𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑹𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

1:07 ──♡───── 6:21

"𝙷𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜, 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝙷𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜, 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚢"

Maeve Shelby had carved out a life that demanded precision. Her days were a balance of chaos and order, and she operated with the meticulous efficiency of someone who had no choice but to succeed. As a mother, a wife, and now a lawyer, she navigated each role with a sharpness that belied the exhaustion that came with it all.

Every morning started the same. The twins, Sammy and Aiden, now two years old, were up before the rest of the house. Their laughter and footsteps echoed through the halls, filling the quiet with energy. Maeve cherished those moments of sweetness amidst the chaos, though she was often too busy orchestrating their day to linger on them. Arthur, when he wasn't tied up with Shelby business, would sometimes help wrangle the boys, but more often than not, Maeve handled the morning routine herself.

Margaret, the boys' nanny, arrived shortly after breakfast to take over. She was patient and dependable, traits Maeve valued above all else. With Margaret in charge of the twins, Maeve could focus on her work. Her office, a polished space in the heart of the city, was a reflection of her sharp mind—clean lines, dark wood, and a heavy desk that anchored the room. It was a space that commanded respect, one that reminded her why she'd worked so hard to establish herself.

Her secretary, Ana, greeted her at the door every morning with a stack of files and a rundown of the day's schedule. Ana was efficient and professional, her demeanor calm and composed, which balanced Maeve's own sharp focus. Maeve would nod in acknowledgment, take the files, and dive into her work.

The Shelby business was, as always, a tangled web of contracts, disputes, and legal maneuvering. Maeve had a natural talent for navigating it all, despite the lack of formal schooling. She had learned through relentless study and practice, picking apart every legal text she could find until the language of law felt like second nature. Her clients ranged from local businessmen to the Shelby family themselves, each case requiring a different level of finesse.

That particular day, Tommy had stopped by to discuss a land deal. His presence filled the room with an unspoken intensity, and their conversations were always laced with a subtle game of chess. Tommy respected her sharpness, but he also knew how to push her buttons. They went back and forth for nearly an hour before he left, the contract he needed tucked under his arm.

Maeve stayed late at the office, finishing a contract dispute for another client. By the time she returned home, the house was quiet. Margaret had settled the boys to sleep, and Maeve's heart softened as she peeked into their room. Sammy was curled up on his side, while Aiden had sprawled across his bed, his little arm hanging off the edge. She adjusted their blankets and kissed their foreheads before stepping out.

Arthur was there that evening, his jacket slung over the back of a chair as he stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames. "Business," he said when she asked where he'd been, his tone casual but warm enough to feel genuine. Maeve nodded, letting the subject drop. It wasn't that they didn't talk—it was that they both carried so much, and there were times when silence was easier.

She moved to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea, and Arthur followed, leaning against the doorframe. "Tommy stopped by," she said, setting the kettle on the stove. "The land deal's settled."

Arthur grunted in acknowledgment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "He didn't give you too much trouble, did he?"

"Always does," Maeve replied, her tone light. "But nothing I can't handle."

Arthur chuckled, and for a moment, the tension of the day seemed to lift. They didn't have much time alone together anymore, not with their responsibilities pulling them in opposite directions. But in those fleeting moments of quiet, Maeve felt the thread that still tied them together, even if it sometimes felt frayed.

As the evening wore on, Maeve found herself at the dining table, reviewing the last of her paperwork. Arthur sat across from her, polishing the parts of a gun with practiced ease. It wasn't romantic, but it was familiar—a rhythm they'd fallen into over the years.

Every now and then, Arthur would glance up at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. And though Maeve didn't say it aloud, she noticed. She noticed the way he still looked at her, the way his presence filled the room even when they weren't speaking. For now, that was enough.

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The funeral was somber, the air heavy with grief and the murmured prayers of the gathered crowd. Arthur and Maeve stood side by side, each holding one of their sons. Aiden squirmed slightly in Maeve's arms, but she hushed him with a quiet whisper. Sammy clung to Arthur's coat, his small face pressed against his father's chest.

