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hb-writes · 2 years

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Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 31

Creature Without A Heart, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content, Clara's scared of cars. That's about it, I think.

John left the shop huffing and banging the breakfast tray against all that was in his way. He'd nearly told Tommy to fuck off when he'd suggested John take the remnants of Clara's conference with him when he go, but then John thought better of it. He'd been chewed out by Tommy enough already for one morning. He didn't want to get chewed out again...especially not over something stupid as a bit of housekeeping.

It wasn't even about him, not really. John had convinced himself that whatever had happened in the last quarter of an hour hadn't been about him. It had been about Tommy and it had been about Clara, but they'd both taken it out on John.

Clara was stropping about like a brat over something Tommy must've done or said, but John was the one who'd caught her wrath. And even after her show and dance, it had been John who left the meeting having received Tommy's insufferable stares and his short words.

And so what if John had let Clara borrow a cap with a blade still sewn in? So what? She was smart enough to keep her hands free of that sort of trouble. Or that's what everyone always said—that their Clara was so bloody brilliant and clever. But even if it gave a viable explanation as to why Tommy was short with John, it didn't explain whatever problem it was his sister seemed to have with him.

And Tommy had been no help in figuring it out. He offered no explanation for their sister's mood or his easy dismissal of it. John supposed it was fairly typical, that. They never explained themselves. They didn't seem to think they owed it to the rest of them and John just couldn't follow it anymore—the shifts and twists of what was permitted and what wasn't, who Clara was happy with and who she wasn't.

Tommy seemed to be unhappy with most people most of the time. At least that bit was predictable.

But Clara…well, John thought he had been in a good place with his sister. She'd been happy enough when he sent her off with Finn on his little delivery errand. And Finn said they'd delivered their letter. There'd been no problems to report.

John thought Clara would be happy to help out with the kids, happy for an opportunity to get to know Lizzie a bit. He had hoped Clara's presence to wrangle his lot would help endear the kids to Lizzie. He'd thought it was a good plan, but as seemed to be the way of things now, Tommy'd somehow gotten in the middle of things. John's brother was none the wiser to his plans—he'd told no one but Clara about Lizzie—but he was still mucking things up.

John let the breakfast tray slam down on the table when he set it down, clattering the carefully placed dishes and rattling the cutlery. He picked up the remnants of Clara's jam-smothered bread and bit into it. There was no sense in wasting a perfectly good breakfast.

John washed the bread down with the leftover tea—room temperature and overly steeped. He grimaced as he swallowed it down, his gaze catching sight of Clara as he glanced up.

She was positioned on a spare chair that lived deep in the far corner of the room. Clara was surely intent on staying out of sight and she was barely breathing for fear of being spotted, but John knew she was there. And with her face hidden behind a book, which was no surprise. At least that, too, was still predictable.

John ignored her. He swiped a finger across the plate, collecting the fallen jam and carrying it to his mouth. The faintest hint of a smile crossed Clara's mouth as he did it. John went back for a second and a third swipe, making certain the plate was clean.

John looked up, locking his gaze on Clara for a moment. She quickly smoothed her face of any reaction, lifting her book so it covered most of her face again.

John scoffed, mistaking Clara's avoidance and uncertainty for a continuation of their earlier exchange. The heat of anger rushed through him, leaching into his tone as he moved toward the door.

"I'm leaving by seven. Don't be fucking late, alright?"

John paused by the front door, waiting, and then circling back to the dining room when he didn't hear Clara respond. If it had been Tommy asking, John imagined his sister would've given an answer. She wouldn't be ignoring him, acting like such a brat, and if he did, Tommy wouldn't let her get away with it.

John stalked back to the corner where she had stood in the dining room just before, ready to demand his answer, but he found the room empty. He checked the kitchen—that, too, was empty.

The book she'd been holding was now sitting on the table. It had been no more than a few seconds that had passed. John knew she couldn't have gone far.

A creaky floorboard squealed behind him, the sound he recognized as coming from the wood making up the fourth step leading up the stairs. John moved to the bottom of the staircase. Clara stood there a few steps about him with her eyes tightly closed, one foot lifted in the air while she braced herself against the wall.

It dawned on John she'd been hiding from him, a realization that stung more than he had maturity enough to admit. John was used to being the one Clara ran to for a bit of shelter. She didn't hide from him, not unless he'd threatened to tickle the life out of her. Seeing her like this, it prickled, but the sting of Clara's uneasiness with John was less sharp than the sting of everything else that morning.

