#charlotte shelby

[punkybrewstertoo]

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Three

Walking into Charlotte’s room, Tommy was unprepared for the sight in front of him. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Looking around there was furniture, glass, blood, and books strewn about. Taking in the mess, the people, and the cacophony of voices, it was all too much.

“...I swear to God if you come at me...”

“...Just hold still...”

“...I’ll sit on you if you don’t stop it...”

“...He’s bringing the whisky...”

“...Get your fucking hands off of me...”

“...It’s got to come out...”

“...Watch the shoulder...”

“...I will cram this rag down your throat...”

“...Calm down...”

“...Strangle you in your sleep...”

“Enough!! Shut up, all of you! Shut up!” The room went quiet as the words left his mouth, all four faces in the room noticing him standing there for the first time. Each family member froze in place like a photograph.

Polly was standing near the window, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly trying to stave off a headache. Charlotte lay on the floor, John straddling her, arms pinned above her head. Esme had a towel in one hand, his sister’s leg in the other, kneeling in a small pool of blood.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What is happening here?” As John, Polly, Esme, and Charlotte all started to speak at the same time, he raised his voice again to be heard over their squabbling, “Esme! Only Esme, answer my question.” Charlotte took a breath and started to speak.

“Did I say ‘Charlotte answer my question’? No. I said ‘Esme’. Shut your mouth, Charlie. Esme, please, go on. Nobody will interrupt you.” Waving his arm in a theatrical gesture he urged her to speak.

“Right. Well, obviously she fell and managed to knock over a few things–”

Attempting to interrupt Charlotte started, “But it was–”

Glaring down at her, Tommy cut her off, “I clearly remember telling you to shut it not ten seconds ago.”

Glaring back at him she kept her mouth closed and allowed Esme to continue. “Now, as you probably heard, Arthur was able to put her shoulder back into place, so that’s good and done. But there’s this piece of glass here. I’ve got to remove it, but she won’t stop moving so it keeps bleeding and the cut is getting worse. It’s not too bad, it’ll only need a few stitches. But it will need stitches. There’s a cut on the top of her head, but it doesn’t look too serious.” Taking a breath she looked around the room, “And other than the mess, I think that’s it.”

Nodding at her assessment Tommy asked, “What do you need from us?” Taking a second Esme thought to herself before speaking, “I need a knife or scissors to cut this fabric away from her leg. I need some cocaine mixed with a bit of water, to create a paste to numb the cut for stitches. I need that whisky your holding. And honestly, this would all be easier if we weren't all on the floor.” As an afterthought, she added, “And if Charlotte would sit still.”

Nodding at her instructions, Tommy ordered, “John, why are you sitting on her like that? Get offa her, and help her sit up. She’s not some pig that needs wrangling.”

Scoffing John tried to explain the situation, “She won’t sit still and let Esme work. Keeps trying to go after Arthur.”

Pointing a finger at her to get the girl’s attention, Tommy told her, “Charlie, stop thrashing around like a child. Besides, Arthur’s long gone.” Leaning down he handed a bottle of whisky to Charlotte, before passing the other to Esme, “Take this and start drinking.”

Taking the bottle of whisky from him, Charlotte looked unsure. “You’re gonna wanna start drinking that now.”

Brining the bottle to her mouth and taking a drink, Charlotte winced as the burn hit her throat, “This stuff is shit.” She complained looking up at him.

“The point is to get you drunk off you ass. Not to enjoy it. I’m not pulling out the good stuff to get my sister toasted. Now keep drinking.” Looking to the other occupants in the room he continued on, “Polly, you got scissors in that sewing box there? John, help me get her up and on the bed. Esme, you wanna get that chunk out of her leg before or after we move her?”

Looking up at him from her position on the floor Esme replied, “I need to get it out before you move her. But you gotta be careful of her shoulder — we’ll need a sling for that too. And I don’t think you’ll want her on the bed. Too much blood. The downstairs table would be better.”

Grinning at his sister John said, “Looks like you’re breaking free one way or another.” Grimacing as she continued to take big gulps of the whisky Charlotte questioned, “Esme, is there any way to shut him up? His voice is giving me a headache.”

Smiling at Charlotte, Esme pushed her husband out of the way and got back to business. “Can we do this now? When I take this out, I’ll wrap this towel around it to stop the bleeding. Then one of you needs to pick her up and carry her down to the table.”

Taking the scissors and cutting open Charlotte’s trouser leg, Esme instructed Charlotte to lay down and hold still. “Alright, here we go.” Pressing down in Charlotte’s leg with one hand, she yanked the shard of ceramic out with her other. Then, almost too quickly for anyone to notice, Esme took the second bottle of whisky and poured it over Charlotte’s leg.

Charlotte let out a coughing sob and her body spasmed upward, a silent scream leaving her mouth, unable to do much of anything else due to the combination of pain and liquor.

Reaching forward, Esme tied up the gash with a towel and gestured for Tommy to pick up his sister. “Sorry about that, Charlie. I had to make sure it was cleaned. But it’s done now, so let’s get you up and downstairs so we can finish this.” Sitting up in a daze, Charlotte brought the bottle to her lips once more, chugging to numb the pain.

Kneeling by his sister, Tommy announced, “That is probably enough of that.” And taking the bottle from her hand he realised that she’d managed to consume three fourths of the bottle, and she’d done so in about five minutes time. He had no doubt that by the time Esme started to stitch her up with a needle, she’d be three sheets to the wind.

Passing the bottle off to Polly, Tommy reached under and picked up his sister. One arm under her knees and the other at her back in a bridal style, he tried not to put too much pressure on the open wound. Holding his sister in his arms he instructed his brother, “John, check the smallest drawer at my desk. You’ll see what Esme needs in there.”

“What is it?”

“Just look, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

John nodded and left. Tommy followed, walking out of the room and toward the stairs, when he realised that Charlotte was shaking in his arms. “You ok there, Charlie?”

Pressing her face into his chest she shook her head.

“I don’t wanna do this. It doesn’t feel like I need stitches. I can tell. Don’t make me do this.”

Tommy tried to comfort her, “Don’t worry, Charlie, you’re not gonna feel a thing. That whisky you drank will make you numb through and through. Just give it another five minutes you’ll be so gone you won’t remember any of this in the morning.”

Setting her on the table Charlotte looked up at him, “That’s what Arthur said... He said not to worry that it wasn’t gonna hurt. And then it did hurt. It hurt a lot.”

“Do I lie to you Charlie? Have I ever lied to you?”

Staring at him blankly she replied, “You told me that the war would be over by Christmas.”

It was like a sucker punch to the gut. She knocked the wind outta him with just her words. As Esme and Polly rushed around them in the kitchen, Tommy tried to find an explanation for his sister.

“I know I said that– It’s just– I didn’t– We thought–” Not knowing how to respond, he found himself rambling.

Taking a breath he pushed on, “I know I said that, Charlie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I told you that.”

Leaning in to her, he kissed the top of her head.

Rushing down the stairs John interrupted, holding out a vial of cocaine in his hand. “Here ya go, Tom.”

Smacking his hand away Tommy demand, “Do I look like I need that? Give it to your wife.”

Noticing the small blue vial in her brother’s hands Charlotte asked, “Is that snow? Why’d you got snow, Tom?”

Trying to hold her alcohol riddled brain together Charlotte knew there was something about cocaine that she was suppose to tell Tommy. Or was it something she wasn’t suppose to tell him about? Damn it. She couldn’t remember. Thinking hard she barely heard Tommy’s response, telling her to mind her own business.

Finally getting the numbing paste finished up, Esme instructed Charlotte, “You go ahead and lie down now Charlie. I just need you to lie flat ok? I’m going to put this paste on your leg and let it sit for a couple of minutes. You hear me?”

Closing her eyes and laying back on the table, Charlotte responded to her sister-in-law, “I hear ya. Lay still. I’m on it. I’m laying. And I’m very still.”

She paused for a minute and then started up talking again, “Where'd you learn to be so smart, Esme? How’d you know doctoring? You got everyone, even Tommy, following your orders. That’s how I know you’re smart.”

“Oh, here we go.” John muttered under his breath, knowing that the whisky was starting to take over both Charlotte’s brain and mouth.

Taking a breath, Charlotte didn’t give Esme a chance to answer her questions before rattling on, “You know Ada, right? Our sister. You remember her? She couldn’t sit still through one single nursing class before she got bored. Ran out with her friends to do... I don’t know... Whatever it is she does when she’s not in bed with Freddie.”

John and Polly laughed as Tommy tried to get his sister to shut up, “Alright, I think that’s probably enough talk about Freddie and Ada. Completely ignoring him as if he hadn’t said a word, she went on, “Oh, boy, Ada’s gonna be mad at you all... She’s gonna be real mad.”

Nearly bursting with joy, laughing at his sister’s drunken ramblings John asked, “Why’s that, Lottie? What’s happening that she’s got to be mad over?”

Smacking his head, yet wearing a grin across her face, Polly attempted to admonished him, “Don’t you encourage her.”

Explaining herself, Charlotte started in, “Well, first you cut up the new trousers she got me. Then you go handing me an entire bottle to drink. She’s gonna feel left out. I know she will. Ada likes to be part of things. She misses us, I can tell. Can’t you tell, Tom? She misses you. I know you’re serious businessman, Mr. Tommy Shelby. But I can tell you miss her too. You probably miss her more than–”

Once again interrupting her ramblings, Tommy started in, “Alright Charlie. I think that’s enough. Why don’t you just relax. Huh?”

Stubborn indigence filled her voice, “Yeah, alright. But I want a story. Like before the war. Tell me a story, Tommy. Tell me one I haven’t heard before.”

Joining in with a sing song tone John added, “Oh yes, Tommy! Tell us a story!”

Completely unaware of John’s joke Charlotte continued, “Tell me a story about Mom. It’ll be ok, because I won’t remember. So you can’t be sad.”

Laughing John added, “It’s hard to argue with that logic. Just give us a bloody story, Tom. Don’t deny the poor girl her last wish. Look at her, lying there, dying, half naked–”

“I’m not naked, stupid! It’s only me leg. You’ve seen a leg before, haven’t you?”

Indignant at her name calling, John asked his sister, “Who you calling stupid?”

As Tommy threw a bloody towel across the room to shut his brother up, Esme’s voice rang out, “Alright, I think the wound is sufficiently numb. Why don’t you boys clear out. We don’t need an audience for this.”

Reaching over and clinging to Tommy, Charlotte started to panic, “No, no, no, no. I need you to stay, everyone else can go. I need a story.”

Relieved for an excuse to avoid telling a story to his sister with an audience, Tommy tried to calm her, “You heard the nurse, Charlie. John and I are just going into the shop to get some work done. You’ll be fine here. You got Aunt Pol to take care of ya.”

Still clutching his arm she tried to whisper to him, “But Pol is fucking awful at stories.” As her “whisper” reached the ears of everyone in the kitchen Polly snorted.

Laughing as she waved for him to sit, she went into the shop with John. Closing one of the doors she told them, “She’s not wrong. I’m shit for stories. You stay with her, Thomas.”

Watching their aunt walk away, Esme got down to business. Sterilising the needle and thread Esme eyed him before speaking to Charlotte, “Alright, Charlie, I’m gonna start now. Just try to lie there. Alright?”

Nodding at her orders, Charlotte turned her head away from Esme and the sewing needle.

As the needle entered her flesh Charlotte gasped, her eyes went wide, and tears brimmed their edges.

Giving in to his sisters demands, Tommy asked, “Has anyone ever told you about the time Arthur stole a pie to give to the new school teacher?”

Without waiting for her response he continued on to tell the tale of the oldest Shelby brother’s attempts to woo the pretty young school teacher. “Obviously Arthur didn’t have the brains to impress her with his intelligence, so he decided to knock her stockings off with a homemade pie. Only problem was, Mom had made the pie to take to the minister’s house that Sunday. With the beating she gave him once he confessed, you woulda thought that Arthur had damned all our souls to hell — all over one little pie. Worst part was, that teacher didn’t even last the year. At some point she found out she was up the duff, and left Birmingham to live with her family in the country.”

“Poor Arthur.”

“Poor Arthur, my ass. Don’t ever feel sorry for that man. He deserves everything that ever came to him.”

At this, Esme cleared her throat and announced, “Alright you two, my work here is done.” Snipping off the thread used for stitching she told them, “I’ll come by later this evening with bandages and salve. You’ll need to keep that covered for about a week. I’ll check in every now and then to make sure it’s healing good. Don’t go climbing or running around, it’ll rip the stitches, and we’ll have to do this all over again.”

Thanking his sister-in-law for everything, Tommy readied to scoop up Charlotte to take her back upstairs. “You ready to go back to your room, jailbird?”

Barely able to open her eyes she nodded at him. Pale and sweaty, she was clearly strung out on blood loss, pain, and alcohol. This girl was ready to sleep it all off.

Carrying her back up the stairs and settling her into bed Tommy gave her strict instructions to stay put. No more cleaning, and if she needed anything, just to give a shout. He tried to keep his orders simple enough that she’d remember once the alcohol wore off.

Agreeing to his commands she rolled over and mumbled something into her pillow.

“What’s that? You talking to me or the pillow?”

Turning her head she drew out her words as if she were speaking to a child, “I said, Do. You. Wanna. Hear. Something?”

“Sure, make it quick. What do you got to say?” Looking to the folding clock on her table he could see that the day was getting on, and he still had work to take care of.

Removing her face from where she’d planted it in her pillow, she sat up and looked around the floor. “You see a blue book around here? Not for reading. A writing book — like from school.” Looking under the bed Tommy grabbed the book in question and handed it to her.

Flipping through the pages looking for something particular she told him, “I’ve wanted to share this for awhile. But now seems like a good time.”

Curiously watching her he asked, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you shared something with me. So I’ll share something with you.” Nodding as if to finalise her statement she continued, “But you gotta close your eyes. I can’t do it with you watching. So just close your eyes, alright?”

“Sure, but what are you on about?”

Exasperated she demanded, “Just close them!”

Closing his eyes he tried to be patient as he heard pages rustling and she cleared her throat.

“Ok, now keep ‘em closed. And remember it’s better when there’s instruments. But don’t say anything.”

Ever so quietly she started singing, her alto voice breathy but strong.

“Oh, the desert dreams of a river

That will run down to the sea

Like my heart longs for an ocean

To wash down over me.”

“Oh, won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love.”

Opening his eyes as she sang, her voice gained strength and volume. Hey eyes were closed, the book laying open in her lap, words scribbled across it’s pages. Smiling while she continued her song she seemed to be strumming the air as if she were playing a guitar.

Given that not a single person in the Shelby home had ever played, let alone owned a guitar, he thought it seemed unlikely that Charlotte had picked up the instrument somewhere along the way. Pushing his thoughts aside he sat back and continued to watch and listen.

“Oh, the outcast dreams of acceptance,

Just to find pure love's embrace

Like an orphan longs for his mother.

May you hold me in your grace.”

“Won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love.”

“Won't you take me from this valley

To that mountain high above?

Oh I will pray, pray, pray

Until I see your smiling face.

I will pray

To the one I love.”

As she finished the song she opened her eyes, startled to see him staring back at her. “You were suppose to keep your eyes closed.”

Apologising he told her, “I’m sorry — I'm no good at following orders. But that was really nice Charlie, where’d you hear that?”

Shaking her head at him, she looked down, flipping through the pages of her school book. “I didn’t hear it anywhere. It’s mine. I made it. Well, Johnny helped me. But it’s mostly mine.”

Confused, Tommy asked, “You and John are singing music together?” John wasn’t one for singing, he sure as hell couldn’t picture the two siblings writing a song together.

Interrupting his thoughts Charlotte drawled, “Johnny. John. NEE. Johnny. Not John. Don’t be daft. John Shelby couldn’t hold a musical note if his life depended on it.”

Still not quite understanding what his sister was telling him, Tommy tried to get more information out of her. “Johnny Dogs? You two are writing music together? When?”

Tossing her book to the ground she laid down, pulled up her quilt, and closed her eyes. “You’d be surprised at the things I do when you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m sure I would be. Would you care to elaborate?”

“No.”

Trying to keep an even tone, he told her, “How about you try, or I’ll go hunt down Dogs meself and cut the story outta him.”

Still not opening her eyes she responded, “No. Sorry. Can’t. Dogs says it’s our secret. The whole thing is. You can’t be part of it. You and Arthur and John, you always get into everything. This is mine. Only for me. And it’s my secret.”

“Charlotte...”

“Won’t you leave me be now? You got me all drunk, stuck sewing needles in me, and now me head is fuzzy and sleepy.”

Well, the drunk girl in front of him did have a point. With nearly an entire bottle of whisky pumping through her, the story she was telling him could easily be equally as true as is was a fabrication of her imagination.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be. But you’re gonna have to tell me the truth sometime.”

Growling at him, he could practically hear her eyes rolling. “Jesus, you’re demanding. You know Ada says you weren’t like this before.”

Stand up to take his leave Tommy told her, “You and I both know Ada says a lot of things, most of them rubbish.”

