Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content.

The Code

1919

Clara's cheek rested in her palm while she lay on her stomach, stretched out on the bench in the snug and half-hidden by the table in her favorite spot. The spot afforded her a certain level of privacy, allowed her to consider the assortment of letters and numbers laid out before her without someone unexpectedly looking over her shoulder.

She'd been left to her own devices in the snug for close to half an hour while Grace was organizing bottles behind the bar so Grace's sudden presence at the open door startled her. Still, Clara spared the woman only a small glance when she leaned against the door frame, wiping her hands on her apron as she watched the girl.

"I don't have any questions yet."

She didn't bother to look back up as she spoke. Clara hoped the statement would be enough to keep Grace by the door and away from Clara's papers so she could carry on in peace.

Peace and a bit of uninterrupted focus were what Clara needed if she had any hope of working out the meaning held behind the list of letters and numbers. It was some sort of coded message, of that Clara was entirely certain, but she didn't have the full message yet and despite spending all of her free time scrutinizing the symbols until everything became unrecognizable and blurry and gave her nothing but a headache, it was still just a jumbled list of letters and numbers staring back at her.

In her detective books, she read about coded messages that had used a book cipher, but Clara didn't think her code was anything like that. There were far too many numbers on the list. And in the case that the cipher did employ a book, Clara was certain she'd never figure it out. She'd not yet read enough adult novels to even offer a guess as to what tome would hold the key, especially seeing as she'd not had an opportunity to use her library card since that first day.

Clara hadn't been afforded much of anything aside from her usual lessons, Charlie's yard, and the company of Isiah on the trips in between, but Clara didn't mind that much. She liked being left alone at the Garrison with Grace, had come to prefer the times when her brothers weren't there, paying too much mind to the way she acted with her tutor, listening too closely to the questions, reading far too much into body language, and handing out pre-emptive warnings when they weren't warranted, at least not about her questions or unfavorable temperament. Clara had abandoned both strategies to focus on more subtle, and more lucrative she thought, investigative techniques.

She had asked John about code-breaking, only in a hypothetical sort of way, bringing the detective novel down to his desk at the end of the shop's day as a reference. She had thought perhaps her brothers had encountered coded messages in the war and John had seemed the safest to ask about that sort of thing, the one least likely to send her away with a sharp rebuke, but he had humored her questions for only a few minutes, dismissing her within two questions of the vague mention of his time in France.

"How many do you have left?"

Grace took a step towards the table and Clara rushed to slip the loose piece of paper between the sheets of her problem set before glancing down at the already finished page of math problems. "Just a few."

Grace nodded. "The barrel needs changing before opening. Perhaps I'll see to that and we can go through your answers after?"

Clara nodded. "Quarter of an hour should do it."

"And you're certain you don't have any questions?"

Clara was pushing it lately, taking longer to complete the work, asking for more time though she voiced not a single question to her tutor. Grace had first thought she was struggling with the work, but whenever they reviewed her assignments, Clara's work was most often correct. She didn't seem to be overly challenged by any of it.

Clara glanced up at Grace, a bit of her older brother's patented charm lacing her small voice as she confirmed, "No, no questions," and looked back to her assignment, feigning interest until Grace finally stepped away.

Clara had placed an embargo on nearly all questions directed towards and about Grace, both academic and personal in nature. She hadn't stopped her investigations though. It was similar to the way she had stopped trusting her brother's judgment about this one thing while continuing to trust him, just a slight shift in mindset allowing her to keep on.

Because there were plenty of things about Tommy that Clara did trust. She trusted her brother to look after and protect her and Finn. She trusted that he'd not push her out of his room if she needed him in the middle of the night. She trusted that he cared for her even though he was angry with her. And Clara trusted her brother to be right a lot about things, most things, even, but she concluded that trusting someone didn't mean that you always had to think they were right.

Clara could say she still trusted Tommy partly because her idea of trust had come to rely more on a foundation of goodwill rather than a show of blind faith, a notion that her brother saying 'trust me' really meant 'I'm going to do my best for you, do right by you, and I need you to believe that.' And Clara wanted to believe Tommy tried to right by all of them, that he tried to do his best for them. She needed to believe it and trust in him just like she needed to trust in Polly and Arthur and John and Ada and Finn, because if Clara couldn't count on her family, who else could she count on?

She decided the business with Grace wasn't really a question of trust anyway, because Tommy knew Clara trusted him when it came down to it. He knew she relied on him. But having her trust or not had no bearing on his ability to be wrong about something, to be distracted by a pretty face and a clever mind.

So that's what Clara told herself as she continued on with her investigations, that she trusted her brother with her life and care and with all the love a person could possess, but he didn't know best about this. Tommy's judgment was clouded. He wasn't seeing everything clearly.

Tommy had told her before that she was perceptive, that she paid attention. He'd called her clever and intelligent and Clara wished he remembered even a single one of the compliments he had bestowed upon her. She wished he would trust her observations and conclusions, offer her a small measure of the confidence he was calling for her to have in him, but Tommy didn't trust the findings of an eleven-year-old, especially not one who had been giving him so much trouble lately.

