𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐈𝐗.
for angels and abandonment
❝ FOR ANGEL! ❞

WARWICKSHIRE,
ENGLAND 1924

♜ ━━━━━ ADELINE WAS DREAMING AGAIN. A strange, strange dream.

Sweet Adeline, my Adeline, at night, dear heart, for you I pine.

Del stood alone in an unfamiliar ballroom, in nothing but her shift, feet bare against the wooden floor. In the distance, music played. And it seems so real at times 'til I awaken. To find it all vanished, a dream gone by. Her mother used to sing that song — that was how the girl got her name, after all, but the voice was not her mother's. It was one she recognised.

Grace.

Grace stood before her now, hands folded together in front of her, her sharp eyes levelled on Del's face. The girl was shivering as the woman sang, looking at her bone—coloured dress and the glittering sapphire hanging from her throat. Del listened to the torrent of words spilling from her mouth. Her sentences glowed in the warm golden light.

In a quieter moment, Grace gave another instruction, "You have to listen to the voices that you hear."

With one eye open, one still in a dream, little trouble — also known as Adeline Shelby — could see without question that her step—mother, Grace, was now lifting up from the ground. Her feet didn't touch the earth. She was floating, rising, higher and higher towards the heavens. Her bone—coloured dress was now blood red. Her eyes stared at the floor. Seeing nothing.

Then, just as she was about to scream, Del woke up.

One eye open. One still in a dream.

The little girl awoke swimming in her bed, trying not to scream, and drowning in her flood of sheets. On the other side of her cold room, the body that belonged to Del's step—mother still floated boat—like in the darkness. Slowly, with the opening of her eyes and the slow arrival of consciousness, Grace sank, seemingly into the floor and then disintegrated like dust.

Then she was gone. Just f—cking gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They went out to the stables that morning; Tommy, Grace, and the bonny prince Charlie. Tommy'd asked if Del wanted to come and got barely more than a mumble in response so he told her she could have it her own way. That was fine enough. She still had a pounding headache from her hangover and her nightmare still clung to the edges of her vision. Tommy could have a happy time with his wife and son. His daughter needed to have a think.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy was in a prison cell.

Arrested by Scotland Yard; that was new, he did have to admit. They did what the Odd Fellows' f—ckin' priest told them to do. It was all connected to the Russian business, by the sounds of it. The priest, Hughes, had a monster of a dog at his side and a hat pressed over his heart, when he joined Tommy in the prison cell. Truthfully, he was getting tired of the priest's constant threats and underhanded warnings.

He was getting f—ckin' tired of all of it.

Finally, the Shelby man just shrugged his shoulders, "If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead, wouldn't I?"

"It's true." The priest scoffed to himself in concession, dropping his head somewhat, "It's true we do need you alive."

Tommy smirked a little.

"But when you go home today, Mister Shelby... be sure to get under your little girl and boy's pillows." Tommy felt something deep inside him recoil, lips parting as the priest rumbled on, "The tooth fairy has been. We can reach anyone. Anywhere."

His heart was pounding. A sweat broke on the base of his spine. He couldn't remember how to breathe.

With one final sick smile, the priest turned and knocked on the door so it would open. Tommy instantly shoved by him and ran out of the cell, and he didn't stop running 'til he reached his motor and sped all the way back to Arrow House, cursing the great distance for the first time since he'd bought the bloody place. It was dark by the time he made home, and he went from Charles' room to Adeline's, sprinting as fast as he could, coat billowing behind him.

His daughter was stretched out on her bed, counting what looked to be shells, when he roughly shoved through her door. At his arrival, Del quickly hid the bullets under her blanket and already opened her mouth to defend herself, but he ignored that. Tommy moved round her and pushed a hand under her pillow, gasping to himself when he found something there.

"Da?" Her voice was so soft, "Da, what's happenin'?"

Della watched Tommy with wide eyes as he pulled loose a small slip of paper and looked down at it with a heaving chest. The paper in his hand trembled while he frantically paced back and forth, running a hand over his fringe. His gasps filled the room, matching the quickening beat of her heart.

"Nothin'. It's just... nothin'.

Frowning, she got onto her tip—toes to look round his shoulder, "What's the... the Co—Operative Crematorium, Da?"

He flipped it over and swallowed hard. Adeline Shelby RIP. The girl caught just a glimpse of it 'fore Tommy crumbled it in his fist and shoved it away in his pocket.

