firstfrostfall

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Seven

THE FIRST DAY OF WINTER, 1919

Tommy was playing cards with his brothers, drinking beer, and listening to their laughter. The Garrison was busy that evening, busier than usual for a Friday. He figured that it was due to the coming holidays, and the sense of ease that hung heavy in the air around that time of year.

The sense of ease that he was, of course, immune to.

Anna and Harry alternated between serving them through the private window to the snug, and he tried not to look at her when he heard her voice, instead opting for cool indifference. He hadn’t spoken to her since they last saw the horse. The horse which did not have a name.

His mind was elsewhere. The crate of guns were still in Charlie Strong’s yard, and his uncle had, quite adamantly, refused to move them during the snowy season.

Too much ice in the canals, his uncle said. It’ll get my boat stuck, and that will do us no good. Springtime, Thomas. We’ll move them come spring.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his uncle was right. Winter was here, and that would surely cause delays with shipments all across the globe, not just smuggled goods in Small Heath. At the very least, no one, as far as he knew, had come looking for the guns yet. In time, though. In time.

He needed a plan in place for the guns by the first thaw.

“Tom,” Arthur’s rasping voice tore him from his thoughts. “It’s your play.”

“Ah,” Tommy glanced at his cards. “So it is.”

“Where has your mind been?” John gave him a lopsided grin.

“I’d reckon that I could name a few places,” Arthur tilted his head toward the bar, which incited a hearty cackle from John.

“My mind hasn’t been anywhere else but here,” Tommy fanned his cards out on the table, revealing a winning hand. “Pay up.”

Both brothers groaned in unison and shoved the pile of their collective wagers to him.

“Another game,” Arthur bellowed, slamming an open palm onto the table. “I’m not leaving this fuckin’ place till I win.”

“It looks like you’re never fuckin’ leaving then.” John spat his toothpick onto the floor.

“Alright, alright, settle down.” Tommy shook his head and shuffled the cards. He dealt each one of them a hand and took a measured sip of his pint before plotting a strategy for the next round.

As John was about to announce his first move, there was a knock on the main door to the snug.

“Doors unlocked,” Arthur shouted while his eyes were glued to the cards in his hand.

The door slowly creaked open, and Anna poked her head through with a sheepish smile.

“I apologize for interrupting your game,” She motioned to the bucket filled with beer on the table. “Is now a bad time? I figured this pail would have gone warm by now.”

John waved a hand at her, and she made quick work of shuffling in and out of the room to replace their old beer for a fresh one.

Tommy watched her work carefully. Her hair was neatly curled and parted to the side, like always, save for the wild braid he caught a glimpse of when she worked on that fateful game day. From head to toe she was dressed in dark blue, the moody color brightening the auburn of her hair. The apron tied around her waist was crisp and clean, without a single stain in sight. He felt his lips almost twist into a wry smirk.

When she reached across the table for his glass, she caught him staring. She smiled for a breath, seemingly almost frozen in place, and then kept her head down as she finished topping off his drink.

Perhaps he looked at her for a few moments too long, because as soon as the door closed, his brothers started laughing.

“Is that where your mind’s been?”

“I knew it,” Arthur grinned and wagged a finger at him. “Charlie Strong says he saw you leaving his yard with a little red bird a few days ago. Was it her?”

“Could’ve been anyone,” Tommy tilted his head from side to side. “If either of you can beat me in a game tonight, I’ll consider telling you.”

John clapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, there’s no shame in it, Tom,” Arthur said as he took a heavy swig from his pint. “She’s good-looking, yeah? When’s the last time you saw a girl that wasn’t doing it for the money?”

Tommy clenched his jaw at his brother’s crass comment. It was meant in jest, surely, but it still struck a nerve. She, Anna, wasn’t special, by any means. He hardly knew a thing about her, she was just another barmaid, and barmaids grew like weeds around the city. A muscle in his jaw feathered from tension.

He hardly knew a thing about her.

He placed a card face down on the table. “Your turn, Arthur.”

They played cards and drank until well after midnight, and much to each of his brother’s dismay, Tommy had the most wins of the evening.

The pub was empty when he left the snug, save for Anna who was wiping down the bar. He spoke before she even noticed he was there.

“Are you almost finished? I’ll walk you home.”

CONTINUE READING

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Six

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

A LITTLE WHILE BEFORE THE FIRST DAY OF WINTER, 1919

It was a Sunday, and despite the bitter temperatures that the few days leading into winter had wrought upon the city, crowds of people flooded into The Garrison for a drink or two before an afternoon football game.

Anna could understand the fun of a good game-day, surely, but in this weather? It seemed like madness. The cold was so cold, that it felt as if it could clean out your insides with a single inhale. There was no wind, and no snow either. Just the sun, high and tight, like a fist in the sky.

Christmas was only but a week or so away, with the New Year rolling in shortly after that. Then, in a few week's time, the early days of January would officially mark her first full month of employment at the pub.

She was settling into her routine at The Garrison with a bit more ease now. Fewer mistakes, fewer spills. Of course, she’d never been able to pour a pint as well as Harry, but she was getting better.

Much to Anna’s relief, Harry seemed to think she was fulfilling her duties efficiently enough too. So much so, that he would step away periodically throughout the day, and entrust the run of the bar to her for those small increments of time. Sometimes he would leave for an hour in the morning or afternoon, to either get some fresh air or refill their ice stores, but more frequently as of late, he would take an early night and leave in the evening, just before it was time to close.

The evenings alone were her favorites. It was time that was simply her own, and the tiny bird inside of her would eagerly flap its wings. She even managed to walk herself home on a few occasions too, after promising Harry that she wouldn’t tell Polly. How scandalous.

She rarely ran into trouble on those nights, aside from a few leers and occasional crude comments from nameless drunkards. It was par for the course, but most of the time, she was left alone. It led her to wonder if perhaps at some point, Harry had mentioned who exactly hired her, a Shelby and if that name alone served as a natural deterrent. Admittedly, the thought was strange to her.

He, Tommy, was hardly a man she’d think to fear. He was not a friend, and even calling him an acquaintance was a stretch, but Anna found his company to be quite agreeable.

It was naive of her to think of him that way, even just describing the company of a known gangster as agreeable was comical all on its own. Of course, he and his family were doing her a great kindness by giving her this job and a fair wage to boot, but all of the kindness in the world did not scrub away the darker reputation that clung to their surname. Flat caps with razors sewed in, a man appearing covered in blood after a poor run-in with a horse. They’re good to the little people for a price.

The Garrison was full of people, red-faced and bundled up in their winter clothes. The collective laughter and shouting of the increasingly drunk crowd were growing louder and louder with each passing moment, and Anna wasn’t sure how she was going to make it through the rest of the afternoon without a drink herself.

She worked quickly to refill pints and collect empty glasses that were scattered across tables. The stream of customers seemed to be never-ending, each with an equally unquenchable thirst. She tried to keep her appearance neat throughout the rush, but her efforts were futile. The curls she had worked so hard to neatly arrange that morning fell flat within an hour, and her freshly laundered apron was covered in stains of varying sizes and colors. With a sigh and grimace, she accepted the sorry state of her attire and loosely braided her hair over one shoulder.

While she was wiping up a particularly nasty spill on the bar (for once it wasn’t her fault), she noticed the shutters to the snug snap open from the corner of her eye. She had a sneaking suspicion of who it could be.

It was Tommy who stood there, a tweed suit and penny-collared shirt poking out from under a winter jacket. His cap was low on his brow, and she could just make out the tendrils of smoke that lazily curled from the tip of the cigarette in his mouth. He looked at her expectantly, and for some reason, she felt a pit forming in her stomach.

It had been about a week since she had last seen him. The last time being, of course, when he turned up at the pub about a half-hour till closing, clad in a blood-stained shirt and riddled with cuts. Whatever caused those injuries, horse or not, simply wasn’t her business—but, it still made her uneasy. She steadied herself by repeating the same few words in her head over and over again.

To live and let live.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby.” Anna attempted to raise her voice over the uproar of the bar. “The same as always?”

“The very same,” He removed his cap when she approached. “But give me the whole bottle this time.”

She nodded.

“Busy?” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the bar.

“Only a little,” She smiled wryly, her fingertips brushing against his as she handed him the bottle. “Are you going to the game too?”

Tommy looked over at the growing crowd and then shook his head. “No.”

“A pity. It looks like it will be fun.”

“It does,” His voice trailed off as he spoke. He stared at the bottle of whiskey in his hands for a moment, clearly preoccupied, until his eyes flicked up to her. “I just bought a horse. I’m on my way to pay it a visit.”

“I’d argue that is an even better affair.” She raised her eyebrows. “Not an Appaloosa, I hope?”

“No, not an Appaloosa.” The corner of his mouth quirked into a tiny half-smirk.

Amidst the chatter and clattering of glassware around her, Anna realized that she had never truly looked at him before. She felt silly, admiring the contours and sharp edges of his face. He was handsome, devilishly so, and it was hard for her to believe that this was the same man she was having a casual chat with while cleaning up a ferocious cut on his arm, only a week prior.

Before she could say anything else, Harry called her name. She sheepishly glanced over her shoulder at the barkeep and then back to Tommy, giving him her best smile and brushing a few rogue curls out of her face.

“Enjoy your new horse, Mr. Shelby.”

He nodded curtly and placed the cap back on his head. She lingered by the window to the snug until he stepped out of sight, and with a sigh, returned to fixing drinks for the never-ending crowd that piled around the bar.

Anna wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the shutters to the snug opened again. It felt like hours, but it could have been minutes, moments, or even seconds. While refilling another round of pints, she had to do a double-take to make sure she was seeing things properly.

“Mr. Shelby?” She wiped her hands on her apron and quickly walked towards him. “Did I give you the wrong bottle by accident?”

“No, no. Right bottle.” He replied, syllables clipped. “When are you working until?”

“Until close.”

He took a long drag from the cigarette and exhaled heavily, the smoke that escaped his lips catching in the waning afternoon light. He tilted his head so he could make eye contact with her from under the brim of his cap, his gaze piercing. Anna felt a lump in her throat.

Tommy looked at her like he was debating on whether or not he should utter the next set of words, as if they were a curse. He perched the cigarette back between his lips and sighed. “Would you like to see the horse?”

His offer had taken her by surprise.

“I’d be happy to see your horse.” She was dumbfounded. “Tonight?”

He shook his head. “No, right now.”

“Mr. Shelby, while I appreciate the offer,” She winced and glanced at the crowd. “I can’t leave Harry to handle this by himself. Perhaps another time?”

“I see,” Tommy echoed, surveying the ever-growing crowd from where he stood in the snug. He plucked the cigarette from his lips and waved a hand at Harry. The barkeep turned to him and abruptly stopped pouring the drink in his hand.

“Her shift is over for the day.”

Anna’s lips parted slightly as she looked back and forth between the two of them. Harry opened and closed his mouth to speak but then settled for a quick nod of his head.

“Get your things, I’ll be waiting outside.”

She was speechless for a moment, turning to Harry for an explanation. “If Mr. Shelby says your shift is over, then it's over.” He waved a hand at her. “Go on.”

Anna suddenly felt awkward as soon as she stepped outside of the pub. The only time she had either seen or spoken to Tommy, was when he would come in for a drink at The Garrison. There was a purpose to their interactions, it was purely transactional. He would ask for a drink, she would pour it, small talk would ensue, and then they would go on with their respective days. Now that she was standing there, waiting to go see a horse of all things with him, she felt painfully out in the open. She did not know what to say or do.

He tossed the cigarette onto the street as soon as he saw her approaching. Wordlessly, he beckoned for her to follow him with a flick of his wrist. Anna mentally kicked herself for forgetting to wear a cap that day, the weather was still, unforgiving as ever.

All sorts of people, men and women alike, tipped their caps to him as they walked through the city, or offered a rushed “Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby” in passing. Anna trailed behind him, for he was always a few paces ahead for the entire duration of their walk. In any other circumstance, she would’ve felt uncomfortable with the gesture. But in this one, the silence was a welcome companion.

