Pearl hated Birmingham. It was so very different from London - whilst both cities had a constant thick smog that covered the city's secrets and illicit activities, it was Birmingham that had the unyielding ability to always be tinted grey. She'd decided that she'd hated it from the very first industrial factory that had flown across her view through the train window. However, her mind was pulled away from the surroundings that passed her as the train pulled into the station, and once the doors opened she felt as though the smoke and dust were clogging up her lungs and dying her blonde hair an ashy grey. Yes, the smog here is undeniably worse than London. Pearl hastily made her way off the platform smoothing down her skirt with her fingertips as she stepped, paying close attention to the feeling of the revolver strapped to her thigh.

She picked up her suitcase with a tight grip and started to wander the streets down to the house she'd be residing in for the foreseeable future. The owner of the house was a greying, old widow - Mrs Clarkson - who had lost both of her sons in the war and was kind enough to rent out her spare room to Pearl. When she arrived she rapped quickly on the door and Mrs Clarkson opened it with a warm smile. She showed Pearl to her room, often commenting on how "crisp" and "poised" Pearl's accent was as they made their way up the stairs. Once Pearl had stored her bag underneath her bed Mrs Clarkson offered her a cup of tea and a biscuit, which Pearl politely declined.

"That's good because I haven't got any biscuits!" Mrs Clarkson's face scrunched up as she laughed at her own joke and Pearl smiled fondly at her amusement.

She informed Mrs Clarkson that she should probably head out to start looking for employment, to which Mrs Clarkson nodded and gave Pearl a key to the house before shuffling out of the room and allowing Pearl to go and explore the streets.

–

She took note of what she saw within the neighbourhood of Small Heath, thinking that it would be an easy place to go unnoticed, what with the streets being lined by factory workers, drunks and the unemployed; all slugging about their day to day.

That was exactly what Pearl needed to be. Unnoticed. To be invisible within this city because she had a delicate task at hand, she'd heard word that a large amount of machine guns, rifles and ammunition had fallen out of the BSA factory and landed in the lap of Small Heath. Her task was to retrieve them.

You see, she wasn't just any woman. The war hit everyone hard, some more than others and Pearl was left orphaned and penniless with no means of survival - until she found a way out. It was no secret that London was home to many gangs around the different boroughs, it just so happened Pearl found herself entangled with The Silver Fang in Soho. The details of how she ended up in that entanglement are irrelevant. Nonetheless, 1919 was hardly welcoming to a woman of Pearl's standing and she found herself striking a bargain to prove her worth and gain a place. She was informed of the guns within Small Heath and all she had to do was locate them, notify the gang leader - Argo Grenfeld - and they'd send people on their way to collect them. She thought it safer not to ask exactly why they needed them. However, she didn't mind the vagueness of it all because, now she had a way in, Mr Grenfeld had believed that she would be the perfect infiltrator on this mission, because who would suspect a woman?

Pearl had been given little information on who and where the guns could be found; other than the name the Peaky Blinders. She had been told that this was the name of the leading gang within Birmingham, she knew little of the gang herself and from what she'd heard only assumed them to be a small group of disorganised brawlers.

That is until she saw a member for herself.

It was on her second day in Small Heath that she'd spotted a blinder. Pearl was wandering down the bustling cobbled street trying to become acquainted with her surroundings when all of a sudden the crowd on the other side parted for two men. People ducked their heads and walked in the other direction when they saw the men approaching and Pearl sidestepped into a corner so they would not catch a glimpse of her inquisitive green eyes. The first thing she noted was the borderline cockiness in which they strode down the street, they knew they were feared - that was certain. The second was the slight glimmer that came from the peak of their caps which seemed to be a warning to all those around.

Pearl assumed the pair weren't particularly high ranking within the gang due to the fact that they looked rather young and were nonchalantly strolling away from a local pub, speaking loudly and brassly to each other - occasionally giving the other a shove on the shoulder. No, nothing about the pair seemed overly authoritative.

The pub they had just left was a drab institution with cracked windows and chipping paint. It was tucked away in a corner underneath the rail tracks and practically shook on its hinges whenever a train crossed over. The surrounding area was filled with street workers and what she only assumed could be women of the night. Pearl doubted that those who frequented the pub were anywhere near respectable, which is why she took such an interest in it.

After the blinders had passed Pearl hung around a little longer, watching the door to the pub whilst she fiddled with the hem of her sleeve and let strands of her blonde hair fall in front of her face. As expected, four more men with the exact same peaked caps came and went through the doors; she hardly believed it to be a coincidence. Pearl pulled a notebook out of her small, black handbag and wrote down The Garrison, assuming that this pub would be a patron of many Peaky Blinders and therefore somewhere Pearl should consider seeking employment.