"It's my name on it," Del pointed out, "Is it for me?"

Tommy suddenly pulled her into him, burying her face into his sternum. He smelled of the street and smoke. Del relished in it. In the smell of him. The closeness of him. She wrapped her arms round his ribcage and pulled herself even closer, resting her head against his chest. He was nearly gasping for air, she could feel his heart pounding under her ear.

"It's got nothing to do with you, you're orright." He panted above her, squeezing so tight that it started to hurt, "Everything's f—cking orright, my little trouble. Promise."

He pushed her away by her shoulders, grabbing her chin and tilting her face up so she'd have no choice but to meet his gaze. She was suddenly frightened by the strangeness she found in his eyes.

"You trust me, yea?" Tommy's grip on her shoulders grew halfway desperate, "You told me you trust me, didn't you, Adeline?"

"Yea, yea." Del nodded nearly desperately, forcing a dry swallow, "'Course I trust you..."

He exhaled a ragged sigh and drew her in once more, cupping the back of her head to his chest. His heart was still battering against his ribcage beneath her ear.

"Tommy." Grace appeared in Del's doorway with an odd expression, "Is everything all right? Mary said you were in Charlie's room, too."

"Yes. Everything's fine. Everything's fine. Yea."

Grace gave him such an intense look, "You promised, Tommy."

Della glanced between the two adults with a deeply cautious expression.

"I know," Tommy breathed through his gasps.

"I trust you." She gave him a look Del didn't quite understand before her da pulled the woman close, "I trust you, Tommy."

Grace could soothe her Tommy like no one else. No matter what Del thought, she couldn't ignore that. They loved each other, and she smoothed over his rough edges. There was no use denying that. At the sound of Charlie's distant cries, the blonde woman turned to the door and went to tend to him. Eyes bluer than usual, Tommy lightly stroked Del's cheek, brushing across her thick dark lashes, before turning to follow his wife.

"Da?" Her voice was little more than a croak.

Her father stopped, putting his hand on the wall as if he needed something to balance him. Del hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves, fisting her hands into the crisp material of her skirt. It took a lot for her to be able to breathe her next words aloud.

"I've been havin' dreams."

Tommy stared at her for a long terrible moment 'fore he breathed almost fearfully, "What sort of dreams? The gyspy sort?"

"Nah... nevermind."

It was best not to think of it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"There's a man after Polly."

Ada's voice crackled over the line, sounding far too casual for the words she'd just said.

"After?" Del shot upright from where she was laying on her da's desk, "We'll fight him so? To protect Polly?"

"Bloody hell, Della Shelby, you've been spending too much time with Tommy. Not after—after, more like he fancies her. He likes her."

"Oh."

Del was grateful she couldn't see her blush, Ada would tease her mercilessly about it. Now that she was assured of Polly's safety, the eleven year old let herself relax, criss—crossing her legs and resting her cheek on her fist. Ada and Del talked via the telephone about once a week now, since the former lived far away in London and the latter lived in the middle of bloody Warwickshire. It was lucky her aunt had a telephone; it really was the only way she could keep up with family business these days.

"Who is the man, so? D'we like him?

"Some painter. Don't know him well enough yet, do we? But he seems kind enough, and Pol likes the attention. He called her 'a woman of substance and class'."

"Eh?" Del's dark brows furrowed, "The hell's that mean?"

Ada snorted, "You'll get it when you're older."

Del scrunched her nose and nearly growled aloud. That seemed to be all she was told nowadays, wasn't it? She'd get it when she was older. F—ck's sake. What was wrong with everyone these days?

"Tried to get her to invite him to the party tonight. Didn't work, but..." She snorted a bit, "She looked ready to murder me for even trying."

The news of Pol's beau was suddenly forgotten and Del cocked her head in confusion, "Party?"

"Yea? The Shelby Foundation Dinner? You know, the thing everyone's been talking about for weeks now?" Del didn't respond, and she could practically feel Ada's eye roll, "Holy hell, little trouble, you are kept out of the loop now, aren't you?"

"Don't remind me," the eleven year old grumbled.

They talked for a few moments more 'fore Ada needed to go 'cause it was near time for the Shelby Foundation Dinner to start. Bloody hell. That certainly explained where Tommy and Grace were going dressed in the fanciest clothes she'd ever seen. She dropped the cup back on the receiver with an annoyed huff.

No one told her anything anymore.