He brought her to what she could only describe as a scrap metal yard right by the river. Rusting boats were docked to the edge, and bobbed ever so slightly. The smog was heavy in the air, and almost completely veiled the sun from her sight. He led her inside one of the warehouses. She lingered by the door for a moment, doubt trickling in her gut. Was this really a good idea?

Well, it would be rude not to go in at this point, she took a heavy inhale.

When she stepped inside, there was a makeshift stable housing a large black horse. If she were to guess, it appeared to be a Thoroughbred of some sort, tried and true. Various items and machinery were scattered inside.

“Here he is.” Tommy placed the bottle of whiskey onto a stool.

“He’s very fine,” Anna said with a nervous smile, purposefully keeping her distance.

“This one is only a few years old,” He continued while patting a muscled shoulder. “Fast, too.”

“Are you going to race him?”

Tommy glanced at her from under his cap. “Hope to. With enough training, he’ll be ready for the track come spring.”

She knew the Shelby’s were bookmakers, first and foremost, but she didn’t know that they raced horses of their own. But, then again, she was learning that she did not know many things, as of late.

“Do you race horses often?”

He was silent for a moment. “No, not often.”

Anna nodded and fidgeted with a loose button on her coat while he admired the horse.

“Would you like to come closer?”

The pit in her stomach from earlier remained, and seemed to grow heavier with his question. She freed her hair from the braid and ran her fingers through the loose curls, desperate to keep her hands busy.

“When I said that I was terrified of horses, I wasn’t exaggerating.” Anna fought the urge to take a measured step back.

He extended a hand to her. “Come here. I promise he’s better tempered than an Appaloosa.”

She felt frozen to the ground for a moment, her eyes darting between the horse and Tommy. Eventually, she gave in.

“Alright,” She hesitantly moved to stand beside him. He showed her where to pat the horse, and with an ever so slightly trembling hand, she tried to mimic his movements. The horse picked up on her fear and huffed and puffed right in her face.

“He can tell that you’re scared.” Tommy took her hand in his and placed it on the horse’s shoulder. “Nice and easy, like this.”

His voice was hard, each word clipped and precise, but at this moment, it almost sounded softer. Anna looked at his hand atop hers. Faint scars crossed his knuckles, bone white and fine as thread, with a few fresh ones, no doubt remnants from his run-in last week. She thought better than to ask how the gash on his arm was healing.

“Not so bad, eh?”

“No,” She turned to look up at him. “Not so bad.”

He caught her staring, held her gaze for a breath, and then pulled his hand away quickly. Anna chewed on the inside of her cheek and focused on the glossy coat of the horse.

“Does he have a name?”

“Not yet.”

The sound of machinery whirred in the nearby distance.“Do you remember what kind of horse bit you?” Tommy broke the silence.

“Yes, like it was yesterday.” She shuddered with a tiny smile. The story was quite ridiculous. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a horse. It was a Shetland pony who nipped me right on the arm.”

He scoffed, while never looking directly at her. “A pony ?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Anna stopped petting the horse for a moment and narrowed her eyes at him. “I was only four! It was mortifying.”

The cap hid his eyes from her view, but she could make out the ghost of a smirk on his lips. She could feel her face warming. It was ridiculous that her fear of horses stemmed from a grumpy pony.

“Did you grow up with horses?” She asked while trying to hide the blush from her cheeks.

“I did.”

“What kinds?”

“All kinds.” He replied, his voice sounded distant, far-off. He paused, and then added, “Was that pony yours?”

“Yes,” Anna said absentmindedly. A memory from her childhood bubbled into her mind. It was something she hadn’t thought about in a long time. Too long, almost. “My brother went through a phase with horses when we were children. He couldn’t get enough of them.”

Tommy hummed in response, still hovering beside her.

“My father had a stable built over the course of a summer just for him, and then bought him two horses to keep. It was lovely,” She took his silence as a cue to keep going. “By the time the horses were settled and the stables were constructed, my brother didn’t care for them anymore.”

He tilted his head enough that she could see his eyes peering at her from under the cap. It gave her a chill.

Anna laughed wryly. “My father rarely got cross, oh, but he was certainly livid when he had to take care of these two horses—and understandably so! My brother was spoiled rotten.” She sighed. “I remember that I wanted to help him care for the stables, but I was only a girl, so he got me that pony to keep him company. Little did we know that the pony had quite the nasty streak.”

“What was the pony’s name?”

“Blue.” Anna shook her head. “I named him after the ocean, it wasn’t very clever. My father called him Lucifer, which was much more fitting. He was a biter.”

He was looking at her intently, and she felt like she said too much.

“What was the bottle of whiskey for?” She cleared her throat and took a step back from the horse, desperate to turn the conversation away.

Tommy jerked his chin toward the stallion. “To celebrate my new horse.”

“I would’ve brought you a glass then.”

He shook his head and picked up the bottle from the stool he left it on. “Don’t need a glass.” He lifted it in the air. “Cheers.” After taking a swig, he handed it to her.

Anna stared at the bottle in her hands. Whiskey. She hated whiskey. Tommy was watching her with a raised eyebrow, almost as if he was curious to see what she would do. It felt, wrong, to just take a swig from the bottle. Improper, would be the better word for it. She had never taken a swig of anything in her life, especially not straight liquor.

Well, a lot of things were improper in her life now. Like, for example, cleaning a stranger’s wounds for him without a second thought.

“To your new horse.”

She took a deep breath, brought the bottle to her lips, and swallowed sharply.

The amber liquid burned her throat, and she made a desperate attempt to squeeze back the watering of her eyes. Oh, how she wanted to wretch.

She looked at him expectantly after. Tommy remained stone-faced as ever, and she wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or the cutting line of his gaze that made her stomach twist itself into knots.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Anna thought it was lonely. Him drinking alone with a horse for company. But, in all honesty, she was lonely too, so in a way, it made sense to her.

The sun was just beginning to set by the time they arrived at her flat. He walked her home in silence, always a few paces ahead. At least she had gotten familiar with the back of his head, and the cropped hair that poked out from under his cap.

She stood on the front steps for a few moments, mulling over whether or not she should invite him in for tea. It wasn’t too late to invite him in, it certainly wasn’t an indecent hour. It would be the polite thing to do, he showed her his new horse, after all.

Finally, she gathered the courage to ask.

“Mr. Shelby—Tommy,” She cleared her throat. “Would you like to come in for tea?”

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he had placed a fresh cigarette between his lips. He tilted his head toward her and looked at her from under his cap for a long moment, before shaking his head. “I have some other business to attend to before the day is done.”

She was half-expecting that response from him. Perhaps it was for the best, she still had little to no furniture, anyway.

“Well, thank you for showing me your new horse.” She nodded. “Let me know when you pick a name for him. He deserves a strong one.”

Wordlessly, he tipped the brim of his cap to her and walked in the opposite direction down the street.

Anna watched him until he disappeared from her line of sight and then an additional second more, and then turned to unlock the door.

Upon entering her flat, she shut the door behind her and reached for the chair that she propped against the door as a makeshift lock. She really needed to get that fixed. While she hung her coat on the rack, she decided that she would make tea anyway.

She smoothed a worn cloth over the table and began laying out everything she needed for tea. A chipped cup, milk, sugar, a misshapen spoon. From where she stood in the kitchen, she noticed that the door to her bedroom was ajar. She could just make out where the hope chest sat at the foot of her bed. Inside of the chest, beneath the jar of sea glass and a few pieces of jewelry that were wrapped in swaths of black velvet, was a heavy packet of papers. For a moment, she considered walking over to open it.

The kettle on the stove started whistling, and she straightened her posture, smoothed her skirt out, and blinked until the sheen of tears that welled in her eyes felt clear again.

Perhaps she would open the chest another day.

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Five

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

“I’m freezing my fucking balls off, Tom,” Arthur grumbled while taking a sharp swig from his flask.

Tommy stood with his brothers in an open field atop a grassy hill, the ground beneath them still moist from an earlier frost. It was a clear and sunny day, despite the bitter December wind that nipped at their faces. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue above the hazy tree line on the horizon, without a single cloud in sight.

They were trying to purchase the Appaloosa that Tommy had his eyes on, but it was turning out to be more of a waiting game than anything else. Their meeting spot with the seller was out in the countryside, far away from any signs of civilization. So much so, that the roads were nothing more than sets of winding dirt trails, and the truck they borrowed from Charlie Strong had gotten stuck in muddy puddles on more than one occasion during their drive. Another fucking headache.

“Easy,” Tommy reached for his pocket watch and glanced at the time. It was only a little after 11 am. “The seller will be here any minute now, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Yeah, you’ve been saying any minute now for twenty fuckin’ minutes.” John retorted.

“Can someone remind me why we’re buying this damned horse again?” Arthur tugged his cap lower on his head. “It’s the bloody winter. What do we need a horse for? The races aren’t until spring.”

“Horses take time to be trained, Arthur.” Tommy gave him a tight-lipped reply.

Eventually, after about another twenty minutes of waiting around in the cold (much to John’s dismay), their seller came sputtering up the road in a beaten-down truck with the horse in tow.

“G’day, boys!” The seller called from the truck, waving his hand wildly out of the window. Two gruff-looking men sat in the seat beside him. “Brisk morning, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” Tommy quipped, forcing a smile. John scoffed and rolled his eyes.

The seller hopped out of the driver’s seat and tipped his ragged tweed cap to them. He was a short and stout older man, with bushy eyebrows and a scraggly white beard.

“Leroy.” He reached to shake Tommy’s hand.

“Thomas,” Tommy jerked his chin toward his brothers who stood beside him. “These are my brothers, Arthur and John.”

“You’re Polly Gray’s kin, yeah?” Leroy asked while plucking a tall piece of dried grass from the earth and placing it in his mouth.

“We’re her nephews,” Arthur answered, glancing at the two men who were still sitting in the truck.

“Ah, that’s very nice.” The older man chewed on the blade of grass. “Very nice.”

Tommy couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something off-putting about the man. Too much small talk, too many fake pleasantries.

“What clan are you from?”

“No clan, just traveling on my own.”

“Who's in the truck?” Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, no one. Just some hired protection for myself,” Leroy waved a hand at them. “Nothing to concern yourselves with. I’m an old man selling horses, can’t ever be too careful, yeah?” he paused for a moment, then added with a wink, “I’m sure you boys know how these deals can go.”

Tommy hummed in affirmation. An old man selling stolen horses, that is.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, kicking at a clump of dirt on the ground.

“Now, enough with the niceties. Shall we take a look at that horse?”

Tommy gave a pointed nod and followed him around to the back of the truck. The three brothers watched Leroy eased the horse out of the stall, whispering to her while she wildly thrashed her head around.

“Ha, she’s got quite the personality,” The seller grimaced as he tugged on the reins in an attempt to quell her, so vigorously that his heels dug into the muddy earth.

“We can see that,” John scoffed while nudging Arthur in the side.

Eventually, the horse settled, huffing and puffing clouds from its nostrils and into the frigid air. Tommy stepped forward to appraise the horse more closely. He ran his hands down its legs and inspected each hoof, then curling back its lips to examine the teeth. She had a palomino coloring, a white mane and tail with a chestnut coat that faded into white speckles.

“She’s beautiful,” Tommy gave the horse a few final pats on the shoulder. “We’ll take her.” He motioned for his brother to come toward him with the flick of his wrist. “The payment, John.”

John nodded, taking a few strides to his brother. Before he could reach into his coat for the money, Leroy cleared his throat loudly.

“Ah, yes, the payment,” He smiled and gave the reins a tug. “The price is double of what we spoke about earlier.”

Tommy stared at him blankly. “What changed?”

“My mind. That’s what changed.” Leroy exhaled dramatically. “This here is a good horse,” He punctuated each of his words with a pat on the horse’s neck. “I have a lot of interested buyers who are willing to pay the extra... fees.”

“Fees?” John echoed, his mouth agape. “What fees?”

Tommy raised a hand to silence his brother. “You said you were only dealing with us.”

