Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content.
The Language of Action
1919
It was a funny thing, how comfort and fear and trust could all be relative. Stood only four blocks from Charlie's yard with a copper's hand wrapped around her arm and the local attendance officer staring down at her, Clara had been convinced that the worst possible thing in the world would have been being towed home and left for Tommy to deal with, and while they walked in that very direction, Clara resolved herself to a certain assortment of fates, accepted that her brother or aunt might finally follow through with the threats they'd been making in regards to her recent behavior.
But when Moss marched her right on past Watery Lane without even a glance in that direction, Clara renewed her fight against the officer, trying to get away from him for the entire walk after they passed her home, stopping only once he hauled her through the front doors of the police station. Clara stuck diligently close to Moss's side then, a whole new meaning brought to the words comfort and fear and trust as the man led her on a tour of the station, marching her through the row of brimming holding cells followed by a grand hall filled with uniformed men.
Moss made Clara turn out her pockets once they made it to their final destination, some office that was much too big to belong to a beat cop, an office the man was much too uncomfortable navigating for it to be his own. He set Clara's confiscated papers and a shrunken, well-used pencil on the large desk, instructing her to take a seat before stepping out the door, the lock clicking behind him.
Clara wondered whether it was worth taking back the papers that set just a small distance away on the tidy desktop. Moss would surely notice it was missing from the pile, especially considering the papers had constituted most of the pile, but if she stashed it away in the hole in her coat pocket…
Clara had barely shifted out of the chair, her body scooted forward to the seat's edge to better observe her things, the toes of her boot set flat on the floor as she considered her options, but she slipped back into her chair at the door knob's rattle.
Moss took the seat beside her, looking too large for the piece of furniture and too tired to still be the same man who had brought her in.
"Hungry?"
Clara looked between the man's face and the plate held in his hand, her eyes squinted and her hands folded tightly in her lap
She was poised to decline or to not answer at all, feeling small and powerless and trapped in a chair where her feet couldn't touch the floor unless she scooted all the way to the front, but her stomach answered for her, growling loud enough for them both to hear, and Moss nodded towards the plate.
"Go ahead. You may be trouble, but I won't have a child starving on my watch."
Clara took the sandwich half, mumbling a thank you in Moss's direction, the words coming out like a reflex.
Moss hummed, nodding his head. Despite the show she'd put on out on the street, Clara Shelby was polite relative to most of the kids he encountered, and she seemed timid relative to the family she came from.
Current business aside, Moss knew the Shelby family had a long history of trouble-making, each sibling that came before Clara well acquainted with the police officers by the time they were her age, commonly towed home to be dealt with for a number of juvenile offenses. He was certain that not a single one of them would have muttered a thank you if they were in her predicament, unless perhaps a sarcastic one.
"Bold, but with a set of manners on you," he said, taking a bite of his own portion. "And you're welcome."
Clara ate the sandwich slowly, picking off small pieces, her eyes seemingly focused on the sandwich though she was noting every shift the officer made, all of that processing happening separately from the questions she was turning over in her anxious mind. She knew she couldn't be arrested just for missing her lessons and she found it unlikely that a little stomp on an adult's toes could land her in a cell either, but they were still keeping her. If Moss's sharing his lunch with her was any indication of the amount of trouble she was in though, she wasn't in much.
Despite the family business and their somewhat tenuous relationship she knew they all had with the coppers, it hadn't ever occurred to Clara that she could one day end up being held by the police for some infraction of the law. And she would have never guessed it would be for truancy and assault. She had never established a set of expectations for what would happen should she find herself in trouble with the police, but she hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected compliments on her manners or ham sandwiches.
Clara had seen the school attendance officer from their neighborhood in and out of nearly every door on their block, but the gentleman had never been to number six. The family had always made sure the twins were in school far more often than they were not and Tommy had become, if not what one would call friendly, something of a liaison between the attendance officers and the people of their block. Most of the kids got sent to school when all was said and done whether it was at the suggestion of the attendance officer or the Peaky Blinders.
Clara had just been working herself up to ask about her fate, to clarify whether she could expect to spend a night down in those cells for being out on the streets when she should've been in a classroom when the door shoved open.
"I wasn't aware we were in the business of sharing meals with the offenders we bring in."
Clara's heart sputtered at hearing the voice she recognized from her incident in Cheapside and she swallowed hard on the food in her mouth, nearly choking to get it down.