Grace was already waiting in the motorcar, which meant it was safe for Del to emerge from her father's office. He was in the foyer, Tommy was, pulling on his coat, reading some slip of paper as he did. The floor was cold beneath the soles of Della's feet, making her toes curl in and her shoulders shake.

"You look nice, Da."

She'd startled him, the eleven year old could tell. Tommy's head snapped round to glance at her, and then lingered there for a moment.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

"Grace looks nice as well."

There might've been something there, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. A flicker of what may've been hope, Del couldn't be sure.

"You think so?"

"Nah. You will but."

Tommy was amused now, she could tell, back to reading the slip of paper which was a sure sign that he was done talking to her now, that her time with him was up for the evening.

Del didn't let up, "Ada says youse're havin' a party tonight?"

He nodded, "You'll stay in, with Charlie and Frances, eh?"

"Have a party of our own, will we?" Del asked dryly.

"If you'd like."

Tommy was patronising her. Del hated that.

"Frances will let me at the champagne, will she? Give me a glass of gin, will she?"

He quirked an eyebrow up at her, "What's wrong with you, then?"

"The nanny, the baby, and me havin' a party, while you lot are out there, havin' a grand time—,"

Her father exhaled from deep down inside him, like she was the thickest person alive, "This is not the sort of party for little girls, Del."

"What sort of party is it?"

"A party for toffs and monkeys." Tommy gave her a smile that was more compromise than genuine, "You'd be miserable."

"Sounds like you'd be miserable too." Del gave him her bestest smile, the corner of his lip twitching just enough for her to see, "You could stay in?"

Tommy looked away from her, settling a long white scarf round his neck.

"You'll catch your death in nothing but your shift. Time for bed, Adeline."

Her father disappeared out the door and didn't look back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy was doing business at the party. For a charity dinner, these people Tommy were surrounded by didn't seem to be feeling very charitable. In the dark concert hall, a priest and an MP had given him more orders, more ways to get himself killed, more things he needed to do to keep his children alive. Now, he stood in a golden ballroom across from a Russian duchess who laughed in his face.

"Does your wife know that the sapphire she is wearing has been cursed by a gypsy?"

Tommy squinted a bit, slightly shaking his head, "What did you say?"

The duchess' laughter stopped, her mocking smile dropped, and her dark eyes stared deep into his soul.

"Nothing on Earth would make me wear it."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adeline dreamed again.

With one eye open, one still in a dream, the girl stood in the middle of that same ballroom. She wasn't alone there anymore but; there were loads of people present — each of them dressed in their finery as Del wore only her shift. Her feet were bleeding and pierced with splinters from the wood floor, and the golden light from the gas lamps burned her eyes.

For the sighing wind and nightingale a—singing are breathing only your own sweet name.

Grace wasn't just singing the song anymore, she was screaming it. In her blood red dress, her step—mother stood before her once again. Her mouth without skin and only pits of darkness where her eyes once were. The world round them began to disintegrate. When she began to float towards the heavens again, Grace removed the cursed sapphire necklace and tried to give it to Adeline, who could not move.

As the song still played, Grace whispered, "The price for an angel."

When she woke up, choking on a scream, Della knew immediately that on this occasion, something was about to change. Both of her eyes were open, Grace still hovered before her eyes but. Shuddering and sweating, Del squeezed her eyes shut and huddled down in her bed. She wrapped her arms over her head and bit into her pillowcase to muffle her terrorised screams.

And as Della fell helplessly back asleep, somewhere far away in a ballroom, a man screamed:

"For Angel!"

A gunshot echoed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

There was a monster downstairs.

From a dreamless sleep, it woke Del up, and it woke the little b—stard from the sounds of his cries next door. It was banging and crashing and snarling like all monsters do. It was already in the house. Charles, even if she hated him, even if she avoided him at all costs, was her responsibility. It was her job to keep him safe. It was her job to kill for him.

Still half—asleep, Della slipped out of her bed, gathered her straight razor, and crept downstairs.

She'd kill the d—mn thing.

She'd show them all what a daughter could do.

Del hopped off the last step, raised her razor, and began her hunt. But then she stopped when she turned the corner. Polly was here, as was Finn. They were standing in the hall, talking quietly, as if they didn't know there was a monster in their midst.

Lifting the razor higher, Della called out to them, "Where's the monster?"

Finn jumped and Polly turned at the sound of her. For a moment, a strange thing happened to her great—aunt and her uncle. At first, they looked like they'd never seen her before, and then they looked suddenly wretched at the sight of her. Del kept her razor at the ready.