Finally opening her eyes she glared up at him, “Sometimes I don’t wanna be one of you. It’s hard ya know? Being a Shelby. Ada had the right idea — don’t be one of us anymore. She’s lucky. And I’m stuck here with you lot.”

Not willing to have any kind of argument with a drunk child, Tommy told her, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Ada is the lucky one. But unfortunately for you, you’re stuck here with us until I say so. And I’ll promise you this, you’ll not be getting married any time soon, princess.”

Leaving the room he could hear her question softly, “But, did you like it? My song...”

“Of course I did. It was beautiful, both the song and your voice. Now please, Charlie, go to sleep.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btcGAAahSTs

#polly shelby #polly gray #arthur shelby #tommy shelby #john shelby #ada shelby #ada thorne #charlotte shelby #peaky blinders #peaky sister #oc shelby #shelby sister #shelby family #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinders family #peaky family #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blin

[notyour-valentine]

Who's your face claim for Charlotte in WTDMS? :)

I don't have a set faceclaim for any one of my characters if I'm honest. All I can tell you is that Charlotte has light brown eyes (not as dark as Mary) and lighter brown hair than her. She is like a softened version of her.

Others have suggested a few here!

#wtdms #welcome to downton mr shelby #charlotte shelby

[daemonsdarksister]

NO FOOOKING FIGHTING

Tommy Shelby - Peaky Blinders

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #cillian murphy #peakyedit #cmurphyedit #love #tommy x may #otp #may carleton #charlotte riley #tom hardy #alfie solomons #arthur shelby #helen mccrory #thomasshelbyedit #tommy x grace #annabelle wallis

[thomashelbyswife]

Thomas Shelby & May Carleton - Peaky Blinders S2E6

requested by: @shelbydelrey 💛

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #may carleton #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #charlotte riley #thomasshelbyedit #peakyblindersedit #perioddramagif #tv #t'swifesgifs #gif requests are open! #requests

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 1

Summary: Charlotte begins her new life at Arrow House, where things prove to be more daunting than she thought. The first bits of Tommy's past are uncovered

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Tommy being a violent insolent ass. Usage of period accurate ableist terms for a disabled person

Author's note: SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! Life and health got in the way and I had a massive writer's block for this story. This one is more to law background for what is to come but I promise it will be worth! Next chapter is already on the works and I have it mostly laid out

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark

《 Prev part - Next part 》

The clattering of broken porcelain disrupted the peacefulness of the Friday morning, the shards of white and the remnants of breakfast spread over the hand woven carpets. Thomas had launched the plate with masterful precision in what Charlotte could only describe as an adult sized temper tantrum akin to a spoiled toddler. The teacup had followed a similar fate, ruining the expensive fabrics furthermore. 

Charlotte had been working for a little over three weeks in Arrow House, and so far, things had progressed worse than she had originally anticipated. Enough to make her reconsider her vocation.

Thomas Shelby proved himself to be an almost unconquerable adversary, resisting tooth and nail every effort she made to help him in any way, shape or form. He refused aid in leaving the bed and dressing in the mornings, choosing instead to spend the best part of an hour struggling and cursing while Charlotte watched from the side, exasperated at his bullheadedness, but always within reach and ready to jump to his aid. He preferred his hair and beard to grow long and scruffy rather than allow her to give him a trim and shave; when Charlotte told him the castaway look didn’t suit him, he didn’t even cast a shadow of a smile. Any medicine served by her hand would be unjustly spilled or discarded, and even something as innocuous as a glass of water would be treated as if Thomas had been served poison straight from the bottle. She often had to sip or taste foods in front of him to prove she meant no harm.

That morning, he had refused to eat for the second day in a row, demanding to be served only whiskey or gin and his pack of cigarettes. He had been cross from the moment he woke up, all because Charlotte had laid his clothes on his bed within his reach to make it easier for him to dress unaided and grant him a piece of the independence he craved. She had even set a basin and cloth in a stool by the bed so he could have a morning wash to the best of his abilities.

Exhausted already with his mulish behaviour, she sat in front of him, ready to convince him by all means necessary, including force, to get him to have a bite. But no sooner had she sat next to him, he had flipped over the carefully arranged breakfast table, sending scrambled eggs and tea in every direction and destroying a most lovely set of blue crockery. Splatters of food stained the white apron and foresleeves of her uniform. A muscle ticked in her jaw, but she refrained herself from throttling Thomas and instead stood up slowly, hands laced and an amiable smile tugging at her lips, showcasing a patience that had begun to wear thin.

“You have to eat, Thomas” Charlotte spoke slowly, as if that way that man would somehow understand and change his attitude; but sooner would pigs fly than Thomas Shelby agreeing with anyone other than himself. He ought to be commanded on his determination to be obtuse. 

“And I said I don’t want to” He quipped, watching in near amusement as Charlotte dropped on hands and knees to gather the broken porcelain inside the empty water basin, using the cloth to protect her hands and wipe the food. She knew she could just call a maid in to do the dirty job, but back in the old days, nurses acted as caretakers, maids, cooks and everything in between. She didn’t see the point of calling a girl all the way from downstairs for so little; and besides, she didn’t want witnesses on her failure to control her patient, nor subject another innocent soul to undeserved wrath. 

“You need to eat to take your medicines, Thomas. Or you will ruin your stomach” The first couple of days he tried to force her to call him Mr. Shelby, but she quickly shot it down. Long gone were the days when she would have called him Sergeant Major Shelby and she would have been Nurse Tindall. They were Thomas and Charlotte, whether he approved or not. She would not give him even the slightless space to think himself superior to her in any way.

He waved his hand, dismissing her concerns as mere nuisances, as he did with every other thing she did for him. Thomas rejected the medicines daily, especially the pain medicines, but Charlotte knew better. Her sharp eye soon noticed how the liquid inside the bottles would remain the same and then suddenly drop a considerable amount overnight; Thomas didn’t retain enough usage of his legs to walk long distances unaided, but he surely had enough strength of body and mind to stagger towards the cabinet where she kept the vials and bottles. He drank his fill, even if he denied it, and surely more than he should.

“I’m not taking those fucking things” He snapped “Now get out of my room” He maneuvered the chair towards the doors leading to the veranda. If allowed to, any day he would move his bed and desk out there and just spend the rest of his days staring at the trees and the horses trotting in the paddocks, feeling the kiss of the sun in his skin and enjoying the breeze carrying scents of earth and trees. The first days, she offered Thomas many times to take him out for a walk in the gardens, or even take him to the paddocks; but he shot down every attempt with a ridiculing sneer and some less than kind words

Frustrated but not yet defeated, Charlotte tossed the last of the broken porcelain into the basin, perhaps with more strength than she should, and carried it downstairs towards the kitchens. As she descended the grand staircase, she made a conscious effort not to look at the paintings. For whenever she walked past them, she felt Mrs. Shelby’s penetrating gaze following her steps.

Her portrait outshone all the others, hanging front and centre overseeing the foyer. Blonde hair curled fashionably, clad in an emerald green frock with golden trimming and covered in jewels, from the impressive necklace to the heavy earrings hung with pearls. The frame stood as tall as two people, engraved mahogany wrapped in gold leaf. Her icon dominated the house, seen in multiple photographs and smaller paintings in every room. But none matched the opulence of that one, and none unnerved Charlotte as much. 

She had the portrait, but she didn’t have the person. In three weeks, not once had she come face to face with Mrs. Shelby. True, her duties limited her only to the second floor and occasionally the kitchen, but surely a wife would come to visit her husband every now and then? Charlotte never asked, as she had no reason nor true desire to know of her whereabouts, and simply assumed she was away, perhaps visiting family or on a trip to the new world.

But even then, it puzzled her to think she would leave behind her young son. Little Charlie, who lived his days surrounded by nannies since no one seemed to have time for him. Thomas seldom saw him; only when someone brought the toddler directly to him did he gift the boy some insipid paternal love in the form of a ruffle of the hair and a pinch of the cheek. These encounters distressed the boy, who pouted and whined most of the time, as if feeling himself endangered by Thomas’ presence. A child so isolated from his father he no longer recognised him as a source of safety. 

As Charlotte entered the kitchens, she came face to face with Mrs. Gray. The woman seldom left the house either, but unlike Thomas, for vastly different reasons. She spent her day, morning to bedtime, divided between meetings, phone calls, paperwork and more meetings. Arrow House housed the family’s race horses 

and she spoke daily with the trainers and the vet, as well as with a pudgy, bald man who came exclusively to deliver a foal. Men also came to the house, seeking to see Thomas but never making it pass the impenetrable barrier of his formidable aunt. They always spoke outside, as far as possible from prying ears, and left as swiftly and quietly as they came, more often than not pocketing paper envelopes or packing suitcases in the trunks of their cars. Charlotte never asked, having taught herself quickly to turn a blind eye to whatever happened under the roof that wasn’t supposed to. She had been hired to care for a man, not to keep tabs on the family affairs. 

But Charlotte suspected she also wanted to keep an eye on things, mostly on how Lottie and Thomas got along. It did not go unnoticed, how often Charlotte found her lingering outside the double doors or standing halfway through the grand staircase, always within earshot, but always with an excuse perched upon her lips should she be caught. Perhaps she just wanted to ensure Thomas behaved; or maybe stood at guard ready to catch Charlotte before she could flee the job in panic.

Now, she sat at the large wooden table sipping tea and nibbling biscuits, the newspaper spread in front of her. Despite her high status within the house, she could often be found having her meals downstairs alone, eating roasted goose and lamb chops and drinking oak aged whiskey while sitting on benches of coarse wood and warmed up by the cooking stove, her finely made clothes impregnating in the smell of smoke and onions. Charlotte knew the Shelbys had come bottom to top, but sometimes it appeared they hadn’t quite settled there comfortably. At least Mrs. Gray seemed to enjoy climbing down a few rungs in the ladder every now and then. 

Charlotte avoided eye contact with her at all costs as she fetched the garbage bin, her back turned to hide the basin from view as she tipped the food and shards inside. She tried to do it silently, but nothing could mask the unmistakable sound of broken porcelain and guilt. 

“He did it again?” Her voice broke through the silence, making Charlotte flinch instinctively, although the words only carried shame and tired exasperation, feelings shared by both women. Still she felt like a child, caught by her mother failing miserably at a task she promised she would accomplish easily.

She straightened her back and turned around oozing improvised confidence, smile never faltering as she faced her employer, the basin perched in her hands in a way that hid the porridge stains inside. No one would dare look at her and think that Thomas had slowly but steadily driven her to her wits’ end. No, they had to just take one look at her and immediately be assured that everything was perfect. She had to be the image of calm and composed, even when she just wanted to rip out her hair.

“Just a mishap, Mrs. Gray, nothing to be concerned with. I misplaced the tray and knocked it over when I stood. I promise it won’t happen again” The smile widened just enough to appear reassuring, perfectly matched with her soothing voice. She would sooner concoct a dozen lies than admit she might have found her match in the likes of Thomas Shelby. Charlotte was not foreign to difficult patients; men too prideful or obstinate to welcome help even at their lowest point. But they all bent the knee sooner or later. Everyone had a limit, a line that once crossed forced them to admit defeat. She just had to find Thomas’ line, wherever it drew. Surely no mortal man could be so obdurate.

The corner of Mrs. Gray’s lips rose in a half smirk, a glint of bemusement in her features; she knew liars and tricksters when she saw them, even if they only carried good intentions on their false words. She could smell them from fifty paces.

“You must have launched yourself from the seat then, since I could hear the plates crashing from down here. As if it flew across the room purposefully” Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks but she did not waver in her stance. Her lips parted to speak, but Mrs. Gray beat her to it, standing up and rummaging through the cupboards.

“Sit.” The order was spoken softly, but an order nonetheless. 

Lottie swallowed “There’s no need. I left Thomas alone and-”

“He can survive for fifteen minutes, and you look like you need a cup”

Defeated, and secretly glad to have a break, Charlotte abided, taking a seat and leaving the basin carefully hidden under the table. Soon a cup of tea steamed before her, Earl Grey with no milk and three sugars. She stirred it with the spoon tiredly, letting the metal heat up in her hand, but she couldn’t find it in her to bring it up to her lips as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her.

A comfortable silence lingered, broken only by the occasional servant who headed to the kitchen, but turned and left the second they saw the two women sitting there. Peering through her eyelashes, Charlotte noticed Mrs Gray didn’t even look in her direction, more focused on her breakfast and her newspaper, waiting for the younger woman to speak first. Lottie sipped her tea, hoping the soothing liquid would undo the knot she felt in her stomach every time she found herself in Mrs. Gray’s presence.

“He is difficult” She admitted, feeling like an officer admitting to the general that they had lost a battle. The battle, but not the war; she hadn’t sunk so low yet “And you warned me so, and I believed you because I saw it myself when I met him. But I thought he was just another veteran embittered with life that just needed the nudge in the right direction. I thought- “

“That you could help him” She completed the sentence with an understanding nod, as if she had seen the words written across Charlotte’s forehead. As if those piercing, dark eyes granted her the power to read others’ minds. And more than once, Lottie believed the Shelby matriarch possessed some skills that could only be described as magic or a sixth sense. She saw beyond the range of the normal eye, that much she could tell. And now the woman saw through Charlotte as easily as if she had been made of glass.

“But now he has proved to be more than you can chew'' The words didn’t come off as reproachful or taunting. Mrs. Gray didn’t seem to find joy in the admission of her defeat; rather she sounded empathic, as she could easily understand her plight. And she did, considering that she had been the one burdening the weight of her nephew’s care in between the cracks. Only she knew to a personal level the difficulties that came with caring for the ailing; worse even when they are your family.

Charlotte took a long sip, letting it soothe her nerves. Because if she freed her mouth to speak, she might say something she would regret; such as that maybe she overestimated her abilities for the job. Common sense told her that no amount of money could be worth being subjected to such treatment, but the sense of duty that pulled at her whenever she stared into Thomas’ eyes overpowered said logic. He had given all he had for the sake of duty, and Charlotte could not deprive him of the care she could provide him just because he behaved like an insufferable prick. 

“Has he always been like this?” The question left her mouth without permission. A question that had been circling in her head since the first day. War had changed them all, but such an attitude had to have a foundation. She had managed to rip out smiles from men who had been maimed, disfigured and ruined beyond help. Thomas only reciprocated her efforts by giving her the overwhelming desire to smack him around “I know he is angry, and he is entitled to it. But…” She shook her head “He is unlike anything I have met before”

“Tommy has that effect on people” Mrs Gray replied “He always had a special talent to be unsettling to others for various reasons. Even as a teenager. And he never withstood being seen as weak or defenceless.” She pushed aside the breakfast and newspaper to lean in closer to Charlotte, those deep eyes of hers fixed upon the young nurse.

“Before all of this happened, back when he was…normal” She grimaced at that word, and so did Charlotte. He was not abnormal, just different “He prided himself in dominating every room he stepped in. In the fear and respect he inspired on others. People looked at him and they lowered their eyes and shut their mouths. They moved out of his way when he walked and tipped their hats in his direction. No one spoke before he did. If he told a man to act like a dog, you can be damn sure that man would bark and wiggle his tail. No one went against him”

Mrs. Gray leaned back again, hands laced before her, her multiple rings making quiet sounds as she wrung her hands tightly “Having people looking down at him, seeing him as a broken and useless thing, it is something he cannot handle. As if all the power he once held slipped between his fingers like sand. So he overcompensates with his temper.If he cannot make you look up at him, he will make sure you feel inferior to him” The words resonated with Charlotte, and they made sense, in a sick way. If he could not tower over others, he could only diminish them to keep them under his foot. And he redoubled those efforts with Charlotte, who acted unwilling to bow her head.

“Is he the same with all his family? I mean, how does his wife stand him?” Another embarrassingly indiscreet question she didn’t mean to pronounce but could not be taken back now. Besides, the opportunity to sate her curiosity had presented itself so easily she could not let it go to waste. Whoever he had married, the poor woman had earned the key to the pearly gates for putting up with him. 

Mrs. Gray’s expression darkened, her lips downturning into a scowl and her shoulders tensing noticeably “She doesn’t. She didn’t” She sighed slowly, taking her sweet time to pick out a cigarette from the golden case “When his problems began, Tommy distanced himself from her. He refused to share her bed. You can imagine why” She took a long drag, exhaling the smoke through her nose as she stared at the wall behind Lottie “She didn’t try to bridge the gap; if anything, she made it bigger. I suppose when she said in sickness and in health before the altar, she hadn’t expected sickness to be like this. No respectable woman wants to be married to a cripple” Contempt and bitterness laced the words, her lips scrunched like she had tasted bile. 

“One day she left, as simply as that, fled in the night like a common criminal. Took the jewels and the money and boarded the first steamboat for America. Didn’t even think to take her son with her” Mrs. Gray spoke of the act with undeniable hatred; a hatred only a mother could muster, witnessing another mother abandoning her young child without a second look. 

The revelation shocked Charlotte, and a wave of sympathy flooded her suddenly. To lose the ability to walk, to lose his superiority, and also his wife? Even though it did not justify his actions entirely, it did allow him some slack. Any person in his position would harbour anger towards the world, but that didn’t mean he had to release it on every soul that crossed his path 

“What happened then?”