“Yes, well,” The seller shrugged. “People say a lot of things.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and shook his head, reaching for the cigarette case he tucked inside of his jacket. “We’re buying the horse for the amount we originally settled on.”

“Says who?”

“Says us.” John narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Listen, I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Leroy placed a hand on his heart. “But the doubled amount is my final and only offer. I’m just trying to make a living here- I’m sure you boys can understand that.”

Tommy nodded while he perched a cigarette between his lips. “We’ll pay the original amount and a half.”

“Fuck, Tom.” Arthur removed the cap from his head and ran a hand ragged through his hair.

Leroy stroked his beard thoughtfully and then shook his head. “No. I’m only taking the doubled amount.”

“I won’t go any higher than what I just offered,” Tommy said.

“If that’s the case, then continuing this conversation for any longer is pointless.” Leroy furrowed his eyebrows together. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Tommy lit the cigarette, the flames of the match just barely touching his fingertips. “Consider our business over, then.” He dropped the match to the ground and stamped it out with his shoe.

“What a waste. I can’t believe you mingy folks won’t scrounge up a little extra for a horse of this caliber,” Leroy grumbled as he led the horse by the reins back into the stall. He jerked his head toward the front of the truck. “I should charge you for the coin I wasted on these two oafs in there. Useless.”

Tommy fought the smirk that quirked at the corners of his lips. The uncanny polished veneer of pleasantries was fading fast from the man’s persona. He was just another rat looking to make a few extra bucks on a black market horse. Sure, it was a nice horse, a beautiful horse, even, but certainly not worth the inflated price Leroy was preaching. It was stolen, too. He knew he should’ve been getting a better deal for that.

“I’m still willing to go over half of what we originally agreed on,” Tommy called to him.

“Let me think again,” Leroy tapped a finger to his lips. “And my final answer is,” He spat on the ground in front of them. “That.” He muttered a curse under his breath, and then spat on the ground again. “And that’s for your aunt, for sending me a fuck all deal.”

While the crassness of Leroy’s comments and actions were an irritation to Tommy, he knew what game he was trying to play. He was trying to get a rise out of them, he had those two men in the truck, after all. He didn’t get his deal (it truly was more of a scam), and now he was nipping at their ankles in a desperate attempt to get his payout.

Arthur, on the other hand, was sent into a spiral. He should’ve known that his brother was nothing but a ticking time-bomb at this point. He had been nursing his flask all morning long (he had to have been halfway drunk), and Leroy’s demeanor was the icing on the cake. The situation was flint, and Arthur was the tinder.

“Fuck.” Tommy and John said in unison.

Arthur knocked Leroy onto the ground and reached for his cap. In the same instance, the two men inside of the truck must have heard the ruckus and were taking rushed strides toward them, each with a crude shiv in hand.

While Leroy was trying to evade Arthur’s wrath, Tommy sensed an opportunity. The reins were no longer in Leroy’s hands, and instead, the horse was bucking and braying about, clearly spooked by the fighting.

Tommy lunged for the reins but was knocked onto his stomach by the wild thrashing of the horse’s head. For a moment, he managed to scramble on the ground and get a steady grip on the reins, but his efforts were futile, for the horse was too strong from that angle. His grip went slack, and the horse bolted out onto the field. Tommy watched as it galloped away, causing something crimson and furious to boil up inside of him.

By the end of it, panting and covered in sweat, Tommy could barely remember the details of what had just happened. It started with a horse, a sniveling old man, two hired thugs, Arthur’s rage, a horse that was now gone, and blood.

At some point, Leroy had managed to slither into the truck and drive away (Arthur tried chasing him down the road, much to John’s bemusement). His thugs, on the other hand, were curled up onto the ground, whimpering as they clutched their scarred and bleeding faces.

“At least that old loon got his money’s worth with these guys,” John commented wryly, spitting blood onto the ground. His lip was bloodied, and would certainly bloom into a dark bruise within the next few hours.

“We should’ve killed him and took the horse in the first fucking place.” Arthur took a long swig from his flask and wiped the back of his hand across his lips.

There was only one thing Tommy could say. “Fuck.”

The three of them were bruised, covered in blood and dirt, and the horse was gone.

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Polly sat them down and looked at their wounds in the parlor when they arrived back at the shop.

John had a split lip and a few cuts on his hands, while Arthur was more so just bruised and battered from a rolling tussle with one of the hired men. Tommy was sore, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the hit he took from the fucking horse, or the nasty slice he had gotten from one of the thugs on his forearm.

“It’s for the best,” Polly said while deftly cutting up a bandage. “Buying a horse in bad faith like that,” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Bad luck.”

“Bad luck,” John scoffed while splashing icy water onto his face. “How’d you even know this guy? He was a nutcase.”

“It’s been a long time. I never said he was a friend,” Polly rolled her eyes while she poured alcohol onto a rag. “I warned you that he was a scoundrel. The horse was stolen after all. Now let me see that lip.”

Their bickering became background noise in the back of Tommy’s head. It didn’t matter how anyone knew Leroy. They were one horse short, and his chest fucking hurt from that same fucking horse thrashing about amidst the chaos. But, he found a tinge of humor in the fact that they, of all people, were calling that man a scoundrel.

After an hour of sitting still with several bandages looped around his knuckles, he was getting antsy.

Tommy stood up and made his way toward the stairs.

“Hey, where are you going?” Arthur bellowed from the table. His face was red, and it wasn’t from the fighting- he was certainly drunk now.

“Bed.”

“Pol hasn’t looked at that cut on your arm yet."

“I’ll wrap a rag around it.” He ignored the rest of his brother’s slurred shouts and walked to his room.

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Tommy’s ears wouldn’t stop ringing.

He laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, watching as the long shadows waned from afternoon to evening, to nightfall.

The red tendrils of rage continued to knead and claw at his gut. He needed horses for the races, and not just any horses. Good horses. That Appaloosa was going to be a good fucking horse. If he was going to have any chance at fixing the big races come springtime, he was going to need a lot of good fucking horses.

Hell, he was trying to build a fucking business here.

There was a moment where he almost reached for his pipe. His head-ached and his muscles were painfully sore. He was just about ready to cut his losses for the day, and call it a night. But then, he thought of something else.

Perhaps, he needed a drink first.

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He watched her sweep the floor of the pub from the window. Her back was to him, and she didn’t notice him until the front door slammed shut.

Anna flinched, almost dropping the broom onto the floor. “Christ,” she turned to him, her face softening in recognition. “Mr. Shelby, you frightened me-” she cut herself off, “Are you okay?”

He knew he looked like a proper mess, certainly felt like one too. He didn’t bother fully changing out of his clothes from earlier, either. Under his winter coat, he was wearing a cotton shirt that was stained with blood, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to make room for the bandages that covered his cuts. His trousers and shoes were caked with mud too- another lost cause.

“I’d like a drink,” Tommy waved her off as he took a seat at a random table and dropped his coat to the floor. He could see her hesitate, her eyes darting anxiously between him and the rack of booze behind the bar.

“The same as always?” She asked, her voice wavering only slightly.

“The very same.”

Anna propped the broom against the bar and quickly went to work on pouring his drink.

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had to step away early this evening,” She rounded the table with his glass and gingerly set it down in front of him.

“All by yourself again?”

She nodded.

When he reached for the drink, a sudden pain shot through the length of his arm, from fingertip to shoulder. It felt like a thousand tiny little nails pricking at his skin all at once. He glanced down at his forearm and saw that the makeshift bandage he had tied around the gash was soaked red, and was coming loose. “Shit.”

“Here, let me.” Anna sat beside him and took his arm in her hands, slowly unwrapping the bloodied rag. The slice on his forearm was nastier than he initially realized. It was red, hot, and angry. His hands were in poor shape too, a few cuts on the palm, and scratches on the knuckles. Not to mention the bruise he knew was forming on his chest. Her eyes flicked from his forearm to his eyes. “I’m going to get some water, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the back room, and minutes later, came back with an iron pail and a clean rag over her shoulder.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?” She stared at his face intently. “Or do you want me to stay?”

Truthfully, he was taken aback by the questions.

“You can stay.”

She gave a curt nod and took a seat next to him.

“Can I help?”

“Not much I can do with these hands.”

Anna smiled and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.

Everything felt, quite suddenly, as though it was too sharply in focus. Tommy watched her while she rolled up the sleeve of his shirt up farther past his elbow, her movements deliberate and gentle. The first time she dabbed at the slice on his forearm, he winced. She noticed this, and each time after she touched it, she glanced at him cautiously, just to make sure it was okay.

Tommy decided that from that moment forward, she was a blue mystery. He wasn’t even sure what that fucking meant, but that’s what she was to him. A blue mystery. She could’ve materialized from the Queen’s fucking castle, for all he knew. But here she was, living alone in a dingy flat, and no one ever saw her other than this fucking place and her family. Her hair was always curled, and she did not speak much. Yes, he thought. She was a blue mystery.

He couldn’t tell if he was delirious or not. Perhaps it was from the lack of sleep and blood, but the light in the room made her hair look like a halo. A halo of red hair. He had to have been fucking delirious.

During his musings, he noticed that he had gotten blood on her blouse.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.”

“Oh,” Anna glanced down at it and shook her head. “Don’t mind this old thing.”

He scoffed and turned away from her for a moment.

“You said you’re from a place called Eastcliff, right?”

“Ah,” She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “You have a good memory.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, it’s rather a long way from here, as you know.” She explained while softly gripping his forearm to keep it steady. “It’s right by the sea. Absolutely freezing in the winter, but pleasant in the summer. If you have a map handy, I could show you.”

The drawn-out words. Rather. Absolutely. Pleasant. It was all so painfully upper class.

“Do you like the ocean?”

“Yes,” She started grinning. “I love it in every season but the summer.”

“That seems a little backward.”

“I suppose it is. I hate the heat, and I always look like a lobster when I leave.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Does everyone in Eastcliff have that accent?”

She blinked, lips parting slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I can’t imagine everyone in a little seaside town sounds like they’ve come straight from the Queen’s drawing-room.” He meant it as an earnest jest, truly.

“Yes, well,” She squeezed the excess water from the rag and back into the bucket. “I went to a boarding school in London and spent the summers at home. In Eastcliff.”

His question seemed to stop Anna short, in a way that nothing else had so far that evening. Nothing else meant him, showing up to her place of work, covered in blood and mud. He really didn’t have much to say after that. She kept squeezing water from the rag until it went taut.

“How’s that cut on your forehead?”

Tommy tilted his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t even realize that there was a cut on his forehead.

Anna narrowed her eyes at him and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Let me.”

She leaned in close to him now, close enough that he could see the dusting of freckles on her face, the smell of her perfume, the graceful curve of her neck. While she dabbed at his forehead, she never looked at him directly. When their eyes would meet, Tommy noticed the slightest flush on her cheeks. How did she go from a little seaside town, to this fucking city?

“May I ask you something bluntly?”

“I think you’ve earned it.”

“What happened today?”

“A horse.”

She raised her eyebrows.  “Must’ve been some horse.”

“It was.” He replied, his voice dreamy. “An Appaloosa.”

“Ah, a nice horse then.”

He blew air out of his nose. “Are you much for horses?”

“Truthfully?” A smile appeared on her lips, it was a real one, because it made her cheeks dimple. “No. I’m terrified of them, ever since one bit me as a little girl.”

“A shame.”

“A shame indeed. But I still think they are beautiful, for what it’s worth. I enjoy watching them, and attending a good race now and then.” Even her voice started to have a dreamy lilt to it. “Are you much for horses, Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes,” He answered with a smirk. “I’m much for horses.”

“Except for Appaloosas?”

“Perhaps.”

They sat in silence for a long while after that. He thought it was amicable, and pleasant enough. The only other noises between them were the sounds of a rag being torn in two, and water sloshing about in the iron pail. Tommy started speaking again when she finished tying a fresh bandage around his forearm.

“Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“Mr. Shelby, if I can be quite blunt- again,” She said with a grin. “If anyone needs someone to walk them home, it’s you.”

He shook his head with a scoff, lips forming a tight-line.