Tommy spoke, his voice steady but low, the weight of his words hanging over the crowd like the gray sky above them.

"I promised my friend Freddie Thorne that I'd say a few words over his grave if he should pass before me. I made this promise before he became me brother-in-law. When we were in France, fighting for the King."

Arthur's voice broke through the silence, a quiet but fervent, "Amen."

Tommy continued, his eyes briefly flicking to Ada, who stood apart from the rest, her face unreadable.

"And in the end, it wasn't war that took Freddie. Pestilence took him. But Freddie passed on his soul and his spirit to a new generation before he was cruelly taken."

As Tommy stepped away to speak with Ada, Maeve shifted closer to Arthur, leaning in slightly to speak to him. Their voices were low, private, as the other mourners began to disperse. Arthur's expression softened as he listened, but their moment was interrupted by a man who approached briskly, his face tense.

Arthur handed Sammy to Maeve with care and listened as the man leaned in and whispered something to him. Arthur's face darkened immediately, his jaw tightening. Maeve watched, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Maeve," Arthur said, his tone clipped but steady. "Take the boys and go home with Esme."

She stared at him for a moment, searching his face for more. "Why? What's happened?"

Arthur hesitated, glancing at the man beside him before answering. "The Garrison. It's burned."

Maeve's breath hitched, but she masked her surprise quickly. She nodded, her grip tightening on Aiden as she gestured for Esme to follow her. Without another word, she walked toward the waiting carriage, her shoulders square and her steps purposeful, even as her mind raced. Arthur watched her go, his gaze lingering before he turned back to the man, his expression grim.

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The Shelby house was a hive of tension as the family gathered in the cramped parlor. Esme perched on the stairs, one hand gripping the banister lightly, her gaze darting between the faces below. Maeve stood at the foot of the staircase, arms crossed, her sharp green eyes surveying the scene with quiet intensity. Polly leaned against the doorway, her usual air of exasperated authority palpable. Arthur poured himself a drink, the glug of whiskey the only sound breaking the silence.

"Sit down, Finn," Arthur said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Finn obeyed quickly, his youthful eagerness unable to mask the unease he felt being amidst the escalating tension. John, leaning back in his chair with his boots resting on the edge of the table, broke the silence next.

"Where the bloody hell is Tommy?"

Polly didn't miss a beat, her voice clipped. "He's on his way."

Arthur, ever the mediator when nerves frayed, raised his glass to fill the void. "All right then, while we're waiting patiently... whisky. Left over from the explosion. It's good stuff, as well."

John leaned forward, his frustration simmering. "Right. Before Tommy gets here, I think there's a few things we need to get straight between the rest of us."

Polly's sharp gaze turned to him. "You think?"

"Yeah, I do," John snapped back, his temper bubbling. "I want to know... When did we all take a vote on this expansion south?"

Polly's tone sharpened further. "You have anything to say, you wait for Thomas."

Arthur muttered in agreement, his eyes narrowing. "Polly's fucking right."

John leaned in further, his fists clenching as he spoke. "I see all the books. Legal and off track. Sort of stuff you don't see. And in the past year, the Shelby Company Limited has been making £150 a day. Right? A fucking day! Sometimes more. So what I want to know is why are we changing things? Polly, look what's happened already. We haven't even set foot in London yet and they've already blown up our fucking pub."

Arthur shook his head, his drink in hand. "Who said anything about cockneys?"

Esme spoke up from her perch on the stairs, her voice calm but laced with challenge. "Who else?"

Polly turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Do you know who did it, do you?"

John didn't let her answer. "No, she doesn't know who did it."

Esme's voice hardened. "I'm told only family are allowed to speak."

The sound of the front door creaking open halted the conversation. Tommy entered, his calm yet commanding presence silencing the room. He took in the scene with a quick, calculated glance before speaking.

