Chapter Thirty
"He deserved better than you."

John's funeral was held the next afternoon in an open field. Most of his belongings had been gathered up; medals, army uniform, his cap, a framed photograph of him, and had all been placed in the wagon around his body.

Arabella had added his ring to the chain around her neck, wearing it close to her heart.  She stood closely beside Mallory, gripping tightly onto her best friend's hand as she watched everybody approach the wagon with flowers. Arabella hadn't brought flowers, instead she'd lay a picture of her John and Mason together when they were younger.

"This is how John wanted to go," Tommy began, facing the group of family and friends surrounding him. "On the smoke. But the truth is, we died together once before. Arthur, me Danny Whizz-Bang, Freddie Thorne, Jeremiah, Mason Newell and John."

Arabella's head shot lifted at the unexpected mention of her brother's name, and Mallory squeezed her hand, looking up to see Arabella's, surprisingly, firm eyes become overcast with emotion for the first time that day.

"We were cut off from the retreat," Tommy continued on. "No bullets left, waiting for the Prussian cavalry to come, and to finish us off. And while we waited Jeremiah said we should sing In The Bleak Midwinter. But we were spared- the enemy never came. And we all agreed That everything after that was extra, and when our time came, we would all remember."

"You remember that God spared you," Polly spoke up. "But what did you do with the extra time that he gave you, eh, Thomas?"

Arabella suppressed a sigh in response to her interjection, but couldn't help but completely understand her bitterness towards her nephew. Tommy did not look at Polly, instead turning his attention to Arthur as he struck a match, throwing it into the wood surrounding the wagon. Within seconds, flames had engulfed the entire caravan, the heat from the blaze bringing warmth to Arabella's skin. With her free hand, she pulled the necklace out from behind her black dress, clutching it tightly in her hand. She closed her eyes as tears began to brim, picturing John and Mason at a much happier time, hoping that they were finally together once more, having fun, just like they used to.

A gunshot rang out abruptly, the sound startling Arabella so much that her heart went completely soaring in panic. Almost everybody had ducked to the ground in instinct, Arabella one of the last, Isaiah's hands firmly pushing down on her shoulders to get her down on the ground.

Adrenaline coursed through her entire body, sweat beginning to accumulate on her skin as flashes of Christmas Day appeared in her mind. Arabella's throat felt tight, chest seizing as she began to replay every single detail.

"At ease. At ease. Do not return fire!" Tommy shouted, holding out a hand to wave any weapons away. "I repeat, do not return fire! Stand down."

Isaiah slowly began to lower his gun, along with the other men who had drawn their weapons. The hand he held out in warning for Arabella and Mallory to stay on the ground lowered, and he glanced down at both girls, nodding in assurance.

Mallory shifted to her feet, taking Isaiah's hand as she pulled herself up from the ground. Shakily, Arabella began to stand, her hand inching towards the concealed weapon she had on her, not fully feeling safe out in the open.

"The men doing the firing are on our side," Tommy reassured as another gunshot rang out, the sound making Arabella flinch again. Immediately, her mind was cast back to Christmas morning once more, replaying the moment bullets pelted into John and Michael. She shook her head, ridding the images of the blood, the bodies, from her mind. "I took the trouble of getting an invitation to Aberama Gold," Tommy informed.

"Oh, fuck, now it's begun," Johnny Dogs muttered.

"You used John's funeral fire as a fucking beacon," Polly suddenly snapped from where she had been sat at one of the tables.

Realisation settled over Arabella, suddenly registering why they were all stood out in the middle of an open field. Her mind became hazy, a mist of blind fury clouding the rational side of her brain. And before she knew it, she was storming towards Tommy, her finger pointed right at him. "You put us out in the fucking open on purpose!"

"We were never in any danger," Tommy assured both women, but Arabella wasn't having it. In fact, she wasn't stopping, and her fist was clenched tightly at her side, every fibre of her being prepared to land a hard punch on Tommy Shelby's perfectly structured, arrogant fucking face.

"Arabella!" Arthur lunged forwards in anticipation of her next move, wrapping his arms around her middle to stop her in her tracks.

"Get off me," she hissed, throwing her arms arms out as Arthur continued to tug her back, eventually shoving out of his grip.

"Finn? Finn?!" Tommy called, sparing a glance back at his younger brother. "Go to the yard and light the fires."

"You set a trap!" Polly accused Tommy, moving to Arabella's side.