"Oi!" John shouted. "Get down here."

Clara opened her eyes, startled by John's sudden presence at the bottom of the stairs. She took tentative movements until she stood just one step above him.

"I said be down to my place before seven. Did you hear me?"

Clara nodded.

"Good," he answered. He reached out and tugged his borrowed cap from her head. "And this isn't a fucking toy."

Clara's hair fell down around her as John pulled the cap free. She'd carefully stuck it all away in his cap to prevent it from getting dirty and tangled at the yard, but that effort was all wasted now. Frustration prickled at the edges of Clara's eyes. Her emotion was so near to boiling over once again, but Clara tried to hold it back, squeezing her fists and eyes closed.

John sighed before reaching out for her. Clara flinched, batting his arm away with one arm while she pushed at his middle with the other. "Enough, alright?" John caught her wrist, his hold more gentle than she was expecting. "I'm just trying to help with that mess on your head."

Clara relaxed a bit at that and John tossed the hat on the table behind him before setting both hands on Clara's shoulders to turn her about. John ran his fingers through his sister's hair, snagging on the tangles she'd made stuffing it all up into the hat. Clara flinched at the pulling, but she didn't complain, simply squeezing her eyes shut against the pain until John started weaving her long tresses, pulling the hair tight across her scalp and making her head jerk whichever way he pulled.

John was usually more gentle, but Clara accepted his rough handling as a better alternative to more shouting. And she knew better than to say something. When she complained about Polly pulling too tight, Clara could swear the woman somehow managed to pull her hair even tighter.

Clara winced at one particularly tight tug, an impulsive hiss coming through her lips as she involuntarily pulled away from her brother, doing more harm than good as the hair strained more against her scalp. John paused his braiding as Clara straightened up, softening his grip as he continued.

"Ribbon." John held out his hand.

Clara loosened the ribbon tied around her wrist and passed it up to John. She pressed the heels of her palm into her watering eyes.

"So, you'll be to the house by seven," John started as he worked to tie off her braid. "And Lizzie should be there by—"

"Lizzie Stark?" Clara turned to John, her stomach clenching at the thought of seeing the woman and the fact that she might tell John about what had happened when she and Finn delivered the letter. John was already sore with her. She imagined her brother would make no effort to keep her secret if Lizzie told him under the present circumstances.

John raised an eyebrow. "I told you yesterday she was sitting with them. What other Lizzie do you know?"

Clara ticked off a silent, involuntary list in her head—Aunt Polly was technically a Lizzie, and there was Lizzie Weston from two lanes down. At least two Lizzies went to the local school as well, but Clara didn't say so.

John had been expecting her to, but Clara just shrugged, scuffing her boot at the edge of the step narrowly missing John's leg.

"Alright, what's with you?"

Clara shrugged again and John forced her chin up so her eyes met his. John nodded to his left, toward the shop doors. He lowered his voice. "What happened in there with—?"

"Nothing," Clara mumbled, pushing his hand away.

John shook his head, looking over his shoulder once again. "Don't worry about him, alright? He—"

"He didn't do anything," Clara answered, resting against the wall and folding her arms over her chest.

"Alright," John conceded, mimicking her gesture. "What did you do, then?"

Clara shook her head. "Nothing."

John scoffed. "So all that—" he waved a hand back toward the shop. "—and all this—" he swirled the same hand in the space between them. "—was over nothing?"

Clara nodded and after a beat, John nodded, too. He pressed his lips into a considerate line for a moment and continued bobbing his head in thought, but it was just for show. He didn't believe her—not by a long shot. Clara and Tommy were always getting after each other over something. Some siblings fought over nothing. Small, insignificant things. It was never just nothing with Clara and Tommy, though. Tommy and Clara were also notoriously secretive about it. They preferred to keep their issues private, something just between the two of them. The rest of the family was rarely spared the details. They were always allowed to suffer through Clara and Tommy being difficult and insufferable though.

"And what about now?" John asked. "You still grumpy over nothing now?"

Clara glanced at him, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not grumpy."

"You sure look grumpy."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do," John said, pressing his finger into the skin between her eyebrows. "Right here," he said. He moved his hand, pressing his thumb and pointer finger into the corners of her mouth. "And here."

Clara pushed his hand away, knowing that John was probably right. She wasn't anywhere close to smiling and her words were short, the few she'd spared had been hissed in a sharp tone. Clara had a moment of thinking it was normal though. It was the way most adults were—grumpy and tired. A little sad. A little mean.