Moss worked to chew and swallow the bite of the sandwich he'd just taken, going a bit slower than Clara in the act, finally opening his mouth only to be cut off.
"That'll be all, Moss. Miss Shelby and I have much to discuss."
Campbell stood behind the desk, waiting until Moss found his way out of the room before glancing at the small pile of Clara's belongings which were collected on his desk. He paid little mind to the candy pieces and the pencil but took a deep breath at seeing the paper with serial numbers he'd nearly memorized scrawled out by a child's neat, diligent hand, and the envelope addressed with his own script.
He was impressed at finding Grace had been right. The girl had been snooping. She still didn't trust the tutor her brother had employed for her.
Campbell didn't exactly agree with Grace's methods. It wasn't in his nature to consider the opinions or actions of a child in the course of his work, but Grace insisted this particular child was important, nestled closely to the ruthless gangsters he intended to rip from the city's streets.
And Grace also insisted that though the Shelby girl held a certain distrust for her tutor, she wasn't on precisely the right track. She was collecting clues and adding up her sums, but she was drawing up inferences that fell slightly askew, because yes, Grace Burgess was a liar. And yes, Grace Burgess was seeing, or at least meeting with, another man without Tommy Shelby knowing it, but not in the way Clara thought.
Campbell glanced through the file Moss had started on the girl, not much filled in aside from name and age and address. Despite Moss offering the sandwich, Clara Shelby hadn't offered much information to Moss in return, but Campbell would change that.
"Well, Miss Shelby," he began, "you seem to be making a habit of starting fights and being in places where you shouldn't be on school days."
Clara opened her mouth to respond, but whether it was because she didn't know what to say or because her throat and mouth had gotten so dry, nothing came out.
Campbell accepted her quiet mouth as a good thing and took his time with stashing Clara's papers behind the single page in her file before he finally glanced up at her.
"Miss Shelby, you do know school attendance is compulsory for a child your age, yes?"
Clara gripped the arms of the chair as she stared back at the man.
"I'll have an answer out of you."
Clara couldn't find the words, so she nodded once instead, just a short bow of her head as if limiting the gesture would give less away.
Campbell still stood at his desk, reading her jerky nod as fear, noting the small shake in her limbs which she was trying to hide, the same brave face he'd seen in her older brothers despite her quiet compliance.
"And the assault is a serious offense. Those two together could easily buy you a spot with the parish authorities or in a juvenile prison. And for the truancy alone, they can imprison parents for up to three months. I suppose in your case, that would mean one of your brothers, or perhaps your aunt, Ms. Polly Gray? Since you're an orphan?"
Clara focused on the row of dirty windows to their right, opaque only because of a layer of dust and smudging, letting just a hint of natural light into the room.
"Were you visiting your sister today as well?"
It was with a bit of effort that Clara didn't flinch at the question, letting her eyes fall closed for a moment longer than necessary, opening them at the sound of Campbell's heavily placed footsteps and his sharpened tone.
"Answer the question, Miss Shelby."
Only a step from Clara's chair, Campbell pulled his eyes from the girl to glance at the opening door, turning on the spot as Moss appeared.
"I'm sorry, sir, he couldn't be—"
Clara let out a shaky breath as Tommy pushed past the officer to come into the room.
Campbell took a step away, putting the desk between him and Tommy as he voiced his question, the words he directed at Moss so strained he was almost shouting. "You mean to tell me a room full of your officers couldn't stop a single man?"
"You're alright?"
Clara nodded once. She had shifted to the edge of the seat, ready to be out of it and closer to her brother's protection, but Tommy's only acknowledgment of her was the short glance and the sharp question, so she stayed put.
Tommy's gaze shifted back to the man across the desk, his eyes hardening as he met the inspector's eye. "So am I to understand this police force is in the habit of questioning children for taking a walk through the neighborhood now, eh?"
"Your sister—"
Tommy snorted and it was almost a chuckle. "My sister will not be answering any more of your questions, Mr. Campbell."
"The girl's been out of school for—"
"I've employed a private tutor." Tommy produced a letter, which he slammed down on the inspector's desk. "Actually, let us just… Grace, come in here for a moment."
Tommy stepped back towards the door and beckoned Grace through, guiding her forward.
"Miss Burgess has attested there in writing and can do so again in person. She has taken on my sister's schooling. If you have further questions as to her education, she will gladly answer them."