“Sent a lawyer to handle the divorce for her. I thought Tommy would fight her with everything he had, but he didn’t. He simply agreed to give his signature on the condition she left Charlie to him. And she did. Signed off her rights to her own baby for some American cock” She spat aside, as if riding herself of venom; as if speaking of that woman would be enough to poison her

Charlotte sat there baffled, still processing the information she had just received. To think that the woman whose face she stared at every day had abandoned her family, her husband and son, and yet her picture remained up there in the wall, in the place of honour like a venerable goddess. Tommy had given her the divorce to set her free, but he refused to let go of her memory. Out of love or to preserve it for their son she couldn’t tell. Pity crept into her, as much as she didn’t want to. It showed in her eyes and her face, in the way her posture dropped and how her hands lowered to her lap. 

“What a horrible thing” She lamented, her tone dropping an octave as she shook her head in disbelief “How could she do something like that?”

“Not many are willing to be a lifetime caretaker. You should know that better than most” She snuffed the cigarette on the table, leaving a little darkened mark along countless others, no doubt all of them of her own creation.

“Charlotte, there is a reason why I chose you to come instead of putting up an advertisement and letting candidates flock in like birds. You are resilient, I can tell just by the way you smile every morning at Thomas even when he yells and curses and breaks things at your feet. He is difficult and you are strong willed” The hint of a smirk returned to her face, a certain mischief glinting in her eyes “I know Thomas will eventually give in to you. Just give him more time” 

More time. How much more? She could only take so much, and even the most cheerful person in the kingdom would find themselves chipped away by constant berating and mistreatment. But she had made herself a promise, to pick up this lost cause and not drop it. Mrs. Gray counted on her and trusted her, otherwise she would not have made her privy to the secrets of Thomas’ life. And that pulling she felt, that unexplainable and irrepressible sense of protection she felt for him, whether he liked it or not.

She had never been one to believe in otherworldly things, but she knew, unconsciously, that she had been put in Thomas’ path for a reason. A duty she could not abandon. Because if she dropped his cause, there may be no one else to pick it up.

Charlotte finished her tea and took a deep breath. The conversation had renewed her vigour and boosted her confidence in the task ahead. She stood from the table and smoothed down her apron

“I won’t give up on him, Mrs. Gray. I know he needs help and I will be there for it, no matter how much he pushes me away”

Mrs. Gray smiled; not a smirk, but a sincere smile.

“Good to hear. He will need someone now more than ever”

That little bit puzzled Charlotte, her eyebrows furrowed and head slightly cocked to the left

“What do you mean by that?”

Mrs. Gray stood up, a new cigarette perched between two fingers. She let expectation build up as she went through the process of selecting a match from the box to light her cigarette

“A doctor is coming in a few days. A new therapist from London, expert in wounded veterans he says”

She flicked the butt of the cigarette with her nail, as if debating whether or not to continue.

“He thinks he can make Tommy walk again”

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Butterflies- Tommy Shelby (1)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Characters: Tommy Shelby

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- Hi there just read your “Honest” Tommy fic and loved it. Can you do a Tommy x reader wedding day ? Tommy being his usual Self, stressing something will do wrong and he wants to make it perfect for the reader. Thank you

Word Count: 526

Author: Charlotte

Ada leaned close to your face as she manoeuvred the hair that fell around your face, trying to make it look perfect. It was hard to not focus on her stern expression as she repeatedly moved the same piece of hair to see whether it looked better pushed behind your ear or curled up to the clip that held your veil.

You had been friends with Ada long before you met your husband to be, frankly meeting him put the biggest rift into your friendship when you had to admit to her that you were fond of her older brother. She was far from thrilled to know you were interested in Tommy, but she didn’t expect anything to come of it but when she walked in on the two of you practically undressing each other, she realised you hadn’t just been joking. It took her a while to wrap her head around the idea but after she screamed at Tommy in front of practically everyone he knew, he had to make it clear that he was serious about you, and it wasn’t long before he asked you to marry him. Now you sat alone with Ada, letting her do your hair as you tried to be patient; but the butterflies in your stomach were fighting to escape.

Even though Tommy held your heart, you couldn’t help but feel nervous about your wedding day. It was meant to be perfect, and you hoped it would be but every element of it seemed terrifying, other than finally being stood with him and saying, ‘I do’.

“Have you finished?” You asked, trying not to fidget in your seat.

Ada hummed for a moment, intently inspecting your hair, finally unpinning a lock of hair and leaving it to fall down and frame your face.

“Done,” she grinned.

She had barely been able to stand up before the door to your room swung open. Your attention shot to the open door, revealing John, Ada and Tommy’s brother.

“Get out,” Ada shouted, throwing the hairbrush from the bureau at him, narrowly missing his head.

“Fuck, Ada,” he snapped. “What was that for?”

“Why are you in here? The ceremony starts in twenty minutes, shouldn’t you be off pretending to be busy?”

John avoided both of your stares, looking down to his feet. “There’s a bit of a problem.”

Ada’s expression became steelier.

“When there’s a problem at the wedding, you do not come to the bride, you go to anyone but the bride,” she frowned. “Can’t Tommy deal with it?”

“Well he’s the problem,” he explained.

You rose from your seat, the butterflies only becoming worse.

“What’s happened?” You asked.

Your mind raced. You didn’t know what could have happened to him, but you could only imagine the worse, your fiancé somehow dead in a ditch or left bloodied and bruised somewhere far from your wedding venue.

“He’s freaking out,” John sighed. “We’ve tried to calm him down, but we don’t know what else to do but he might listen to you.”

It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was better than where your mind had first gone.

“I’ll talk to him.”

#Butterflies #Part 1 #Request #Anon #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Tommy Shelby One Shot #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders One Shot #Charlotte #Peaky Blinders Imagine

[teenwolf-theoriginals]

tommy explaining what’s gonna happen is sending me places. 

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #cillian murphy #may carleton #charlotte riley #grace burgess #annabelle wallis #2x04 #2x05 #video

[punkybrewstertoo]

A Mind to Tear a Soul in Two: Chapter Two

“What in the bloody hell is that racket?” Arthur asked, sitting at the table in the family’s house, head in his hands.

Tommy grimaced at the question. All day long he’d been desperately trying to ignore the noise coming from the first floor. “Leave it. She’s doing it on purpose. I told her to fix up the mess in her room, so she’s decided to push her bookcases across the hall, and rearrange everything — without help. She’s banging around up there trying to create as much noise as possible just to irritate me. So ignore her.”

Upstairs Charlotte had managed to get her three bookcases moved away from the walls and one of them halfway out Tommy’s bedroom door. Sweating and breathing heavily she told herself that she could do this. No brothers necessary. Tommy said he wanted her new room cleaned and tidied up, so she was taking this opportunity to go all in.

She didn’t like that he was forcing her to do it, but she knew it would be nice to have all her belongings in the right order. It also didn’t hurt that she knew all the noise was getting into Tommy’s head. He was trying to ignore all the stomping and scraping, but she could tell it was getting to him. Which made her endlessly happy. Especially given that Tommy was the reason that she was forced to switch bedrooms in the first place.

When the boys had gotten back from France it had taken Tommy all of six weeks to figure out that his kid sister was escaping in the middle of the night out the window in her bedroom at the back of the house to run around Birmingham. He had noticed her missing from bed late one night so he’d asked around to see what the girl was doing while she was suppose to be sleeping.

Their Uncle Charlie had given him a tip that she’d taken to showing up in the middle of the night to spend time with the horses. He’d told Tommy that he didn’t mind having his niece show up unannounced, out of all of the Shelby kids, she reminded him most of his sister. With her unkempt dirty blonde curls and freckles nose, the girl loved to run wild — just like his own little sister had. She was always sneaking around while nobody was looking, running in the field out where he let his horses graze. Occasionally she’d steal a horse from the stables, disappear for hours, return at nightfall to cool down the horse, and make it back home in time for supper.

Mischievous was an understatement.

But she was a light in the darkness. Always happy to lend a hand, she worked well with the horses — she worked well with anything he’d ask of her for that matter — and never worried about getting her hands dirty. And to top it all off, Curly loved having the girl around, often saying that she was blessed with the mind to speak to the beasts.

For years now Curly had been sweet on Charlotte, and she knew it. She’d go out of her way to spend time with him, making sure he was the first person she greeted and the last person she saw at the end of the day. She also knew this meant that Curly would never tattle on her to her aunt or brothers. Curly liked keeping her secret, it gave them a bond. He often said he knew it would be a good day if there was a Charlie girl sleeping with the horses in the morning.

But Charlie Strong had known that his nephews wouldn’t approve of his namesake sneaking out to his yard at night all on her own. He also knew that the horses weren’t her only late night destination. During the war he’d had no problem keeping his niece's secrets from her aunt, but since November things had started changing, and everyone knew it. He didn’t want to break her confidence, but he’d made a promise to his sister to keep her youngest out of harm's way, and with all the men coming back, Birmingham was not as safe as it once was.

Tommy had tried to put a stop to it immediately, but he’d caught her climbing back in through her window at dawn with hay in her hair twice. And the third time John found her with a group of friends at the Commons Dance Hall one night in December while she should’ve been locked up in her room, due to the aforementioned sneaking in.

Dragging her back to the house on Watery Lane, John had nearly woken up the entire street pounding on the door yelling for Tommy to come down and fetch her.

“John, I’ve got a key, you don’t need to go making Tommy come down to open the door. Just stop and let me open the damn thing.” Ignoring her, John held onto her elbow with one hand, and with the other continued pounding on the door.

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and looking up she saw Ada watching them through the window in her bedroom, laughing and shaking her head. Finally the door flew open and Tommy stood there furious, gun in hand, pointed directly at John.

Without flinching at the weapon in his face, John jerked Charlotte forward, practically flinging her at Tommy, “I think you’ve misplaced this. You know you’ve got to keep a closer eye on her, Tom.”

Sighing Tommy uncocked the gun, grabbed her by the neck, and growled out, “John, next time just open the bloody door yourself. Don’t make a scene and force me to come down for the show you’re putting on for the neighbours.” Looking around the street Charlotte could see a few faces poking out through their curtains, trying to see what all the commotion was about.

John nodded and walking up the street he shouted over his shoulder, “I thought she could do with the whole street knowing she’s about to get a beating.” Charlotte’s face flushed red, Tommy tightened his grip, and marched her upstairs.

At the sound of their approach Ada poked her head out of her door, “What’s going on–” Interrupting her Tommy ordered Ada to shut the door and go back to bed. Continuing her death march to her room, they reached the end of the hall and Charlotte tried to turn right. Instead, Tommy threw her into his room on the left and she stumbled as he shut the door behind them.

Puzzled at the change of scenery Charlotte straightened herself and began, “What are you–”

“Shut up and get into the fucking bed.”

Tommy turned his back on her, expecting her to obey, while he stoked the coal in the fire. He knew this would be a long night. Turning around he saw Charlotte still standing in place, the question about to pass her lips. He took a menacing step toward her, “I told you, get in the fucking bed.”

Still not moving, she chewed on her fingernails and slurred slightly, “But what about you sleeping?” She’d been drinking. He should’ve known. This kid was going to send him to an early grave. It wouldn’t be the the gambling, guns, or the war, it would be this damned sister; at least he’d die proving Polly wrong.

“After all that noise John made trying to embarrass you on the street, I’m not going back to sleep.” Then reaching out to grab her arm he took hold of her, threw her into bed, and in the same motion covered her with his quilt.

“Go to sleep. If you say one more word, I’ll drag you out back, throw a bucket of water on you, and beat the tar out of you for the whole neighbourhood to hear. You want that?” Shaking her head, Charlotte shut her eyes and pulled the quilt up to her chin.

Tommy turned on his heel and took a seat at his desk. The nightmares wouldn’t let him rest tonight, he might as well get some work done while he was keeping his truant sister from sneaking out and running wild. Picking up the book and going over a ledger he heard a small thump.

Looking up, Charlotte hadn’t moved her body, the quilt was still tucked at her chin, and her eyes were tightly closed. But she had managed to stick her feet out from the blanket and was using one foot to try to kick off the shoe still stubbornly attached to her other foot.

After a minute of her struggling to relieve herself of the shoe, Tommy walked over, grabbed her ankle and removed the shoe himself, “Stop messing around and fucking go to sleep.” As her two feet slowly slid back under the sheets, Charlotte buried her face in the pillow, and finally followed his orders.

Reaching down to grab the other shoe, Tommy noticed something curious. Something he’d previously missed in his blinded irritation at both John and Charlotte. These were heeled shoes. These were women’s shoes. These were absolutely not Charlotte’s shoes. “Ada...” Cursing her name he took the shoes and decided to return them to their rightful owner.

Opening the door to Ada’s room he found her sitting in a lounge chair by the fire. She startled at his entrance,

“Bloody hell, Tommy. It’s four in the morning.” Ignoring her protest at his intrusion he held up the shoes, “What are these, Ada?”

Smirking, she replied, “Looks like a fine pair of shoes, Tommy, but I doubt they’ll go with anything you have.” He threw the shoes on the floor. “Why was our sister wearing your shoes and a fancy dress? You don’t seem surprised or upset to find that she nicked something of yours. Why is that Ada?”

Damn. He knew she’d willingly given them to Charlie; there was no point in lying. If she was forthcoming on a little bit of the truth he’d likely not press her for the full story.

“Alright. I gave her the shoes. She said she was going out with some friends so I did her up nice. That’s what big sisters are supposed to do, Thomas!” Getting defensive she crossed her arms not wanting to rat her sister out any further. Tommy wasn’t having it.

“And the dress, Ada? What’s she doing that she needed to wear a dress?”

Was he really going to force this out of her? “That’s what girls wear! They wear dresses!”

Rolling his eyes Tommy responded, “This whole town knows that our sister doesn’t wear dresses. Don’t try to pull that shit with me. Is there a boy? Who is he?”

Ada laughed, “Trust me Tommy, the only boys in her life are the ones she’s handing out black eyes to over by the cut.” He glared at her, expecting more but she pointedly refused to answer.

“The secrets your keeping for her are going to get her hurt one day, Ada. This town isn’t safe for a girl out on her own. Ada scoffed at him, “Get out Tommy. I want to go to sleep. And don’t worry about our secrets, I think us Shelby girls can handle ourselves just fine.”

Giving her one final glare, Tommy left the room, intentionally leaving the door open, just to annoy her. Sighing, Ada got up and closed her door. She knew with Tommy awake she wouldn’t be making any early morning secret trips herself. Crossing her fingers she hoped that Charlie wouldn’t let Ada’s secret slip, or they’d both be in for it. Twenty two years old or thirteen, the Shelby sisters were under their brother’s thumb, and they needed to keep a tight lipped ship.

Tommy had stayed up all night checking his numbers, nodding off a time or two only to jolt awake at the sound of a pickaxe coming from the other side of the wall. At dawn he’d dragged Charlie out of bed, dealt a good old fashioned whipping, and set her to task switching rooms. She’d spent the whole day carrying books and shuffling clothes from one room to the other. As part of her punishment Tommy had forced her to move his belongings, as well as her own, threatening her with another thrashing if any of his possessions were to go missing or end up broken. She’d taken extra care to put all of Tommy’s things in their proper place.

Unable to take her frustration out on Tommy’s things she’d simply thrown her own belongings into her new space without much care. Her brothers hadn’t been available to help her to move any of the bookcases, so she was forced to leave them with Tommy. In the many months since the move it seemed like chaos reigned in the Shelby house, and none of them had had the time to help her with the cases, so her books remained strewn out on the floor.

Tommy had left one case for books, and she’d created a semi-organised system of piles that ranged from favourites closest to the bed, least favourites over in the corner by the wardrobe, and everything else in between. Other than putting her clothes into the wardrobe and fixing her bedding, Charlotte hadn’t spent any effort trying to make the room her own. But now that she was damned to live the rest of her life stuck in the room, she decided to take this opportunity to move her bookcases from Tommy’s room and make this new room her own.

Back downstairs, the sound of dragging furniture was driving Arthur up the wall. He couldn’t hear himself think with Charlotte throwing books around, moving her bed from one wall to the other, and attempting to push the furniture from the back room to her new room at the front of the house. After a loud thud, he’d had enough.

“That’s it.” Arthur growled, “John, come with me.”

Tommy watched while his brothers headed up the stairs. He’d have to hand it to his sister, she was following his rules and doing what was asked of her. And yet she still managed to find a way to give him hell.

Picking herself off the floor from where she’d tripped over a rug that got bunched during the rearranging, Charlotte heard the infantry coming. “Charlie! Enough with all the noise!” Arthur came stomping up the stairs with John right behind him.

“Alright, Lottie. What is it that needs to be moved? Let’s get this done before Arthur puts a pistol to his head.” Laughing Charlotte stuck her arm out, fingers in the shape of a gun and shot her brother, “Bang, you’re dead.” John threw himself up against the wall and slid down it, collapsing in a heap, tongue sticking out of his mouth.