John was the only adult Clara knew who smiled and laughed and carried on as he did. It couldn't be a coincidence that people often called him childish and told him to grow up. John was looking at her, waiting on some sort of response and Clara was grateful for the sound of movement out in the shop.

"Tommy'll be waiting for me," Clara said.

John peddled his foot back to glance through the shop doors. Their brother wasn't even out of his office yet, but John knew he'd be calling for her soon enough, blaming him for her dalliance if she wasn't at his side within seconds.

John sighed before grabbing the cap from the table. He ripped the blade from the brim with his teeth and tossed it at his sister.

"Seven o'clock," John said. "Don't be late."

He headed for the door, stepping out onto the lane just before Tommy found his way to the foot of the stairs where his sister stood staring at John's invisible wake.

Clara stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep them from reaching out for Tommy as they walked toward Uncle Charlie's yard. She'd never thought about it before, but maybe eleven was too old to be holding her brother's hand, just like it was too old for crying and too old for looking anything but grumpy as a matter of principle.

The older girls at the school, the ones who had stayed on past the leaving age, were always been holding hands with boys in their class or the boys they met at the end of the school day to walk home with. So, it wasn't that she was too old to hold hands, but there was something different about it. Holding hands when you got older was something else, something Clara hadn't given much thought to.

Holding hands and going out on dates…having weddings, and houses, and jobs, and babies—those were things adults thought about. And unless all of that pertained to her brothers and sisters, Clara didn't think about it much, not concerning herself. But she had the thought that maybe she was meant to be thinking about those things now rather than wondering whether she should be holding her brother's hand or not.

Maybe she should be thinking about all that instead of the silly worries she couldn't seem to put aside. Tommy didn't seem worried—not about leaving her behind for the day or about the parish taking her away. He'd shown some concern about Ada, but with an almost mechanical air, he'd seemingly shut off that part of him and Clara had decided that his concern was completely eclipsed by her own. She was far more troubled by all of it than Tommy was.

She was far more troubled than all of them, it felt.

Even Finn wasn't worried and it was his backside on the line just as much as Clara's. He wasn't fazed by the prospect of getting found out about scrapping or coppers or the parish. He'd told her she was being silly.

And Clara could concede that maybe she was. Being silly, that is. Childish.

So rather than reaching out for Tommy's hand, rather than leaning into the comfort she felt certain her brother wouldn't deny her, Clara kept her hands to herself. She kept it all to herself, once again closed up and quiet as they walked through Small Heath. She wasn't even aware of Tommy watching her as she tried to sort herself.

But he was watching, tracking her out of the corner of his eye though they weren't speaking. Tommy's mind was intentionally set on the details of the day ahead. He needed to run through his plan again, make sure he wasn't missing something, but his sister's contemplative quiet—something he'd usually be grateful for on a day like today—troubled him. It distracted him.

And Tommy Shelby couldn't afford distractions. Not today.

"Don't worry about John, alright?" Tommy said around the cigarette he was lighting in his mouth. He didn't know what had passed between her and John back at the house, but he could see she'd been changed by it.

Clara focused her attention on the pebble she'd been courting, kicking it along with them since they turned onto Garrison Lane.

Truth was, all she was doing was worrying about the whole roster of Shelbys and herself. It seemed to Clara that all she did these days was worry, turning things over and over in her mind until she barely had the strength to keep on with it. And it was exhausting—mentally, physically, and emotionally, though Clara didn't recognize it for what it was. She just knew she was tired. She couldn't sleep. If she could, maybe she wouldn't be feeling this way all the time, but she didn't recognize the connection between the sleep and the troubling thoughts. She couldn't see the symbiotic way the two things fed each other, and she didn't feel like asking. She was too tired for more conversation with her brother about all of the silly, childish worries plaguing her mind.

Clara tried focusing on the rock instead, but the extra focus only served to make the pebble stray out of her reach and into her brother's path.

"Sorry—"

Tommy tapped the pebble back her way, cutting off her apology.

"I'm not worried," she offered, still trying to keep her focus on the pebble.

The truth was, Clara wasn't really too worried about John. He'd braided her hair, after all. She'd been hurt by his comment and he'd clearly been upset with her, but John never stayed mad at her for long. He rarely let her stay mad for long, either. John wasn't patient with tension like Tommy was. It made John uncomfortable. And John didn't like being uncomfortable. He couldn't keep his mouth shut about it and endure it. He never maintained long-standing grudges without taking some sort of action. He always blew things right up.