“It’s Tommy, by the way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name.”

“Tommy,” Anna repeated his name slowly, almost as if she was testing it out on her tongue.

“When it’s just us, call me Tommy.”

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Four

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Anna knew what business the Shelby’s were in. They were gangsters, plain and simple.

There was an earlier time in her life where even the very idea of that particular business frightened her. But things were different now. She was different now.

Really, nowadays, she was content to live and let live. She didn’t care much for what other people did, or how they made a living, as long as she could exist somewhat peacefully. That was all she wanted.

When she arrived in Birmingham, most of the men were away at war, meaning that most gangs in the area were few and far between, including the Peaky Blinders.

Her first run-in with a Blinder wasn’t until a few months after the fighting had ended, and the men suddenly returned home en masse in the early days of 1919.

It was also around that time where Anna attempted to forge a rebellious streak for herself. She had been cooped up inside of their tiny home almost all day every day with her cousins, save for a few trips to the market and back, of course. Her aunt worried too much to let her niece venture off in the city by herself.

But Anna craved for the opportunity to prove to her aunt that she was just fine. That she could go about the city on her own. Back in Eastcliff, she was able to come and go from her home whenever she pleased.

So, one night, Anna decided to sneak out.

It was late, too late. Late enough that midnight had long already passed, and the wee third hour was just moments away from ringing. She climbed out of their first-floor kitchen window and, rather unceremoniously, tripped onto the sidewalk (she had a terrible bruise on her hip for days after).

She wandered from street to street, gawking at how ominous the neighborhood looked in the dark. Even under the shroud of night, the sky was still laced with a thick layer of smog from the factory chimneys. She couldn’t help but smile at how good it felt, the cool night air, that buzzing sense of stolen freedom.

At some point, however, she had gotten herself lost, despite the fact that she had been living with her aunt in the city for a little over a year. Fortunately, she knew the area well enough that she could at least find the grocer, and from there, she would be able to find her way home.

It was a fine and dandy plan until she took the wrong turn down the wrong street, which led her through an alley, where she stumbled upon something that was surely not meant for her eyes.

She watched as a man in a flat cap beat the living hell out of another individual. A few others stood by and observed, all wearing similar caps. A lump formed in her throat as she stood there, the sounds of the beaten man begging for mercy ringing in her ears, the rusty color of blood on the assailant’s knuckles. She surely felt her heart stop beating when the man removed the cap from his head and began swiping at his victim’s face with it, his cries growing louder with each slice.

There’s something in his cap, she thought, there must be a blade in his cap.

Anna knew this city was different from Eastcliff, of course, but she didn’t think she would see something like that with her own eyes. She wasn’t going to scream but placed a hand over her mouth anyway. In situations like that, you can’t scream. Instead, she backed out of the alley slowly, and then ran to the grocer, and ran home. She fought back the tears that welled in her eyes.

When she finally got home, her aunt was frantic, frightened, afraid. Apparently, one of her cousins had snitched on Anna’s master escape plan, and her aunt was moments away from ringing the police. Her aunt sobbed with relief when her niece came barreling through the door, and then, as any parental figure would, she got mad. Her aunt asked her a million questions. What were you thinking?! I thought you were smarter than this, Anna. It’s dangerous out there, especially at night.

Anna started crying and told her what happened, what she saw. Her aunt had wild eyes and kept asking about their caps.

Her aunt then explained who the men in the flat caps were. Gangsters, part of an even larger organization. The Peaky Blinders, she called it.

They were big in the city before the war, but most of them were shipped off to France, and now that they were home, they would be big again. She told Anna that they were in a gang, yes, but they were good to the little people. They would offer protection for a price. That they were more than just a gang, they were a business.

Anna thought she was going to throw up. She couldn’t shake the images of the weeping, bloodied man in the alley from her mind. She had only read about gangsters in books or heard about them in stories her grandfather would tell about times where he had to take the train into the seedy parts of London. There weren’t any gangsters in Eastcliff. No, certainly not.

The same few questions gnawed at her stomach in the days following the attack.

They were good to the little people, offering protection for a price. That phrase made her resent her aunt for a while. How could she be justifying the actions of an “ organization” that brutalizes people? What good would come from beating a seemingly helpless man within an inch of his life?

However, as time passed, Anna learned that the world was a little grayer, and a little bleaker, and a whole lot darker than the breezy seaside town that she grew up in. The world wasn’t just good or bad- it was a terrifying mix of the two. She felt painfully naive and then accepted the notion to live and let live. She had bigger things to worry about than what gangsters did in the city. She had to help make ends meet with her aunt. At the very least, the gangsters weren’t stealing food from their table.

The day before her first shift at The Garrison, her aunt sat her down for tea and gave her a stern warning.

I didn’t want to scare you before your interview… but these people are serious, Anna. Polly is a friend, and I know that no harm will come to you. You’re good, Anna. I know you’re good. Remember when I told you that the Peaky Blinders look out for the little people? This job is an example of that. Mind your own business, be respectful, and speak when spoken to.

When she got the job through the Shelby’s, whom she now knew were the heads of the Peaky Blinders, she realized that maybe her aunt was right. That they were good to the little people. And after meeting Polly, she believed that even more. She was kind.

But there was another thing Anna remembered about them, too. That they were good to the little people for a price.

What would her price be?

She started to notice the flat caps more and more, like the one Mr. Shelby had sitting on the booth beside him during her interview.

On her first day at The Garrison, Harry gave her a similar warning, too.

She knew the deal, speak when spoken to, keep to herself. Although, she supposed she was pushing it with Mr. Shelby. In fact, she was still reeling in embarrassment over telling him to call her Anna.

Perhaps the rebellious streak still lived inside of her. Like a little bird trapped inside of a cage, vigorously flapping its wings and cawing, desperate to come out. She felt like a mystery, tucked away in her aunt’s house, and now in her own lonely flat. She hoped this job would change that.

But then again, she was content to simply let things live and let live.

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A little over two weeks had gone by since her first shift. Anna wasn’t an amazing barmaid (by any means), but she was getting the hang of things. Slowly, she was getting the hang of things.

Polly would come in to say hello, or rather, check on her, usually before an evening mass where she would see her aunt at church. Always asking if she was getting home okay, or if anyone was giving her trouble. Anna told her she was fine each time, like clockwork. She really was fine, nothing she couldn’t handle (yet).

One evening, a young man, who was more of a boy really, came rushing into the pub asking for Harry. He wore a flat cap that was far too big for him, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. Harry spoke to the boy quickly, his own cheeks turning beet red by the end of their conversation.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and tossed a stained rag onto the bartop with an audible sigh.

“Is everything alright?” Anna asked in passing, glancing at him from the corner of her eye while she poured a drink for a patron.

“Yes, yes,” Harry’s voice trailed off, clearly preoccupied.

She didn’t want to pry, so she simply nodded, and continued on with her work. Harry paced back and forth for a bit, opening and closing his mouth quickly to speak each time he walked past her.

Finally, he started talking.

“Do you think you can close up tonight?”

The question tinged that hidden rebellious streak in her, the tiny bird inside of her chest started fluttering its wings.

“Of course, I can take care of things from here.”

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. As he untied his apron, he gasped. “But can you get home by yourself?”

Anna nodded, a little too fiercely, and cleared her throat. “Without a doubt.”

He stared at her for a few moments too long, skeptical, before continuing to untie his apron and folding it over his forearm. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She flashed him her best smile, but he still looked hesitant. “Mrs. Gray said I was to escort you home.”

Anna waved a hand at him. “It’s just one night. I know the way home from here like the back of my hand now.”

That response was good enough for him it seemed. He nodded and took hurried strides toward the back room. Anna exhaled a sigh of relief. The bird inside of her started cawing.

Much to her relief, the rest of the evening was fairly slow. She assumed it was because the weather was so cold. Cold enough that not even the thirstiest man would venture out of his home for a beer tonight. Only a few regulars here and there, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. In fact, she only spilled one drink and managed to keep her blouse clean. It was a new personal record.

When the sky grew dark and the night was waning to the early hours of the morning, she tucked a butter knife into her apron. She felt silly, of course, but it was better than nothing. Perhaps she could whack a potential assailant with the mop from the back room.

There was about half of an hour left until close, and Anna kept herself busy by trying to work out a scuff that was on the floor. She tied her hair back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck and scrubbed at the floor. Her wrists ached.

“Good to see you’re keeping busy.”

Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She gasped, rather unceremoniously, and dropped the soaked rag to the floor with a smack.

A pair of glossy shoes were in front of her. Slowly, she trailed her gaze up past a sharp tweed suit, only to reveal that it was Mr. Shelby who towered above with a perfectly balanced cigarette between his lips. His nose and cheeks were tinged red, and the collar of his winter jacket was pulled up close around his neck. A testament to the weather that evening.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Anna sighed with a wry chuckle, wiping a forearm across her brow with a sigh. “You gave me a fright.”

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had other business to attend to,” She said as she dropped the rag into the soapy bucket. “He won’t be back this evening, I’m afraid. I’ll be closing up.”

“You’re closing up alone?”

Anna simply nodded. “I meant to lock the door, I must’ve forgotten. I was too busy working out that scuff on the floor.” She gestured to a particularly polished plank on the floor. “I’m quite pleased with myself.”

Mr. Shelby, on the other hand, didn’t look nearly as impressed as he stared down at her, his eyes piercing as ever. She grimaced, realizing that she was still sitting on her knees with the sleeves of her blouse pushed up around her shoulders. Not ladylike at all.

She cleared her throat and stood up, patting out excess dust from her apron. In the process, she felt the outline of the butter knife in her front pocket. She felt her cheeks grow warm, her pathetic attempt at self-defense with a knife that could barely cut a loaf of bread would have been embarrassing to explain. Forcing a smile, she reached for the bucket and lugged it behind the bar. “Can I get you a drink in the meantime?”

He nodded and jerked his chin to a specific bottle.

The pub was silent while Anna fixed a drink for him, the only other noise came from the wind outside that rattled the windows.

“Is he coming back to walk you home?”

Anna shook her head. “He offered, but I insisted that I could do it myself.” She corked the bottle. “It’s just one night.”

Mr. Shelby clicked his tongue against his teeth, a smirk quirking at the corners of his mouth. “What about Polly’s instructions?”

“He seemed to be in quite the hurry, I didn’t want to trouble him.” She slid his drink toward him with a smile. “It’s one night, and far too cold for anyone to give me a hard time.”

Mr. Shelby hummed in response and took a sip of his drink. She didn’t want to hover while he was drinking, so she gave him a curt nod and continued her work around the bar. Sweeping the floor, wiping down tables, cleaning soap scum from glasses. It was all very monotonous.

Without turning toward her, he placed his cap on his head and said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh, Mr. Shelby,” She blinked, pausing mid-sweep. “It’s too cold.”

“You said you live nearby, yeah?”

She nodded when he glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“Then you’ll be on the way home for me,” He said dryly. “Polly’s instructions are something to be followed.”

“Well, that is incredibly kind of you. Thank you. I just have a few more things to clean, I’ll be quick.” Anna laughed under her breath, returning her attention to the broom in her hands. When did she start gripping it so tightly?

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Mr. Shelby walked a few steps ahead of her the whole time. Normally, Anna would have felt funny in the silence, she hated it, but it was far too cold to even pretend to be chummy. So, she happily trailed behind him, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her coat.

“Right here,” She pointed to the building in front of them. It was dreary and gray, even in the hazy orange light of the street lamps.

They stood in the damned silence for a moment, before Mr. Shelby cleared his throat. “You live there alone?”

The question was slightly off-putting. Employer or not, being asked that question so late at night by an almost stranger was certainly... uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Anna answered quickly. “I used to live on the next street over with my aunt.”

“I live around there.” He motioned to the other street with the jerk of his head.

“Whereabouts?”

“Watery Lane.”

“I’ll be,” Anna replied, warming up. Perhaps pretending to be a little chummy wasn’t too terrible after all. “I suppose that makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

He hummed in response, never looking directly at her, instead, his eyes were fixated on the building in front of them.