"Don't you point that thing at me, Adeline Shelby."

Polly's tone lacked her usual menace, Del obeyed anyway but. They were still both dressed for the party; Finn in the nicest suit she'd ever seen him in and Polly in some lovely ball gown. True, her aunt looked beautiful in her pink dress, but when her eyes trailed the length of her, Del felt herself gasp at what she found at its hem.

"There's blood on you..."

"Yes Lamb." Polly's eyes were soft as she approached, "But I'm orright."

Della worried, "Did the monster get you?"

"Bloody hell," Finn murmured, taking the razor from her hand, "She's sleep—walkin', ain't she, Pol?"

Del frowned at him.

They all flinched when there was another massive crash followed by an monstrous roar, coming from inside her father's office by the sounds of it. Now that she was closer and more awake, Del realised it wasn't a monster. It was her Tommy. Without a second thought, the girl pushed past Polly and Finn to reach the door, only stopping when her aunt caught her sleeve.

The girl demanded, "Is he hurt?"

"It's Grace," Finn answered without hesitation.

Polly shot him a warning look 'fore sighing to herself. A terrible feeling welled up in the center of Del's chest, expanding like a balloon in her sternum, between the fragile bones of her ribcage. Growing 'til it began to hurt. Growing 'til it was near impossible to draw breath.

"Grace?" Del couldn't feel her hands, twitching and fluttering at her sides, "What's wrong with her? She orright?"

"No. She's not orright, Lamb, she's dead. Grace is dead."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adeline hadn't seen her father in an age.

After the funeral, they shut themselves away and didn't leave.

Tommy ignored everyone and everything.

He'd be gone during the night. He always went out with the big black horse, each and every night since the funeral. Each time Del was certain he'd never come back. He'd been attacked by some monster. He'd rolled into the fire. He started riding into the wilderness and he just never stopped. And when he proved her wrong and came back, Tommy'd only arrive in the early morning light so he could hide away with the baby and the stables. Then, when there were things he couldn't ignore to handle, he'd shut himself up in his office where he'd not be disturbed.

He barely spoke. He didn't eat or sleep. He carried his gun with him everywhere, always strapped round his chest under his arm. Like he was always prepared for danger. Like he was always prepared for a fight. One one move and he might shoot them all. He was smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish, and she could smell the whiskey in his pores the moment she saw him.

For the first few nights, the banging and crashing and roaring seemed to go on forever. There was endless shouting and the overturning tables. Thrown glasses. Tossed papers. Fists banging on desks.

Polly and Ada had been staying at the big house, which was good, the girl supposed. It was important to have someone round who knew how to care for Charles. Del could take care of herself; she usually did nowadays, anyway. The uncles were awkward about the whole thing, unsure of what to say or what to do. Michael was round too, and he reported that the numbers for the business were up, even if Sabini and Solomons had sent flowers which meant more threats than condolences.

Oh well.

They could take the whole f—cking business for all Del cared.

They'd killed the man who'd done it, Finn had confided in Del at the funeral. Finn helped John kick his face in. Arthur crushed his skull with a glass bowl. Del didn't respond to any of that; she just held her best friend's hand and stared at the back of her da's head.

Everyone wore black for days on end. The maids were especially quiet and the cooks drowned them in food. Supposedly, grief made people very tired and very hungry. There were flowers. Loads and loads of them; everyone was sending them. Supposedly, that was a part of grief and death, too. The flowers seemed to flood the house with their sickly scent. It made her nauseous.

While she knew that Grace was the one taking up all their time, Del hadn't realised that Grace was the one taking up their space as well. Even though the house always felt cold, there were plenty of warm things that Grace had used to fill it. Bottles of scent and twinkling trinkets that weren't for touching. Long curtains and pillows and toys for the b—stard to make the rooms not so empty. Music that made Del sad and people that Del didn't like and books that Del practically inhaled.

Somehow the house felt empty now, without Grace in it.

Or perhaps without Tommy's happiness in it.

It was like when Grace died, a part of her da died too.

Polly couldn't get through to him, and if she couldn't, Della wasn't sure who could. As she watched from behind her knees or under her lashes, it scared her how he was slipping away. Her Tommy was in a daze of pain and in a daze as he struggled to hide it.