Glaring at his brother’s dead body Arthur got straight to business, “Right. This big one here, this is moving?” John picked himself up off the ground and Charlotte nodded, “You mean this big one here? The one that I’ve already got half way out the door? Yeah, Arthur, this big one is moving.” Arthur smacked her upside the head and she continued, “And then the two other empty ones in the middle of Tommy’s room. Be careful not to trip over the rug. It’s caught underneath this case, I can’t get it straightened out.”

Sticking his head into her room Arthur looked around at the available space. She’d pushed all of her books up against the walls, but the place was still a wreck. “And where are you planning on putting three whole bookcases?”

Shrugging Charlotte responded, “Not sure yet. Just put them in the middle and I’ll figure it out later.”

“You know, Tommy told you to clean this place, not make it worse.”

She sighed, exasperated, “I’m working on it, Arthur. You're the one that came up here with demands, you gonna help me or not?”

Nodding his head Arthur agreed, “We’re gonna help you, but you’re going to decide where these bookcases are going now, not later. No more pushing these around on your own. You’re knocking pictures off the wall, and there’s dust falling in to Johnny boy’s tea cup.”

Rolling her eyes at his attempted joke Charlotte tried to argue, “But Arthur, I don’t know where I want–”

“Just do it. Tommy’s not the only one in charge around here. And hurry up, we ain’t got all day.”

Knowing she wasn’t going to win this fight, she grinned and gave in. “Alright, but only because you asked so very nicely.” Pointing around the room she quickly decided where the bookcases would go. Once her decision was made Arthur straightened up and started barking orders. “John, you grab that end there. From the bottom, not the middle. Charlie, clear out those stacks of books, throw them on the bed and push it out of the way. Then move that chair and we’ll bring in the other two.”

A quarter hour later and her brothers had made quick work of the furniture. Looking around the room, it gave the impression that a tornado had come through, but her bookcases were in place and ready to be filled.

“Well, you brutes did some good work here.” Charlotte smiled thanking her brothers for their help. “Any time Charlie girl. Just keep the noise down, yeah? The grown-ups have important work to do.” Kissing her on the head as he ran out of the room, Arthur ducked and barely missed a hardcover edition of Oliver Twist hitting his head.

Laughing at Arthur making his retreat, John picked up the book and handed it back to her. “You know, Tommy means it, right? If you can keep outta trouble he’s gonna let you in, you’ll be one of the grown-ups at the table. Just like Ada was. You just gotta keep your nose clean, Lottie.” Charlotte scoffed at him, “Just like Ada, John? I don’t think so. He’s never going to trust me like Ada. Aunt Pol won’t either.”

Turning to her largest bookcase she gently placed Oliver Twist on the shelf, subtly checking to make sure she hadn’t caused any damage when she threw it. “I’m just the troublemaker that runs wild. The girl in boys trousers. I’m not the responsible one. Tommy’s never going to see things any different. He might let me have a vote, but it won’t ever be like Ada.”

John shook his head disagreeing with her, “That’s not true, you just gotta behave long enough to prove yourself. Honestly, I think he’s got some plan for you that he’s not telling any of us about. You got brains, more than Ada ever had, and he’s noticed. But, if you keep getting drunk at the Commons and stealing from the pub, he’ll never take you seriously.”

Grumbling in response Charlotte started to explain, “I wasn’t there to get drunk, John. You dragged me off before I ever got a chance to explain...”

“It doesn’t matter what the explanation is, you keep disobeying him and you’ll be a prisoner here forever.” Charlotte signed in frustration, “I’m tired of being stuck in this room all the time. If I'm not in here, I'm in the shop. Or at school. Or with your kids. I never have any time alone anymore. I can't even go out with the horses anymore.”

“Well, you ain’t gonna be doing anything out in the fields with the horses if you don’t grow up. You’ll never get the chance. He’ll have this place locked down tighter than a communist in the King’s dungeon. Things are changing around–”

Interrupting Charlotte was exasperated, “You keep saying that! ‘Things are changing!’ ‘Things are going to be different!’ But I don’t know what any of that fucking means! One day this place is ransacked by a bunch of mushroom picking bastards and there’s a bomb in the car. The next you’re getting married to one of the Lee’s that tried to blow us up. One day I’m a gypsy orphan with a bunch of gangster brothers, and the next thing I know me own father shows up in the kitchen. But then Tommy kicks him out and doesn’t let me speak to him. Then there’s Ada... One day I got a sister, and the next day Polly’s trying to send her away with tickets to New York. Is that what 'things are changing' means, John? Is it?”

Standing in front of him, fists clenched, she finally took a breath. John’s only response was a raised eyebrow, a cocky grin, and an arrogant, “You feel better?”

Taking a breath she exhaled deeply, “God! You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m the best. You know I am. I know you better than those two idiots we call brothers, yeah?” Nodding at him she cracked a grin.

“Good, now that we both agree I’m the best, let’s both agree to ignore what you said about my wife’s family.” Laughing at him she crossed her arms and tossed herself into the stuffed chair sitting by the fire.

“Now listen, things are changing and I’m not at liberty to explain it to you, but you’ll be finding out soon enough. It’s not that Tommy doesn’t trust you, Lottie, it’s that he’s scared for you.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest, but John continued on before she got a word out. “He’s scared for both you and Ada, why do you think he tried to get Ada and Freddie outta here?” She scoffed at him, “Because he’s an overbearing control freak that doesn’t trust anyone with an ounce of freedom or knowledge.”

John shook his head, ignoring her, “He’s torn, he wants to let you in. It’s a family business. But he lost Ada, he doesn’t want to lose you too. But you’re always acting before thinking, and that’s gonna get you hurt. Tommy and Aunt Pol, they keep arguing what to do with you. Pol wants you to keep clear of all of this, she thinks that’s the best way. Tommy’s not convinced. Because it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s that you’re the same, you and Tommy. He’s scared because he knows how your mind works. He knows that you’re inclined to go off without thinking, like you always do, because it’s what he woulda done at your age. The difference is, that Tommy had Freddy and me and Arthur by his side getting in trouble with him, keeping him from getting killed. You don’t have that. Which is what I’ve been telling Tommy about getting you more involved. If you were part of things then you would have us at your side. You’d be safer. You’d also be too busy with us to go stealing whisky and picking fights. But like I said, you gotta keep your nose clean before he’s really gonna start trusting ya.”

Charlotte sat in the silence, taking in what John had told her. “You telling me the truth? Was Tommy really just like me?” Rolling his eyes, John replied, “Christ, Lottie, is that the only thing you got outta all I just said?”

“Well? Was he?”

Sighing, John knew she wasn’t going to let up and it would be easier to give in and tell her what she wanted to know. God, she was just like Tommy.

Walking forward he took a seat in the chair that she’d stolen from Ada’s room. “Tommy told us about you wanting to know more about from before. He said that Aunt Pol told you to keep quiet and stop asking. I didn’t know that... I’m sorry she told ya to do that. I think it’s because she feels guilty about being gone when Ma passed. She was strung out with her kids being taken and didn’t have the right mind to deal with what was happening here.”

Shaking his head he pressed on, “I think that’s another story for a later time though. But as for you and Tommy... Right, well you woulda been too young to really remember, but Tommy was always sneaking out and spending time with Uncle Charlie’s horses. He’d be gone for whole days at a time. Ma never worried much, she’d give him hell when he walked in that door — if Da didn’t get to him first. But he did it often. He was great in school — much better than me or Arthur — but he never took the time to show up, because the fields and horses were more important. Then there was the drinking and dancing... He and Freddy were at the dance hall every other night picking up girls, getting drunk, and being rowdy. They both got kicked out a few times, even. Now the fighting, you got that from Arthur. Tommy never had to fight with Arthur by his side. If anything Tom had to make sure Arthur was behaving himself and not throwing any unnecessary punches. ” Laughing, Charlotte chimed in, “I can see that.”

“But can you see it, Lottie? The whole thing? He worries more about you than Ada because he knows your mind. He knows how unpredictable you can be. He might not know how to control you — he never had to control himself — but he knows you because he knows himself. You were too young to really know him before the war, but take my word for it, you’re the same. That’s why he’s so mad about you running around by yourself and sleeping in the stables. He’s mad because his kid sister turned out just like him, and he knows he’ll never find a way to make you stop. The only thing that kept him away was the war. And the war changed everything...”

John stopped himself from going any further in that direction, he didn’t want to get into war stories. Those were better off left for dead in the fields of France.

Taking advantage of the silence, Charlotte dug further, “But if the only thing that kept him away from the horses was the war, why’s he trying so hard to stop me?”

“Because Birmingham isn’t as safe as it was before. The men that came home aren’t the same as when they left. There’s nothing stopping one of them from having their way with any girl on the street.”

Cutting in Charlotte told him, “I can handle meself.”

Shaking his head at her confidence John continued, “There’s also this Inspector Campbell from Belfast that’s got us all watching our backs. He’s dangerous, and he’s got something against us. It’s like it’s personal between him and Tommy. And all that doesn’t even include the races.”

Confused at his last point, Charlotte asked, “But Tommy got the license. It’s all legal now. Isn’t it?” John’s reply was simple, “Mostly.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. There was something else. Something he wasn’t saying. But before she could question him on it John started speaking again.

“He’s doing what he thinks is best to keep you safe. You’re our kid sister, it’s our job to keep you safe. With Ada off on her own now, he doesn’t want to lose another sister, so he’s doubling down on you. You might not be the same as Ada, but you’re his twin in mind and heart, Ada understands his soul. Ada understands all of us all like a puzzle. She knows exactly what each of us needs from her. She’s a mother through and though. But you, Lottie, you he loves more than any of us and he knows he can’t break you, so he’s keeping you locked up here until you can learn to behave.”

“If he knows he can’t break me, why does he go whipping me every time he catches me with the horses or running around town? If he knows that’s where my heart is, why's he always punishing me for it? You know, I’ve gotten beaten more times since you’ve been back than the entire time you were away for the war."

Laughing at her John explained, “He’s trying to get through to you the only way he knows how. Just be glad it’s not Da or Arthur taking that strap to your backside. Trust me, I know from experience, it could be worse. You both are just too stubborn to give in. Besides, it doesn’t seem like those whippings are doing you any harm.”

She shrugged, “Eh, It’s not that bad. I can take it just as good as any of you. It’s not as bad as when Aunt Pol got me. And really, I’d rather take a whipping than end up in here for another week.”

Standing up, John laughed at her, “You really are just like him. You’ll take a beating if it means getting what you want in the end. But could you hold off on causing any trouble for a little while? My Katie and Ethan have been asking for their Auntie Lottie to come read to them. They miss their story time. Get it together and stop disappointing my kids, you gypsy troublemaker.” Laughing at him, Charlotte watched as John made he was downstairs. “I’ll try. That’s the best I can do, brother.”

After John had made his exit downstairs, Charlotte sat in her chair by the fire thinking over what he had told her. She could see how her sneaking out and running around Birmingham was effecting Tommy. She didn’t like it, but his strangling hold on her made more sense now. She supposed that for the better of the family she could follow the rules and give Tommy a bit more control; or at the very least let him think that he’d been given more control. Maybe then he’d loosen up and let her have some wild moments.

Standing up to get back to her cleaning she clapped her hands together and told herself it was a done deal, she’d stop running off every chance she got. And maybe Tommy would give her some freedom back.

After a few hours of rearranging and moving stacks of books around, Charlotte’s room was starting to look presentable. At the very least you could see the floor again. Looking around she counted about twelve books that still needed a home off the floor. Then remembering that Tommy still had another ten books captive in his office, she realised that the only available space would be on top of the wardrobe. The shelves and bookcases were full, so the wardrobe would have to do. Unable to reach the top all on her own, she walked back into Tommy’s room, grabbed the desk chair he’d taken the day before and hauled it back to give her the height she needed to finish her cleaning.

Picking up her stuffed chair she set it right up against the wardrobe. She then put her desk chair on top to give her the extra height she needed to reach the top. Stepping into the stuffed chair she wobbled trying to step on to the desk chair. That wasn’t going to work. She needed something to hold onto so she wouldn’t fall over. Stepping down she pushed the chest of drawers to the stacked chairs and wedged the chairs between the drawers and the wardrobe. That was better. Pushing aside her mother's pitcher and water basin, as well as her framed family portrait, she placed the books within reach on the chest.

Stepping onto the stuffed chair she braced herself with the chest and gingerly climbed onto the wobbling desk chair. Looking up onto the top of the wardrobe Charlotte saw three small blue vials the size of her smallest finger. Curious, she grabbed one and popped the topper of the vial.

“Well, shit.” She muttered to herself. “Snow.”

She guessed Tommy had put them up there for safe keeping and forgot about them. She wondered how long they’d been up there. She wasn’t necessarily surprised by the discovery, she knew Tommy used an opium pipe to help him sleep, but she’d never seen him using cocaine. Not that he'd ever knowingly let her see him using. She'd only found out about the pipe after a particularly bad night when he'd woken up screaming his bloody head off.

After the boys returned from the war she’d heard Tommy shouting in the night, every night. Aunt Polly told her to leave him be, that war did strange things to men. But as the nights went on, Tommy’s nightmares got worse and worse. Sometimes Tommy would wake himself up and just start throwing things. Other times it sounded like he was about to punch his way through the walls from his room into Ada’s.

It scared them to the point that Ada had taken to sleeping in the back room with Charlotte — that was, when she was sleeping in the Shelby home and not somewhere else. Eventually the sisters had asked their aunt to come back and stay at the house, they were scared that he’d to something to hurt himself and they wouldn’t be able to help him.

Agreeing, Polly had managed to find excuses to stay the night for about a week before Tommy noticed and wanted to know what she was on about. Polly had taken him aside and told him that his sisters were worried about his nightmares and they were scared to be in the house alone with him. A few days after that the shouting lessened and he’d stopped throwing things. Polly had moved back to her flat and assured the girls that he had gotten himself some medication and they shouldn’t worry any longer.

But the night that she found Tommy screaming, she’d never get it out of her mind. It had been a particularly dry and clear night, not long after Christmas. Charlotte had stayed up waiting for the house to clear and Tommy to go to sleep so that she could slip out unnoticed. She’d planned to head over to Uncle Charlie’s yard to spend some time with her favourite horse, Annabelle. She hadn't been to visit in a week or so because of all the rain and she was growing impatient. The winter months were hard on everyone, horses included. With all the cold rain and mud, they weren’t put out to graze and Charlotte could feel them getting anxious stuck up in the stables all day. Hell, she was getting anxious stuck up in her house all day.

As the house grew quite and everything became still in the night, Charlotte pulled on her boots, grabbed her jacket, and stuffed the Webley revolver John had given her into her back pocket. She’d opened up the window and was about to make her way onto the roof of the kitchen below when she’d heard the shouting.

Pausing for a moment, she waited to see what the sound was. The shout came again. Sighing she realised that it was Tommy. It was just his nightmares. It had gotten better since Aunt Pol talked with him but it was still happening regularly, and she knew to just ignore him and leave him be. Sighing she continued her climb out the window, until she’d heard the gunshot.

The sound had sent her flying to the floor. Covering her head and breathing heavily she listened carefully. Not knowing if the shot had come from Tommy or from an intruder she crawled to her bedroom door, pressing her ear against it to listen for any sounds of a fight. Then she heard Tommy shout again, and another gunshot.

Panicked Charlotte knew that something was wrong. Reaching for her own gun she stood and opened her door. Walking carefully as to not make a noise, she raised the gun, arms outstretched continuing her path to Tommy. As she reached his door everything had gone silent again. No yelling. No more gunshots. Keeping her body pressed against the wall, gun still outstretched in front of her, she reached one hand out and grasped the doorknob. Readying herself for a fight, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

As the door swung wide, both Shelby’s moved simultaneously. Tommy’s head and gun shot up as Charlotte’s feet propelled her forward into his room. Everything happened before she could release her breath. She looked around not seeing anyone else as a final shot rang out.

Charlotte flinched as she felt the air move next to her. Then more shouting. Then the air was leaving her lungs as she was slammed against the wall. She tried to make sense of what was happening.

Her eyes were closed, and Tommy was yelling. Was he yelling? He ears were ringing. It was hard to tell. She felt hands on her face and she snapped her eyes open.

It was Tommy.

He looked panicked.

Funny.

Wasn’t she the one that was suppose to be panicked?

He had her pressed against the wall, his hands holding her face, and he was saying something.

Confusion was written across her features as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. There wasn’t anyone else here. It was Tommy shooting. It was Tommy that shot at her. Was she shot? Had her brother shot her?

Finally meeting his eyes, Tommy’s voice found its way to hear ears. “What were you thinking? What were you thinking? Charlotte?” His hands shook as he removed them from her face. Running his hand down her arms he grabbed her waist and pressed on her stomach.

“Where is it? Where did I get you? Where are you hurt?” He continued to manhandle her as she realised what he was doing. Trying to find her voice she whispered, “Stop. It’s ok. Stop.” Ignoring her and still searching for a wound she had to shout to get his attention, “Tommy! Stop! I’m ok. Stop. Look, right there. That’s where the bullet hit.”

Pointing to the wall next to her Tommy stood up and looked from her to the wall and back again. Shaking and sweating he started to speak again. “What were you doing? Why did you come in here? And where the fuck did you get this gun?”