Campbell occupied himself with the letter before glancing up at the woman. "Miss Burgess, was it?"
Grace nodded, gulping under the inspector's gaze.
"So, you're a barmaid and a private tutor, then?" Campbell set the open letter down on top of Clara's file. "Quite an impressive resume, Miss Burgess."
"Her qualifications are none of your concern," Tommy said as he took a step towards Clara, his hand extended to guide her up from the chair. "You have proof of my sister's schooling. We'll be—"
"The girl has also been accused of assaulting a man."
Tommy dropped his hand, leaving his sister standing beside the chair and turning his attention back to Campbell, another snort directed at the man and his grasping words. "An eleven-year-old's stomp on a boot is hardly an assault, Inspector."
"Well, Mr. Shelby, that man is now sporting a limp." It seemed that Campbell had more to say on the matter, but Tommy beat him to it.
"And my family takes that very seriously, Inspector. I assure you the behavior will be addressed at home with the utmost importance. I'll see to it myself."
"I was just explaining to your sister what happens to children—"
"Right, well. You can explain it to me and spare my sister the trouble." Tommy glanced towards Grace, guiding Clara along with a hand on her shoulder. "Grace, take her out front, will you? I'll just be a moment."
Clara took Grace's outstretched hand and allowed the woman to guide her out of the station without complaint. She spent the short walk outside with her mind pulled towards a handful of different concerns and fears, the realization of how she had passed her afternoon becoming sharper under the dimming sky, and Clara stopped suddenly, pulling her hand from Grace as she took a seat on the small ledge and buried her face in her hands.
"Clara, breathe, sweetheart, breathe." Grace's words were gentle in response to Clara's sudden upset. "You're alright. No harm done. Tommy has handled it."
Clara nodded, hiccupping, and allowing Grace to pull her forward into a hug, allowing the woman to rub her hand up and down her back as she cried. Grace stood up when she spotted Tommy, straightening her dress as she turned Clara by the shoulders to face her brother.
"Fuck!"
Tommy had said it to himself as he stalked towards them down the sidewalk, his words not so much audible to Clara as was the language of his movement, the language read in the set of his shoulders, his quick steps, and the gaze he settled on her.
Clara retreated from her brother's approach, taking one step back for each of her brother's steps forward, and she sought out a spot to hide herself away, but Tommy had ahold of her before she had the chance to do more than shuffle her right foot. Grasping one skinny arm, Tommy lifted Clara to stand on the small ledge, bringing her closer to his eye level as she pressed herself into the fence, wishing she could simply slip through the thin metal spokes and disappear.
"You better fucking explain yourself."
Clara opened and closed her mouth a few times, half a dozen responses rolling about in her mind, but the only thing to make its way out was a sputtering sob. Her gaze shifted away for just a moment and Tommy's hand found her chin to turn her gaze back to him.
"Explain to me why you thought it a good idea to run off on your own."
Tommy's tone, intended to encourage compliance did nothing more than leading the girl to further incoherence, and the eye contact he'd been keen to have was lost as tears spilled from Clara's eyes, an unending wail falling through her lips.
Clara didn't bother pretending she wasn't afraid anymore, her mind finally grasping all that she'd been through with the police and her brother's anger. There was nothing left in Clara to hold up the quiet stoicism or feigned indifference she could sometimes muster, nothing left to hide behind, all of her energy used up in trying to put a distance between her and Tommy.
She pulled at her brother's hand, struggling to fit even a single finger beneath his grip, so she pushed her boot into his side in an attempt to get away instead, using her foot as leverage as she leaned back into the fence. Tommy was unmovable though, unbothered by the shoe prints Clara stamped across his dark coat, unbothered by the scene they were making outside of the police station, unbothered by the gasp coming from Grace.
Tommy reaffirmed his grip on his sister, the jostling pulling Clara's eyes to his, and he asked the question that really had him bothered by all of this because it was not that she'd gotten in trouble with the coppers that had Tommy so enraged. It was not even that she'd been out wandering Small Heath on her own that had him so crazed. It was his anger over what could have happened, the possibility of something happening he wouldn't have been able to fix.
"Why would you try to put yourself between me and Freddie?"
It was hearing Freddie's name that pulled Clara from her fear for a moment, and she dropped her foot, letting it slide down Tommy's coat until she was standing up straight against the fence, and Tommy was suddenly employing much more force than was needed considering Clara had gone completely still, the only remaining sign of a struggling being the grip she still had on his arm.
