𝑭𝒂𝒓 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑨𝒏𝒚 𝑹𝒐𝒂𝒅

The Handsome Family

2:41 ────♡─── 4:31

"𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎."

The grand hall of the opera house was dimly lit, the heavy velvet curtains framing the stage where performers commanded the audience's rapt attention. The music swelled, filling the space with an almost ethereal quality, but Maeve Harding wasn't here for the opera.

She sat in one of the shadowed boxes above the crowd, dressed in understated elegance. Her auburn curls were tucked neatly beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and her gloved hands rested lightly on the railing. Beside her, Finn Shelby shifted in his seat, fidgeting like a restless child.

"What are we doing here?" Finn whispered, his young face scrunched with impatience.

Maeve didn't look at him. Her green eyes scanned the crowd below, searching for something—or someone. "It's good to be aware of every territory," she said simply.

Finn frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. He opened his mouth to press further, but Maeve silenced him with a brief glance. He slumped back in his chair, muttering something under his breath, though his gaze followed hers to the sea of well-dressed patrons below.

It didn't take long for her to spot him. Inspector Campbell strode into the hall with his usual air of authority, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. He was immaculately dressed, his coat buttoned neatly, his gloved hands clasped behind his back as he moved toward one of the more prominent boxes.

Maeve's body tensed, though her expression remained calm. She dipped her head slightly, angling the brim of her hat to cast a shadow over her face.

"Is that him?" Finn whispered, his voice barely audible.

Maeve didn't respond. Her eyes followed Campbell as he glanced around the hall, his gaze scanning the crowd. When his sharp eyes turned toward their box, Maeve lowered her head further, ensuring the shadow concealed her features.

Campbell's gaze lingered, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to decipher who she was. He hesitated for a moment before turning away, seemingly satisfied—or at least unsure enough not to act.

Maeve exhaled quietly, her fingers flexing slightly on the railing. She didn't lift her head until Campbell reached his seat. That's when she saw her.

Grace.

The blonde woman moved gracefully into the box, her gown simple but elegant. She greeted Campbell with a polite nod before sitting beside him, her posture poised. Maeve's eyes narrowed slightly, her sharp gaze fixed on the pair as they exchanged quiet words.

She couldn't hear what they were saying, but her attention shifted as Campbell pulled a folded newspaper from his coat. The exchange was subtle—almost too subtle—but Maeve caught the way he passed it to Grace, his hand lingering just long enough to make it clear that whatever he was giving her, it mattered.

Grace took the newspaper without a word, tucking it into her lap as her eyes returned to the stage. Maeve's jaw tightened, her mind racing.

Why a newspaper? On the surface, it seemed innocent enough, but Maeve had been around long enough to know that nothing involving Campbell was ever innocent. Whatever he'd passed to Grace, it wasn't meant for casual reading.

Finn leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why's he here?"

Maeve didn't look at him. "Quiet, Finn," she murmured. "Keep watching."

Finn huffed but obeyed, his fidgeting subdued.

Maeve remained perfectly still, her gaze fixed on Campbell and Grace. Their focus appeared to be on the stage, their expressions neutral, but Maeve knew better. Whatever business they had tonight, it wasn't over.

Her gloved fingers tapped lightly against the railing as she considered her next move. Grace had always seemed too polished, too perfect. If she was involved with Campbell—if there was more to that newspaper—Maeve would find out.

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Maeve pushed open the door to Finn's room, flicking on the dim light as she guided him inside. He was half asleep already, dragging his feet across the floor like lead weights.

"Come on, Finn," Maeve muttered, pulling back the blanket. "In you go."

Finn groaned but obeyed, collapsing face-first onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. "Why'd we have to go to that stupid opera?" he mumbled into the pillow. "It was boring."

Maeve crouched down, tugging his shoes off one by one and tossing them aside. "Because you need to learn that there's more to life than getting your nose bloodied and counting coins," she replied coolly. "Now lift your feet, or I'll leave you to sleep in those trousers."

Finn grumbled something incoherent, but Maeve ignored him, pulling the blanket up over his small frame. His eyes were already fluttering shut. "You'll thank me one day," she said softly. "Now sleep."