Reaching down he snatched it from her hands and threw it on the floor. Grabbing her face again he leaned closer whispering to her, “What were you thinking, huh? Why were you running in here with a gun?” Shivering she tried to explain, “I thought there was someone here. I thought... I thought that you were hurt and–”

Cutting her off Tommy finished her sentence, “And you thought you’d help me. Is that it? You thought that someone had hurt me and instead of getting out of the house, you ran in here to help? You didn’t think that you’d get hurt too?”

His words reached her mind and she slowly nodded her head. Looking up at him she saw tears running down his face. She tried to take a breath only for a sob to escape and she realised her own tears had made an appearance.

Pulling her into his chest Tommy tried to lecture her, “You can’t to that Charlie. You can’t come running in here like that. You gotta think about these things.”

His admonishment made her cry harder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to help. I didn’t know.”

They stood silent, Tommy holding onto her for a minute or two before he took a breath and walked her to his bed. Sitting her on the edge he knelt in front of her. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m sorry for the yelling and the shooting. I'm trying to make it better. I didn’t realise it was you. Do you understand that? I didn’t know it was you. I didn't mean to shoot at you.”

Nodding at him, he continued, “You can’t do that again. You can’t come in here if I’m yelling, ok? It’s not safe.”

Looking back at him, Charlotte responded. “But I thought you were in trouble.”

Taking her hands in his, he tightened his grip. “I know Charlie, I know. But you can’t do that. If you hear gunshots, you run in the other direction, ok? You run. Go get John or Arthur. But don’t you try to help.” Feeling dejected she agreed, “Yeah. Ok. I got it.”

“Good. Now where’d you get that gun? Do you even know how to use it?” As he walked over to where he’d thrown it on the ground she tried to explain, “John gave it to me. Maybe the day after you got off the train. He said it was for emergencies. I don’t know why it’s a big deal... You all have them. Even Ada has one.”

Walking back to her with the revolver Tommy opened the cylinder and paused. “Charlie, there’s one bullet in here. You didn’t think to check for bullets?”

Embarrassed, she shook her head and looked the other way. Sitting down on the bed next to her he emptied the bullet into his hand and passed the gun back to her. “Right, well. How about tomorrow I show you how to use this thing? We can go out to the field and shoot some bottles. You gotta learn before you go pointing that thing at people.” Taking the bullet he opened the drawer on his bedside table and dropped it inside. He then picked up the pipe and tin cramming them in there as well.

“What’s that Tom?” Not looking at her he explained, “That’s to help me sleep, Charlie girl. Now why don’t you go do that yourself, eh?” Pointing out the door he added, “In your bed, not in the stables.”

Groaning at him she asked, “Well, if I can’t go to the horses, can I stay here with you? I’ll read and be quiet, I promise.” Agreeing, he stood up and headed to the door, “Sure you can. But I’m going to put the kettle on. You want a cup?” She nodded and heading down the stairs he called to her, “Get those muddy boots off the bed, Charlie.” Groaning she walked back to her room, rid herself of the boots and found a book to help her fall asleep.

That night Charlotte had fallen asleep in Tommy’s bed with a book in her hands before he ever made it back upstairs with their tea. Putting her cup of tea on his table, and pulling her book from her hands he sat down next to her on top of the blanket, his back resting against the bed frame. Looking at her book in his hands he read the title, ‘Dubliners’. Well, it looked like James Joyce would be keeping him company tonight. He didn’t trust himself to fall asleep with her in the room. For fuck’s sake, he’d nearly shot her tonight. He needed to be more careful. No more loaded guns under his pillow. In the morning he’d double check that she was alright, and make sure she promised to never bring this up to anyone else, ever. This needed to stay between them.

Thinking back on what was probably the worst night of her life, Charlotte put the stopper back on the vial and put it back where she’d found it. It felt a little like a trap to her. If Tommy remembered the vials and went to retrieve them and they weren’t there, he’d think she’d used it and she’d be in for it. Her brothers rarely let her drink whisky, snow was definitely out of the question. But she also knew that if she handed them over, they’d likely end up in Arthur’s hands, and months ago Polly had enlisted her help in keeping the stuff away from him.

She’d read in the papers that the government was working on a new law to ban certain drugs throughout all of England, and cocaine was at the top of their list. She was just going to pretend like she’d never found the vials. Putting them back where they were she decided to forget about it and move along. Nothing to see here.

Getting back to her business she reached behind her, holding onto the top ledge of the wardrobe, to grab her stack of books. She grumbled to herself as her fingertips just barely grazed the top of the stack. Damn. She could barely touch the very top book, she wasn’t going to reach the entire stack unless her arm grew about six inches in the next six seconds.

Trying not to abandon all hope she slowly shifted her feet so she was standing to the side and could more easily see and reach the books. She gently bent her knees trying to maintain her balance as the stacked chairs wobbled underneath her. Reaching over a little farther she tried to get a grasp on the books. As her hand made contact with the top book, her fingers holding purchase to the wardrobe ledge slipped, and she felt the full force of her weight falling into the chest of drawers.

As the chairs collapsed and the room tilted out from underneath her she made a small squeaking yelp before the chest crashed over and she followed after. She heard something shatter and felt a sharp pain before her head hit the ground and everything went black.

Down in the shop, the head of the men milling about jerked upward as they heard a crash followed by a thud that actually did shake the walls. Arthur, his irritation growing at the continuation of her noise after his assistance, nearly shouted, “I’m gonna kill her if she does that one more time.”

Shushing her nephew Polly stepped in to calm his nerves, “Don’t worry. I’ll go upstairs and see what she’s doing and if she needs more help.” Placing her cup of tea on his desk Polly marched up the stairs calling her nieces name, “Charlotte! Charlie? What in the bloody hell are you doing up here?” Reaching the end of the hall she turned into Charlotte’s room and froze. “Holy Jesus...”

Charlotte lay in the middle of the room a puddle of blood beginning to form near her leg. She was unconscious and her shoulder looked to be at an odd angle. Polly turned, walking briskly back to the top of the stairs and trying to keep her voice calm as to not cause any chaos she called down, “John! I need you upstairs for a moment. Quickly.”

She herself turned and ran back to Charlotte. She fell to the ground beside her niece, and picking up her head to place it in her lap Polly simultaneously checked the girl’s breathing. Polly sighed in relief and tried tapping Charlotte’s cheek hoping to wake her up.

Making his way up the stairs Polly heard John's voice, “Alright ladies, what is it this time?” Walking into the room he too froze, silent. Polly began to give him instructions while he stood in shock at the sight before him.

“Go fetch you wife, John. Go get Esme. She told me she had some nurses training while Ada was giving birth. Go get her. Look at me, John. Look at me. Walk downstairs calmly. And don’t you dare run until the shop door is closed. Not a person down there needs to be panicked at this sight just yet, and we sure as hell don’t need to go running off any bets. Now, go! John! Go get your wife!” Her firm voice snapped him back to reality, and nodding at her instructions he left.

Stoically John walked back down the stairs, through the shop, and to the door. In the back of his mind he knew Arthur was calling for him, but he kept moving. He ignored his oldest brother and just as Polly said to, he calmly shut the door before letting out a breath and running down the block shouting for Esme.

As Polly examined Charlotte’s injuries she discovered a bleed at the back of her head, her shoulder was definitely dislocated, and the pooling blood was coming from a large shard of ceramic lodged into the girl’s leg. Looking around the room she saw two chairs on their sides; one desk chair and one stuffed lounge chair. Charlotte’s chest of drawers had fallen face down, the pitcher and basin that had once sat atop it shattered in pieces on the ground next to the glass that had once belonged to the frame holding their family portrait. Looking down at her nieces face nestled in her lap she muttered, “Bloody hell. What were you up to?”

Back downstairs the door to the betting shop flew open and John ran in, breathing heavily and holding Esme’s hand. Polly had told him to keep calm, but to hell with that. John rushed Esme up the stairs and into the same room he had just exited not five minutes earlier. Upon arriving at the mess of books, glass, and blood Esme got to work examining Charlotte and talking to Polly. Standing and staring, waiting for instructions from Esme he startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“What in the fuck happened here?” Arthur shouted, fear audible in his voice. Polly raised her head to the men standing in the doorway. “Keep it down. This is family business and none of the men downstairs placing bets needs to know that something is amiss up here.” Both brothers nodded, agreeing with their aunt’s assessment. Finally concluding her assessment of their sister Esme turned and spoke to the brothers, “Which one of you can put a shoulder back into place?” Arthur, stepped forward, “That’d be me. I can do it.”

As Arthur walked forward Charlotte began to cough, eyes fluttering open. There was a sigh of relief from the room and Charlotte looked around and muttered, “Fuck.” She tried to sit up and Esme held her down, “No. No. Don’t do that. Lay still.”

Ever the stubborn one, Charlotte became indignant, “Wait for what? Just lemme up.” Turning around, Esme called to John, “Come here and help. John you’ll need to hold her while Arthur does the job.” Still confused and trying to sit up Charlotte became concerned as the boys walked toward her, “Wait. Wait. Hold on just a minute. Just hold on a fucking minute.”

Turning to Esme she questioned, “Why’s he got to hold me? And what’s Arthur about to do?” John and Arthur looked to one another and continued walking toward her without speaking. Getting up, Polly switched places with John and he hoisted Charlotte into a sitting position.

Heading for the door Polly announced, “I’m going to go get some rags and whisky, I think we’ll need it.” Calling after her, Esme added, “And bowls for water... And a sewing kit!” Settling in so that Charlotte’s back rested against his chest John started to explain what was about to happen. “You just gotta hold still Lottie. Esme knows what she’s doing and she says Arthur’s gotta put that shoulder back into place. So just hold still and then we’ll get that chunk of glass outta your leg.”

Trying to put on a brave face Charlotte tried, unsuccessfully, not to panic. “Just hold on. Just lemme breathe a second, ok? You all need to wait.” Leaning forward Arthur reached out to grab ahold of Charlotte’s left shoulder and elbow. “It’s gotta be done now, Charlie. The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be. Just take a breath. It’s not gonna hurt that bad. I bet that piece of pitcher sticking outta your leg there hurts a lot worse.”

Staring back at Arthur Charlotte asked, “Do you even know what you’re doing? I mean, how many times–”

Charlotte’s line of questioning was cut short as Arthur tightened his grip, locked eyes with John, and jerked her shoulder up and into place. The room went silent for exactly three seconds as Charlotte opened her mouth to scream.

Air escaped her lungs, but no noise came.

Closing her eyes and finally inhaling she released a scream that nearly shattered the windows.

Wincing and trying to cover his ears Arthur said flatly, “Well, there goes Polly’s plan to keep this family business.”

Another three seconds passed and opening her eyes wide Charlotte found her words, “Fuck you, Arthur Shelby! You fucking liar. Fuck you! It’s not gonna hurt?” Holding up his hands in defence Arthur backed away as Charlotte flung her leg up, trying to kick him. Unsuccessful, she tried again and continued to yell. “Get back over here. Lemme show you how much it’s not gonna hurt, you son of a bitch.”

Heading toward the door Arthur announced that his work here was done and he had to be somewhere to be. Yelling at his retreat, Charlotte continued, “Where you going, Arthur? Come back here, it’s not gonna hurt, I promise.” Trying not to laugh John kept hold on his sister, “Lottie, calm down! You got a whole pitcher stuck in your leg there and you’re gonna bleed out if you don’t stop thrashing around.”

Kneeling down and pressing her hands on either side of the ceramic sticking out of Charlotte’s leg, Esme came to his aid, “Charlie, you really need to stop moving, you’re making it worse.” Charlotte immediately stopped moving and looked down at her leg. It was as if she was seeing the damage there for the first time. The blood drained from her face and she leaned back into him once more, “Shit, that looks bad.” Rolling his eyes John responded, “You’re not wrong there.”

Tommy had decided to move his work into his office after his aunt and both brothers had abandoned him to head upstairs. He tried to ignore John’s leaving, then returning with Esme. He was busy. Whatever it was, Polly could handle it. Opening up his journal, he got to work. Minutes later he looked up as Polly made her way back down the stairs and into the family’s house. He tried to catch her eye, but she pointedly refused to acknowledge him.

Closing the book he sighed, stood, and went to follow her. “Polly? What’s wrong? You look stressed.” Digging around in the pantry and pulling out some towels she replied, “It’s fine, Thomas. Go back to your work. I’ve got this under control.” Not quite convinced he pressed her further, “Are you sure Pol? What’s Esme doing up there? And what the fuck are you looking for in there?” Responding without answering his questions Polly asked, “Where’s the whisky?” Rolling his eyes Tommy decided that two could play this game.

“What’s going on upstairs, Polly? Is there something wrong?” Polly continued to ignore him and walked into the kitchen. Grabbing her by the arm he forced her to stop what she was doing and look at him. “Fucking answer me. What is going–”

He was cut short by a raging scream that could've risen the dead. Polly’s eyes went wide as Tommy locked his eyes on hers. Raising his eyebrows, he waited for an explanation.

“Right. Well, that was probably Arthur putting her shoulder back in place.” His own eyes grew wide at her explanation. Before he could get a word out Polly was back to digging around under the kitchen sink. “We need a bottle of whiskey and a sewing kit. Wait, no. Make that two bottles. Here, take these, and grab those towels.”

Handing him two bowls she pointed to the towels sitting on the table. Still paying him no mind she walked into the front room and returned with a sewing basket. Looking to him she asked, “Well, where’s the whisky?” Nodding his head, Tommy moved in the direction of his office.

As he headed toward his office he heard Polly shouting, “What in the fuck do you all think you’re looking at? Eh?” Looking up Tommy finally realised that all movement, conversation, and betting had stopped inside the shop. There were about 20 men standing still, all watching them intently.

Moving to him Polly took the dishes and rags out of his arms and started up the stairs, “Get everyone out of here Tommy. Close up shop, and we’ll deal with business tomorrow. Grab that whisky and get your ass upstairs.”

Turning to his audience he announced, “Alright lads, you heard the lady, finish your business and make your way home. The shop is closing.” Walking into his off for the bottles of whisky, Scudboat followed in after him. “What’s going on Tom? We all heard that scream a few minutes ago. Nobody’s said a word since and they’ve all been standing there watching Polly.”

Grabbing two bottles from his desk drawer he responded, “If you’d believe it, I have absolutely no idea what is going on up there. But it looks like Polly’s on a path, and it’s best to either get on board or get outta the way. I’m already on board, mate. You best be moving along.” Scudboat laughed, “You want me to lock up?”

Nodding at him Tommy instructed, “Check all the doors in both houses, we don’t need anybody robbing us blind.” Grabbing his keys, Scudboat moved to follow orders and Tommy made his way up the stairs, passing Arthur on the way out. “Where you going?” Without looking back, Arthur responded, “I did me part up there, I got a meeting across town.” Tommy knew it was their father. Arthur was meeting with that son of a bitch, and he knew the man would end up disappointing his brother. Putting it out of his mind Tommy continued his way upstairs. There were clearly more important things at hand.

#peaky blinders #peaky sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #peaky blinders oc #polly gray #Charlotte Shelby

[notyour-valentine]

Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 14 ~ Tommy Shelby x Crawley!OC (Series)

[Masterlist] [Taglist] [Series Masterlist]

Summary: No Tommy but Charlotte and Lizzie - Chazzie...Lilotte?

If interested, you can check out this post for more about Charlotte

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption.I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 5140 words

Part 14

Charlotte felt like her head could explode any minute now. It was like a kettle ready to hiss and whistle just with nowhere for the air to escape, so it would shake and tremble more and more until the material would simply give in. 

And her seams were ripping, as of course, this was the topic of conversation at dinner. How could it not be?

“Only a few years ago, this would have been unthinkable.”, her father said, his voice strained with suppressed outrage. Her father was not one to shout, and would not do in this instance. He maybe just wouldn't be too hard on someone that this matter brought to shouting, so deeply ran his resentment and shock. 

“A field marshall assassinated at the Derby, in the presence of their Majesties!”

His voice almost cracked on the final word. 

Yes, she thought. The King had been there too, and the Queen. She had almost forgotten. Then again, most of the day seemed like a blur to her now, a wash of white and brown and grey, in contrast to the inescapable. 

“I’ve heard it was the Irish.”, Mary said over some wonderful creation of carrot mousse and seabass that tasted like nothing but cardboard to her and her alone, as she forced herself to choke down bite by bite. It was little enough, but the last thing she wanted was their attention on her. 

If they look, they'll know. “How could it not be the Irish?", Edith argued. "After all he did to those poor people in Cork!”. 

She said it as if it was something everyone would know, which naturally ticked Mary off. 

For once, she didn't mind their squabble. Fight, she thought, fight so no one remembers I'm here. 

She was too old to crawl in her mother's bed and disappear in her arms, to hide between her parents and let their warmth and love melt away her night terrors. 

She was too old for that, and her terrors were worse and more shocking than any nightmare of hers had ever been. And since she could no longer melt into their embrace, she just wanted to disappear, to simply vanish until the world made sense again. “Whatever are you talking about?”, Mary snapped, almost rolling her eyes at Edith, who smirked in triumph. 