Sensing that the conversation was ready to come to an end, Anna took a few steps backward toward her flat.

"I won't keep you any longer. I'd invite you in for tea, but I suspect I'd be poor company. I could fall asleep at any moment." She felt stupid, filling the silence when it didn't need to be filled.

He tipped the brim of his cap to her.

“Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Shelby.”

“It was no trouble.”

A lie, she thought. It was late and dark and cold. It was certainly trouble for him. But, she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

Anna stopped short on the front steps when she heard him say her name.

“Goodnight, Anna.”

As she turned around to look at him, he was already walking away.

Hell, she didn’t even know his name.

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament ━ MASTER POST

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

ALL CHAPTERS BELOW

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Three

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

It was cold and dark by the time he reached The Garrison. The air was painfully frigid, so much so, that each inhale he took felt like a whip cracking to his chest. The year would soon be coming to a close, and winter was just beginning.

He needed a drink, and someplace to drown out the quiet before settling in for the night with his pipe. It was almost midnight, and Harry would be closing down the pub soon.

Tommy spent the better part of his day at Charlie Strong’s Yard, doing yet another once over of the stock inside of the crate that they found. They counted each item once, twice, three times- just to make sure it was real after all, and not some sort of fever dream.

Oh, and it was fucking real all right. 25 automatic machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammo, and a plethora of pistols.

The next order of business was figuring out what they were going to do with them, or rather, where they were going to put them. What a headache. One thing he knew for certain was that someone was going to realize this cargo had gone missing soon enough, and when that happened, he needed a plan.

Stolen guns aside, he had also spent a great deal of time trying to track down his brothers so they could purchase another horse for the upcoming races. Normally, he could do this on his own, but he had bigger ideas in mind. Bigger ideas that he needed his brothers for.

Now, getting the two of them in the same place at the same time was another hassle within itself, not to mention an additional headache.

Harry was behind the bar, humming to himself and organizing the racks of booze against the back wall, label facing front. At the sound of the door jingling, the barkeep lazily glanced over his shoulder with a yawn. Upon realizing who walked through the doors, he cleared his throat and sheepishly wiped his hands on his apron.

“Ah, Mr. Shelby, good evening,” His voice wavered. “How can I help you?”

Tommy nodded his head toward a particular bottle while shrugging off his coat.

He leaned against the bar then, waiting for his hands to warm up while Harry prepared his drink. He listened to the sounds of glasses clattering together, a bottle being uncorked, Harry’s hurried footsteps on the floor, the buzzing of the lights above. No factory machinery whirring in the background, no, it was far too late for that.

“Today was her first day, you know.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, unsure of who Harry was speaking about until it clicked. The favor for his aunt, that’s whose first day it was.

Truthfully, he hadn’t given the girl a second thought since he last spoke to her, and that was a few days ago now. Codwell? Coldwell? He couldn’t remember her surname. Her first name, on the other hand, was simple enough to recall. Anna. It was Anna.

“Miss Caldwell, that is.” Harry continued, clearly recognizing the confusion on his face.

Caldwell. Well, he was close.

“Is she still here?”

“Yes,” The barkeep jerked his chin toward the back room. “In the back.”

Tommy retrieved his cigarette case from his coat and placed it on the bartop, perching an unlit stick between his lips. “How’d she do?”

“She did fine,” Harry shrugged mid-pour, with a small smile growing on his face. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “It’ll take some getting used to, I’d reckon. I’m not sure if she’s ever handled liquor in her life, but she’s a hard worker.” His tone was light, jovial almost.

Tommy sighed heavily through his nostrils while lighting the cigarette. A hard worker. Polly said the same damn thing.

Harry left him alone then and went about tidying up the bar. Sweeping the floor, cleaning soap scum from glasses. Meanwhile, Tommy switched between smoking and drinking, each vice warming his chest. He listened to all of the sounds, broom bristles against the floor, Harry humming, glass colliding with the bartop.

Amidst this, he saw a figure step into the room from the corner of his eye. He didn’t bother to look over, because it could have only been her, Anna. It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat that he finally turned his head toward her.

She stood there, looking more diminutive than he initially realized. And tired. Her hair fell in loose waves around her, certainly not as neat as it had been before. No lipstick, either. Her blouse stuck out the most to him- it was covered in stains, each splotch in varying sizes and colors. A stark contrast to how buttoned up and proper she looked the other day. A rough first day, he imagined. It was almost comical.

He turned away to hide the smirk that grew on his lips while taking a slow sip from his drink. He hoped Polly was happy, he got the girl a job.

After a bit of small talk (he fucking hated small talk), it was time for him to take his leave. He got what he came for, a drink and some time to think.

He stubbed out the remnants of his dwindling cigarette on the cobblestone ground when he walked outside, deciding that he would light a fresh one almost immediately. Something to keep his mind busy while he walked home. It was far too cold for anything else.

He reached a hand into his jacket, fumbling for the cigarette case when his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar, a piece of cardstock. Confused, he pulled it out, and upon a further glance, it was her crumpled-up resume.

That was when the snow started falling. He stopped walking, barely flinching when the first few snowflakes hit the exposed part of his neck.

Her hands. He thought of her hands. He didn’t look at her hands this time.

He tucked the paper back into his coat and sighed, his breath fogging the air in front of him. He turned over his shoulder, and he saw her. The flickering street lights cast a warm glow over her as she stood there, bundled up in a coat far too big for her frame, staring right back at him.

They both looked at each other for a moment, possibly minutes, before he turned away and kept walking.

She was just another investment for the business and based on her appearance tonight, she’d be a poor one at that.

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The snow from a few nights ago melted just as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but muddy puddles in its wake. Earlier in the day, Tommy had managed to track his brothers down, which was no simple task.

The three of them were on their way to The Garrison to drink, no surprise there, and to discuss plans for acquiring a new racehorse. An Appaloosa, to be exact. A young, flighty, and fast mare. With enough training, it would be perfect for the tracks. Tommy was almost certain of that.

The seller was from one of the riverside camps outside of the city, someone Polly had known from a long time back. This led Tommy to believe that the horse was no doubt stolen, especially since there weren’t many Appaloosas around these parts, which made it all the better deal. He’d probably be able to buy the damned thing at a discount.

“You hear? There’s a new girl working at The Garrison.” Arthur’s voice, loud and gruff, interrupted his thoughts. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Some posh bitch, yeah?” John asked.

“She’s posh?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “What’s she doing here?”

“Dunno,” John shrugged. “Heard some people say she sounds posh. Haven’t seen her yet myself.”

Tommy was walking a few steps ahead of them, rolling his eyes. They were fucking stupid.

“You think she’s pretty?” John quipped with a grin.

“I’d bet she is,” Arthur replied.

“You wanna put a wager on it?”

“Oh, I’ll put a fuckin’ wager on it.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his brothers, watching as they spit and shook hands on it. Stupid.

It appeared to be a slow afternoon at the pub, with only a few men at the bar and a tiny handful of people scattered around various tables. Harry stood behind the bar, raising a hand to him in greeting while he spoke to other patrons. His brothers all but stumbled into the snug, laughing about who would win the wager. Tommy shook his head.

Anna, however, was nowhere in sight. He thought she’d be attached to the hip with Harry, like a dutiful trainee. It had been a few days since he was last at The Garrison, since the last time he saw her with the stained blouse, and almost a little over a week since he first met her. Maybe she quit. A pity, he supposed, Polly said she was struggling. But it was no skin off his nose. If she couldn’t handle the work, then maybe it was for the best.

He caught Harry’s attention and motioned with his head toward the private room. “We’ll be in the snug.”

His brothers were already lounging in the booth. John chewing on a toothpick and Arthur slinging his arms over the back of the seat.

“I’d bet- not pretty. I heard she sounds like one of those London girls who get too drunk at the clubs and take a cab here by accident.” John grinned, emphasizing each word with a point of his finger.

“No, no,” Arthur shook his head. “If people are talking, she has to be pretty.”

“You wanna place a bet, Tommy?” John turned toward him, still grinning with the pick between his teeth.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” His younger brother huffed.

“Already seen her,” Tommy answered from over his shoulder as he hung his winter coat on the rack.

“And?” They asked in unison. “Is she pretty or not?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Tommy shook his head. “It would ruin the bet.”

“When did you see her?”

“Who do you think hired her?” Tommy deadpanned.

“When were you going to tell us?” John retorted.

“She’s a fucking barmaid. They’re two a penny around here,” Tommy rolled his eyes, taking his cap off and shoving it into the pocket of his tweed jacket. He finally slid into the booth beside Arthur with a sigh. “It’s not important.”

The shutters to the bar above flew open, and Harry’s head popped through.

“A round of beers for us,” Tommy waved a hand at the barkeep. “Is she here?”

“Miss Caldwell?” Harry blinked. “Uh, yes, she’s in the back.”

Didn’t quit, then.

“ Miss,” John scoffed under his breath, elbowing Arthur in the side. “She’s a Miss .” Arthur started laughing too.

“Have her serve us. Consider it part of her training.”

John particularly seemed to get a kick out of that line.

Harry slowly nodded and closed the shutters.

Soon enough, there was a brisk knock at the main door to their private room. Tommy sat closest to the door and reached for the knob to open it.

Anna stood there, gripping a steel pail filled with beer. She looked at him first, a small smile on her lips. Still no lipstick. Her hair was neatly arranged with curls to her collarbone, just as it was when he first saw her. She was dressed head to toe in dark green, save for the worn cotton apron tied around her waist. No stains on her blouse this time, either.

“ Miss,” John tipped the brim of his cap to her. Arthur chuckled beside him.

“Good afternoon,” She gently placed the pail on the table, smoothing her hands over her apron after doing so. “I’ll be right back with your glasses.”

The way she spoke, crisp and clean, each word clipped and flowing. Something wasn’t right.

When she returned, she dunked each glass into the pail and wiped the remaining droplets from the sides with a fresh cloth before serving each of them. Tommy had to stifle a laugh. What a neat and careful touch.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Tommy shook his head, still smirking, and waved a hand at her. “That will be all.”

She gave them a curt nod and stepped out of the room.

As soon as the door closed, Tommy tilted his head toward his brothers. “Who won?”

John shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh, sliding a few bills across the table toward Arthur.

“I bloody knew it,” Arthur grinned, tucking his winnings into his jacket. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and pointed a finger at his brother. “ This is your comeuppance for cheating at cards the other day.”

“Oh, shut up,” John rolled his eyes and flicked the toothpick to the floor. “I’m paying you your dues. She’s pretty enough.”

“How’d you find her anyway, Tom?” Arthur turned his attention to him, beer in hand.

“I didn’t find her,” Tommy brought his own glass to his lips and shrugged. “Polly did. She asked me to give her a job.”

“How the hell did she find her?” John’s eyes darted between the two of them. “She must be from London or something.”

“Something about a woman from church, I’m not a fucking psychic.” Tommy rolled his eyes. He could feel another headache coming on. “Ask her yourself.”

“You think she’s a whore?” John asked, earning a clap on the shoulder from Arthur. “How much, do you think?”

Another headache was definitely coming on now.

“Let’s talk about the fucking horse, and then we can speculate if she’s a whore or not, yeah?”

His brothers were fucking stupid, gawking over something new and shiny.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy was the last to leave the snug, insisting that he wanted to finish another cigarette. When he was finally alone, he stepped out into the pub. The afternoon was rolling into the evening, and the sinking sun cast a gilded orange glow over the room. Upon his first glance, it looked like he was the last person left in the pub. The last person except for her.

Anna was behind the bar, her face still and serious while she wiped down a glass. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that she looked up.

“Mr. Shelby,” She set down the glass on the bartop. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head. “I was looking for Harry.”

“He had to step out for a moment, there’s no more ice.”

“Ah,” He placed his cap on his head. “I’ll come back another time then. Good day.”

Tommy turned on his heel toward the door but stopped short when he heard her speak again. He glanced at her from over his shoulder.