"Tommy, I—"
"Thomas, stop," Grace said, her hand gentle on Tommy's arm, her voice pulling his face to her. "I sent her out for some help," she offered, clearing her throat as Tommy's gaze caught her own. "Please, your sister is already frightened enough from her ordeal with the police. It's me you should be mad at. Clara was only doing as I asked."
Tommy blinked a few times before moving his eyes back to his sister, finally taking in the mottled red of her cheeks, the silvery streaks down her face, her white knuckles gripping his arm. Tommy dropped his hold on her and ran a hand down his face.
Clara leaned back into the fence just behind her, her body shaking as she settled. "You sent an eleven-year-old out in the middle of a fight between two armed men my sister said would be killing each other?"
"I sent her to your uncle's yard to fetch some help. Your other sister came in so upset and she thought the two of you would kill each other and I thought perhaps your uncle could help."
"Rather than sending her down to fetch one of my brothers right down the road?"
"I…well...I thought you might be there and—" Clara was grasping for the narrative, encouraged along by the look in Grace's eyes.
"And you thought you'd be able to stop it? A great eleven-year-old wisp of a thing like you putting herself between a pair of gun barrels to save the day?" Tommy interrupted.
"I should never have sent her, Tommy."
"No, you shouldn't have." Tommy scoffed in Grace's direction before turning back to his sister. "And you should've known better than to go, but what's done is done. We'll walk you back home, then."
Tommy pulled Clara down from the ledge, his grip tight around her hand as he moved them a few steps along on the sidewalk. Grace didn't follow though, shaking her head briefly before looking down to her purse.
"That's alright. I wouldn't want to trouble you."
Tommy heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to the woman. Her boarding house was nearly on the way to Watery Lane, not too far out of the route he'd normally take. It would only add a few minutes. "It's no trouble, Grace."
Grace straightened herself. "Your sister needs to get home and rest. And I might as well pick up a few things while I'm by the shops. There's no need for you to accompany me."
Tommy accepted her words, bid his goodbyes then, and the Shelbys set off alone back towards Small Heath.
The walk wasn't a particularly long one. Tommy and Grace had made it there quickly once they found him after his issue with Freddie, but the walk back to Watery Lane felt long to Clara, far too cold without the coat she'd left behind in Inspector Campbell's office and far too quiet now that she was left alone with her brother, the silence between them somehow louder than the low murmur of the factories they passed, louder than the shouts of the mothers calling their babies inside as the sun went down on the lanes.
It was only when they were finally to Watery Lane that Tommy paid any mind to the fact that his sister was shivering as they walked, his previous awareness of her only going so far as to confirm that she was stuck by his side, matching his pace as they moved toward home. His mind had been on other things, on the business with the guns and their sister and the Lee's and Billy Kimber, but Tommy hurried her along as he spotted the door to number six, guiding her through and firmly shutting out the wind as he closed the door behind them.
"Where is her coat and why are you just bringing her home this time of night?"
Finn was asleep by Polly's side when Clara and Tommy came through and Tommy directed his sister straight to the fireplace without a word of response to his aunt, tugging a spare blanket from the chair to wrap around her shoulders.
"Thomas," Polly hissed, the admonishment coming out as nothing more than a whisper, but a sharp one all the same.
"I just picked her up from the police station, apparently she was running about intending to stop a feud."
There was a beat of stunned silence and Clara imagined Tommy and Polly were having some sort of silent conversation. Clara kept her back to her aunt and brothers, feeling a burn growing in her cheeks she wasn't sure could be attributed to the fire. She heard Tommy slip into the armchair and her aunt finally cleared her throat.
"For a smart girl, you're a foolish girl, Clara Shelby."
Clara felt the sobs building in her body again, a wave racking her body with the same intensity as it had outside the police station, knocking the wind from her, and without thinking about it, she turned and forced herself onto Tommy's lap. It took him a moment to accommodate her, to reciprocate the hold she'd settled around his middle, but Clara wormed her way against his chest anyhow.
Clara's crying caused a sleeping Finn to stir and Tommy shifted the girl in his arms, leaning back in the chair and bringing her with him as he rubbed her back.
"Alright, Clara girl, that's enough."
"I'm sorry, Tommy. I didn't mean to do it," she mumbled into his coat
Polly gave her nephew a look and Tommy cleared his throat. "I said that's enough, Clara."