And anyway, it seemed to Clara that John was more upset with Tommy than he was with her.

Still, Tommy didn't believe Clara's assertion that she wasn't worried. And rightfully so. He didn't answer her, but Tommy had picked up the pace, moving them along toward the yard, something pulling him to be closer to the horses and the Cut. Something more than his awareness of the steady movements of the hands of his pocket watch.

Clara left the pebble behind as she tried to keep up with her brother. It was for the best that she left the distraction behind. It was difficult enough to keep up with Tommy's pace through the empty streets.

Tommy reached the gates to their uncle's yard a few paces before Clara did, pulling open the gate before she reached his side. He ran a hand over the back of Clara's head, messing with the positioning of her flat cap as he guided her through.

She quickly moved away from Tommy's touch and repositioned the cap, turning back to him as he secured the gate's lock.

"He took the blade out," Clara said. She'd heard John and Tommy arguing over it. She assumed Tommy's shouting was why John had been so rough about it with her. And it wasn't fair. Clara knew the blame wasn't all John's to hold. "And it was my fault for taking it yesterday without asking so it's me who you should've—"

"John's old enough to know better."

Tommy finished up with the lock before turning to his sister.

"And you are, too, eh?" Clara felt the heat rush to her cheeks at the admonishment. Even though his words were light, with no hint of threat…she swallowed a hard, nervous lump forming in her throat.

She was old enough to know better. Tommy and Polly had told her and Finn more than once not to be taking things without asking. She hadn't technically lied to Tommy about John giving the hat to her to borrow, but she had allowed Finn to do it on her behalf without speaking up. And lying and stealing were two things Tommy knew she knew better than to do.

Tommy was still looking at her and waiting on some sort of acknowledgment. He was grateful when Clara quickly nodded her understanding. Tommy promptly fished the pocketwatch out, glancing at the time. Their schedule was tighter than he wanted—John's nonsense and Clara's dallying with the pebble had slowed them down, but so long as Charlie had the car ready and they didn't linger too long with the horses, he'd keep his schedule for getting on the road to Cheltenham.

"No time to ride today, but you can visit for a few minutes."

Riding hadn't even been on Clara's mind. Tommy was dressed in his new suit—already being careful of the puddles and dirt as they walked. She hadn't expected that kind of indulgence, but with Tommy's mention of the ride she wouldn't be having, Clara felt disappointment settle into the pit of her stomach. A ride out with Lavender would be a welcome reprieve, a bit of healing.

Clara nodded, her disappointment short-lived when she spotted Uncle Charlie. He'd come to see who was coming through the gate, to confirm it was kin. Charlie tossed his spent cigarette away as Clara raced away from Tommy's side to hug him around the middle.

It had been at least a week since she'd been at the yard. She'd claimed some type of sickness was keeping her home, but they all knew it had more to do with the fact that Tommy had been too busy to walk her and she had been too spooked to make the walk on her own.

"Feeling better, sweetheart?"

Charlie tipped Clara's face up to his. She looked like death on two feet despite her smile—somehow flushed and pale at the same time. Exhausted and weary, that was for sure.

Clara nodded and Charlie knocked her cap over her eyes. "We'll get you to work, then. Curly's—"

"Clara's just visiting," Tommy interrupted. "John needs her to sit with the kids today."

Clara glanced between them. She could sense they were looking to say some words that neither were willing to say in front of her.

"Go and see to the horses." Tommy nodded towards the stables as he stepped closer to Clara and Charlie. "I'll be along in a minute."

Clara let Tommy guide her away with a hand on her shoulder and she continued on even after his touch slipped away. Silence held between Charlie and Tommy as Clara walked away. She didn't look back, but she paused just inside the stables, just beyond the open door where neither could see her.

"The girl looks like hell, Thomas," Charlie chided as he watched Tommy put a fresh cigarette to his lips and light it.

"She's fine," Tommy offered. His gaze followed the path Clara had just taken on her way to the stables. "A little trouble sleeping is all."

Charlie scoffed. He knew there was more to it than that. He knew there was more to his niece not coming round than a little bit of fever, too.

"And I suppose you've got it handled, eh, Thomas?" Charlie answered, an edge to his voice. "A solution all bloody planned out just like everything else."

"I have, uncle." Tommy took a long drag on his cigarette before clearing the ash into the space between them. "She's just restless. Keeps her awake at night."