“You can call me Anna, by the way.” She was smiling. “It’s been hard enough trying to get Harry to use my name. Always ‘ miss’ around here.”

“Noted.”

He noticed her face drop at his response, or lack thereof, rather. But just as quickly, she started smiling again. She looked away from him and smoothed all of her hair over one shoulder, not a single red ringlet out of place. She reached for the rag she was cleaning with before and went back to work.

He wasn’t sure what came over him, a sudden sense of good nature perhaps, but he decided he’d throw her a bone. He adjusted his cap on his head and turned to fully face her now.

“Harry says you’re a hard worker.”

She laughed at that. Honestly laughed. He knew it was real because it was soft at first, the sound rich and gentle until it ended with a snort. Her cheeks started to tinge pink, at the snort, he guessed. She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head.

“Excuse me for laughing. He’s too kind, really.” Her eyes darted from him to the rag in her hands, and then back to him. “I’ve been trying my best, but I think I’m making a mess of things. I’m sure the sorry state of my apron can attest to that.” She took a step back and tugged on the hem of the apron.

“Nothing on the blouse this time.”

Her lips parted slightly, no doubt surprised. And then she started laughing again. “You noticed that from the other day?”

He shrugged, the ghost of a smirk quirking at the corner of his mouth. “Hard not to.”

“I hope you’ll never have to see me in such a mess again. For both of our sakes.”

Tommy glanced at her hands. Still smooth.

Clearing his throat, he tipped the brim of his cap to her. “Anna.”

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That night, while he sat awake in bed, staring at the wall, he thought of her laugh. It was unbecoming for her, he thought.

John was right, she did seem like one of those London girls who got too drunk and mosied on up here by accident. She certainly spoke like one and carried herself like one, too.

The whole thing was unbecoming.

He did think she was pretty, though. He wouldn’t tell his brothers that.

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament — a tommy shelby fanfiction

My good friend surprised me with a portrait of my OC, Anna, and created this mood board for the fic! I am so in love, and wanted to share it with you all.

I mostly post on AO3 (my username is firstfrost, I would add a link but I have noticed that Tumblr has been finicky with links in posts as of late), I have a major backlog of chapters to upload here!

Thank you all so much for reading! I will be posting all of the chapters within the next few days and creating a masterpost. In the meantime, you can check out the first two chapters on my blog, or head over to my AO3 acc! :)

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter Two

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

Somehow, Anna had collected quite a bit of jewelry in her twenty-three years of living. She never necessarily went out of her way for it- it would just find its way to her. She was enamored by shiny things. You know, the things that glimmered when you held them in the sunlight the right way. Stones, sea glass, gems. Really whatever she could get her hands on. But she was especially fond of sea glass. She always loved sea glass.

It started off with small things at first, like sea glass, when she was a little girl. Because of this love, Magpie was the nickname her grandmother had given her.

Her grandmother would say things like, be careful, you’ll cut your hands on the sea glass, my little Magpie.

When she got older, more so into her teenage years, she would be gifted with various pieces of jewelry for her birthday or other special occasions. Each piece was beautiful, surely. She couldn’t deny the appeal that came with a pair of diamond earrings, those certainly caught in the light well, but she would’ve been just as happy with a particularly glossy stone from a rocky beach. Jewelry, or whatever stone it was, didn’t have to be expensive, she just liked how they glinted in the light. Like a magpie. She felt quite silly about it.

Nevertheless, she preferred sea glass to anything.

Growing up, she kept her entire collection in an ornately carved hope chest at the foot of her bed. There was no organization, no rhyme or reason for the placement of any of it. Of course, she kept the most expensive pieces tucked away in a separate gaudy jewelry box, nested in swaths of black velvet. The hope chest, on the other hand, was entirely in disarray. Anna liked it that way. It was her big box of things.

She brought the hope chest with her when she went to live with her aunt. It was a nightmare to travel with, surely, but it was hers. For the past year it remained at the foot of the bed she shared with her five other cousins. Living with her aunt and cousins under one tiny roof was an adjustment for her. It was different. The war changed a lot.

The war changed everything.

A family torn apart, and a girl sent packing off to her aunt’s home in an unfamiliar factory city hours from the only home she ever knew.

Anna remembered the day vividly. It was in the middle of summer, 1917, and the trip was dreadfully rainy. She traveled by train and cab to get to Birmingham.

When she eventually arrived at her aunt’s doorstep, she was soaked. The brim of her hat drooped under the weight of the rainwater. She knew her aunt was barely scraping by, she had so much on her plate already, she didn’t need the additional burden of a niece added to that roster. Her aunt had five children of her own, a husband away at war- but Anna had nowhere else to go.

So she stood there, surrounded by luggage and suitcases and trunks full of whatever she had left, waiting for her to answer her pleading knocks. When her aunt did open the door, she quickly ushered her niece in and helped her get settled with all of her belongings.

A few weeks later, word reached them that her uncle died in France. Her aunt was frantic after receiving the news, and understandably so. Not only had she lost her husband, but another source of income for the family. There was no one coming home to work in a factory.

Anna began selling whatever items she could to make extra money to cover the cost of a sixth mouth to feed. She sold dresses, silver hairpins, and combs, shoes, miscellaneous books. She sold almost anything and everything. Her belongings were finite, however, and soon enough, she had sold as much as she could.

Except for her jewelry, except for the hope chest.

She had accumulated enough valuables in the chest to scrounge up a few months rent for her own flat. A shabby little place, not too far from where her aunt lived. She even had a little extra money leftover to tuck away for her family, just enough to help them get by for a little while longer. There would be more space at her aunt’s house now that she was gone, too. More room for her cousins in their bed, one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe.

It pained Anna to look at the chest. It pained her even more to open it. Almost everything she had collected was gone. Of course, she kept a few things, the items that were the most precious to her. An opal ring, a pair of diamond earrings, a golden bracelet, a jar full of sea glass. Each unrelated, but with their own meaning.

There was no point in moping around about it. She could spend another twenty-three years collecting more shiny things.

She was learning to make do with what she had.

Of course, now with her own expenses, she was also learning that her money was finite as well. This made her aunt worry for her terribly.

Finding a job had been difficult, to say the least. She spent hours reading through newspaper after newspaper, clipping away at any job advertisement that she thought she could even remotely qualify for. Most of the time, she wouldn’t receive an interview or would be flat-out rejected on the spot.

It was discouraging- but made sense to her. She really was just a girl, from a village barely anyone had ever heard of before, with a resume that was, to put it plainly, terrible. She never held a job before, and her only experience came from a few accounting courses from a couple of summers back. Truthfully, the courses were something to pass the time, to keep her from boredom while the days were long and hot. She never expected to actually need those skills.

One morning, however, there was a series of frantic knocks at her door. It was no one other than her aunt, giddy and exclaiming that she may have found her a steady job.

“I have a friend from church who can help you,” Her aunt said. “She set up an interview for tomorrow, three o’clock. You’ll be speaking with her nephew. She’ll pick you up from the house. She’s a good woman.”

Anna hugged her aunt tightly at the news, a wave of relief washing over her. Until, she realized, that she wasn’t sure what exactly she was interviewing for. That was when the panic started to settle in.

But alas, when fortune drops something valuable on your lap, it’s best not to question it.

That was where she found herself currently, a few days after the interview, staring at her reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror while she got ready for her first day. She was brushing through her hair, smoothing out the curls from the rollers she had slept in. The wan morning light made it a soft auburn that curled down past her collarbones.

She had been ready for work since dawn, and truthfully, even before then. She had a hard time sleeping and chalked it up to be a culmination of nerves for the day ahead of her, and the fact that her flat didn’t feel like a home just yet. In time, she hoped it would.

All throughout the night, the floors creaked, and the pipes hissed. She barely had any furniture, except for a wire bed frame and a hand-me-down mattress she had gotten a deal on. She was also pretty sure that the lock on the front door was broken, so she propped up a chair against the knob and hoped for the best.

Despite all of this, for better or worse, this place was her own. It eased the burden on her aunt.

Anna stood by the window while tucking her cream blouse into the waist of her maroon skirt. She spent the better part of her morning ironing out her clothes, desperately trying to ensure that the linen was fine and creaseless. Her iron was one of the things she couldn’t part with. At the very least, she could look her best with it. Or at least try to.

She glanced at the window one last time before slipping her shoes on by the front door, watching as tiny flurries of snow began to fall onto the city below. She smiled.

It was early this year.

Anna promptly knocked on the door to The Garrison at nine o’clock that same morning. The snow was still falling, each flake thick enough to catch in her hair, a contrast of white on red, but soft enough that it would not stick to the ground, instead, it melted on contact with the muddy pavement. Harry, the barkeep, answered the door.

“Miss Caldwell, good morning.” He took a step to the side so she could enter. His face and nose were flushed red, he must’ve arrived not too long ago himself.

“And to you, Mr. Fenton.” She smiled, her breath turning into clouds as she spoke. “Quite the weather we’re having.”

“I’ll say,” He closed the door behind her and turned the lock. “Haven’t seen snow this early since I was a boy.”

“It’s good luck,” She replied while shrugging her coat off. “They say an early snow brings good fortune.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when my toes are freezing off in the morning,” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Follow me, you can leave your things in the back room.”

Once Anna was settled, she stood behind the bar with her own apron tied around her waist, (already stained, mind you) given to her by Harry. The remainder of the morning was another lesson in “making do” for her. The pub wouldn’t be officially open until noon, so this extra time beforehand was for her to get a feel for everything. To put it plainly, it was additional time to practice.

No matter how hard she tried to mask her nerves and keep her composure, it was like she had two left feet. Spilling drinks, forgetting the difference between vodka and gin, pouring a pint incorrectly, and causing the foam to rise over the rim of the glass.

Despite the extra time she had spent on her appearance, smoothing out any wrinkles on her skirt, curling her hair, and flashing a smile at all times- she couldn’t have felt any more out of place, and painfully unprepared. There was so much on the line for her. She had her own place and an aunt who needed financial help. She would keep trying, she didn’t have any other choice.

Harry was kind to her, and as patient as he could be, but it became quite obvious that she was a terrible bartender. Embarrassingly so. Terrible enough that he insisted that she just watch him for the rest of their shift, assuring her that it was for the best.

“It will be a slow night,” He said, wiping down the remnants of the third pint she had spilled. “A good way for you to learn the ropes. Nice and easy.”

Anna nodded, accepting her wounded pride. In the late afternoon and early evening, business was slow. It was quiet, a few patrons here and there ordering a drink or two. She was able to observe Harry interacting with the regulars and took mental notes of what people seemed to like. She thought it was quite pleasant.

Until it wasn’t a slow night.

Evidently, there was a football game earlier in the day, and all of the men came trailing in afterward. The pub became boisterous and loud. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

“Just work on collecting the empty glasses,” Harry motioned with his head to the cluttered tables from across the bar. “I’ll take care of everything up here.”

Anna nodded, typing the apron around her waist tighter. She weaved through the crowds, deftly trying to avoid any leering gazes or comments. Of course, she made quite a few spills, and mentally kicked herself for being so clumsy, for letting her composure waver. In the beginning, she was slow going back and forth from table to bar, but eventually, she was able to get into a rhythm.

She placed the last few glasses on the bartop, exhaling heavily. The pub was finally empty. She glanced down at her blouse. This morning, the linen was freshly pressed and the color of cream, but this evening, however, it was stained with splotches of beer and other liquors. She frowned.

It was late.

Harry wiped a forearm across his brow. “You did well.”

“You’re very kind,” Anna wiped her hands on her apron, shaking her head. “I did terribly.”

He laughed, quite loudly.

“I’ll finish cleaning up here,” He nodded. “You go catch a breath in the back.”

“No, no, let me help with the clean-up. I made most of the mess.”

“You had a long enough day today, and you’ll have a longer one tomorrow.” He smiled, waving her off with his hand. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

Anna walked into the back room and sighed, collapsing onto a chair. She held her face in her hands. Her body ached, her feet especially, and her head throbbed. But more than anything, she was embarrassed. She was tired and wanted to weep. It was silly. Her first day of work and she wanted to cry. She swallowed sharply and stood up, untying the apron from her waist and tossing it over the back of the chair.