"You set a trap with us as fucking bait," Arabella added, taking another step towards him. Arthur started forwards again but Tommy held his hand up, halting him. "At your own brother's funeral?! Do you have any fucking idea–" Arabella slammed her palm against Tommy's chest, the force jolting him, but not enough to shove him backwards. "What sort of fucking memories that just brought back?!"

"Arabella–"

"You weren't there, Tommy!" She shouted, the raw emotion that had seeped into her voice rooting absolutely everybody to the ground. A heaviness settled in the air, the flames from the wagon fire continuing to rage on in the background. Arabella spared a look in the direction of it, a knot tightening in her chest. "You didn't– you didn't watch him die."

"Arabella," Tommy tried again, his voice considerably softer as he reached out for her.

"I haven't even seen you shed a fucking tear!" Arabella snapped, emotion choking her voice. "He was your brother!" She shoved him with both hands, this time almost knocking him backwards. "He was your fucking brother! So don't you dare–" she cut off, her voice punctuated by a wobble. "Don't you fucking dare pretend that this–" she gestured around her with wild hands. "–that any of this is ok, because it's not!" Arabella's tense shoulders began to sink, her heavy breathing slowing as the furious mist slowly started to evaporate. Her entire expression changed as she looked up at Tommy, face hardening as the muscles in her jaw tightened, the protective walls she had grown used coming down once more. Arabella's eyes grew cold and harsh again, locking with Tommy's stare. "John deserved better. He deserved better than you."

"Arabella, that's enough," Arthur finally decided to step in, wrapping his hand firmly around her forearm.

"Don't touch me," she shoved him away roughly, whirling around to face Arthur. "Him–" she pointed at Tommy, who hadn't said a word, bringing a cigarette to his lips instead. "I'm not fucking surprised. But you–" Arabella shook her head at Arthur in disappointment. "I thought you were better than that." Arabella turned her back to him, words seeming to have been stolen from Arthur's mouth as he watched the girl start to walk away.

"Arabella," Mallory said quietly, moving to intercept the girl before she stormed past her. She placed her hands on her best friend's shoulders, keeping her where she was for the moment.

"Who's dead?" Polly asked Tommy.

"Our enemies," he replied vaguely.

"Who's dead?" She repeated firmly.

"Want to know, Pol?" Tommy snapped. "Two fucking local Italians heard about the vendetta, tried to make a fucking names for themselves- that's who."

"We got word to them about the funeral the where, the when," Arthur spoke up, sparing a glance over at Arabella, who wouldn't look at him. "Told them where to stand for the best shot."

"And Aberama Gold will do the rest," Tommy finished. "The the language of vendetta they take one of ours, we take two of theirs."

"You used your own brother's funeral," Polly bit back. "When did we vote on this, Tommy?"

"Curly," Tommy said, ignoring his aunt. "Get a boat ready to take the bodies to the city, and another boat for anyone anyone who wants no more part of this. "Cos this is how it's going to be. Polly! Arabella!"

"I'm not staying for this, Arthur," Linda spoke up, looking around her in disgust. "I'm going home."

"Oh, yeah?" Arthur challenged. "Home's 57 Watery Lane. You go there, lock the doors, you wait for me."

Mallory draped an arm around Arabella's shoulder, prompting her to turn away from the growing commotion. "Come on, we're going home."

"Watery fucking lane," Isaiah reminded her.

"Jesus Christ, I know, Isaiah," Mallory couldn't help but snap, her face falling when she realised how harsh she'd sounded, knowing he was just trying to look out for them. "Sorry, I'll see you later."

Arabella and Mallory had only taken a few steps away before Arabella turned to her. "I'm not going back."

Mallory began to slow, glancing at Arabella incredulously. "What?!"

"No, I mean, I'm going to the hospital," Arabella clarified. "I'm going to see, Michael."

"Oh, okay," Mallory nodded, relieved that Arabella wasn't so stupid as to avoid staying in Watery Lane. "I'll go with you."

"No," Arabella stated. "It's not safe. I'm taking you back to mine and Mason's old place, locking every fucking door and window, and then I'm going to the hospital."

"It's not safe for you to go on your own either–" Mallory tried to argue, but Arabella shook her head dismissively.

"I'll be fine," she assured her. "Trust me." Mallory released a sigh, knowing there was no point arguing with her, especially not in the state she was in. "Let's just head home."

A/N

me write a chapter where arabella isn't going off at tommy challenge