Charlie nodded, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Well, you should know how to help her with that then, eh?"

Clara's heart beat faster at the sharpness in their tones, the anger that lived just below the surface. She felt her cheeks grow warm as she pressed herself against the stable wall. It was the second time this morning there'd been arguing over her.

Clara couldn't see it from where she stood listening, but her brother had a bit of heat rushing to his cheeks, too. Tommy had been a troubled sleeper even before the war—back before those particular nightmares had plagued his mind, back when he'd been small like her and his worries were constructed by the wars fought within the confines of family, within their confine of four walls or the crowded berth of a narrow boat.

Back when the only way to avoid them was to sleep out in the pasture where there were no walls, nothing to worry him.

"She's fine," Tommy answered.

Charlie knew his niece wasn't fine. He questioned if his nephew was any better. The decisions Tommy was making…well, they had Charlie questioning quite a bit. It all had him worried for both of them…concerned about the way their clever minds seemed to hurt them more than they helped sometimes.

"Fine, just like you, eh?"

Tommy didn't answer him. Clara only heard the sound of feet scuffing in the dirt and she knew the conversation was coming to a close. She could feel that Tommy was done being chastised by their uncle even though he had yet to step away.

Clara didn't wait to hear if Tommy gave their uncle an answer. She wasn't lingering by the door to hear her brother issuing a demand that Curly ready the car, his tone effortlessly shifting the meager bit of power Charlie had held out of his hands.

Clara was settled in Lavender's pen when Tommy came to find her, her face pressed to the mare's strong neck while her fingers trailed in Lavender's mane.

Tommy watched her for a moment in silence. Neither girl nor horse had noticed his presence there. She was whispering something. Tommy couldn't hear his sister's words, not distinctly, but the horse seemed to hear her, to understand her. A giggle escaped Clara's lips as Lavender turned her head and nudged Clara.

Girl and horse both turned in Tommy's direction when he knocked on the wooden beam framing the pen. The easy smile still graced his sister's face when she looked at him and it pulled him forward, reminding him of the simple, healing quality of the moment—the medicine that was a kid with their horse.

Tommy moved through the gate, marching his clean, polished shoes over the fresh straw. Lavender shifted further in his direction, displacing Clara to press her nose against Tommy's torso, searching his suit for a treat. The horse nudged him a bit hard, eliciting a renewed bit of laughter from Clara as Tommy grunted.

"Alright there, beautiful girl," Tommy said, smoothing his hand over her coat. He pulled back his jacket, exposing the carrot he'd brought all the way from Watery Lane. Clara hadn't seen him take it from the kitchen and she smiled when Tommy passed it over to the horse, whispering his own words to Lavender. Something Romani. Something Clara couldn't hear well enough to decipher, but was comforted by all the same.

"We'll take the horses out soon," Tommy said, speaking to Clara though he still focused his attention on Clara's horse. "Sleep out before it gets too cold."

He had promised her as much several months ago, back when the business with Ada and her schooling was just getting started and while Clara hadn't forgotten, she hadn't reminded him, either. She didn't quite believe it was a promise Tommy would keep considering all that had changed in their lives. She still didn't believe him now.

"Just you and me and the horses," Tommy continued, finally looking to his sister.

Clara had originally asked to have Isiah and Finn there, too, but bringing the boys along didn't seem right to Tommy just now. He hoped the night out would cure her of her restlessness. The boys wouldn't help with that.

"Would you like that?"

Clara nodded, but there was no excitement in her—no questions or protests to his alteration of their plans. No smiles were spared for him and his strategies, but he continued, hoping for some type of breakthrough, for some sort of evidence that the smile she'd shared with her horse wasn't so temporary.

"We'll set a day after I get home from Cheltenham, eh?" He set a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. "Compare diaries and find a time?"

"Okay, Tommy."

Clara shifted away from him and started brushing out Lavender's coat. Tommy stayed quiet as he watched her, moving back to the gate. Seeing Clara with the horse was the happiest he'd seen her in a while and though Tommy hadn't succeeded in getting her to smile outright, the exchange between Tommy and Lavender had at least gotten a smirk out of his sister. It wasn't much, but it was something and part of Tommy hated to separate them.

He needed to though. The morning was getting on. Grace would be waiting on him. John would be waiting on Clara. Glancing up, he could see Charlie waiting for them at the end of the stable and told Clara as much.

