Chapter content warning: canon-typical content, sibling teasing, mention of physical punishment/ discipline methods typical of the time period.

Eleven Year Old Wisdom

1919

A part of John Shelby found his sister's current demeanor unrecognizable—too quiet, too gentle, too sensitive. They were words that described Clara Shelby well. The girl was typically timid. She was sensitive and quiet, too, but this was all too much.

She was too much of those things.

John found his sister's presence around the house more than usual these days. She was closely following Tommy's directive to stick close to home, refraining from wandering out on her own outside of her sanctioned trips to the Garrison or Charlie's. John couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his sister do anything other than academic work or help Polly with this and that around the house—both of those tasks entered into with an air of distraction. Clara's mind was clearly elsewhere unless she knew someone was watching her. It was only then that a flurry of energy would overtake her execution of whatever task she was lingering on, almost as if she just wanted everyone to see she was doing as she was asked.

Like she was trying to convince someone that she was good.

John figured it was likely only Tommy's opinion that mattered, but he barely paid Clara any mind other than accompanying her to and fro to the Garrison and the yard when it fit his schedule. Tommy had no concerns that his sister would wander, not after he'd shared with her the details of the Inspector's threat.

Clara had been perfectly well behaved since then. There'd been no fights. No talking back. No questions. The girl was seen doing what she was supposed to be doing. She was rarely heard, rarely bothering to give words to whatever thoughts were in her mind. Most adults would have been happy with that, but John itched while watching Clara through the shop doors day after day, sat there quietly at the table for hours as if moving from that spot or anything more than a forced smile or nod would bring holy hell down on her head.

Clara was still a damn kid though. There was no need for her to be worrying herself over the trouble Tommy had brought to them. There was no need for her to be worrying about Ada and Freddie and their communist leanings. What need did an eleven-year-old have for thinking about things like that?

She was meant to be having fun with other kids, playing in the lane like Finn or his own little ones. Some time with some other kids would do her good. Some time out of the house—without her putting on some sort of show for the adults' benefit—would do Clara good.

John had been nudging his sister toward it for most of the day, their conversation since he brought her into his office a tit for tat of subtle suggestion and reminiscence that had Clara longing for passing the afternoon with Finn even though she'd been put off his company for a couple of weeks now.

He'd coaxed her to follow him into his office after lunch, tired of watching her alone at the table for the bulk of the day when there was a suitable spot in the room with him. With the shop closed up, everyone except John had gone off. He didn't find any harm in it.

A ledger held John's attention while Clara attended to the book in her hands, both of them settled with their feet propped up on the desk. Clara had been quiet when she reluctantly moved into John's office, hadn't planned to talk about anything special—not Ada or Flanders Blues or falling in love or any of the things she wasn't meant to be talking about. Somehow John covered it all without her directly asking, something driving him to fill the silences Clara's inquiries usually occupied.

There are communist rat holes all over the city.

Ada could be in any one of them.

Tommy told you to let it be.

Flanders blues comes and goes.

Arthur's fine.

It's being taken care of.

Tommy told you to let it be.

Nothing John said was new or novel and all of it was vague. And although Clara was interested in what John had to say about Ada and Arthur and Tommy, her mind kept coming back to Tommy's words, the thoughts' hold on her mind as strong as the copper's grip on her arm had been as he towed her across Birmingham.

Even if Tommy had seemed to lighten up a bit, his concerns lying on business more than his sister, Clara remained caught up. She'd barely been able to escape her worries long enough to sleep at night, the imagination that effortlessly transported her to the world's of her favorite stories instead painting for her the grim pictures of what could be if her brother's words came true—if she was indeed taken from their home.

John watched Clara gaze out the window while she worried at her bottom lip. He took a shot, one more taboo subject broached without Clara asking after it.

"Lizzie's sitting for the kids this week while I'm at the races," John said as he scratched out the last of the sums.

John glanced up as he finished to see that Clara had lowered her book to meet his eye, some sort of spark nearly coming into them. A lazy grin settled on John's face, a bit of relief coming over him as he finally broke through whatever wall Clara had set up between her and the world. Why hadn't he thought of mentioning Lizzie sooner?