The last blinder that she watched leave The Garrison she decided to follow. She manoeuvred through the people on the street, making sure to keep far enough away that the man wouldn't notice. Anytime he paused Pearl would pull down her black, felt cloche hat slightly in order to avoid his gaze and lay her fingers gently against the imprint of the revolver on her skirt. Finally he turned down a street named Watery Lane and stepped inside one of the houses.

Pearl leant against the red-brick wall and let out a frustrated huff. All she'd managed to do was follow one of the peaky bastards home. She took a moment to watch as the grey clouds passed drowsily overhead and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. Taking a drag, she felt the smoke curl through her lungs and as it passed through her lips it joined the rest of the smoke and fog around her. Once she had finished she threw it to the side and noticed how her red lipstick had made a mark around the butt of the cigarette.

Deflated, she turned on her heel and started to walk back towards The Garrison, however after only a few steps she started to hear the distinct click of a horse's hoof hitting the ground.

She raised her head to see a man astride a black stallion.

This man was different to the others, she could tell by his eyes: his icy, sharp eyes. They seemed to be simultaneously shallow and yet full of secrets. However none of this showed on his face which was completely blank, as though he knew no emotion and his posture was straight and strong. All of that was topped off with the glint of a blade hidden within his cap, just as all the other men had. She felt an overwhelming urge to run in the other direction when he approached but instead stayed frozen in place, enthralled by the man before her.

He paid no attention to Pearl as he strode past, whilst she on the other hand was examining every inch of his person. By the time he was out of sight Pearl was almost sure that this was the man she was looking for and so headed back on her way.

–

Pearl would've thought gaining employment at The Garrison would've been much easier than it was but the owner, Harry, seemed reluctant to make her a barmaid. He'd already recently employed a new young, blonde woman - which he felt thoroughly guilty about knowing the nature of the clientele. Nevertheless, he needed the help and Pearl proved her usefulness to him and thus secured a job.

Mrs Clarkson was less than thrilled when Pearl had told her of her new job.

"There's no place for a sweet girl like you there, my love" Mrs Clarkson placed a hand on Pearl's cheek as she sat beside her at the kitchen table. Pearl had taken a liking to her homely landlord, whom she now knew as Myrtle, and often enjoyed an occasional chat with her before Myrtle headed off to bed. "No, that place is all ruffians and blinders"

"I can manage myself, I've had to put up with my fairshare of raucous men throughout my life"

Myrtle nodded understandingly. "Brothers?"

Pearl took a sip from her teacup as she deliberated. "No, not exactly"

"Well I tell you, you must be careful there. Never want to be caught on the wrong side of a blinder" The old woman stated this as though it was fact, law almost. It seemed everyone in this dreary city understood that the wrath of the Peaky Blinders was just a part of their day to day life at this point.

"Do you know much about the Peaky Blinders? You know, just so I can keep my wits about me"

"Oh it's an awful life they lead. Condemned to hell, the lot of them. It's odd... I used to teach many of them at school, how they used to run rings around me back then. Especially the Shelby boys, John in particular" Myrtle smiled wistfully at the memory for a moment before a bitterness set into the withered creases of her face, "Of course the war is what did it, they all came back new men. As though all that they'd seen had rotted them from the inside out"

Pearl knew exactly what she meant, she'd watched it happen around her. Every man she knew either never returned or came back a cold, hollow version of who they once were. She took a moment to sit in the shared understanding between the two women before picking up on a name Myrtle had mentioned. "I'm sorry, the Shelby's?"

"Yes, from what I know they're running the show now. The eldest boys; Arthur, Thomas and John they're who you need to be wary of - especially Arthur and his awful temperament. Although from what I've heard it seems to be Thomas in charge... Never you mind. You just need to keep an eye out if any of the Shelby's enter The Garrison, their aunt Polly may look more refined than the young lads but just she's as cutthroat if you ask me. Be careful, my love, they only live a couple of streets down. Watery Lane is it? Or no perhaps it's..."

As she spoke Pearl realised her earlier attempts at following a blinder had actually not been a dead end after all but had led her to the home of the family that ran it all. She found it hard to believe that a family home would be a base for the inner workings of the gang but still jotted down the name Watery Lane when she was in her room later that night. She wrote down a few more things that she'd observed that day but at the very bottom, encircled, was the name Shelby.