She said her farewells to Lavender before slipping past Tommy to make her way down to Charlie. Clara fit herself against Charlie's side once again while Tommy made sure the latch to Lavender's pen was secured. They were already whispering and Clara giggled at something when Tommy finally caught up to them, falling in a pace or two behind them. Tommy couldn't help but be reminded of a time when it was him finding solace in their uncle's yard, finding smiles and laughter more easily with the help of their uncle and Curly.

Charlie glanced back to Tommy and spotted a bit of a sour look on his face. "He's changed the oil and greased her up," he offered, nodding toward the car.

Charlie opened the door for Clara to get in behind the steering wheel, but she didn't move toward the car, sticking close to her uncle's side instead.

"Will it get me all the way to Cheltenham, Curly?" Tommy asked.

Clara cautioned a step forward. She leaned over Curly's shoulder to look at the metal innards of the vehicle. It was all still new to her. The family car was something they'd purchased after the war, and Clara still felt uneasy about it. She preferred moving through town on her own two feet. She preferred horses.

"He's good with motors, but it pains him," Charlie answered while Curly remained immersed in the motor.

"No heart in motor cars." Curly glanced up at Tommy. "I can't talk with them."

Tommy glanced up at his sister. She was engrossed in what Curly was doing with the motor. She looked terrified though, her eyes wide.

"Well, Tommy may need to make a fast getaway." Charlie pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The words pulled Clara from her steadfast observation of Curly's work to the exchange between her brother and her uncle. Clara watched as Tommy's face hardened.

Tommy opened the door, settling himself behind the steering wheel. "Time to go, Clara."

She didn't move straightaway, allowing her eyes to shift back toward the greasy motor once again. She didn't know the time, but by Tommy's countenance, she could tell her brother was eager to move them along. There wasn't time for him to walk her back to the lane. They'd have to take the car, and they'd have to do it now. Clara knew Tommy wouldn't appreciate negotiations on the subject.

Tommy cleared his throat and Charlie opened the passenger side door. Clara took the opportunity and moved toward her uncle before Tommy decided to repeat himself. Charlie leaned over the passenger door as Clara got settled, his eyes trained on Tommy as if Clara and Curly weren't even there.

"The Lees will be all over the track, Tommy. And Kimber's men. And his coppers."

Tommy stared ahead. Clara wished she could melt into the leather of the seats. Curly clearly had had the same idea. He kept his eyes down as he stood up and walked away, leaving the car and the tension without a word. Clara longed to slip out from between Charlie and Tommy and follow after him.

"They control the law down there, Tommy."

"Give her a turn for me, Charlie," he said, swiftly changing the subject. It almost seemed as if Tommy hadn't heard their uncle, but Clara could recognize that her brother was just ignoring him.

Charlie took a frustrated breath before stepping away from Clara's side to heed Tommy's request. He moved to Tommy's door while the motor came to life.

"This car only seats four. You'll need more men than that if you're to come back alive."

Tommy smirked. "It'll be just me and a girl."

"Christ." Charlie shook his head. "Just you and a fucking girl." He leaned around Tommy to get a good look at his niece who'd gone quiet with the rumbling of the engine and all this talk of trouble at the races.

"Horses need some riding, sweetheart," he said. "Come down to mine tomorrow before seven and you can walk over with me. We'll do breakfast and you can spend the morning with me and Curly."

"I'll bring her down," Tommy answered.

Charlie glanced at Tommy. He snorted. "Yeah, we'll see," he said before moving his gaze back to Clara. "Come to me before seven, or your aunt will have you in a pew instead of the pasture, eh?"

Clara nodded, her face solemn because she doubted she'd be anywhere other than home come tomorrow morning at seven. Tommy shifted the car into gear and Clara jolted when the car jostled them on their way. She ordinarily sat as close to her brothers as she could manage, squeezed between a pair of them in the backseat since she was the smallest and because she felt safest that way, but today it was just her and Tommy. Today she sat pressed up against the passenger door with her arms pulled tight around herself simply hoping the short trip through Small Heath wouldn't make her sick.

Closing her eyes, Clara tried to ignore the unexpected jolts and sputtering of the engine. It was like the thing had a mind of its own, but no heart. Like Curly said. And Clara didn't trust that, a creature without a heart.

"Tommy?"