“Don’t you ever read the newspapers?”, she asked. "Even you might learn something."

"Girls-", their mother warned under her breath. “It seems Branson has rubbed off on you.", Mary said, fighting Edith's smugness with performative disinterest. 

Yet it was Charlotte who was cut by her words as the mention of his name only hammered down Sybil’s absence. 

She could not run to her mother, could not confide in Mary, not in anyone - even Sybil was a stretch, but there was still a chance. 

If anyone, then Sybil. But she wasn't here. She was across the sea, safe and untouched by all of this. 

“It has nothing to do with him.”, Edith argued, not wanting to let this go “I don’t condone the attack, obviously, but we shouldn’t pretend like he was a saint either, now just because he is dead." “Edith,”, their father said sternly, “Russell has served this country during many wars, including the Boer War, might I remind you, with distinction."

Sir Richard scoffed. 

“I hear he has a reputation for vulgarity.”

Robert shot him down with a glare. “He was a soldier in service to his king and this country and deserves every ounce of respect. And for him to be butchered by Irish terrorists is not only a tragedy but also a scandal for our nation."

The knife slipped from her grasp and clattered onto her plate, before sliding off and disappearing under the table. 

“Apologies.”, she mumbled quickly, rushing to bend down to hide her face. 

It was a small mercy and all she got,  a split second to breathe and compose herself, to pretend the storm inside her wasn't raging. 

“I think it’s far time to change the topic of conversation!”, her mother said at once. 

Robert cleared his throat and looked over at her. “You’re right. This is no topic for the ladies.”, he said, his blue eyes softening with care and affection. 

She quickly looked away. “It’s fine.”, she said, trying her best to sound convincing, at which she failed miserably. 

“I know it’s ghoulish, but I am so relieved you left early.”, her mother said softly, shaking her head. 

“Yes,”, Robert agreed, “How is Miss Stark?”

Cora had informed him that an acquaintance of Charlotte's had gotten ill from a heatstroke and that she had taken her home. He had been displeased at her absence, but the chivalrous compassion had eased his disapproval. Then of course, Russell's body had been discovered and the world turned on its head. 

Charlotte swallowed hard and glanced at her mother. 

Her eyes were wide alert, as if she was ready to jump in if she should fail, but still gave her the room to try. 

“She is quite exhausted, so I presume she is asleep."

Not that she was in any state for dinner, despite it obviously being offered. Instead, Mrs Hughes had taken her a tray. 

"She said she wanted to catch a train tomorrow after breakfast. I’d like to take a car to accompany her to the station.”

“Of course.”, Cora quickly said. 

In the light of the ban on today’s incidents, the remaining conversation was rather limited, and the fact that she was permitted to remain in silence instead of being roped into the discussion was both blessing and curse. 

But the quiet only made it worse, for that way all of Miss Stark’s words echoed louder and louder in her head. 

Cora soon began to talk about the hospital garden fair, which only reminded her of the fact that her own hospital work, which had been lined up and planned meticulously. She hadn't wanted to put a foot wrong. 

When dinner was over and they moved to the drawing room, Charlotte counted the minutes until she could excuse herself. 

More than ever before, did she miss Sybil. If she could tell a soul, she could have told her…she could have and Sybil would have supported her, helped her, let her be angry or soothed her tears. 

She didn't know whether she wanted to scream or cry, but right now she was allowed nothing. Just - terror. Thankfully most of them chalked her behaviour down to today’s events, and she was soon sent off to bed to get some rest. As if any sleep would come to her ever again. 

That’s not even a lie, Charlotte thought bitterly,  her hand trembling on the banister as she crept up, feeling more like a ghost than a person. 

How much a world could change from noon to night. 

Despite the hurricane of her thoughts, her feet proved reliable allies, carrying her to her bedroom. 

It felt foreign to her now, from the pale mint green colour of the curtains, to the pillows chosen to match. The way the mattress dented when she sat down, the feeling of the sheets, the way the street lamps flickered in the distance - all of it was foreign. But was it the world that was foreign now, or her? 

She could hear the sounds of her breath, her chest rising and falling with shallow, faint huffs as her hands trembled. 

If only she was brave enough to scream. 

But she wasn't, and so silence was her only option, silence and confused agony, like a hunted animal that didn't know where the arrows came from. Only she had already been struck, and was bleeding out by the minute. 

She forced her eyes shut to banish her tears and the thoughts that caused them. 

It wasn't even her place to be angry at herself or pity herself, or both. What did she matter in all of this? In all Miss Stark had told her?

Compared to her, what right did she have to the chest-tightening feeling of bottomless betrayal? 

So there was guilt to add to all those feelings too. 

When she heard the knock on the door, she flinched up as if someone had struck her. 

"Anna.", she said breathlessly. "I didn't ring yet."

Anna shook her head. 

"Milady, a Mr. Shelby came to the backdoor to speak to you. I thought you might prefer it not being announced by Mr. Carson so I told him to wait there."

Charlotte felt her stomach drop, and her heart with it until there was only an icy, bottomless pit inside her. 

I can’t see him. I can’t speak to him. I don’t want to. I can’t. 

Like a frozen flower, she would shatter in his mere presence. 

But she couldn’t say that to Anna. She would have to explain herself, and she couldn’t. 

She had thought keeping him there was a kindness, given all she had told her of her activities with his charity, or what he had made her believe to be that. 

If she didn't comply now, Anna would have her questions why. 

Worse, she might ask Mary, and her sister would stop at nothing - 

Charlotte cleared her throat and looked down, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. 

She had no choice. 

Unless she wanted to say the unspeakable and explain the inexplicable, she had to go down. 

"Stay with me?", she asked, her voice trembling just slightly, betraying her to someone who knew her for nearly all her life. 

"Of course, Milady.", she said, offering her a small smile, but it didn't reach Anna's eyes. For that, she could read her too well. 

So she quickly moved ahead, unable to stand the piercing gaze. 

But every step felt like she was dragging the weight of the world with her.

Still, despite everything, she was a Crawley. She had to be brave. There was no other option. 

The servant's staircase spared her the knowing and judging gaze of her ancestors on the walls, but instead she saw a few curious glances of the servants as Anna led her out. 

Of course Anna had thought of bringing along one of her scarves. 

She wore it like a coat of armour, because it was the only protection she could have. 

Taking a deep breath, like poor Jane Grey stepping out onto the Tower Green, she opened the door to the back entrance. 

She smelled the smoke before she saw the glimmer of the cigarette, and then the man flicking it away. 

His tie needle reflected in the light of the lantern, then the blonde of his hair. “John.”

His name slipped from her lips like a cry of shock.

She had feared, but expected Tommy, and now on consideration perhaps even Arthur, but not John. Never John. He was the last one she had thought to come and seek her out. 

But here he was, looking up at her with wide blue eyes. 

“You live here?”, he asked surprised, his eyes wide with awe as he looked up the facade, the stucco, the countless windows. 

“When in London, yes.”, Charlotte said, as she approached him slowly. 

Arthur’s Arthur. He can’t help it, really. But John- John has a good heart. 

He held his hat in his hands and shifted uncomfortably from one step to the other. 

The hat, she remembered. 

“Ahm, where is Lizzie?”, he asked, the way she imagined a schoolboy would inquire after his friend.  

“Upstairs.”, Charlotte said. The mention of her sent a surge of defiance through her, like a second coat of iron out of the necessity of protecting the woman, but that also protected her in turn. 

"She’s sleeping.”

“D-doesn’t she want to go home?”, he asked, glancing up as if he could look through the walls and windows into the guest bedroom. 

“Not tonight.”

John nodded, taking a deep breath, his mouth contorting. “How is she?”, he wanted to know, barely glancing up at her. He couldn't meet her gaze fully, but he couldn't look away either. For that, he cared too much. 

And Miss Stark cared about him too. She had told her as much, about John, and his children and the wedding. About how he still tried his best to care for her after. About how he was good, one of the good ones, Charlotte. One of the boys they sent. A boy, not a man. Not like Arthur and Tommy. Once she had feared the sharpness of his eyes, the cruelty in his words, the way he made her feel small and stupid and useless, but now Miss Stark’s assessment, as little as it was, was all she had to hold onto. 

She cared about him, and he cared about her. So Charlotte chose to answer. “I don’t know. Hurt. Tired. Angry."

She sighed once more, leaning against the doorframe. 

"She didn’t want to see a doctor.��

Perhaps he could make her see sense. 

“Course not.”, he mumbled to himself. 

Then his blue eyes met his. “Thanks, Charlotte. I know you and Lizzie…”

As he spoke, he turned his cap in his hands and when the light hit it right, she saw the light glimmer in the reflection. 

Oh, she thought. Oh no. 

She had forgotten all about that part, the fact getting lost in the tirade of terror, but it came rushing back, turning her stomach and making bile rise in her throat. 

“That doesn’t matter now.”, she said quickly. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“They wouldn’t.”, he argued. “And I’m sorry for…you know.”

Charlotte nodded once more. “It’s fine.”

For a moment silence hung between them. “Tommy’s outside. He’s also worried about Lizzie.”

“I see.”, Charlotte said, the pain that was already pounding in her chest, getting even worse, so bad she felt her entire insides were ignited with agony. “I doubt Miss Stark will want to see him anytime soon.”

“And what about you?” I never want to see him again. I never want to talk to him again. I never ever want to think about him again! Granny was right. This was a terrible, terrible mistake. 

If she could wipe him from her memory, she would in a heartbeat. 

“I can’t go out now.”, she said, blinking away her tears. “It’s late and very cold.”

John saw right through her excuse. 

“Has she…”, he began slowly, “has she said…”

“She told me enough, John.”, Charlotte said firmly, building herself up to her full height, “Miss Stark told me quite enough."

~

There was no sleep for her that night, and she guessed probably not for many nights to come. Her thoughts were too loud, the pictures Miss Stark painted too vivid and horrid and horrific to allow her much rest. 

When Anna came with the morning tea, Charlotte was already up, with a scarf around her shoulders instead of her robe. She had left that with Miss Stark. 

What a foolish, useless little thing in light of what had happened, what had happened to her. 

"Has Miss Stark been woken yet?", She asked, avoiding Anna’s look. She felt the blonde woman would read her at any glance, would need only one look and see the truth of it all. 

She probably knew about the real cause of Miss Stark’s distress already. That was why Mrs Hughes and her mother asked Anna for help. She was kind and discreet, and a soul they all could trust. 

"About now, I think.", Anna said. “I’ve sent Lily up with a tray.”

"I think I will go and see her before getting ready for breakfast."

It was an improper thing to do, and so Anna helped her into a day-dress as quickly as she could, even skipping the stockings. She would only be going down the hall after all. 

“There, Milady. Good enough I’d say.”, she said with her cheerful tone, as she smoothed down her hair just barely. 

With that, she stilled her hands, her eyes finding hers in the reflection of the mirror. 

“The last day has been quite distressing for you hasn’t it?”

It wasn’t a question as much as a medical diagnosis. 

She had known her since she was a little girl and knew things about her that Mary and Edith missed. She had been taking care of her too long for her to miss things like these, even if she managed to conceal them from her sisters. 

“Well, denial would be futile, so…”

She broke off and shook her head. 

“I’ll just be glad to be home.”

That wasn’t even half a lie. She wanted to go home, to be back in Downton, to breathe Yorkshire air and be surrounded by her home as far as the eye could see. 

“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”, she said, the words heavier than the normal empty courtesy. 

"Thank you, Anna.”

But there are things I couldn't even tell you if I wanted to. 

Leaving Anna to tidy, she left her room and walked the short distance to where Miss Stark had been put up in. She found her resting against the pillows, staring at the tea tray over her lap as if it was a wild animal ready to bite her nose off. 

Charlotte made a point of not looking at the swelling of her lip. 

Lily was with her, standing by the window. 

"Good morning, Milady!", She greeted, dropping into a small curtsy. 

"I was just asking Miss Stark what to do about clothes for today since she doesn't have any luggage."

No, Charlotte thought, there was no luggage, and the clothes she had worn, well, they had been reduced to tatters on the bathroom floor. Anna had helped her cover that up. 

"She can have a pick of anything I brought.", she offered. “Try to pick out a few options of anything long.”

Miss Stark was a good deal taller than she was. 

With that, Lily left with a gentle "Yes, Milady."

The door closed behind her, leaving Charlotte and the other woman alone. 

The silence made her thoughts and the abstract fear they caused ring louder, echoing in her ears. 

"Is this…normal?", Miss Stark asked, waving at the tray of tea, biscuits and orange slices. 

"Well,", she said softly, sitting down on the chaise lounge. "Mine didn’t have orange slices."

Miss Stark huffed, and Charlotte couldn’t tell if it was a sign of success or failure at her attempt of lightening the situation. 

When her fingers touched the porcellian, they trembled. 

"How's the tea?", she asked, playing with the edge of her scarf. 

"It's good.", Miss Stark mumbled, staring into it as if she hoped to see the future in the china. 

"Did you sleep?"

She shook her head, which was understandable. 

"Did you?"

Her response was the same. 

What can I say?, She wondered, her chest tightening. What even is there to say?

The knock on the door surprised them both, especially when Charlotte saw who it revealed. 

"Good morning, Mama!", She said, getting up from the bed and kissing her cheek. 

Her mother looked to have had the same thoughts she had, to see Miss Stark as soon as she woke up. She wore a pale blue tea gown, the old kind with the wide cuts, flowing fabric and big pockets that was from before the war. It was far from the latest fashion but she had a preference for robes like these. 

"Apologies, Miss Stark.", She said, "I heard you'd planned to take the early train and I couldn't let you go in good conscience without at least checking up on you."

Miss Stark was staring up at her with wide eyes, like a deer in headlights. 

"Ahm- good morning.", She mumbled, before trying to remove the tea tray in order to get up in a rush. 

“Oh no need for that!”, her mother said swiftly. “We’re the one invading your bedroom this morning, aren’t we?”, she said, taking Charlotte’s arm. 

"I'm sorry for being a bother, Milady.”, Miss Stark told the teacup. 

A sense of sadness washed over her mother’s face. 

"Oh please, you could never be a bother, Miss Stark. You have all of us quite a scare. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to see a doctor? We can arrange it, easily. Quietly. We’d take care of it all, and there would be no risk to your reputation.”

"No Doctor, please.", Miss Stark said sharply. 

Her mother, Lady Grantham, sighed. 

"Alright, but I'll send up Anna to see to your cuts again, yes? The same ointment Mrs Hughes gave you yesterday.”

To that, she agreed. 

"Good.”, her mother said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Now what do we do about clothes?"

"Oh, Miss Stark- will borrow some of my things."

Her mother looked at her as if she had suggested something ludicrous. “Nonsense, darling. Miss Stark won't fit into your clothes. I'll have the maids take some of Mary's things."

"Mary will hate that!", Charlotte said. And she would demand to know why - 

She already had far too much going on to dare getting Mary upset at her now. 

"I'll handle Mary.", Her mother assured her, "Don't you worry one bit, Miss Stark. After breakfast, we'll have the car ready to take you to the station, whenever you need, whether that is this morning, today or tomorrow."

"Thank you, Milady.", Miss Stark said. "For everything."

"No need.", She assured her, before cupping Charlotte's cheek. 

"I'm very proud of you, darling.”

In that moment, for a split second, the world was alright again, but as soon as her mother left, she felt herself falling into that icy pit again. 

They wouldn’t be proud if they knew what she knew now. They’d be so enraged and appalled, shocked and horrified - just as she was now. And she felt so very stupid. 

"Your mother's lovely.", Miss Stark said softly, once the door was closed again. 

"Yes.", Charlotte admitted breathlessly. Lovely and completely in the dark of the foolishness of her youngest daughter. 

Miss Stark shook her head, biting her lip as she did. 

"Fuck.", She groaned, as she dropped her head into her hands. "Fucking hell, Charlotte!"

The swearing made her jump. But could she blame Miss Stark for her choice of words?

"What's wrong?", She wanted to know, rushing towards her. "What did I do? What did Mama do?"

"Nothing!", she snapped. "That's the whole fucking point."

She ran a hand through her hair.

"You're…you're not like us - fuck - I never should have said a thing.”

“No,”

Now it was her voice to add sharpness. 

“It was far time I knew.”

All this pain, confusion and betrayal she felt was infinitely better than the puppet on a string she had been before, oblivious and foolish, pouring her heart, soul and energy into his castle of clouds that he conjured up only to lure her in. 

It all seemed so obvious now, of course. So blatantly, tragically obvious. And the worst part was, others had seen it while she had deluded herself, and would have continued to do so if Miss Stark hadn’t told her. 

~

Home did not bring the relief she had hoped for. Maybe, it even made it worse, as she had never missed Sybil more than now. 

Sybil would listen, without laughing, without being shocked or horrified. She would listen without judging. No 'I told you so's, no 'you should have known's, no 'How could you be so foolish?'s. 

But Sybil wasn't here. She was gone, off to Ireland with Branson - she could scratch his eyes out for that now more than ever! 