He was more than willing to talk to Clara about his dealings with Lizzie, something which Tommy wasn't taking care of, the only thing Tommy seemed to not yet have his hands in yet, seemingly the only subject not sanctioned from Clara's questioning repertoire because Tommy didn't yet know of its existence.

Clara was his sole confidant on the matter. It was their little secret.

"Her idea, not mine," he said.

"Surprised she wanted to after last time." Clara held the book over her mouth, failing to hide a giggle.

John pointed his pencil at her. "We don't talk about last time, alright?" he said though a smirk broke through. "And you probably taught it to them," he said before looking back at the books a final time.

Lizzie had sat with the kids for John once before and it had ended with a frog in her purse, a souvenir for her afternoon which she didn't find until she was back at her own lodgings. It certainly wasn't the worst someone had ever gotten after spending a few hours with John's lot, but John hadn't appreciated it considering he'd been trying to make a good impression.

"Sounds like something you and Finn would've done," John teased, only because he knew his sister wasn't likely to ever do anything of the sort unless Finn dragged her into it.

"It was probably Robbie's idea," Clara offered. "He likes frogs."

"And so do you, if I remember correctly."

Clara turned her head away from John without answering. She heard Finn coming through before she saw him, his careless limbs banging into this and that, his mouth mumbling to himself or anybody within earshot, his feet carrying him straight through to the shop without much attention paid to who else might've been there.

"She's not meant to be in the shop." Finn leaned through the open door and studied his sister propped up in John's chair, the one he usually took for himself and where he found himself most days that he didn't stay out on the lane after school. "Tommy'll be mad as hell."

John snorted. "And neither are you, mate. He'd be mad as hell with all three of us."

Finn shrugged. "Madder about her, probably. She's the baby ."

John rolled his tried to remember if he'd been this way with Ada when they were small. For some reason, he didn't think so. He couldn't seem to remember anything more than a bit of teasing, a bit of scrapping. He couldn't imagine Ada standing for much else. Ada had always been quick to slap or punch or kick. There were moments when he was surprised that Clara stood for Finn treating her as he did.

It was something about the lack of clarity in the family hierarchy when it came to the twins, something about the differences afforded to the two of them—differences in attention and affection and allowances, differences in ability and power.

It would have been easier if they weren't twins, John thought, or if they had both been boys or both girls. He imagined he would spend a lot less time playing referee that way, but then he remembered age alone didn't solidify anything. Sure, John had fallen into his rightful place well enough, but one look at Tommy and Arthur and it was clear that rules didn't always fit birth order.

"She—"

"Alright, Finn, enough," John said, before the boy could even get started again, "was nice and quiet in here 'til you came in, eh Clara?"

"Can't imagine how, all she does anymore is ask silly questions about love and—"

"Yeah, well, you can't even rea—"

"Oi, Clara!" John warned as he shook his head once, his glance lingering on her for a moment. It wasn't her usual way, an attack like that. She was usually more likely to encourage Finn, quicker to offer help with his homework than she was to call him out for his academic shortcomings. "Don't."

A lump settled in Clara's throat at her brother's tone and she reached for her book, shifting out of the seat and taking a step toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

Clara shrugged. She'd been waiting on Finn, but even just three minutes in she wasn't keen on passing the afternoon with him anymore. And she wasn't keen on John either after being chastised, nor was she interested in being around Tommy, or Polly, or even Arthur if he'd decided to show his face. Clara didn't want to put on a show for any of them any longer.

Whether by habit or just a scarcity of places where a Shelby could find peace these days, Clara intended on heading up to her bedroom. She intended on setting the chair under the door handle to keep them all away until she was called down to dinner.

John glanced out the small dirtied window in his office before leaning forward on the desk. "Sun's out. Why don't you two go play out on the—?"

The grumbling started before John could finish, drowning out his question. John rolled his eyes at the excuses coming out of both of their mouths—Clara's boot-stomping the floor as Finn groaned, the both of them whining out a harmonious chorus groaning his name.

"Alright, alright," John said as he glanced down at his desk. "How about the two of you do a job for me, then?"