Del wanted to go to him, to hold him close and tell him it'd be all right, to find some way to eradicate his own sadness, but she knew she couldn't. He wouldn't want her to. It'd only make him angry. It'd pit him against her, and he needed her on his side at a time like this.

Del followed Tommy round as best she could. Never knowing what to say, what to do. He felt transparent. Like he was fading. If she reached out to touch him, her hand would go right through. Tommy always seemed to be looking somewhere far away; like his gaze was permanently on something in the distance. It always seemed to fall on Del by accident, like he'd forgotten she was there, like he'd forgotten she even existed.

He always growled, "Orright?"

"Orright." She always whispered, "And you?"

"Yea... Orright."

It was all Tommy could give her, but Del would take it as she always did.

Something was better than nothing.

Charles cried a lot. Her... brother asked for his mum at night, and no one was able to give her to him. Del felt so guilty, so absolutely wretched, that she crept into his room and slept on the floor by his crib. She knew what it was to be a baby without a mother. She decided to stop callin' him the b—stard. For the first time, she pitied him. For the first time, she loved him. So she would keep him company 'til daylight came, and she would always be gone by the time Tommy came to see him in the morning.

Sometimes Del found herself standing on the staircase and gazing up at the portrait of perfect saintly Grace, at those sharp eyes that followed her everywhere she went. Del didn't know if she believed in heaven. Tommy didn't. Polly did but. Even then, Pol's faith and need for church had been much like an old motorcar, full of stops and starts, and impossible to predict when it would become useful. But if heaven was real, and if Grace could see her now, Del wondered if she knew the part the girl played.

Because this was all her fault. Del knew it. Grace probably knew it, too.

Della'd cursed Grace. She was sure of it. She had the gypsy sense; Pol always said she did. She dreamt things that were about to happen. She could feel when things weren't right. She could hear things... sometimes. She believed in all of it. But Polly never said that the gypsy sense meant she had the power to curse people dead, too.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy had been over and over it in his mind.

He thought. That was what he did. He thought, so that his family didn't have to.

And he'd thought about it endlessly, relentlessly, again and again. He saw no other way round it. He saw no other answer. He saw no other chance. Finally, he'd come to the place when he stopped physically retching at the thought of it. He stopped vomiting. He stopped shaking. He stopped going weak in the knees.

Tommy had made his decision.

He was a gambling man. He was a bad man. But he wouldn't gamble with her. He would try to be better for her. He had to do this. For her sake. Not for his own, because if it was for his own, he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't do this to them. But even if she hated him for it, even if it broke his heart, he had to.

Grace was dead because of him.

He wouldn't let Del die because of him, too.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Adeline. Get your things."

Just after dawn, Tommy had walked into Del's room and announced this without any other preamble. The girl blinked at the suddenness of it, straightening from where she'd been huddled against the window. He had Charles in his arms, coat over a cotton shirt, looking a bit more like himself than he had in days... weeks... He was almost himself, just not quite. Del slipped off the windowsill and cocked her head in confusion.

"What things?"

"Coat and shoes." Tommy directed sternly, "Now."

Della followed orders in a rush, gathering these things in her arms and hurrying after him through the house. They rushed down the long corridors and the winding staircase to the front door, bypassing the whole of the family eating down in the kitchens. The gravel bit painfully at the soft undersides of her feet and the wind nearly cut through her without her coat.

Del stopped at the sight of a vardo waiting for them in the drive.

The girl looked sharply at her da, face clearly waiting for some sort of explanation. Tommy gave her none. He didn't help her into the vardo. She tripped and stumbled inside, and he put Charlie in after her with a quiet mumble of, 'Look after your brother, eh?' 'fore he walked round and got in the front.

Johnny Dogs was there, too, startling her, "Ready for the adventure, are ya, Del?"

"Uhm..."

Tommy snapped the reins and then they were leavin' the big house in the dust. The family chased after them. The girl pushed aside the curtains and watched from the back of the vardo as the uncles raced down the driveway, shouting and screaming. All the while, her da urged on the horse and didn't even bother looking back.

What the f—ck was happening?

"Tommy." Johnny moved up to sit beside her father, "They're comin' out in the drive! You're not gonna tell them?"

"Tell 'em what?" Tommy asked if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"That we're goin' to Wales!"

Wales? They were going to f—ckin' Wales? What the actual hell was going on? Her da gently stroked Charles' cheek with the back of his finger, and Del found she still had to look away.

"I left a note."

The other man paused for a moment, considering, "Did you tell them why we're goin' to Wales?"