Charlotte tried to write to her but every time she tried to put it into words she failed miserably. It never sounded right, it never captured her thoughts properly. And even putting these things in writing felt like a crime of their own. 

And she burned each and every piece of paper until her room smelled of nothing but smoke. 

She couldn't telephone her either. Sybil didn't have a telephone now and she couldn't dare being overheard. So she was all alone, alone with her thoughts. 

She went riding before breakfast so as to avoid the conversation, and took long walks in the afternoon. 

But no matter how fast or far she galloped, she couldn't outrace her thoughts. Her betters had tried and failed at that, her grandmother informed her with a sharp quip. 

Sleeping was difficult as well, because sometimes she would dream. 

The nightmares were bad, but the other dreams were worse, those in which it was just them together, those of work and pride, when her research bled into the realm of her dreams. In those dreams, they got along, which made her want to drown herself in her shame at her own mind’s betrayal. 

Her family all thought she was upset about the field marshall, with her mother perhaps taking Miss Stark, Lizzie now as she insisted she call her, into account.  And in a way they were right. 

Tommy killed him. 

Tommy shot him in the head with his own gun and killed him. 

Tommy made Lizzie lure the man away, who hurt her and then Tommy shot him in the head with his own gun and killed him. 

Because that's what Tommy does. He kills people. He hurts people. He blinds people. He uses his own brothers like soldiers.

Lizzie had told her. 

That and so much more. 

The man she admired, the man she had been so desperate to impress, the man who had made her feel more useful and valued than any other person in her whole life. And for what? 

She hadn’t understood who the inspector was, or what that had to do with guns and the IRA and a barmaid. But she had known Mr Churchill - how relieved she had felt when hearing his name, a small sliver of familiarity in the chaos of Lizzie’s words, only for that to be turned on it’s head. 

Advantage was what she had said. Insurance. 

During the meals, she tried to keep to herself as much as possible and avoid conversation. 

There was always something more important than her to discuss and she happily let them. 

Right now, the topic of the week was the garden party for the hospital. 

Now, with the war over, it has come up again. 

"I doubt anyone would be comfortable after what happened last time.", her mother said. 

What a different time that had been. What a different world. 

"We don't need reminding."

"It gives the village an opportunity to show unity in support for the hospital, especially after the war.", Granny insisted. 

"On that we agree.", Isobel said. "Speaking of hospitals- Charlotte, how are your preparations going?"

Charlotte glanced up, confused at what she was asking. 

"Preparations for what?", her mother asked. 

Isobel responded and in her answer, reminded her. 

"Charlotte is set to meet with a few doctors for the children's hospital in Birmingham next week."

The wine in her glass trembled just slightly 

That seemed a lifetime ago now. Or maybe a life that wasn't her own. One of make-believe and stupidity. 

"I've been helping her prepare."

Isobel smiled at her and she tried to smile back, but the muscles in her face fought the motion. 

"If I can give you one bit of advice, talk to the nurses. They know more about the day-to -day runnings of the hospital than the doctors."

"Naturally you would say that.", Granny quipped. 

"When are you going?", her mother wanted to know. 

Charlotte cleared her throat and glanced down at her hands. They were still trembling. 

"The meeting is next Tuesday.", She said softly. 

"Are you sure you should be going?”, Cora asked, a line of concern between her brows. 

"I think she most certainly should.", Isobel argued. "It is her project and she is very well prepared."

"I disagree.", her father said said, "Charlotte should take some time to rest, especially after the shock."

Don't I know it, she thought bitterly. 

"But some distraction might do her good.", Isobel argued. 

"I agree with Robert.", Matthew said uncommonly forcefully, "besides, there are a great many causes and distractions closer to Downton. I've heard there is an organisation in Ripon that specialises in helping children with reading difficulties."

"Goodness- how intriguing!", Mary scoffed, her eyes finding the back of her head. 

"The last thing Charlotte should do is take on another cause!", Granny argued. "She’s a lady, and they’re working her like a ploughhorse."

"Although I must protest your comparison, I agree that she already has a cause and a very worthy one at that.", Isobel said. 

It was Edith who spoke up next. 

"I'm sorry, but Charlotte, do you even want to go?”

That made them all fall silent and Charlotte wished they would have continued to fight, but now all eyes were on her. 

The worst part was, now everyone knew that it was happening on Tuesday. And they would all wait for it. 

"I, ahm, I don't know yet.", She said softly. "It depends, I guess."

That was an answer that made everyone at the table unhappy, giving neither side more ammunition, or another enemy to strike at. 

Come next morning, she received a call just after breakfast. 

"How are you?", She asked, like she had asked in every call. 

"I'll manage.", The other woman replied. "What about you?"

"I'm trying to figure out how to manage.", She said truthfully, which made her chest tighten in shame. It should be the other way around. She had only heard of the bad things, Lizzie had been forced to live them. 

"Look- about what I told you…"

"I'm glad you did, Lizzie, truly.", She said quickly. 

There was silence for a while. 

"So you went to work again.", Charlotte stated. 

I wouldn’t have. I would have reported him to the police, and everyone else too. 

"Yes."

"How was it?", She asked. 

"He's walking on eggshells."

As he should. 

Well, he should be in prison awaiting a trail at the King’s Court, not walking on eggshells, but that was the least he could do. 

What he had done to her was cruel and so terribly heartless and Charlotte found it entirely unforgivable, but it wasn’t hers to forgive. It was Lizzie’s and so she kept her mouth shut in regards to the outrage she felt. 

"Are you coming back?", Lizzie wanted to know after the screaming silence.

Charlotte sighed and rubbed her temple. 

"I don't know, Lizzie.", She said truthfully. "I don't know anything anymore."

When she went out with the horse, she rode until she felt her lungs would burst, but neither the horse, nor the grass, trees or the wind could tell her an answer. 

If Sybil was here, she could choose for me. 

But she wasn’t and so Charlotte was all alone with her horses and the storm in her mind.

~

Thank you for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts

Taglist

Overall

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight  @lilyevanswhore  @polishcrazyone  @zablife  @just-a-harmless-patato  @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @kmc1989 @trixie23

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik @elenavampire21 @evanore

#welcome to downton mr shelby #charlotte crawley #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #downton abbey #peaky blinders crossover #peaky blinders downton abbey crossover #wtdms

[daemonsdarksister]

Thomas bloody Shelby - peaky blinders

#peaky blinders #cillian murphy #peakyedit #cmurphyedit #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomasshelbyedit #love #helen mccrory #arthur shelby #john shelby #tom hardy #alfie solomons #may carleton #tommy x may #otp #charlotte riley #annabelle wallis #tommy x grace

[red-riding-wood]

White Ribbon Masterlist

1: White Letter

2: Little Spy

3: Traitor

4: Kestrel

5: Venom in My Veins

6: Throne

7: Play For Me

8. Fight Like Animals

9. Made, Not Born

10. Afraid

Chapter 11 coming soon!

? total chapters; WIP; novel length

AO3 link

Charlotte tag: #oc: charlotte

Ship tag: #luca x charlotte

Story tag: #s: white ribbon

Playlist WIP/Coming Soon

#luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #adrien brody #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #my writing #alfie solomons #masterlists #tommy shelby #polly gray #arthur shelby #oc: charlotte #s: white ribbon #luca x charlotte

[strangewiggles]

speaking of that comic can you tell i enjoy drawing hugging/cuddling etc

(all kinda old)

#doodles #old #ocs #val #shelby #sheila #charlotte #julie #adelaide #I HAVENT TALKED ABOIT SHEILA CHARLOTTE AND MY ALIENS YET WE’LL GET THERE

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don’t Hold My Hand (I’ll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Ch. 3

Summary: The day Thomas has been awaiting for is finally here and things don't go as planned. The first crack begins to show

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Talks of medical procedures, needles and blood. Tommy suffers a pain episode

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long! These past weeks have been terribly busy and I have been having a major writer crisis. Yet here we are and I hope you enjoy!

Requested taglist: @call-sign-shark @zablife

《 Prev part -

Ever since their last encounter, Thomas’ attitude towards her shifted. Charlotte couldn’t say he respected her, for that would take more than a few harsh words and stern looks. But he seemed to have found something in her that piqued his interest. He still refused her help on the daily with the most basic of things, stubborn as a mule, or rather stubborn as a Shelby, but he granted her the ‘honour’ of a few words of conversation every now and then. And Charlotte used every chance she could to try and talk him out of his miracle doctor.

She brought up every argument she could muster, but they were all met with indifferent shrugs of the shoulders, dismissive waves of the hand and, when she pressed too hard, with Thomas turning his back to her and escaping her well intentioned words, seeking refuge in the safety of his veranda. Charlotte remembered time after time when she had to convince soldiers to follow treatment for their own good, to have their medicines and do the exercises and quit the alcohol and the laudanum. She never had to talk a man out of doing something, and definitely never a man like Thomas Shelby.

“Just tell me this, Thomas. Have you ever, at least once, met or even seen any of these veterans this doctor has claimed to cure?”

His silence sufficed as a reply.

The faithful day, Charlotte awoke with a bitter taste in her mouth and a heavy feeling in her stomach. A dull headache throbbed in her temples, since sleep had refused to find her, leaving her to toss and turn as the moon slowly gave way to the sun and the birds chirped in their branches. She did her best to carry on with her duties as usual, but every now and then she nervously glanced up towards the clock, waiting for the strike of 3 in the afternoon. The minutes felt too long and the hours too short. If she stared at the clock, the hands refused to move under her watchful gaze. But then she would turn her back for what felt like five minutes, and when she looked again, nearly an hour had transpired.

The doctor had sent beforehand some medicines that Thomas had to drink prior to the appointment. Charlotte had poured some onto a cup and stared at it intently, hoping that if she looked hard enough she could discern what exactly had been mixed into the ambary liquid, since the bottles had neither a chemist’s name nor any label. But other than identifying a hint of a sweet, herbal scent, she got nothing. 

A taxi stopped before the gates just five minutes to three. Mrs. Gray and Charlotte both awaited in the foyer, standing side by side, to welcome the man who promised them the greatest miracle to be ever seen. They heard voices out the door, and Frances opened before he could knock. The second the doctor crossed the threshold, the bad feeling in Charlotte’s gut worsened.

The man before her dressed poorly. And not in the modest but clean way that most working class people did. His brown suit had definitely seen better days, perhaps better years too; frayed at the hems, the seams stretched out and the buttons hanging precariously from thinned out threads. Whoever had sewn in the elbow patches definitely had very little practice in tailoring. The shirt had taken a yellow hue from wear and time, and some bare threads hung from the collar. The shoes desperately needed a visit to the shoemaker, soles detached on the tips, the gap widening with each step.

Two women came with him, one on each side and just a step behind him, both with severe faces and strict postures. They dressed as nurses did, with the light blue dress and the Sister Dora cap upon the hair, but had black rubber aprons tied about the waist instead of the usual soft white linen she herself wore. Their appearance evoked more butchers than healers. Charlotte could certainly picture them wielding cleavers and with red splatters on their faces, not precisely from slicing meat.

Mrs. Gray shared her apprehensions, that much Charlotte could tell by the way the older woman lowered her cigarette slowly, one hand holding onto the ruby pendant hanging from her neck, twirling the gem between her fingers nervously. They both shared a tense and brief side glance, loaded with trepidation,  when the doctor took Mrs Gray's hand and kissed it, his head lowered in a bow. She pulled away from his grasp delicately but firmly, the only betrayal in her collected facade being the slight narrowing of her eyes. He then tried to repeat the impish gesture with Charlotte; but the nurse’ hands remained firm behind her, not giving the audacious man even a speck of chance. 

The doctor straightened, arms behind his back and puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. He appeared to not be unfazed by the tepid welcoming, although Charlotte easily noticed his barely concealed disappointment. Perhaps in other houses he had been received with tears and cheers like a hero who would save the day. She wondered if he had been sent off with the same enthusiasm after his magical treatments. 

“Miss and Madame, I am Doctor Elias Keller '' He put a hand to his chest and bowed again, as if he were being presented to Queen Mary and her daughter in Buckingham Palace. “These are my assistants, Bertha and Henrietta” Both women nodded curtly once, still standing just a step behind Doctor Keller, like petty soldiers flanking a high ranking officer, ready to rush to do his bidding.

The man put out his hand again towards Mrs. Gray, mayhaps hoping for a handshake. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction, instead reaching for her cigarette case and lighting a new one. She took her time to take a long, deliberate drag and allowing the smoke to billow from her dark cherry lips before speaking

“I am Mrs. Gray, Mr. Shelby’s aunt. And this is Charlotte, Mr. Shelby’s private nurse” Charlotte had never heard her refer to Thomas as Mr. Shelby, but she understood the motive; she didn’t want to give Dr. Keller any chance of familiarity. As if she wanted, through subtle actions, to remind him of his position before he got too cocksure. In her line of work she had surely met one too many charlatans, Lottie thought, and she too could smell the rottenness in him. 

Doctor Keller smiled, although the gesture looked perfectly practised and not at all sincere. Charlotte did notice that he looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye, and not in a bawdy way; quite the opposite, in fact. He seemed uncomfortable with her presence, a feeling that had appeared upon his face only after Mrs. Gray mentioned her to be a nurse. He fixed his bowtie, giving it a firm tug before addressing her

“A nurse, you say? You certainly don’t look like one, far too young you are. Perhaps a maid turned caretaker?” He raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling with condescending amusement. Charlotte clenched her jaw, teeth nearly grinding in annoyance.

“War nurse, in fact. I served in convalescent homes and then field hospitals in France since 1916. I was awarded for distinguished service” She puffed out her chest at the last part. Even if her recognition strips and medal lay forgotten at the bottom of a drawer in her room she had the right to boast about them. She had earned them through hardship and sweat, and she would not let this mountebank look her down. 

Doctor Keller’s lips tightened into a line, but he regained himself with such ease one might even doubt the gesture existed. He straightened up once more, his eyes fixated upon Mrs. Gray, every aspect of his posture and demeanour indicating he wished to keep Charlotte excluded from the conversation

“Well Mrs. Gray, I must not be delayed. Every second that I am not by my patient’s side it is a second lost. I am very devoted to them and wish to give them only the best of everything, including my time” Charlotte had to look aside to disguise a poorly stifled laugh. The man didn’t spare her a glance, but his guarding dogs both looked her down with a mixture of annoyance and indignation. The shorter, much older woman reminded Charlotte of her commanding matron in the ward when she first enlisted; they both bore a particular type of severity in their faces that could put generals to their knees. Charlotte had bowed her head before the matron; out of respect for her status and service, but she would not let herself be intimidated by the walking circus before her.

Mrs. Gray on the other hand, had Doctor Keller’s complete attention on her. The man kept trying to go up the stairs, but she kept trying to delay him just a few more minutes

“You have just arrived, why don’t we have tea in the drawing room? We can sit down and discuss what treatment are you planning to implement on my nephew” Her manicured hand came to rest on the doctor’s bicep, as if attempting to steer him away from the grand staircase. But the man, who mere minutes ago had presented himself as fulsome and flirty towards her, didn’t take her attempts kindly. He stepped away from her touch, straightening out his worn jacket.

“Mrs. Gray, I must go to my patient at once. I am a very busy man and see many soldiers like him a day. My time is of precious value and not to be so easily wasted. If you do not show me to his rooms I will be forced to leave and reconsider his position as my patient” He spoke fast, a shrill tone edging his voice, the perfectly polished facade he had brought with himself showing the first crack. He appeared nervous to not have the family’s support, surely not used to be resisted that way. Charlotte prayed internally that Mrs. Gray would push just a little harder, that she would stand her ground for a bit more, enough to scare this opportunist into running and never looking back. 

But alas, Mrs. Gray relented, perhaps to spare herself of a round with her nephew when he found out she had blocked the way for his miracle doctor, or mayhaps because she too bore a miniscule sliver of hope that whatever they did to Thomas may work. 

She gave Charlotte a look, a brief one, no more than a second, but loaded with many conflicting feelings. Her lips quivered from the effort it took her to not say word, and she had to remind herself mentally of her position within that house; just a worker, placed there to look after the Master of the house, not to give opinions or interfere with his businesses. Feeling her heart tighten, Charlotte led the way towards Thomas’ chambers. When they reached the double doors she pushed them open, allowing them inside before stepping in. But she found her path blocked by the older assistant, who crossed her arm on the threshold to hold her back

“Doctor Keller works alone. If he needs help he will have us. Please wait outside” The harshness of her voice matched perfectly that of her face, her broad frame firmly forcing Charlotte out of the room. Incensed, and perhaps frightened, Charlotte stood her ground, her shoulder pushing against the human wall that was the other woman.

“I work here. I am his caretaker. You will not touch a hair of his head without me there” She spoke perhaps with more passion and strength than her station required, but she felt an overwhelming need to protect Thomas. She could not let, on her best judgement, allow this swindler to beguile Mr. Shelby and endanger his life on false promises.

Just when she readied to perhaps commit acts unbefitting of her against that woman, Mr. Shelby spoke up, his voice calm but firm.