By the time she closed the door behind her, the house was quiet except for the murmur of voices from the parlor below. Maeve descended the stairs, intent on finding Polly and finishing her business for the evening. But as she passed the parlor door, the familiar low voices of Peaky Blinders men met her ears—gruff murmurs of fixed races, cash piles, and plans whispered under a haze of cigarette smoke.

Maeve paused. She knew better than to get tangled up when money was changing hands. With a shake of her head, she turned back toward the hall—

"Maeve."

Tommy Shelby's voice cut through the noise like a knife, low and deliberate.

She stopped mid-step, closing her eyes for a brief second before turning around. Tommy stood in the doorway to the dining room, his sharp blue gaze fixed on her like a hawk's.

"We need to talk," he said simply.

"Do we?" Maeve replied, tilting her head. Tommy ignored her sarcasm, nodding toward the dining room. "Come in."

She sighed, dragging her feet slightly as she followed him, muttering under her breath. "You know, you could try calling me in a way that doesn't sound like I'm being summoned to the gallows."

Tommy ignored the comment, already seated at the table with a cigarette between his fingers. Maeve sat across from him, sinking into the chair with a casual defiance that only seemed to irritate him more.

The silence stretched between them as Tommy lit his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. Maeve crossed her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on him.

"Spit it out, Tommy," she said, her tone edged with impatience. "You're not the only one with a busy schedule."

Tommy's lips twitched faintly at her remark, she was like Ada but ten times worse, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. "I need a favor."

Maeve raised an eyebrow, her voice cutting through the stillness like glass. "Say or silence?"

Tommy paused, meeting her eyes with a look that meant business.

It was something they'd started years ago, back when Maeve first began helping the Shelbys clean up after their messes—sometimes by choice, other times because Tommy insisted she was too clever to waste sitting idle. Say or silence was their code, a simple way of gauging the boundaries. If he said "say," it meant she could ask questions—dig deeper, demand answers, understand the full picture. But if he said "silence," it meant no questions, no digging, just trust and do what was asked.

Tommy exhaled again, calm as ever. "Silence."

Maeve's smirk faded, her sharp humor dimming just a little. Silence meant it was serious—serious enough that Tommy didn't want her asking anything that might make it harder to act.

"Figures," she muttered, leaning back in her chair. "You always ask for the favors that come with strings."

Tommy ignored her jab, his voice calm but weighted. "I need you to find Freddie Thorne."

Maeve blinked once, her gaze narrowing. "Freddie?"

"Yes," Tommy replied. "I need you to find him and tell him to come back. Take Ada with him."

Maeve stared at him for a beat, her arms still crossed tightly. "And you can't do it because..."

Tommy exhaled, his tone dropping just enough to reveal the slightest crack in his armor. "Because I don't want him thinking I'm going to kill him."

Maeve tilted her head, studying him carefully. "Well, you did threaten him," she replied flatly. "Doesn't seem like such a stretch."

Tommy's jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing, his expression unmoving.

Maeve shook her head, letting out a humorless laugh as she ran her fingers along the edge of the table. "You're unbelievable, Thomas. You've got the whole of Birmingham running scared of you, but here you are asking me to play peacemaker."

Tommy's eyes flicked to hers, sharp and cold. "Will you do it or not?"

Maeve sighed, flicking her tongue across her teeth as she weighed her options. Finally, she leaned forward, her gaze steady and unflinching. "Fine. But you owe me for this one."

"You always say that," Tommy replied evenly.

"One day, I'll collect," Maeve shot back, pushing herself up from the chair. She paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. "And next time, try doing your own dirty work."

Tommy's voice followed her as she left the room, dry as ever. "I'd only muck it up, wouldn't I?"

Maeve disappeared into the hall, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows. Tommy sat back in his chair, tapping the ash from his cigarette into the tray, a flicker of something thoughtful crossing his face.

Maeve Harding might have pushed his buttons like no one else, but she was the only person he trusted to get the job done.

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Polly and Ada made their way briskly through the crowded train station. The air was heavy with the hiss of steam and the sharp clatter of boots against stone. Suitcases thudded onto platforms, voices echoed as families said their goodbyes, and the cold bit at their cheeks as they hurried on.

Polly walked with purpose, her sharp gaze sweeping the platform ahead. Ada, on the other hand, walked a little slower, her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to shield herself from more than just the cold.

Polly glanced sideways at her, her tone softening ever so slightly. "You okay?"