"No."

Johnny exchanged a sharp look with Del 'fore asking, "At some point you're gonna tell us why we're going to Wales?"

"Yea, when we get there." He snapped the reins, calling to the big black horse leading them, "Walk on."

Johnny frowned and shook his head, "Shoulda brought at least one woman, Tommy."

"Don't know you know, Johnny?" Her da looked back at her, his eyes clearer than they'd been in weeks, "We've got a little woman already with us, eh, Del?"

A little woman not even yet twelve.

The ride into the wilderness was a long one as roads turned to fields turned to woods. The blackbirds sang outside. The sky was a dull grey, matching their mood as it shed cool tears to the top of their vardo. As the black horse's clomping big feet gave the wagon a steady rock, Del felt the pull of sleep calling to her. She'd have drifted away entirely should the hard wood not becoming murder to her arse and Charles needing her constant attention.

He babbled words that weren't really words and he fussed occasionally, crying and calling for his muma. Tommy and Johnny Dogs were always there to soothe him with the basic things one might say to a baby like, 'there, there' and 'you're orright' and 'no bawling'. He always calmed under their watchful gaze, and apparently such attentions made him very exhausted. Del huffed a breath and draped her coat over him, and she stared at his little cherubic face with a lot less contempt than she was used to.

Here, now, he wasn't the golden child or the little Lord of the manor or the bonnie prince.

He was just a little kid who'd lost his mum.

Del was, too.

For the first time, she finally found some resemblance between them.

Eventually, they stopped by some creek, where the fog rolled off the still water and the leaves were orange beneath the vardo's big wheels. A fire was burning nice and big with a black pot cooking goulash that made her stomach growl. Inside the wagon, Charles munched on mint leaves and played with his stuffed bear, and he kept handing his big sister sh—t which Del bore with only moderate patience.

Tommy finally stood up from his spot by the fire, clearing his throat, "See t' the horses, Johnny."

"Aye, Tom." Johnny slid off the wagon and waved a hand to her, "Come on, Della—girl."

Del more than happily hopped out but stopped once she saw Tommy take a place beside the baby. He wanted to talk to Charles; talk to Charles without Adeline. Boots sliding in dried leaves, the girl hesitated 'fore Johnny clapped a hand on her shoulder and guided her away.

"Leave 'em be."

"Why?"

"Just leave them."

Del did leave them, reluctantly but, like she couldn't bear to look away. They were going to talk about things; things she had no business in listening to. Father and son things, Tommy and Charles things.

Della was cold without her coat, having left it round Charles to keep him comfortable, and she wrapped her arms tightly round her chest to preserve warmth. The big horse was huffing and shaking his head, stomping his feet in a restless state. Del stopped just across from him, shivering from more than the cold. Dangerous. That was the horse. Dangerous in more ways than one.

"Go on." Johnny nodded her onward, "Like a real gypsy chavi, bring him t' ya."

Del hesitated once again. Her shaking hand slowly raised towards the beast, tips brushing down his nose, trying to make him come to her. Her boots crunched in the brown leaves while she crept closer, hushing him softly, beckoning him closer. Then, just as she pressed her palm fully against him, the horse snorted and reared up.

"F—ck!" Johnny yelped and dragged Del numbly back to safety.

She always had a way with horses, this horse hated her but.

Dangerous was Grace's horse, her favourite. He'd been all over the place since she'd passed and he clearly had no intention of comin' to Del. He refused to come to her no matter what she said, no matter what she did. Maybe the horse knew what the girl had done to its owner? Maybe the horse knew the girl had cursed her?

Dangerous.

He was going to reveal the truth.

He was going to tell everyone what she'd done.

She hadn't realised Johnny Dogs had left her 'til Tommy had replaced him at her side. He snuffed as he stared at the horse, his cheeks hollowed and his skin pale and his eyes sunken. Supposedly, grief did that to people, too. The mere sight of Tommy's battered self was enough to make Del want to cling to him, to hold and never let go 'til he felt strong again. 'Til he felt certain he'd not be alone. She couldn't but. Because she killed Grace. Because he wouldn't want it even if she tried.

"Della?"

"I..." She choked out, "I couldn't get the horse to come to me. Sorry, Da."

"S'orright." Tommy moved slowly to the horse, immediately calming to the sound of him, "Grace was always the favourite, eh?"

Del ducked her head and stared at her feet, up to her ankles in leaves and guilt.