Clara squinted, allowing her eyes open enough to see that they were nearly to the Garrison. Their ride and their time together were both coming to an end as they moved through Small Heath. With that realization, all of the worries pushed aside by the morning's excursion and the car ride started coming back to her—worries about being left behind, worries about what Lizzie Stark might say, worries about what Uncle Charlie had said just now about the races.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "It'll be fine," he said. "Charlie's just spinning yarn."

Don't worry about Arthur.

There's nothing to be done about Ada.

Don't listen to John.

Charlie's just spinning yarn.

Tommy seemed to have a cool, easy dismissal for all of it, but his words weren't a comfort to her. She heard them, but like his promise of their sleeping out with the horses, she didn't trust them. The feeling left her feeling hollow and glad that she'd kept the most real of her worries to herself.

By holding onto her concerns about being left behind, about the inspector's threats, Clara thought she could trick herself into believing that Tommy might be able to soothe those particular worries even if he'd fallen short with the others. In not telling him, Clara held on to a bit of misguided, desperate hope.

And hope was something she needed, especially where her brother was concerned.

"But he said—?"

"Doesn't matter what he said," Tommy answered. "Today's no riskier than any other race day. I wouldn't be having Grace or Finn along if it was."

It wasn't the truth, but Clara didn't know that. She didn't know that despite the heavy blanket of coppers, the racetracks were lawless places. She didn't know that her brother's words were a deception and she didn't need to. The chances of Grace or Finn getting hurt were small. Grace would be with him. And Finn was meant to be kept out of any real action. There would be no guns. No one would be hurt.

"Just like any other race day," Tommy repeated. "Only thing different is today we'll be coming out ahead."

If it all went to plan, they'd be coming home on Billy Kimber's payroll. They'd be on their way to getting their first legal betting license. They'd come home one step closer to legitimate.

"We'll be home for dinner. And then we'll find a time for you and me and the horses. Sleep out as I said."

Clara wanted to believe Tommy. She wanted to trust him. And he seemed to want it, too. Seemed to suddenly be in an appeasing mood.

"And we can ride the horses tomorrow?" she asked.

Tommy nodded.

"Could we sleep out tomorrow?" Clara chanced the question, the words quiet and uncertain, but hopeful. Tomorrow was Sunday. There wasn't any business that needed to be done on Sunday. Nothing to do for the shop. Like Charlie had said, on Sundays, there was pew or pasture, and Clara wasn't sad at the prospect of avoiding the pew.

Tommy glanced at her, but she was absorbed in her hands which were folded in her lap. "Why not?"

"Really?" Clara's eyes flicked to him. "You promise?"

Tommy nodded, smiles tugging at both of their faces.

"Finn'll be jealous."

"He's having his fun today," Tommy offered as he pulled the car to a stop in front of the Garrison. "Unless you want Finn to come, too?"

Clara thought on it, but for no longer than was respectful before shaking her head. She wanted the outing for herself.

"It's settled then," Tommy said with a nod before breaking eye contact. Clara turned about in her seat to follow Tommy's gaze as he looked beyond her, toward the door to the Garrison. Clara's eyes locked on Grace standing there all done up in the red dress Clara had seen hanging in the woman's flat what felt like ages ago now.

She looked pretty and proper—both Grace and Tommy did—and they looked entirely out of place on the dusty streets of Small Heath. Clara glanced down at her own outfit—her old worn dress and dirty boots, Ada's sweater drawn over her arms—and she got to thinking maybe she was the one out of place sitting in Tommy's pristine car.

"Is it the three of us going to the races today?" Grace asked as she stepped up to the car.

Tommy shook his head. "Clara was just making sure everything's in working order, eh Clara?"

Clara didn't answer, silence stretching between them for a few seconds. She was so used to Grace as her tutor. She was used to Tommy and Grace interacting in the context of her schooling, inside the walls of the Garrison, as her tutor and her brother, but something felt different about them now.

"Just the two of us, then?" Grace asked when Clara made no effort to fill the quiet.

"Something like that," Tommy said.

Clara lingered there in the front seat. She had a feeling Tommy was going to shoo her out of the front seat, but she didn't want to sit in the back by herself and she wasn't ready to go, even if she was starting to feel out of place.

Tommy glanced at his sister. "Aren't you going to say hello?"

Clara nodded her head in Grace's direction. "I like your dress."

"Thank you." A quick smile came to Grace's lips and a slight blush rushed to her cheeks. "I like yours as well."

Clara was tempted to think the words were a lie. Her dress was old with time-worn holes and faded fabric, but something in her knew it was a genuine compliment. She'd certainly studied Grace long enough to know when she wasn't telling the truth.