The groaning stopped as the twins considered it, Clara shifting towards rebuttal before Finn did. John cut her off before she could get started.

"You don't worry about Tommy," he said. "If I say it's alright, it's alright."

Clara stepped up to John's chair and leaned over the arm. "Are you coming with us?"

John shook his head. "The two of you can go…it'll be a big help to me," he said. "But you do it together or neither of you goes."

Finn stepped up to the front of the desk trying to peer at John's papers. "What kind of job is it?"

"Delivery," John said, moving his papers about to find the envelope and letter he'd started work on earlier. John had meant to slip it under Lizzie's door himself, but he'd gotten distracted having Clara all afternoon. John had a feeling a delivery from the twins would suit just as well. He smiled at imagining his deliciously cryptic and scandalous words sent there by a couple of unaware kids bringing a blush to Lizzie's fine cheeks.

Clara glanced at her twin and Finn shrugged.

"How much?" he asked.

John dug in his pocket and set a shilling down on the desk though he thought he had little need to pay the kids. He was getting them out of the house and saving them the trouble of having Polly or Tommy get after them for their unrelenting bickering. That alone was worth more than a bit of coin in his book. "A shilling if the two of you deliver this letter and don't kill each other before supper."

Clara reached for the envelope and John pulled it out of her reach, raising both eyebrows as she met his eye. "And you don't read the letter."

Finn slumped into the chair Clara had been sitting in before, dropping her book to the floor. "Who's it for?"

"Miss Stark."

Finn nodded his head as if the admission meant something to him, but it didn't. All Finn knew was that she was the woman who had watched John's kids a couple of times. He knew nothing of John's plans.

"How about two shillings?" Finn interrupted the conspiratorial smile passing between John and Clara. "Only fair since there's two of us."

John flicked a shilling toward Finn who caught the flying coin. "Half now, half when the deed is done."

"And you sign this," Finn added, pulling a crumpled paper from his pocket. "Teacher says an adult at home needs to sign."

John raised an eyebrow. He was an adult, sure, but they all knew he barely counted in this case, all of them well aware that he wasn't the intended recipient of the letter.

"And we can go to Hinkley's on the way back," Clara added.

John sighed, though his sister's finally taking part in the conversation pleased him.

He set to signing Finn's letter from the school before answering her, barely skimming over the note about Finn's behavior.

"Fine, but you bring some back to share." John pushed the papers back across the desk to Finn and set his own letter in Clara's hands, He held it between his fingers even after she'd made to pull it away. "And you get this to Lizzie first. No opening it. No telling anyone you've done it for me, alright?"

Clara nodded and John turned to their other brother who had busied himself with rooting about on the shelves behind him. "Alright, Finn?"

Finn nodded, momentarily stopping his search for a cigarette among John's things.

"Alright. You know where she lives?" John eyed the clock, trying to recall Lizzie's supposed schedule for the day, figuring she ought to still be home. "Keep to the main road there and back. You can stop by Hinkley's, but keep away from the Cut."

John met Finn's eye as he said it, but Finn protested the accusation.

"She's the one always running off," he muttered.

"Well, you're the one—"

"Alright, enough. If you two don't knock it off, I'll take back the shilling and send you off to Aunt Pol. Then the only thing you'll be getting is a bit of shouting and her boot."

The twins knew it would take more than some bickering to have John follow through on that threat, but they quieted anyhow, listening once again to John's directions, the letter gripped in Clara's hands as they both promised to stick together and keep out of trouble along the way.

"Just cause you wear the hat, doesn't make you a peaky blinder." Finn scoffed, pushing the brim of the old cap down over Clara's eyes as they walked the lane.

Clara shoved his hand away, rearranging the hat on her head though she didn't move to put any real distance between them as they made their way down the street.

"Well, it's not like you're one either."

Finn shrugged. "More of one than you'll ever be," he said. "That's why Tommy's letting me go to the races. Little girls have no business at the races. You'd just get in the way." Finn kicked at a pebble in front of them, sending it into a puddle left over from the morning's rain. "Me and Isiah are riding up with the boys to help out."