"Yea. Always the favourite."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Della laid in the vardo with Charles, each of them bundled in blankets and on cushions. The baby had fallen asleep hours ago, and he took only a little soothing 'fore he drifted away. It wouldn't be long now that he stopped crying for Grace. Just a few more months and Del was sure he'd be asking for their da rather than his mum. Babies forgot their dead mothers quickly, after all.

Adeline didn't remember Greta at all.

The men stayed outside in the night, huddling round the fire and passing a bottle of whiskey between them. Del watched her father from her nest of blankets, his face pale and his eyes huge in the firelight. She could only just make out their conversation over the cicadas and the fire crackling and the wind outside.

"Why're we in Wales, Tommy?" Johnny Dogs quietly asked, "What're you lookin' for?"

Drunk, her father murmured back, "Absolution."

Absolution. She didn't know what it meant, it sounded important but. She wondered if he brought her to Wales 'cause he knew she needed some of that, too.

While the fire finally died out, her Tommy returned to the vardo. He lumbered inside as quietly as he could, though Del knew he was off his face with the drink. He barely held back a grunt as he dropped onto his back beside her, slowly exhaling up towards the ceiling. The girl felt her da's gaze on her and so she turned into him, two pairs of blue eyes meeting in the darkness.

He growled, "Orright?"

"Orright." She whispered, "And you?"

"Yea... Orright."

Better than nothing.

After another quiet moment, she felt his hand snake up to rest on the top of her head. Then he slowly started scratching at her scalp in that familiar rhythm, scritch—scratching at her curls over and over. It was the closest she'd felt to him in a long while, long before Grace had been killed. Even if he'd been in the house, he'd still been gone. Always f—ckin' gone. She'd been scared of losing him, she wouldn't but. He'd taken her along, hadn't he? He'd scratched her head, hadn't he?

But if Del told him the truth, about what she dreamt, about what she did, Tommy wouldn't do any of those things anymore. He'd blame her, as he should. He'd have Finn and Uncle John kick her face in. He'd have Arthur crush her skull with a glass bowl. She shouldn't tell him. She shouldn't tell him a f—ckin' thing.

Tommy fell asleep.

It was only then that Del spoke what she'd wanted to say all along.

"Tommy..." She whispered against his chest, "I think I'm goin' to hell."

Del remembered the night when she sang them both to sleep and Tommy had laid in the bed beside her. It was the first and last time they'd ever done that. Her face was warm. Her hands were cold. They didn't at all feel like her own, twitching and fluttering, like they might disappear at any second. The girl reached up to touch his scratchy cheek just to make sure they were still there.

"You need a shave," Del mumbled.

"You're not goin' to hell," Tommy mumbled back.

For a few moments, Del watched Tommy's face. Then she lay back down, leaned on him, and together, they slept, very much in Wales, but somewhere in the middle of their own personal hells.

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Wales was f—ckin' beautiful.

The next morning, they left Charlie in the nearby Romani camp, Tommy didn't let her stay but. Shockingly enough, he wanted her to come with him, and she wasn't about to fight him on that. She watched him from the big painted steps, his back turned as he stood by the tree and awaited Johnny Dogs to return with the Boswell woman. It was about time for Appleby, the big fair up north, and she imagined most of their kin and friends were up there doing business.

When the cart finally arrived with Johnny and Madame Boswell aboard, Tommy gave his daughter a short nod over his shoulder.

"Adeline."

The girl half—jumped, half—fell out of the vardo, "Yea?"

"Come."

Scampering after him immediately, he didn't need to tell her twice; he never did. She'd follow him everywhere, Del, without complaint, without doubt. It wouldn't do for Della to grow up with her head in the clouds, holding to delusions in place of reality, it wouldn't do at all. It was time she learned, that's what he told himself, over and over as he strode down the slope with purpose, her feet slipping and sliding in the dewed grass, hand holding onto his coat sleeve for balance.

The sooner she learned to see him for the man he was, the better.

Then, when they'd just about reached the Boswell woman, Tommy threw a glance at her.

"Stay here," it was a grumble up from his belly, rumbling out of his throat.

Then Tommy walked away. The girl watched him speak to Madame Boswell for a long while 'til he turned back to motion to her close. Della stepped forward carefully, eyeing the two of them like she sensed danger in the air.

"Adeline, this is Madame Boswell."