There was no point in crying, she would make do.

When she stepped back into the main room, Harry wasn’t alone anymore. It was the man who she spoke to a few days before, Mr. Shelby, standing by the bar with a glass in front of him. A cigarette dangled between two fingers, the smoke curling in the hazy lights above the bar. He didn’t notice her at first, and if he did, he didn’t make it known.

It wasn’t until Harry cleared his throat, that he tilted his head toward her.

Anna glanced down at her beer-stained blouse and grimaced. She certainly felt like a mess, she could only imagine what she looked like. With a sheepish smile, she combed her fingers through her hair and smoothed it all over one shoulder.

“Miss Caldwell,” He nodded.

“Good evening, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, folding her coat over her forearm.

“Heading home?” He turned away from her.

“Yes, just about.”

“Mrs. Gray instructed me to walk her home on these late nights,” Harry quickly interjected. She could've sworn Mr. Shelby scoffed at that.

“Ah, waiting on me then?” The other man raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, of course not Mr. Shelby.” Harry’s voice wavered. Anna noticed his eyes widening, like he was nervous, almost.

“I’m sure you’re both tired,” He finished the rest of his drink in one swig, and then fully turned to her. “First day, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Anna could feel her face flushing. A disastrous first day, she thought. “Harry was an excellent teacher.” She could see Harry beaming at that comment.

“Ah,” Mr. Shelby nodded, stacking a few coins beside his empty glass. He placed his cap on his head and tipped the brim to the barkeep, “Goodnight.” He paused for a moment, and then he tilted his head toward Anna. “And to you, Miss Caldwell.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Shelby,” She smiled, her cheeks growing warm. “Thank you again, for this opportunity.”

He hummed in response, shrugging on his coat as he walked to the door.

By the time Harry and Anna had locked up the pub and were outside, Mr. Shelby was halfway down the street. She watched as he walked away, unable to tear her attention away from his retreating form.

As if on cue, it started snowing again. The little white flecks looked more like the ashes that spewed from the factory chimneys.

“This way, Miss.” Harry’s voice interrupted her musings. She blushed, feeling silly for mooning over a man she hardly knew.

Just as she was about to look away, she saw Mr. Shelby stop short. Anna’s heart skipped a beat when he turned around and looked at her from over his shoulder.

All was and quiet and cold.

[firstfrostfall]

A Cold Lament - Chapter One

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

“This is a story, told the way you say stories should be told: Somebody grew up, fell in love, and spent a winter with her lover in the country. This, of course, is the barest outline, and futile to discuss. It's as pointless as throwing birdseed on the ground while snow still falls fast. Who expects small things to survive when even the largest get lost? People forget years and remember moments. Seconds and symbols are left to sum things up: the black shroud over the pool. Love, in its shortest form, becomes a word. What I remember about all that time is one winter. The snow. Even now, saying ‘snow,’ my lips move so that they kiss the air.” - Ann Beattie, Snow

WINTER, 1918

Tommy returned from France in the afternoon, after days of riding in a cramped train. Before that, he was crammed in the back of a cattle truck, and before that, well, he was deep underground, caked in mud and blood, digging away in a French tunnel.

It was cold when he stepped off of the cart, shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers and the hundreds of other men who piled onto the platform. Former soldiers, all of them. Former. What did that make them now?

The sky was a broad, gray hand, and the wind smelled like snow. It was that certain smell that came around when the trees were bare and noses were red. Clean and winter, wide open. Like the whole world was about to change.

For two weeks after returning home, Tommy filled his days with other people, so as to avoid the quiet. Work with Polly in the shop, cards with Arthur at the Garrison, guns, and horses with John, nights with the same pool of working girls over and over again. Without people, the emptiness that came along with the quiet consumed him. He tried to remember what he was like, before the war, but he soon learned that it was impossible to recall, because he was in the after now.

At night, he would lie awake in bed, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes to avoid sleep. Not that it came easy to him, anyway. But there were times, albeit few and far between, where he would fall asleep, and he would find the quiet. Or, rather, the quiet would find him.

The quiet parts were all nightmares, dark rivers of mud and lost souls. He could never tell whether they were souls he knew now, or if they were people from the past, soldiers, screaming in voices made of wire. He would wake with a start, panting and covered in sweat, followed by a sense of relief that it was over. It wasn’t real. Sometimes the dreams would follow him during the day, usually in the sounds of shovels scraping against his wall when it was just him, alone in his bedroom, and the only other noise was the heavy thumping of his heart.

When the dreams that chased him into the day became more frequent, the cigarettes in bed turned into a pipe of opium. It kept the quiet out.

There were few opportunities after the war. Most jobs were an exercise in shared misery, toiling away in a factory for 15 hours a day- at least. So, he took matters into his own hands. It started as glancing encounters with petty crimes. Little shipments of illegal goods, a fixed race or two, then a little more, and a little more… Instead of people, Tommy found a new way to keep the quiet at bay.

Organized crime was a lucrative business, after all. Under the umbrella of the Peaky Blinders, it gave his family name a new sense of meaning, a sense of power.

And then, as if by divine intervention, a crate of guns were dropped at his doorstep. From that moment on, just like the smell of snow, the whole world changed. His whole world changed.

THE BRINK OF WINTER, 1919

He was at The Garrison with his brothers, sipping whiskey and listening to the two of them argue. Cards were scattered across the table, each play held in place by half-empty pints of beer and overflowing ashtrays. Their shared cigarette smoke made the air in the tiny room hazy and thick, so much so that Tommy could feel his eyes stinging each time he blinked.

They were in the middle of a card game until Arthur was losing and subsequently blamed it on John for cheating. Arthur had put a heavy wager on himself winning, which was a poor move on his part- John always cheated at cards. Tommy shook his head, their bickering nothing but static in the back of his mind. Another way to keep out the quiet.

Their argument was interrupted by a knock on the window that separated their private room from the bar. Arthur’s words slurred together and bellowed something along the lines of “open up,” at whoever was knocking. The barkeep, Harry, poked his head through.

“Good, uh, morning,” He nodded to the three of them. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but, there’s a boy here asking for Mr. Shelby.”

“Which one?” John laughed, sipping his pint as he elbowed Arthur in the side.

Harry leaned away to shout a question at someone from across the bar, before turning back to them. “Thomas, he says.”

“The one who matters the most,” Tommy deadpanned, a slight smirk on his lips. He waved a hand at the barkeep. “Send him in.”

Harry muttered a quick “yes, sir” and promptly closed the window.

Arthur, who sat closest to the door, kicked it open. A young man, who really was more of a boy, after all, stood before them. Removing his cap and gripping it tightly in between his fingers, he took a few hesitant steps into the snug.

“Mrs. Gray says she needs you at the shop, Mr. Shelby,” He shifted from foot to foot. “At once, she said.”

“At once,” Arthur repeated with a grin, clapping Tommy on the shoulder.  “What did you do now, eh?”

“Looks like I’m on my way to find out,” Tommy pushed himself up from the booth and finished the rest of his whiskey in one swig. “Tell Mrs. Gray I’ll be right there,” He nodded to the boy and flicked a spare coin from his waistcoat at him. “Go on now.”

Tommy shrugged on his cap and jacket and followed the boy out of the pub, a fresh cigarette perched between his lips. He walked through the streets of Small Heath with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching the boy’s pace hasten in front of him from under his cap. The sky was dark, a thick curtain of gray, save for the tiny bulb of sun that just barely broke through the clouds. It was ominous, no doubt threatening a chilling rainstorm later, or perhaps, snow.

It was almost winter again.

He tipped the brim of his cap to the nameless working men who flitted in and out of the betting shop, a cloud of breath escaping their lips with each hurried “G’day, Mr. Shelby” that they gave him in passing.

The shop was busy, filled with the chattering of hopefuls who placed bets, the sound of a man shouting names and scratching too little chalk across the green board. He noticed his aunt, Polly Gray, hunched over a desk, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She fidgeted with a cigarette in between two fingers while she read over what he could only assume was a packet of ledgers.

He stopped short in front of her. “You needed me?”

“Oh, Thomas,” She flicked the ash from her cigarette and sat up, the legs of the chair scraping against the uneven floorboards. “What’s your schedule for tomorrow?”

“Not sure,” He replied, “Depends on who’s asking.”

Polly scoffed, beckoning him to follow with a flick of her wrist. “Your aunt’s asking, come with me.” She led him to their family’s parlor, allowing him to step ahead of her while she drew the curtains that separated them from the rest of the shop.

“I have a favor to ask,” She glanced at him from over her shoulder, balancing the cigarette between her lips while she tied the curtains together tightly. She let out an audible sigh and finally turned around to face him.

Tommy leaned against the wall, still tending to his own dwindling cigarette. “What’s the favor?”

“I need to hire someone.”

“Who?”

“A friend,” She replied. “Well, the niece of a friend.”

“Niece?”

“Are you a fucking parrot?” Polly snapped at him. Shaking her head, she leaned over the table to twist out the remaining stub of her cigarette into an ashtray. “I’d have already hired her myself, but since you’ve been back, I need to jump through a few more hoops before making any executive decisions.” She sighed, clearly bitter. “Nothing gets done without your knowledge.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Who is she?”

“I know her aunt from church, she asked me if I could get her a job.”

“You’re asking me for a favor? For another favor?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Seems like a bad deal to me.”

“I didn’t ask if it was a bad deal or not, I asked if I could hire someone.”

He exhaled, bringing the cigarette to his lips and looking away from her. A headache started building up in the back of his skull. “Why here?”

“She trusts that I’ll look out for her niece,” Polly answered quickly, “She has many children of her own, she can’t afford another mouth to feed anymore. Her husband died in France,” Polly paused, taking a seat at the table. “The bottom line is, she thought to ask me for help, and that means something.”

“What’s the name?”

“Caldwell.”

Tommy remained silent for a long while.

“She’s having hard times, and doesn’t want to kick her own flesh and blood out onto the curb.”

“Aren’t we all having hard times?” He raised an eyebrow.

“She’s desperate. Will you help me, or not?”

“This isn't women’s business.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “Her aunt was good to me, while you boys were away at war, back when it was women’s business,” Polly rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to pay that good nature forward.”

“Since when did you start paying things forward?”

“Since today,” She huffed, “I’ll ask again. Will you help me or not?”

“Why should I waste company resources on a girl we don’t know, for a job we don’t have. Have you met her before?”

Polly glanced away from him, purposefully silent while tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Her aunt says she’s a good girl.”

“A good girl,” Tommy scoffed, dropping the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray at the center of the table. “Exactly what we need, a good girl . So you don’t know her?”

“Says she’s a hard worker too.”

“Do you even know her name?” He narrowed his eyes at her and then added. “Besides the surname.”

Polly avoided his gaze, instead fidgeting with the golden rings on her fingers.

“Would you just give this a chance?” She cleared her throat. “You don’t even have to hire her. But would you at least see her? Interview her?”

“What job am I supposed to interview her for?” He blankly stared at her. “What have you promised?”

“I haven’t promised anything.” Polly continued, “But I know she’s good with numbers. She’s got certifications.”

“Ah, certifications,” He rolled his eyes, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I’d reckon then that she could find a job, literally, anywhere else.”

“It’s not that easy, Thomas,” Polly shook her head, “If you don’t want her working in the shop, we can find something else for her to do. It’ll be my responsibility.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Her aunt trusts me, she knows I’ll look after her. This is important to me.”

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. The headache that started in the back of his skull had traveled all of the way to his forehead now. When he opened his eyes, he saw a worry wracking his aunt’s face. He began walking toward the curtains but stopped short.

“I’ll see her tomorrow,” Tommy turned on his heel to face her, emphasizing each word with a jab of his finger. “Three o’clock at The Garrison. But if she’s even a second late, it’s over.”

Polly smiled, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Tommy tossed a cigarette stub onto the sidewalk and twisted it into the cement with the heel of his shoe. He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and peered at it, then glanced up at the gilded sign of The Garrison. It was almost three o’clock.