Tommy was having trouble understanding Clara's motivations and that was enough for him to revoke his confidence in her ideas, enough to limit his ability to listen and read between the lines of what she told him. He had learned a lot that way over the years, picking out from his sister's words what was real and what was due to the overactive and slightly misguided vision of a child, but with fewer words flowing between them and Tommy's ears a bit shut off to her words anyhow, her influence was negligible.

She needed concrete evidence to get him on her side and Clara had a brief moment of wishing she'd simply been upfront with her brother from the beginning. She wondered if he would have listened before things got so messy, but they were well past that now, and there was little she could do besides continuing on until she found some irrefutable evidence, like the decoded message passed between Grace and her lover. Clara was certain Tommy wouldn't be able to deny her once she interpreted the message. He'd have to listen to her then, have to admit he was wrong, and agree with all she had to say. He had to.

In the three days since Clara found the list tucked away in one of the pockets of Grace's bag, she'd only been able to copy down five lines. It was difficult to find moments when the woman left her alone long enough that Clara could steal away to Arthur's office and break into the safe spot where Grace kept her things during her shifts, but Clara stole every opportunity, used every barrel change and trip Grace took out to back to pull cigarettes or bottles of alcohol from storage.

Clara waited until she heard the door to the room behind the bar close before sneaking across the pub to Arthur's office. She climbed up on Arthur's chair, feeling blindly along the top of the door frame for the key, heart pounding as she stood there on the tips of her toes.

She cursed to herself as the keys slipped to the floor, clattering as they hit the hardwood. She hopped off the chair and jammed the key into the drawer's lock. It was a stubborn sort of lock, but over a few days, Clara had become familiar and could manage it in a few seconds whereas she'd watched both Arthur and Grace struggle with it for minutes at a time. Clara looked back into the pub for a moment before she pulled open the drawer and dug into Grace's purse, pursuing the small scrap paper in its usual spot.

It had been in the same spot for days, tucked away seemingly undisturbed in the side pocket, but it wasn't there now and Clara found a small envelope in its stead, Grace's formal name, Miss Burgess, written out neatly on the front.

Clara glanced out into the pub once more time before tucking her finger beneath the unsecured fold, slipping out the small piece of paper folded inside.

BMAG - W – 11.

Clara stared at the short directive penned in loopy handwriting longer than she should have, kneeling beside the drawer in Arthur's office as if she was meant to be there. More was written out below, but Clara found herself particularly stuck on the first line.

It was another code and Clara cursed herself for leaving what little she did have of the cipher back in the snug. She shifted, debating whether it was worth it to run back across the pub to grab the paper when she heard the squeak of a door hinge and heels clicking across the floor.

"Clara?"

She stayed quiet and thrust the paper into her pocket. Grace came to the door of Arthur's office at finding the snug empty, Clara in the middle of shoving the bottom drawer shut.

"What are you—?"

"Looking for sweets," Clara said. She'd devised the answer days ago, saving it for this exact moment, hoping it'd be believable enough to get her through.

"In Arthur's locked drawer?"

Clara shrugged. "It's where I'd keep my sweets."

"Not if you don't want to attract mice." Grace held out a hand.

"I—"

"I'll have that," Grace said. "You shouldn't even know where it's hidden."

Clara gulped and blinked a few times before realizing she'd hidden away Grace's letter but the keys still dangled in her hand. She cleared her throat before placing it in Grace's open palm. She shifted back and forth on her heels while Grace moved around her, bending down to relock the drawer. She hadn't expected to get caught, had planned to be back in the snug with her schoolwork by the time Grace came back from changing the barrel, but Grace finished up quicker than expected, sooner than the quarter of an hour Clara had requested.

"Well, I suppose I should be going," Clara said. "We'll have to review the math work next time."

Grace glanced up at Clara as she worked with the key in the ornery lock. "We still have an hour—"

"We do...but Uncle Charlie said he needs me early today," Clara answered. "And I'm supposed to go on ahead by myself because Isiah's busy. Didn't Tommy say?"

Tommy had been dropping her off at the Garrison less and less, allowing her to make the trips to and from the Garrison or the yard by herself or with Isiah for the most part, but for no reason in particular aside from the fact that he'd been going that same way, he accompanied his sister to the pub that morning.

"It was why he said he was coming with me in the first place…" Clara said, "to let you know I have to leave early."

Grace settled her hands across her chest as she considered the girl's words. Where Arthur Shelby was an open book, she found Clara and Thomas somewhat difficult to read at times. She was never quite sure what of their words were truth or lies, but Grace was wondering if bestowing a small measure of faith in the girl might go a long way in gaining her trust. "Clara, I—"

"It's because of my horse," Clara offered, "because she needs me."

Grace nodded, though she didn't believe it, same as she didn't quite believe that Clara needed extra time for her work or that she had been searching Arthur's office for sweets. "Well, I'm sure your brother just forgot. I imagine he has quite a bit on his mind."