The old woman looked 'bout two hundred years old, and her sharp gaze settled on the girl with black bottomless eyes. She was searching for something in her; something Del didn't know if she had. All the same, the girl straightened under the madame's scrutiny, instantly working to fix her posture and her clothes. Meeting new Roma folks took about as much decorum as tea with the bloody queen.

Once the woman seemed to approve of her, she said, "Droboy tume Romale, Adeline Shelby."

"Nais tuke, Madame Boswell."

Del glanced up at Tommy, checkin' to see if she'd been doing it right.

Her da sharply glanced away, clearing his throat rather violently, "Orright. No need to drag this out, eh? Adeline, you'll be leavin' with Madame Boswell 'til she can see you to the Lee's."

Del felt something hot and tight drop to the pit of her stomach. She couldn't have heard him correctly, she couldn't've.

"Eh?"

Tommy spoke quietly, "You heard me."

She tried to shake her head, curt and rigid, like someone'd been trying to hold her head still.

"Like in your songs, it'll be an adventure. You'll be a brave girl, will you? On the road, like a real gyspy chavi, travelling." He was saying it so casually, so coldly, like he was commenting on nothin' but the weather, "It's unlucky, Del, but there's nothing for it, eh?"

Tommy went to hug her, maybe, it wasn't quite sure. His arms were round her but only barely, the lightest bit of pressure on her back and head as he stroked a hand into her hair. All of her senses came buzzing alive at once, and she shoved him away with a fire in her eyes.

"You're sendin' me away?" She cried more than spat, eyes brimming with tears, "What—What'd I do?"

She knew. Of course she f—ckin' knew. Did he know, too?

He stumbled back from her, Tommy, and then he straightened up with dull eyes.

"We'll not make a show of it." He nodded his chin towards the Boswell woman, "Go t' her now."

Del stood her ground, straightening her shoulders and spreading out her arms as if to resemble a wall, look resolute, look unmoving. Tommy'd closed his face off to her, and there was no emotion beneath the cold steeliness that he regarded her with. And with that icy distance, her father simply turned and left her standing there, a crumbling wall on its own.

One time, when Del was about six, Polly told her you never beg a man for anything, not one single thing. If he wanted to leave, you kept your feet rooted to the earth. If he turned his back to you, you kept your chin held high. Polly'd be ashamed of her now.

There was nothing for it, the wall collapsed.

Della'd run after Tommy, more like tripped, more like stumbled, and then she threw herself at whatever piece of him she could reach. She'd have wrapped herself round his ankles if she hadn't have landed at his waist. Stringy arms wound round him, her fingers digging into his coat and through to his ribs enough to cause bruises on the pale skin beneath.

"I'm sorry, Da, don't go again, don't—,"

"Orright, orright, that's enough."

He'd pushed her off, not looking at her, eyes trained strictly to the ground while he strode up the hill. She fell without him holding her up, landing in the mud before she dug her hands in and reached for him again.

"Da, please—!" She was near shrieking now, desperate and hysterical like she'd never been, begging like a bloody f—ckin' eejit even though she knew it was no use, "Don't leave me—,"

He wouldn't look her in the face, head turned the other way as he tried to hold her off.

"Tommy, please—,"

Madame Boswell took hold of her arms and her shoulders, surprisingly strong for someone surely ancient. Della writhed and bucked forward like a wild horse, trying to be let free as she reached out towards him. Tommy finally managed to tear himself from her grip, feeling small fingers roughly rip away from his coat. He kept his shoulders tensed and his head ducked, walking fast and sturdily away from them — away from Del.

"Bless you, Tommy Shelby!" Madame Boswell called over Del's cries, "You'll have good fortune from now on."

Johnny Dogs stood waitin' at the top of the slope, dark eyes wide and mouth gaping wide. Tommy ignored the man beside him and his daughter's screams as they both got back onto the vardo, taking the reins back in hand. The road was simultaneously both a lonely and crowded place, and while they'd be alone for a while, they'd come across the Lee's soon enough. Tommy wasn't worried. He'd made his decision. For her sake. To keep her safe.

"Ride on, Johnny."

He hesitated, "Tom—,"

"I said, f—cking ride on!"

For the second time in his daughter's life, Tommy would get on a train, and he would disappear, and he wouldn't look back.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

i literally cried writing this one. it ripped out my heart and curb—stomped it.

besides being an obnoxiously long chapter, it was also chocked full of pain and grief. on a bit of a side note, we got more of del's interesting power, much like polly's. so yay for that? i guess?