Clara chewed on that fact as she checked the faces of those passing them on either side of the streets. "He wouldn't let you go if he knew you'd been misbehaving at school. Aunt Pol either. She'd—"

"Tommy still lets you out even though you've been bad," Finn said. "And you're not allowed to tattle, so—"

Finn let out a grunt as a body tackled him, pushing him down to the ground. Clara jumped to the side, her own body knocking into something solid, a strong hand reaching out to steady her as the letter was tugged from her limp hold.

Clara glanced over her shoulder to see Finn holding his own with Albie, the two of them rolling in the dir, passing punches back and forth.

Wally jostled her, pulling Clara's attention back to him as her heels lifted off the ground. Wally laughed as he released her, sending Clara down to the dirt.

"Now, what do we have here?" Wally asked.

He slipped his finger under the envelope's flap. Clara let out a roar as she pushed herself up off the ground, charging toward him. She made a grab for the letter as Wally continued to hold it away from her. More laughter tumbled from Wally's mouth as he set his hand on Clara's head to hold her back.

Wally's palm and fingers settled with force against the hat that belonged not to Clara Shelby, but to her older brother John—a real Peaky Blinder—with a set of fresh blades sewn into its brim.

Wally let out a howl as he released Clara from his hold, dropping the letter as blood poured from his sliced fingertips. Clara grappled with the sight of the blood, frozen for a moment before she stepped away. She worked on pulling Albie away from her brother, the three of them struggling for just a minute before the lot of them tensed up, completely frozen by the sudden presence of an adult in their little circle of chaos, a timid gasp coming from the woman's lips as she got a full view of the scene—the youngest Shelbys caught up in a battle with some other kids from another neighborhood—blood covering one of the kids' hands, Finn Shelby still trying to pummel the other while Clara tried to separate the two.

Clara fumbled to pick up the letter left discarded on the cobblestone, avoiding Lizzie's gaze. She stuttered on the woman's name, unsure of how to refer to the woman though it should've been easy enough to just call her Miss Stark. Lizzie was the name on the tip of her tongue, the name Clara had been conspiratorially whispering with her brother for weeks now. Lizzie, the woman John was courting with a certain fervor, the one Clara was certain would one day become her sister-in-law, but it seemed too familiar under the current circumstances.

Finn glanced over his shoulder at his sister, frozen on the spot. He pulled his arm back and punched Albie again before pushing himself off the ground. He tore the letter from Clara's hands. Finn handed it out to Lizzie Stark before grabbing Clara's arm and moving them away from the scene.

The two of them made it little more than three blocks before they spotted their brother on the other side of the street, his feet carrying them in the direction from which they'd just come, his eyes catching theirs even though Clara and Finn had been keeping their heads down, whispering as they scurried along.

Tommy hadn't called their names, had done nothing more than pausing his march to watch their movement down the lane. He took a long drag of his cigarette as he observed them. The twins diligently crossed the street at the gesture, the pair of them still holding hands, still whispering to one another, Clara patting the dust from Finn's clothes as they closed the distance.

"Hi, Tommy."

The words came in unison from both Finn and Clara, a shaky little chorus of a greeting as Tommy readjusted his hat to better see the twins' faces.

"What are you two up to?"

There was no chorus this time, not a peep from either of them, actually. Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette, letting the question linger while the twins fidgeted. Clara cleared her throat as Finn scuffed his foot into the cobblestone.

"Just playing, Tommy," Clara finally offered, turning her gaze from Finn to Tommy.

"John said we could," Finn added. "Said it was fine as long as we stayed together."

Tommy hummed as he stared down at them. Then he reached out to dust a bit of dirt Clara had missed from Finn's shoulder. "Looks like you've been fighting, Finn."

Tommy's gaze lingered on Finn's swollen lip, the flush of both kids' cheeks. Not a word came from either of them, just the sound of their slightly labored breathing.

Tommy reached out to wipe a smudge of dirt from Clara's cheek with his thumb. He plucked the hat from her head as he finished, revealing a mess of a loosened braid as he inspected a few specks of blood against the otherwise clean herringbone.