Tommy sat her up straight in his lap for a moment, looking into her eyes, searching for some measure of compliance. Tommy had felt something soften within him when her sad voice uttered those words, a bit of his anger falling away, but it was still there, his anger, his fear.
Clara lifted her arm to wipe away the tears and Tommy considered that to be a sign of his sister resetting herself. He repositioned the blanket over her shoulders and he'd been about to send her back to the fireside when Polly spoke up about a warm bowl of soup, sending the girl off to the kitchen to relight the stove.
Tommy watched the edge of the blanket trail through the open door before he turned to Polly.
Clara didn't bother listening to the low murmur of their words as she moved through the kitchen, too tired to focus on anything but putting one foot in front of the other as she relit the stove, making her way back to the doorway while she waited for the soup to warm.
"…And they're not stopping there." Tommy glanced at Clara, his hand gesturing toward her before he looked back to Polly and continued. "The inspector claims if they find her with them…" Tommy huffed, his eyes searching for his sister again, her face barely visible in the dim light. "Come here, Clara."
Tommy pulled her to stand in front of him one she shuffled within his reach. "He told me if you're found with Freddie and Ada, they'll put the two of them away and remove you from this home."
Clara felt a growing tension simmer within her, every part of her suddenly hot and pressurized with her brother's eyes stuck on her, the room humming with the impending boil of the pot building in the next room over.
"Is that what you want?"
Clara turned her head at his question, wishing for the call of the warming liquid to save her, wishing the sound of the pot boiling over would allow her a refrain from the question, but Tommy forced her eyes back to his, unconcerned with the boiling liquid. "I said is that what you want? Do you want to be taken from our care?'"
Clara shook her head, unsure if she could voice her answer well enough, unsure if a sound would bring with it more than her answer, breaking her down once again in the face of her brother's questioning.
"Then you'd best start being where you're told to be. You're to be at school or the yard or in this home. I won't hear of any more of your wandering about," Tommy said, catching her small nod before shifting his gaze to Polly. "This is where compassion gets us, Pol. I'll not lose the girls. I've already said it and now I mean it. From now on, we do it my way. We do it all my way."
Polly raised an eyebrow. "Or what?"
Tommy didn't answer, moving his sister to the side as he stood up and head out the front door. Polly looked to the girl, catching the growing wetness in her eyes as she pulled the blanket tighter around her. Polly shifted her nephew to the side, allowing her niece to cuddle up beside her, smoothing Clara's hair as the girl buried her face against her.
"Your brother just needs some time, love," Polly said, placing a kiss on Clara's head. "He'll be alright come morning."
The sun was barely up but Clara had been awake for hours, lying awake listening to the sounds of the house, the sounds of the rain, the sounds of Tommy speaking to someone on the other side of their shared wall. She waited for a while after she heard someone make a journey down the stairs, waited until quiet settled over the house once again before climbing out of bed and heading down the hall.
She pushed her brother's door open at the same time that he released a shaky breath, his head in his hands as he sat on the bed. Clara had been releasing a shaky breath of her own, still feeling unsettled after the day before, still craving the comfort that came with forgiveness, the longing for it stronger than whatever hesitance she'd been feeling, relieved when Tommy looked up and beckoned her forward, tugging her to his chest once she came close enough.
Clara's racing thoughts stilled as a wave of relief passed through her, but Tommy didn't feel the relief, his mind too rattled by the Inspector's thick accented threats sounding in his brain.
As Tommy hugged Clara to his chest, he heard her confess the same words he'd ignored from her the evening before, a small concession of words overshadowed by the apology she'd already made in seeking out his comfort in the first place. "I'm sorry, Tommy."
"Sorry, are you?" he said quietly, feeling her nod against him.
Tommy couldn't help but think he was the sorrier one out of the two of them, sorry that he had put his sister on the Inspector's radar, sorry he had allowed Billy Kimber aware of her existence, sorry he'd positioned the girl between him and Freddie Thorne, but unlike his sister, Tommy didn't voice his apologies. He acted on them. The strategies he made to keep Ada and Freddie out of prison, to leverage the stolen guns for the family's gain, to overcome Billy Kimber, and to keep his sister away from the parish authorities were his reparation, far more valuable than announcing his atonement could ever be, the sentiment reinforced by the fact that it had been Clara's clinging to him that communicated her thoughts, somehow more precise and unambiguous than the muted apology, the language of actions speaking louder than the words.