivering and starved the whole night in Charlie's stables without a thought to how ridiculous it was.

Clara knew that because she was the same type of stubborn, the same type as all of the Shelbys that came before her. It was that same stubbornness that kept Ada hidden out somewhere with Freddie and the same stubbornness that kept Tommy from admitting that everything had gone a bit wrong lately.

It kept Clara from being truthful about the situation with Grace, and it was also why when his sister kept returning to voicing complaints about the woman, Tommy wasn't entirely surprised, even if he remained unconvinced of her arguments.

Clara looked to her feet, allowing the heels of her boot to bounce off the side of the barrel as she kicked them back and forth. She didn't have anything concrete, nothing that would convince her brother, but she knew she had to tell him something. So she settled on calling the woman a liar, a complaint not quite so worn out as some of the others she'd voiced.

"Clara, we've been—"

"No, you're not listening to me. She's—" Clara started.

"I have listened to you, given you more of an ear than I should have. I've listened to you complain over lies and questions and—"

"And she's still asking them, asking Arthur questions, too." Clara lowered herself from the barrel, stomping her foot as she stepped forward. "Questions about business about family and it's not—"

Tommy looked her up and down, shaking his head. "It's in that woman's nature, asking questions. I've told you that."

"Doesn't mean she shou—"

"I know of another young lady who asks quite a few questions whether she should be asking them or not."

Both of Clara's hands constricted into fists, the frustration with Tommy's condescension vibrating in her limbs. "Well, maybe you should be asking more questions."

Tommy pushed off the wall, the movement only closing the distance between them by half a step, but it was the look on his face more than his proximity that concerned Clara.

"Excuse me?"

Clara took a step back at his question, fitting herself as close to the wall as she could manage before Tommy's hand reached out to find his sister's chin, keeping her close and forcing her to look up at him.

"You care to explain that?"

Clara grunted, pushing at her brother's hand and achieving little aside from frustrating him further. She quickly gave up on freeing his grip and instead focused her energy on pummeling his torso for just a few moments before Tommy caught both of her hands in one of his.

"Enough."

She huffed, but the fight had already drained out of her limbs, the resistance settling somewhere more controlled, in her heart and in her head. Tommy released her then, letting her retreat back to the wall.

"Now, this whole thing with Grace has to—"

"I don't trust her," Clara said, her voice strong and certain though she was convinced the words would have her brother closing the distance between them once again.

Tommy didn't move though, just took a deep breath and glanced up towards the roof. He didn't like having to think so hard on his sister's motivations, found it a bit tiring that he no longer understood her quite as easily as he once did, anticipating her and reading between the things she said so easily it was as if he'd done and said it all himself.

He would never tell Clara, but he didn't trust Grace Burgess entirely either. Tommy knew she was a liar and not an entirely great one at that. And Tommy held to the notion that there was something else the barmaid hadn't told him, some secrets that went beyond the pregnancy that had shamed her and brought her to settle so far from home, but something in Tommy's gut told him to keep the woman close.

Arthur had suggested that their sister didn't like Tommy 'being sweet on that little barmaid.' And Polly had said something similar, that it was the closeness growing between him and the woman that had his sister all riled up. Tommy had simply denied the closeness, denied being sweet on anyone, but even if he was, he didn't like that explanation for his sister's behavior. He could accept Clara being jealous, but her behavior, like whatever secrets Grace Burgess was still keeping, went far beyond that. Whatever the case, Tommy decided the woman's secrets weren't something for his sister to be concerned with, and neither was his proximity to the woman.

He pushed off the wall, not missing that Clara flinched at the movement. He clapped his hands together, removing the dust he'd collected on them while resting against the wall.

"Charlie'll bring you home when you're through."

Clara offered a curt nod as she stayed wedged in the corner where the barrel and the wall met. Tommy nodded once in kind, stepping off down to the end of the stables, turning back just before he stepped through the open doorway.

"And Clara?"

Tommy watched his sister quickly raise the head she'd settled on her arms over the barrel, blinking rapidly and drawing a sleeve across her cheeks before she met his gaze.

"I'm not asking you to trust her. I'm telling you to trust me."