"Everyone's allowed to speak," he said, his tone deceptively light. He gestured toward Esme. "On your feet, Esme, let's hear what you have to say."

John bristled, rising from his seat. "I speak for our household. So—"

"John," Tommy interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "This company is a modern enterprise and believes in equal rights for women. On your feet, Esme."

Esme stood slowly, smoothing her skirt as she straightened her back. Her tone was measured, her words carefully chosen. "I'm not a blood member of this family, but perhaps, indeed, because I'm not a member, I can see things in a different light. So I'll get to my point."

Polly's voice cut in, dry as ever. "That would be nice."

Esme pressed on, ignoring the slight. "As my husband said, Shelby Company Limited is now very successful. But London. I have kin in Shepherd's Bush and Portobello. It's more like wars between armies down there. And the coppers fight side-by-side with them. And there are foreigners of every description, and the use of bombs is the least of it. I have a child, blessed with the Shelby family good looks. I want John to see him grow up. I want us to someday live somewhere with fresh air and trees and keep chickens or something. But London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas."

Polly's eyebrows lifted at her choice of address. "Thomas?"

Esme ignored her, sitting back down. "That's all I have to say."

Arthur passed Tommy a drink. "That was a lot of words, a lot of words. Wash them down with a nice drink."

Tommy nodded slightly, taking a sip before responding. "Thank you, Esme. Firstly, the bang in the pub had nothing to do with London. Understood? The bang is something I'm dealing with on my own. Secondly, we've nothing to fear from the proposed business expansion so long as we stick together. And after the first few weeks, nine-tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands. Isn't that right, Arthur?"

Arthur raised his glass in agreement. "That's right."

Tommy looked around the room, his voice hardening. "Now, some of you in this room have expressed your reservations. Fair enough. Any of you who want no part in the future of this company, walk out the door... Right now. Go raise your chickens."

Maeve stood at the foot of the stairs, her fingers tightening on the railing. Tommy's words hung heavy in the air, daring anyone to step out, to leave it all behind. For a moment, she let herself imagine it—turning away from the lives they'd built together, from the chaos and blood that seemed to follow them everywhere. It would be easy, she thought, to walk out that door, to choose the quiet life she had always told herself she wanted. She had a secure job, two beautiful boys, and every reason to leave behind the danger that seemed to consume everything the Shelbys touched.

Her gaze flicked to Esme, sitting on the stairs, her face a mirror of Maeve's own thoughts. There was a longing there, an unspoken understanding between two women who had both seen too much and wanted more for their families. Esme's words earlier had echoed in Maeve's mind: fresh air, trees, a place where their children could grow up free from all of this. Maeve wanted that too. 

She wanted it more than anything.

But as much as she wanted to leave, the reality was more complicated. Maeve had never asked for this life. Arthur and Tommy had pulled her into it, persuading her with promises that it would be different, that it would be theirs and praising her for her smarts. 

At first, it hadn't seemed so bad. The danger was distant, the rewards tangible. But now, with every passing day, the weight of it all felt heavier. She thought of her boys and the kind of world she was helping to build for them. Was this really the legacy she wanted to leave behind?

Her eyes found Arthur, seated at the table with that same mix of stubbornness and loyalty she both loved and resented. He had changed since the war, carrying his own burdens that spilled into their life together. But even with all his flaws, he was her husband, and she couldn't abandon him—or the family they'd fought to protect.

Maeve swallowed hard, the knot in her throat tightening. She stayed rooted in place, her feet refusing to move toward the door. To leave would be the simple choice, but nothing about her life had ever been simple. For now, she would stay, even if a part of her wondered how much longer she could carry the weight of it all.

Tommy's voice cut through her thoughts. "For those of you with ambition, the expansion process begins tomorrow."

The room fell silent once more, and Maeve crossed her arms, her decision made—for now.

But, ooooh, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. 

You are in terrible danger.