Ada shook her head quickly, forcing a small, tight smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Polly narrowed her eyes, unconvinced but didn't push further. "I think there are some more carriages over there that are gonna be empty," she said, pointing toward the far end of the platform where fewer people lingered.

But before they could take another step, Polly stopped short. Ada followed her gaze and froze as well.

Standing near the edge of the platform was Freddie Thorne. His tall figure stood out among the crowd, his posture firm and unshaken despite the risk he'd taken by showing up. Standing near him, leaning casually against a post with her arms crossed, was Maeve Harding. She was dressed neatly, her coat buttoned up against the cold, a cigarette dangling idly from her fingers as she watched the women approach. Maeve had known they'd arrive—Polly had told her about the plan.

Polly's voice came out in a stunned whisper. "Jesus. Freddie."

Ada's breath caught in her throat, her wide eyes locking on him. "You came back?"

Freddie stepped forward, his dark eyes steady as they met Ada's. "I got a tip-off," he said simply, his voice calm.

Ada shook her head, fear creeping into her voice now. "Freddie... Tommy will kill you."

Freddie's lips tugged into a faint smirk, his tone edged with something softer than defiance. "It's Tommy who tipped me off. Maybe he's got half a heart, after all. Tommy got a message to me. Said, 'Get out of town. Take her with you.'"

Polly exchanged a quick glance with Maeve, whose expression remained cool and unreadable. Maeve knew exactly how dangerous this was, and yet here they all stood, waiting for what came next.

Before anyone could say more, Freddie suddenly dropped to one knee.

Polly's gasp was audible as her hand shot out to grip Maeve's arm for balance. Maeve, though usually composed, blinked in disbelief, her mouth falling open slightly as she straightened. The two women clung to each other, their shock mirroring one another's.

Freddie, unfazed, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring, holding it up to Ada.

"So," he began, his voice steady and certain, "Ada Shelby, will you marry me?"

Ada's hands flew to her mouth, tears immediately welling in her eyes. For a brief second, she froze, as if the moment were too surreal to be real. Then her lips split into the brightest smile Polly had seen from her in years.

"Yes," Ada whispered breathlessly, then louder as joy overtook her. "Yes. Yes!"

She threw herself into Freddie's arms, her laughter mixing with the sound of the train whistle cutting sharply through the air.

Polly let out an unexpected laugh, shaking her head as she and Maeve turned to each other, hugging tightly. Polly's usually stern demeanor cracked just long enough for a shared moment of genuine happiness.

Maeve grinned as they pulled apart, giving Polly's arm a playful squeeze. "Didn't think we'd live to see the day, did you?"

Polly let out a soft, amused scoff, though her sharp eyes quickly turned back to Freddie.

Maeve stepped forward then, grabbing Ada's bag with purpose. "Right," she said briskly, slipping back into her no-nonsense demeanor. "Get on this bloody train and get out of here before anyone changes their mind."

Ada turned to look at Freddie, but her smile faltered when she realized he hadn't moved to follow her. Polly's sharp gaze flicked to him as well, narrowing slightly.

"Come on, both of you," Polly said, her voice firm. "Freddie, come on."

Freddie remained where he stood, his hand still holding Ada's tightly.

"Freddie..." Ada's voice was smaller now, her earlier joy tempered by worry. "Cardiff's okay. Anywhere but here's okay."

But Freddie only shook his head, his resolve unshakable. "We're not going anywhere, Ada," he said, his voice low but strong. "We're gonna stay here. We're gonna marry here. I'm not afraid of Tommy Shelby."

Maeve's eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. She tilted her head, looking at Freddie like he was the most foolish man alive. A small, dry scoff escaped her lips. "You're brave. Stupid, but brave."

Polly didn't move, her face unreadable. Her dark eyes bore into Freddie, her silence loud enough to unsettle anyone who knew her well. Nobody could tell what she was thinking, but one thing was clear—it wasn't good.

The train's whistle blew again, sharper this time, as the steam hissed around them. Ada glanced between Freddie and the train, her smile still there but now laced with uncertainty. Freddie, however, looked at her with nothing but confidence, his hand steady in hers.

Maeve stood still for a moment, her sharp green eyes flicking between the tracks and the retreating couple. She slipped her hands into her coat pockets and let out a slow breath, knowing one thing for certain—trouble wasn't far behind.