"Yes, I'm sure that's it," Clara agreed, stepping around Grace and ducking into the snug. She tucked the page of codes into her pocket, along with the letter she'd found, just as Grace came to the snug's door. Clara passed the finished problem set into Grace's hands. "See you Thursday."

Clara smiled to herself, almost skipping down the lane as she ventured through Small Heath. It was sunny, a rarity in Birmingham, and she wouldn't meet with Grace again for nearly two days, and she'd found a new clue, so despite being unable to copy down the rest of the code, she was feeling optimistic.

"Miss!"

Clara glanced over her shoulder. She recognized the man from around Small Heath. It was Mr. Hartford, the local attendance officer and she kept her head down as she moved forward. Clara usually took care to follow a very particular set of streets on her unaccompanied journeys between the Garrison and Charlie's yard, avoiding Coventry Road altogether and backtracking down Watery Lane, passing number six on her way. She had avoided that route today on account of her early departure, the one she claimed Tommy knew about. It was a calculated choice, made out of an eagerness to not run into her brother. She just needed to get to Charlie's where she could slip into the empty stable, lounge atop of a stack of hay, and study the cipher and the note in peace for a few hours.

Clara risked a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner, realizing the gentleman had made up some ground and was shouting after her with a bit more enthusiasm now. She moved forward with a bit more urgency at every "miss!" the man called out in her wake.

"Stop, miss!"

Clara flinched at each of Mr. Hartford's shouts, his words too loud and too close. Clara knew she was the gentleman's intended audience, the miss who was meant to be stopping and answering for being out on the streets in the middle of the day rather than tucked away in a classroom, but she kept on moving towards the end of the lane where she'd turn, less than four blocks from the bridge, with the gates to Uncle Charlie's yard set just beyond that.

Clara shrieked when a hand clamped down on her shoulder, getting a good grip on her coat in the process and pulling her to a halt despite her attempt to break away.

"Now, young lady, what's your na—"

Clara lifted her boot as the man was turning her back to face him and before he could properly start his telling-off, she slammed the heel of her boot down on the toe of his well-worn shoes.

Mr. Hartford dropped the hold on her coat to clasp the offending foot and for good measure, Clara shoved the unbalanced man to the ground before she sprinted off. The man's shouts trailed behind her, echoing off the empty streets and buildings as she ran.

Mr. Hartford was no longer just calling for Clara to stop, he'd moved on to calling for her to be stopped, and Clara was thankful for the empty streets, relieved that there was no one around to oblige the limping man as she ran towards the yard because she had no intention of being picked up by the school attendance officer, no intention of giving her name or address or being towed home to answer for her being out on the streets.

So she ran with everything in her. It would be easy enough to hide out at Charlie's. Even if Mr. Hartford did follow her there, Charlie would never let the man in to find her and she could hide out there until it was safe. Clara didn't have to think about where she was going as she ran, navigating the final few turns was almost like muscle memory to her, a good thing considering her brain wasn't operating in such a way that she could've thought through it, hazy as it was on account of the adrenaline working through her quick-pumping blood.

Clara turned the corner with her head turned back toward the limping man half a street behind her, another howl coming from her lips as she slammed into something large and solid, and she found herself falling back onto the hard cobblestone.

Clara recognized the face staring down at her when she looked up. She had heard her brothers mention the name stitched in the man's uniform, Sergeant Moss. He wasn't one of the coppers who worked with her brothers though, wasn't the friendly sort of policeman who patrolled the neighborhood and lent the Shelbys a certain bit of deference. He wasn't one of the men who smiled down at her when she accompanied one of the boys about town. He'd never offered her a "good day, Miss Shelby."

This was the sort policeman who lived by a code, so the smile he sent down to her wasn't one that gave Clara any sort of comfort and at him leaning down and extending a hand toward her, Clara let out an ear-shattering screech. She certainly knew better, but Clara fought as the man hauled her to her feet, his grip secure on her arm by the time the attendance officer caught up to them.

"This girl do that to you, sir?" Moss nodded towards the man's limp.

Clara still struggled against him, pulling at the Sergeant's fingers on her arm. "I didn't do anything!"

Moss checked his watch before turning the clock face towards her. "Skiving your lessons, aren't you? Your family knows where you are, Miss Shelby?"

Clara shut her mouth at the confirmation that Sargeant Moss knew precisely who she was and Mr. Hartford cleared his throat.

"I've seen her through these parts at least three afternoons a week, Sargeant. I intended to get her name and address to speak with the parents and—"

"And she wouldn't introduce herself?" Moss asked, finally pulling his eyes away from Clara seeing as she stopped fighting him. "Well, that's quite alright, Mr. Hartford. I know her family very well. I'd be happy to address it for you."

Clara's eyes fell closed at Moss's words and though Clara rarely prayed, she crafted a silent appeal to whatever higher power existed, willing to negotiate just about any sacrifice if Tommy and Aunt Polly weren't home by the time Clara and the police officer arrived. Then she pleaded that Arthur wouldn't be there either. Clara was hoping John would be the only one there to address because if it was anyone else, Clara wasn't quite certain she would make it out of this alive.