Clara nodded.

"We should be going. John's expecting you." Tommy glanced toward the back seat. Clara could feel his request coming as Tommy leaned across the front seat to open the door for Grace.

As he leaned back, Tommy studied his sister and he rightly sensed her hesitation. He knew she didn't like the car. He knew the back seat made her sick, though at this point, he suspected Clara made herself sick getting worked up about it.

"How about you take the wheel?" he asked.

John's place wasn't far, just down the lane.

Clara shook her head. "Tommy, I—"

"You're worse than Curly," he said. "Both of you terrified of the thing. Come here."

Tommy pulled Clara across the front seat, clearing the passenger side for Grace. He settled Clara on his lap though it was a tight fit for them both behind the steering wheel.

"Tommy, I—" Clara wasn't quite sure what she was going to say, how she was going to stop him, or even if she wanted to stop him, but her nerves had her fighting him regardless.

"I'm right here, alright?" he said. "You'll be the first Shelby woman to learn to drive. Youngest Shelby, too."

"But, Tommy—"

"Finn's never even sat behind a steering wheel," Tommy interrupted, those particular words settling into her brain and prompting her to sift through all of the things Finn had bragged about over the years. Tommy was right, Finn hadn't been allowed to drive the car. He'd been sore about that fact, actually.

Clara took a deep breath and stretched her legs out toward the pedals. "I can't reach the pedals."

Tommy snorted. "I'll manage the pedals. You just keep us straight, eh? The farther ahead you look, the easier it'll be."

"But what if—"

"You'll be fine," Tommy said, settling her hands on the wheel.

Clara's heart was beating so fast she could hear her blood pumping in her ears. She jumped when Grace climbed into the seat beside them. Clara had almost forgotten the woman was there during her negotiations with Tommy.

"Alright, hands steady. Eyes ahead," Tommy said, repositioning Clara's hands.

A second later, the car crept forward. Clara let out a nervous squeak before a bout of spontaneous giggles spilled from her lips. She sat up straighter, leaning closer to the steering wheel, getting a better view of the street. They were moving slow, slow enough that Clara might've gotten to John's faster by walking, but this was better. This was more fun. And Clara's sudden glee was infectious.

It was a distraction really—Grace's laughter in the passenger seat and the shaking Clara could feel against her back. She couldn't hear Tommy's amusement, but she could feel it. Clara turned her head, instinctively trying to catch a glimpse of her brother's amusement. Tommy clasped his hands over hers as the car veered, holding the wheel steady.

"Eyes on the road," he warned though they'd barely deviated in their path and they were only a few doors down from John's.

Clara's gaze snapped forward at Tommy's words. The road was clear. No one was out on the lane except John. And he was settled well out of harm's way, leaning against the brick beside his front door with arms crossed tight over his chest.

There was nothing for Clara to worry about, not while sitting behind the steering wheel of Tommy's car with his hands ready to steady her if she faltered.

The car rolled to a stop a few moments later and Tommy wordlessly shifted Clara out of his lap. He pushed the car door open and turned back to help his sister climb out. Clara took one look at Tommy's outstretched hand and latched her arms around his neck instead.

Tommy sighed, holding her there for a moment, letting her rest her head against his chest and helplessly crushed in her skinny arms.

"Alright there, Clara girl," Tommy whispered when her hold didn't lessen, the moment feeling out of place with Grace and John there watching. "Alright." Tommy eased her back to sit, but Clara didn't release him. "We have to be going," he said. Clara ignored him, focusing not on her brother's words, but on the steady beat of his heart that sounded in the space between them. "John's waiting on you."

Clara let Tommy pull away at that. She took a deep breath and Tommy reached out to straighten her cap.

"Be good today," he said. "Don't let John's devils get too wild, eh?"

Clara nodded. She looked at her brother. She looked at his fancy suit and his well-shined shoes and his fresh haircut. "You'll be good today, too?" she asked and they both knew that Clara's request was more than asking that Tommy behave himself at Cheltenham. Clara wanted Tommy to be good. She wanted him to be smart and safe and careful. And she wanted him to come home. She wanted them all to come home as soon as they could.

Tommy caught a tear that sat threateningly at the corner of Clara's eye and brushed it away with his thumb.

"I will," Tommy said as he brought Clara out of the car, steadying her on her feet before letting her go. "I promise."

Clara wanted to trust that it was a promise he'd be able to keep.

Chapter 32

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

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