"John let her borrow it," Finn said, squeezing Clara's hand a bit harder as Tommy's eyes dragged over the fabric and the blades. Finn shuffled forward half a step, settling Clara just a measure behind where he stood, nearly positioning himself between Tommy and Clara.

Tommy nodded, rolling his eyes just a bit as Finn confirmed what Tommy was already thinking. It sounded like John—giving their sister a bloodied hat with the blade still in it like it was a toy, but he wouldn't have been surprised to learn Arthur had done it either.

Tommy took another pull of his cigarette, deciding to follow up with the boys about it but to let the kids be for now. It was a delicate balance between getting after the twins for something suspicious and letting them be when they were getting along. He eyed their clasped hands, their sudden closeness. He hadn't seen Finn and Clara like that for some time.

"Where are you off to now?"

"Hinkley's?" Clara offered, her pitch rising at the end of the word.

Tommy nodded again. "And then you two head back to the lane to play." He set the hat back on Clara's head. "And you mind that blade. Wouldn't want you to lose any fingers."

Clara instinctively glanced down at her hands, flinching as she noticed a speck of blood smudged into her fingertips. She pulled her hand free from Finn and stuck both hands straight into her pockets, her heart beating hard in her chest until Tommy dismissed them both with a nod.

"Wanna go see the horses? Maybe Uncle Charlie'll let us race."

Clara shook her head again, same as she'd done at Finn's offer to share the paper bag full of biscuits. She was too nervous for sweets or horses or her brother's company, her insides shaken by the fight and the blood and their brother, and that was all before she realized the gravity of the fact that Lizzie Stark had seen if not all, certainly most, of their scuffle with Wally and Albie.

"What's wrong with you?" Finn mumbled around a biscuit.

Clara looked up from her feet long enough to watch him swallow down the mouthful before removing the lingering crumbs with a swipe of his sleeve. She'd come out of the attack unscathed, unmarked except for the bit of blood on John's hat and her fingertips, but Finn's lip continued to swell.

"You're never fun anymore. Always fighting with Tommy or being mopey and—"

"What if someone finds out?" Clara blurted.

"Who's gonna find out?" Finn dug into the bag again. "No one saw us."

"Lizzie Stark saw," Clara said.

"Who's she gonna tell?" he said with a shrug, popping a broken biscuit into his mouth.

Clara worried her lip. Sure, the woman might not say anything to a copper about their scuffle in the streets, but her stomach flipped thinking about the most likely person she would tell—John. If John found out, the information was just a short way away from the others' ears. Clara imagined the information would all flow freely if John found out. Then they really would get Aunt Polly's boot.

Clara wouldn't have minded if the threat stopped there and she wished her brother understood that it didn't. There were authorities bigger than their family, repercussions scarier than anything their family would do to them if Lizzie Stark ratted them out.

Because even if the woman didn't talk Clara wondered how could they be sure no one else had seen them. How could they be sure there wouldn't be some sort of backlash? How could they be sure that an old woman hadn't happened to be looking out her window? Or that Albie and Wally didn't head back home to their mother and father calling for some sort of retribution? How could they be sure the information wouldn't end up gracing the ears of a copper or the parish?

How could they know?

"Tommy already saw you were out." Finn talked around the biscuit, his mouth full of golden brown crumbs as he dismissed his sister.

Clara felt sick, the fear and worry bringing with it a wave of nausea that made Clara feel like her world was turning upside down. Part of her knew it was that easy. Her world could turn upside down just like that. For the first time in maybe her whole life, Clara wasn't worried about her family's reaction or what they'd do about her getting caught up in a fight again.

If Tommy's words came true, Clara would be out of their reach—simply gone—like Aunt Polly's kids had been, the ones Clara knew of but had never known.

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat, her question barely above a whisper. "What if someone takes us away?"

Finn laughed. "Don't be silly, Clara."

The confidence of his words was strong enough that Clara could almost believe him. She wanted to believe her brother, but she gave more weight to Tommy's warning than she did to Finn's empty confidence and Clara dismissed Finn with the very same line of questioning that had people dismissing her.

What does an eleven-year-old know about something like that?

What does an eleven-year-old know about anything?

Maybe everyone else was right.

Maybe she didn't know anything.