“Charlotte. It’s okay. Just go downstairs”

The assistant stepped aside briefly, allowing Charlotte a peek inside. Thomas sat in his chair near the windows, an unlit cigarette perched between two fingers. Doctor Keller kneeled at his side, holding his free hand in his own in a reassuring grasp. The sunlights poured abundantly through the panes, golden beams framing them. 

“Charlotte. Please” He had never said please to her.

He nodded towards the doctor, and the man stood up, taking control of the wheelchair and leading Thomas away from the windows and from Charlotte’s view.

The last thing she thought she saw was a smile on Mr. Shelby’s face before the assistant slammed the door on her face.

Time moved painstakingly slowly. Hour after hour slipped away, the sun steadily making its way across the skies. Warm orange bathed the rooms towards the back of the house, shadows lengthening as afternoon gave way to sunset. Charlotte sat in the main room, a luxury she rarely granted herself. Before she laid a teapot of black currant tea which had not been touched, and biscuits she refused to eat. She had chewed her thumb in anxiousness, leaving the imprints of her own teeth on the pads.

At least five times during her wait, Charlotte made her way towards Thomas’ bedroom but stopped halfway through, doubting in her feet before slowly making her way back down. She wanted to go up and see for herself what they were doing; every fibre of her being urged her to. But at the same time she feared what she would see or hear there. 

A half past six, the double doors closed with a dry thud, and heavy footsteps resonated in the stairwell. Charlotte scrambled from her seat, almost slipping on the fancy rug and knocking her hip against a side table as she rushed into the foyer. Somehow Mrs. Gray beat her to it, already standing at the foot of the stairs even though she hadn’t seen her around since the doctor’s arrival.

Doctor Keller marched down the stairs ceremoniously, his head held high, as if he had just rediscovered America. He had removed his jacket, and his yellowed shirt clung to his body with sweat. His assistants walked behind him, carrying his cases and a bag Charlotte swore they hadn’t brought with them. Their rubber aprons had been wiped clean, and for some reason, that didn’t sit right with Charlotte.

He addressed Mrs. Gray, once more his posture and actions disregarding Charlotte’s presence. The man took Mrs. Gray’s hands, and this time she didn’t push him back. His smile suggested reassurance and triumph.

“The procedure has gone well. Mr. Shelby is now upstairs in his bed, sleeping. He has been left exhausted and I suggest he is not disturbed until morning. I will return in a fortnight to repeat the treatment, and will continue to do so as many times as it is necessary, but I feel confident that progress will be seen before my return” 

Mrs. Gray’s eyebrows knit together in worry, and although she didn’t grant the doctor the reward of a smile, she had lost some of the apprehension she bore in the morning.

“Can you tell me what exactly is it that you have done to him? What sort of treatment is this?”

Doctor Keller chuckled heartily, shaking his head while he patted her hand “Now Mrs. Gray, those are gruesome details that delicacies like yourself should not have to endure” Charlotte buffed at the last part. Mrs. Gray could be described as anything but delicate. And the comment obviously didn’t sit well with the older woman either, for she immediately dropped the doctor’s hands and took a step back.

“Allow me to see you out, Doctor Keller” Even in now obvious annoyance, Mrs. Gray displayed an affability that Charlotte envied; a possession and control of the emotions that very few mastered. The small group headed outside while the valet brought the car around. But Charlotte did not follow, instead sprinting up the stairs towards Thomas’ bedroom.

She peered inside quietly, walking on tiptoes. Every window had been opened, the room smelling of damp soil and autumn leaves, but the earthy scent could not entirely mask the acrid smell of rubbing alcohol. The breeze had scattered papers from the desk all over the floor, and she hurried to pick them up, knowing how much disorganisation ticked Thomas off. As she placed them on the desk, she noticed they had left a kidney dish forgotten, alongside with a syringe filled with a milkish substance. The needle, the length of Charlotte’s hand, was coated in red.

Slowly, fearfully even, she turned towards the bed. She didn’t know what she expected to see, perhaps a gory scene with blood splattered on the walls and pooling on the floor, or a massacre akin to those seen in the field hospitals in France. Yet she only saw Thomas, laying on his side and submerged in a deep slumber, dressed only in his sleeping shirt and underwear.

She approached him slowly, her keen eye noticing the layer of sweat covering his skin, hair sticking to his temples and beads rolling down the curve of his neck. She dampened a cloth in the basin and wiped his forehead, feeling his skin feverish to the touch. The corners of his mouth had reddened marks, as if they had been rubbed raw against something coarse. Frowning in confusion, Charlotte leaned back, moving to examine the rest of his body. She found nail marks in his palms, in lines of bloodied crescent moon shapes. Just as she moved to grab the first aid kit to clean them, she picked up a small but significant detail.

The sheets had been changed

That morning, the bed had pure white sheets of plain linen without any embellishment, and these had simple blue embroidery on the edges, intertwined with Thomas’ initials as laundry marks. Charlotte could simply not understand why they would change the sheets amidst such secrecy instead of asking her or one of the maids to handle it, and neither could she find said sheets no matter where she looked. Clearly, whatever had been spilled on those linens, the doctor and his devils in tow wanted to be kept secret.

Worry crept up Charlotte’s spine and clawed at her throat. She didn’t want to disturb Thomas’ slumber, not after seeing him sleeping better than he had ever done before. Yet she could not ignore her instincts, not when they screamed at her so loud they drowned every other thought in her mind. 

So she sat by the bed and watched.

Waited and watched, while the sun gave way to the moon. A maid brought her food but she barely ate, feeling as if Thomas would burst into pieces or fade into mist if she took her eyes away from him for one second. Frances came near eleven, urging her to go to bed, but she only asked the older woman to take watch for a moment while she changed into her nightgown and robe. Even during the brief routine of closing the curtains and turning off lights she kept glancing towards him. But despite her best efforts she was only human, and the ever growing tension of the day had worn her out. She huddled in an armchair near the bed, a blanket around her legs and a small pillow supporting her neck. She had a book in her lap, but fatigue clouded her vision and foggied her thoughts. She swore she heard the grandfather clock chime 1 in the morning just before she fell asleep.

Charlotte woke up in a nightmare.

In the space between the land of dreams and the real world, guttural, horrific groans of pain seeped into her mind, making her hair stand on edge. Her heartbeat quickened and her feet chilled. She had to fight the drowsiness and exhaustion off her body and will her eyes to open. The room was illuminated only by moonlight coming from one curtain she had kept drawn back, casting phantasmagoric shadows on the walls. As her vision adjusted to the darkness and her senses sharpened, she sought the source of those sounds. Her first instinct was to go to the window, but she hadn’t moved a step when the grunts of pain returned, coming from very close to her. 

Thomas doubled over himself in the bed, fingers digging on the sheets and his jaw locked tightly around a corner of the pillow, poorly attempting to drown his pained cries. Charlotte rushed to turn on a lamp, and when warm light bathed him, she let out a scream of her own.

Crimson blossomed in the back of his nightshirt, the stains growing like flowers along the length of his spine. When she pushed his shirt up, she saw bandages entirely soaked in blood, the coppery scent filling her nostrils. The flesh around them had reddened and swelled. Thomas kept writhing, only worsening things as whatever they had done to his back kept tearing open and bleeding anew. 

His fingers dug into his own hair, pulling at the black strands in desperation as he muffled the screams by biting into his forearm. Somehow that grounded Charlotte, setting her back into the same steeliness that got her through the war. She rushed to the medicine cupboard and pulled out bottles, not even bothering to check the labels, for she knew what she looked for. The laudanum she kept at the very bottom, hidden behind all the taller bottles, had not been opened. She went to pour it in a spoon, but thought it better and instead poured it into a glass, estimating what dosage would put two adult men to sleep. With the amount of whiskey and other things Thomas consumed on the daily, she knew a spoonful would barely give him a tickle.

She climbed in bed next to him, trying to sit him up so he could drink. But Thomas seemed to be paralysed with pain, and even the tiniest of movements reignited the agony. Not a word passed his lips, only exclamations of pains mixed with heavy, slowly drawn gasps of air, for even the simple act of breathing had become a struggle.

“Thomas, Thomas, breathe. Breathe with me” She cooed soothingly, running her fingers through his hair in a gentle caress “I have your medicines. But you need to sit up a bit to drink” Her calm words fell on deaf ears, and she couldn’t blame him for not heeding her command. Charlotte wanted desperately to ease his suffering, but for that she had to move him, which would only worsen his pain. She hated she had to do it, but it was for his own sake.

“I am sorry about this” She murmured as she sat by his side, hooking her arms under his heavy body the best she could to pull him up. The scream he emitted was otherworldly, and she could only silence it by putting her hand in his mouth, letting him bite her flesh like a rabid dog. The pain shot up her arm but she ignored it, not moving until his jaw had unclenched. She had managed to prop him upright against her chest, with her own back resting against the headboard. His head laid limp against her bosom, and the still fresh blood stained her robe. But none of that mattered at the moment. 

Charlotte tried to get him to drink with the spoon but he refused to open his mouth. Sweat now poured profusely down his face and neck, giving his skin an unhealthy glistening. Even in the faint light she could see his complexion had paled, but at least it appeared the bleeding had stopped. Charlotte forced the spoon past his lips, but he only splattered on it, spilling the laudanum everywhere. When she tried again, he shook his head like a child refusing his porridge. She sighed in frustration, and also because his weight against her made it hard to breathe.

“Thomas, please. It will do you good. I promise it. You will feel better”

Again, nothing. Every muscle in his body was painfully tense, and she could see the vein in his forehead popping and the pulse beating strong and quick in the side of his neck. She placed a tender hand on the side of his face, her thumb running up and down the sharp length of his jaw to ease the tension. After a few minutes she noticed a slight improvement and how his lips parted open. Lottie seized that opportunity and brought up the spoon again. And this time, he sipped the medicine.

“That’s it. Take it slowly. This will make you feel better Tommy”

The pet name escaped her without thinking, and honestly, she didn’t give it a second thought. His aunt called him that so often that it had simply slipped into her vocabulary. 

Spoon by spoon, slowly and carefully, Thomas drank the laudanum. The medicine acted quickly, and soon the relaxation became visible in his body. His muscles loosened, his breathing calmed and his pulse returned to normal.

Minutes ticked by in peaceful calmness, a stark contrast to the abrupt awakening she had. A brief glance to the clock showed her a quarter to four. Still a long time to go before sunrise. And a lot to be done. The bed had been left a disaster, as had Thomas himself. She would not bother with the sheets but the bandages and his clothes needed changing. It took her some serious shifting and pulling to get out from under him, but at last Charlotte managed to lay him down, propped comfortably on some pillows. She laid him as comfortable as she could, since she doubted she would be able to move him again. 

The shirt was a goner, so she had no qualms in cutting it to shreds to slip it off his body. The bandages soon followed, alongside the thick folds of gauze which were now blood soaked. The sight underneath stole the breath from her lungs

A series of wounds traced the length of Thomas’ spine, from lower to mid back. Perfectly lined puncture wounds, in pairs, going up at regular intervals. Whatever needle had been used surely resembled more an icepick, for the holes seemed to have been drilled in his flesh. Charlotte could not even fathom what sort of procedure Tommy had been put through, but now her other findings made sense. The nail marks on his own hands from where he has fisted them so tight, and the abrasions on his mouth, surely a leather strip or a simile had been put in his mouth as a gag. Tears welled up in her eyes when she thought how he had willingly subjected himself to torture of the worst kind just for a crumb of hope.

She washed him clean as best as she could in that position, rinsing away the blood and sweat. She didn’t have any medicines at hand to apply to the wounds, so she only rebandaged them, making a mental note to ring a real doctor the next day for some real medicines. Since the sheets could not be changed nor could he be dressed again, Charlotte laid some clean towels around him and tucked him tight with the blankets. 

As she moved around him, she paid close attention to his face for the first time. Without that perennial scowl on his face he appeared much younger, even under all that messy hair and unkempt beard. His eyelashes were enviably long, casting shadows upon his high cheekbones even under the weak light of the bedside lamp. His nose had a straight slope, and his jaw a particular sharpness, noticeable despite the beard. He was objectively very handsome, a man girls would surely fawn over. 

Just as she readied to retake her watching post, Charlotte noticed again the nail marks on his palms, now swelling up and the skin purpling. She took his hand on her lap as she cleaned it gently, wrapping a simple bandage around them. Just as she moved to stand, his hand gripped tightly the fabric of her robe, stalling her moves. 

When she turned to face him, she realised Thomas had been awake this whole time. His eyes were open, and the ice had melted from them, giving way to a sharp shade of blue, vibrant even under the obvious exhaustion. His eyes fixed upon her, and they held each other’s gazes for a moment. Charlotte had stared into those eyes many times, and had read many hidden emotions behind the blueness, but that night she saw something new, something she never expected to see in him; vulnerability. Raw, deep, unsuppressed vulnerability. The first glimpse of the man behind the carefully crafted iron mask.

It felt almost wrong to be allowed to see the facade crack, like being made privy to a secret she felt unworthy of. At last, she lowered her eyes first, working on putting aside her medical supplies, just to keep her hands and her concentration busy.

“Sleep, Tommy” The words were hushed, her voice meant to be soothing, although he wouldn’t need much soothing with the dosage of laudanum she gave him “Rest will do you good” 

Charlotte moved to stand, but he moved to grip her wrist instead, his hold firm but not hurtful. She looked up to him again, confusion lacing her features.

“Stay”

The words were spoken through great effort, coming out raspy and strained, but perfectly clear. 

“I will not leave you. I will sit right by your bed” She reassured him, but he didn’t let go. In a sudden movement he pulled on her arm, throwing her off balance and tossing her rather unceremoniously on the bed, so that their bodies laid close together. She felt her heart rise to her throat, eyes wide and breaths quick at the sudden proximity. She wondered if the pain medicines had loosened Thomas’ inhibitions. Or perhaps he was just in desperate need of some of the human contact he often rejected.

For long minutes Tommy just stared at her wordlessly, not offering an explanation as to why he did that, nor letting go of her arm either. Heat rose to Charlotte’s cheeks, yet she could not look away from him either. The silence lingered until she chose to break the spell.

“Tommy?”

His fingers slid down from her wrist, lacing his hand with hers. His next words held a longing and rawness Charlotte didn’t believe possible in him.

“Don’t leave me alone. Not tonight"

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

[hollandorks]

.

#gonna delete later probably but #I feel terrible mentally and physically today #physically because of ibs or whatever other shit my body has going on #and mentally because I am so LONELY it hurts #like I don't have any irl friends other than my husband and that's obviously different #anyways just feeling it a little extra today #now I'm going to turn on bridgerton Queen Charlotte and cuddle my cat #personal? #shut up shelby

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Butterflies- Tommy Shelby (2)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Characters: Tommy Shelby

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- Hi there just read your “Honest” Tommy fic and loved it. Can you do a Tommy x reader wedding day ? Tommy being his usual Self, stressing something will do wrong and he wants to make it perfect for the reader. Thank you

Word Count: 464

Author: Charlotte

John led you and Ada down the hallways of the venue to the other suite that the groom and groomsmen had been occupying to get ready for the wedding. You kept back when John and Ada entered the room to usher out the rest of the men, leaving Tommy alone in the room. Each man looked you over as they left, having not anticipated to see the rosy cheeked bride with her skirts hiked up in her arm and feet still bare from rushing to your husband-to-be’s aide.

“Thomas,” you called from outside the room.

“Y/N,” you heard him return, followed by a couple of steps, leading him to the door.

Tommy tried to pull the door open, but you gave your side a sharp tug, forcing it practically closed, leaving only a small crack open.

“What-“ He trailed off, having not expected you to force the door closed on him.

“It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding,” you reprimanded. “That is if we are still getting married.”

Your voice had a slight shake, scared his feet had become too cold to get him down the aisle. You hadn’t even considered him as someone who could feel nervous, but you were still concerned about the day even though you were certain you wanted him to be your husband.

“Why would you ask that?” He asked.

“John said you were freaking out,” you whispered. “Are you having second thoughts?”

A deep rumble of a chuckle escaped him. “Don’t be daft, Y/N, I’ve wanted to marry you since the first time you came to dinner with Ada, we might have just been kids, but I knew one day you’d be my wife.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you slipped your hand into the gap in the doorway, leaving it there until he laced his fingers with yours.

“I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them how cheesy you are,” you smiled softly. “Or that you are freaking out, as John put it. What is wrong?”

“I wasn’t doubting marrying you, Y/N,” he explained, giving you hand a squeeze. “But I do doubt that I deserve you. You deserve to get the best and with me, it’ll never be an easy ride.”

You wished you could throw open the door and kiss him, hold him close as you reassured him, but you let the superstition hold you there, only able to take his hand.

“If I wanted an easy ride, I wouldn’t want you,” you stated. “I do deserve the best and you are the best. It only shows that in the fact you are worrying about it.”

Tommy let out a sigh. “Are you sure you want this? You are sure you want to be a Shelby?”

“More than anything.”

#Butterflies #Part 2 #Request #Anon #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Tommy Shelby One Shot #Peaky Blinders #Peaky Blinders One Shot #Peaky Blinders Imagine #Charlotte