I’m asking as a favor, Thomas. Ridiculous. He was quickly learning that most favors were an additional headache for him.

The pub was empty, save for Harry who was wiping down the bar top. The barkeep caught his eye and tilted his head in the direction of a booth, where his aunt and another person sat. From where he stood, the other person was the back of a neat head of red hair. Polly didn’t notice him initially, seemingly engrossed in conversation, so he tipped his cap to Harry and made his way into the private room.

The window to the bar popped open, and the barkeep, ever-dutiful, appeared.

“Whiskey,” Tommy said, never looking directly at him. He took a seat at the booth and dropped his cap onto the empty space next to him. “And tell my aunt that I’ll be waiting in here, I’d like to speak with her first.”

Harry muttered a quick affirmation in response and disappeared from sight. By the time he returned with his drink in hand, there was a brisk knock at the main door to the room. Before Tommy could say anything, the door swung open, and it was Polly who stood there.

“You didn’t even say hello.”

“This is your favor,” He gave her a pointed nod. “Not mine.”

She rolled her eyes.

Tommy jerked his chin toward the pub. “You walked her here?”

“Keep your voice down, she’ll hear you,” Polly glanced behind her quickly and waved a hand at him. “Yes, I walked her here. I wanted to make a good impression.”

“A good impression, eh?” He motioned to her with the drink in his hand. “You’ve got an hour of my time. Bring her in.”

He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what job he was interviewing her for.

Polly couldn’t have left him anymore unprepared. He didn’t know anything about this girl, besides her surname, and perhaps that she could add a few numbers together, and her aunt was poor as the poorest. He vowed, at that very moment, that this would be the last time he would do a favor for anyone ever again.

He had better things to do. Better things that specifically involved a misplaced crate of guns that had fallen right into his lap a few days prior, and were currently gathering dust in Charlie Strong’s yard.

Polly left the door ajar. He turned to the frosted window that gave a blurry view of the streets beyond the pub. The sky was still overcast, just as it was the day before. The clouds were significantly darker, it looked like snow was more likely than rain. Then, an unfamiliar voice tore him from his musings. It was crisp and clear, with an accent that hinted at expensive schooling.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby.”

When Tommy turned to look at her, he wondered if he’d managed at all to mask his surprise. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t… this. By the sound of her accent and smooth skin of her face, this girl, or woman, rather, in front of him couldn’t have been any older than twenty. Young, with fair skin, dressed sharply in a cream blouse and green skirt, not a wrinkle or crease in sight. In one hand, she held a folder, and with the other, she brushed a few auburn curls behind her ear. She looked at him expectantly, giving a flash of a smile framed in bright red lips.

Polly painted him a completely different picture. He assumed this girl would be showing up in moth-eaten clothes, raspy voice from working in a factory of some sort, gangly and thin. She was thin, yes, but didn’t look impoverished. She looked like a high society bitch, dropped in the middle of a dreary factory town. It was humorous, in a way.

He took a measured sip of his drink and motioned for her to take a seat.

“Miss Caldwell, was it?” His voice trailed off as he studied her, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

“Anna,” She answered, smoothing out her skirt on her lap. “Anna Caldwell. Thank you for seeing me today, especially on such short notice.”

He could see why Polly walked her here, and it became quite clear to him that it wasn’t just to make a good impression. She, Anna , that was her name, didn’t fit in around Small Heath one bit. It was evident in the way she was dressed, and the way she spoke.

She looked greener than the fucking grass at Easter. Certainly didn’t fit in around Small Heath. Certainly not fit for waltzing around Small Heath.

“Yes, well,” He cleared his throat, “Polly spoke very highly of your aunt.”

“My aunt speaks highly of her,” She replied. “They got to know each other during the war, as I suppose many women did.”

Tommy nodded, reaching for his drink. For a while, he attempted to make small talk. It was like pulling fucking teeth. Eventually, he reached his breaking point and decided to cut to the chase. One could only talk about the weather for so long. An attractive woman, he supposed, made it easier, but he wasn’t here to make nice with her, he was fulfilling a favor for his aunt. It was a business transaction, as simple as that.

“Why do you need this job?”

“Well,” She opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it, clearly taken aback by the bluntness of the question. “My aunt is a busy woman. I’ve been staying with her for a while now, and I think it’s time that I start finding my own work, to support myself. To ease the burden on her.”

A politer explanation of the situation in comparison to what Polly told him. He suspected it was a half-truth, on Anna’s part.

“I see,” He extended an open hand to her. “You brought a resume?”

Anna nodded fiercely, carefully opening the folder and handing him a thick piece of paper. He took it from her and slowly began scanning each line. She didn’t have much experience, in, well, anything. There were a few CPA courses dated from a couple of years back, a reference or two. No example of any steady job. In fact, she had never worked at all.

“There’s been few opportunities after the war, finding work has been difficult.”

Few opportunities after the war, he hummed at that.

“Where are you from?”

“A little village far from here,” She answered, shaking her head ever so slightly, causing a few strands of hair to fall in her face. “I doubt you’ve heard of it.”

“Humor me.”

“Eastcliff, it’s far south of here.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” He turned the page over. “And you’re living in Birmingham now?”

“Yes,” Anna folded her hands on the table. “A few streets away from this place, actually.” She glanced around the room. “Although I haven’t come around here often.”

He fought a smirk from appearing on his lips. Of course, she’d never come around these parts.

“You took some CPA courses?” He raised an eyebrow, peering at her from over the paper.

She nodded, leaning close to him to point at something on the paper. As he laid her resume on the table, her fingertips brushed across his knuckles. His eyes flicked toward hers and held her gaze. He noticed her cheeks flush, if only slightly when he pulled his hand away. She cleared her throat and tapped a finger on a certain line.

He looked at her hands while she spoke, her words melding together and becoming a lull in the back of his mind. Her hands were smooth, not a callus, or scar for that matter. Not the hands of a factory girl. He glanced up to her face next. Murky blue eyes, fair with a dusting of freckles across her nose, red curls framing her face. No work experience, few references, allegedly from a small village in fuck knows where. It was almost like she appeared out of thin air.

“Well, Miss Caldwell,” He finished the rest of his drink in a single swig. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Gray, and see what we can do.” He reached for her resume, “May I?”

He really had no intention of hiring her. There was no job available, especially since she barely had any experience in, well, anything. It would take a little more than a pretty face to change that. She would turn out to be a bad investment.

“Of course, please keep it.”

Tommy folded it into a small square and tucked it away in his jacket. Standing from the booth, he gestured to the door. “After you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” Anna turned to him, smoothing all of her hair over one shoulder. It was long, he noticed, stopping just below her collarbone. “I appreciate the time you took to speak with me today.”

He shook his head. “It was no trouble.”

Polly approached them from the booth she was sitting at, placing an empty glass on the bartop in the process. “Anna, would you give me a moment with my nephew?”

“Of course,” She nodded, her heels clicking against the floor as she went to retrieve her coat from the booth she was sitting at earlier.

“So?” Polly asked him under her breath, eyes darting between him and Anna. “What did you think?”

Tommy leaned against the bar, watching as the girl bundled herself up in a wool coat and matching hat. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I expect you to do the right thing, and help someone out.”

He rolled his eyes, the right thing. “She doesn’t seem to be struggling,” Tommy jerked his chin to Anna. “Look, she has a nice coat.”

“Oh, please,” Polly hushed, nudging him in the side as she walked by.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby.” Anna waved before stepping out of the pub. “Thank you again.”

“I’ll be right out,” Polly shouted to her when the front door closed with a jingle.

“I don’t know what to say, Pol,” He pulled his cigarette case from his waistcoat and placed it on the bar. “There aren’t any open positions at the shop,” He nodded to the door, “Especially not for a girl like her.”

“What do you mean? I’m sure she’d be a fine secretary.”

Tommy scoffed, perching a cigarette in between his lips. “What do we need a secretary for?”

“Having one would keep the shop running smoothly, we could always use the extra hands there. Doing the boring work you boys don’t like. There’s more to this business than just blood, you know.”

“I told you I’d interview her, and I did.” He cupped his hands around the lighter, waiting for it to catch. “She has barely any working experience on her resume besides a few courses. Hiring her would be a waste of time and resources. How old is she?”

“Twenty-three.”

“In that case, she could make some good money on her back,” He dragged the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“You’re despicable.”

“It’s an option.” He shrugged, glancing at his aunt from the corner of his eye. “I interviewed her. Favor fulfilled.”

“What am I supposed to do? Go out there and tell her there’s no job here for her?”

“This was your idea” Tommy deadpanned. “I already told you what she could do. Plenty of men around here would be willing to pay a pretty penny for a night with her.” He pointed to the door with his cigarette. “I’d bet, barely broken in.”

“Is this fun for you?” Polly snapped, jerking her head toward him.

He chose not to answer.

They stood in bitter silence, save for the sound of Polly incessantly tapping her foot on the ground. He glanced around the empty pub, dim light filtering in from the windows. In a few hours, the place would be booming with people, with just Harry managing the bar by himself. It was fine enough for him to do that during the war, there were barely any men around then, anyway. Nowadays? With the men back and in desperate need to drink away their sorrows, he was in over his head, each and every night.

Tommy grimaced. An idea trickled into his head. He peered at his aunt from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat.

“You’d be doing the girl and her aunt a favor if you just told them to pack off,” He reached for his cigarette case and shoved it haphazardly into his coat. “You had to walk her here, you say she’s good. Why would you even want her working with us in the first place?”

“Her aunt trusts me,” Polly sighed. “She knows I’ll keep an eye on her. Can’t say many other places offer that- peace of mind.”

Tommy hummed in response. He turned on his heel to face the bar and started banging his open palm against the bar top.

Polly raised an eyebrow at him.

Red-faced at the sudden noise, Harry came running from the back room.

“Another drink, Mr. Shelby?” He nodded his head toward Polly, tossing a stained cloth over his shoulder. “Mrs. Gray.”

“No, no drink,” Tommy spoke with a cigarette between his lips. “Are you still hiring?”

“Hiring? For the extra help around here?”

“Exactly that.”

Harry paused, glancing from Tommy to Polly then back again.

“Well, uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

Tommy tilted his head to Polly. “Would you look at that?”

Harry knelt behind the bar and began rifling through the shelves for something. Bottles and other miscellaneous items clattered together while he searched. “I put an advertisement in the paper,” He called from below. Eventually, he stood up and placed a crumpled newspaper in front of them. “Not many applicants, though.”

“You’re kidding, Thomas.” Polly took a step closer to the bar.

Tommy thumbed through the newspaper to the advertisement section. He scanned through each job posting line by line, until one, in particular, caught his eye.

“Here we are,” He folded the paper and handed it to Polly, tapping a specific headline with his finger. She snatched it from him and brought it close to her face, eyes narrowing at the fine print.

“She’s never done this kind of work before,” She muttered, never looking directly at him.

That was evidently clear to him. Her hands were a dead giveaway. He still wasn’t even sure if she had done any kind of work before. “You said she’s a hard worker, eh? There’s always time to learn.”

Polly didn’t reply, still clutching the newspaper tightly. She shook her head.

“You can go out there and tell her that it’s either this,” Tommy motioned to the pub around them. “Or on her back. It’s your choice.”

She glared at him, her lips forming a tight-line. Lifting her chin, she tucked the newspaper under her arm. “I’ll show her the advertisement.”

“She’ll be on the company payroll.” He raised his cigarette to her. “Favor fulfilled, Pol, and then some.”

Polly wordless turned on her heel and adjusted the velvet cap on her head. The door to the pub jingled as she stepped out.

“How about that drink?”

Tommy gave him a curt nod. He rested his elbows on the bartop, staring at the glossy wood.

“Huh, would you look at that,” Harry muttered as he uncorked a bottle. “It’s snowing. Early this year, isn’t it?”

Glancing out of The Garrison’s frosted windows, he saw that it had indeed started to snow. Tommy pulled the cigarette from his lips and sighed.

He swore that he had no intention of hiring her.