VICES AND VIRTUES | Thomas Shelby

PROLOGUE

From the day she was born, Florence Dawson has been surrounded and raised by strong women. Her father abandoned her mother the minute he found out that she was pregnant, leaving a young and terrified fourteen year old pregnant Imelda Dawson to stand on her own two feet. Well that was until she met Polly.

Polly was a few months younger than Imelda, but she was wise well beyond her years, her words had a way of putting Imelda at ease. The girls bonded quickly, growing up on the same street in Small Heath, their friendship became the foundation on which they grew to be strong and powerful women.

1896
"Polly, it's happening!" Imelda's shrill screams filled the Shelby house as she stumbled through the front door, clinging onto whatever she could find, both her parents out for the day, leaving her home alone on the crisp winter's weekend.

"Are you sure?" Polly panicked, rising up from the kitchen table as she watched her best friend hunched over in agony.

"No, Polly, I'm just kidding," Imelda winced, still finding time for sarcasm, "It's not like there's a baby the size of a fucking watermelon trying to come out of my body."

"Alright," Polly soothed, rushing to the sink, prompted by something that she'd remembered from the birth of her nephew, John two years prior, "Try and sit down, that might help."

"I need to stand," Imelda groaned, clinging to the edge of the kitchen table, wincing in agony, no doubt alerting the population of Small Heath to her baby's imminent arrival.

Polly filled a bucket with water, assuming she could use it to mop Imelda's forehead, and then eventually they could also clean the baby, ready to greet the world. It was more than terrifying enough for Imelda to become a mother at fourteen years old. But for Polly, at just thirteen and eight months in age, being her best friend's sole help in childbirth was a complete baptism of fire.

"Imelda, I'm going to grab some blankets from upstairs," Polly told the girl as she dashed straight for the small staircase, "I won't be long."

"You can't leave me, Pol," Imelda winced in fear, "I can feel the baby, it'll be here soon."

"I know, so I'll be quick," Polly smiled in hopes of reassuring her friend before disappearing upstairs, her agonising groans of pain dulling as Polly disappeared, heading for her bedroom and rummaging in her drawer for the blanket she had been saving for this day.

To see her best friend become a mother was not something Polly had expected to witness at her age, and from what she had seen from the adults around her, she knew it was customary to bring the baby a gift. So she'd knitted a soft yellow blanket for the little baby, knowing that Imelda was due to give birth during the harshest winter that Birmingham had seen.

She grabbed a cloth from the pile of fresh laundry, knowing that it would be useful for cleaning the baby, before rushing downstairs, feeling unsettled by the sudden silence filling her home, "Imelda?"

Polly rushed back into the kitchen, hearing no response from Imelda, which panicked her. She dropped the blanket and cloth on the kitchen table, rushing around to the other side, immediately comforted by the sight of her best friend.

"It's a girl, Pol," Imelda beamed up at her from where she sat on the cold wooden floor, sweat lacing her skin, "We've got a little baby girl."

"You did that all by yourself, Immy," Polly grinned, crouching beside Imelda as the little newborn stared up at the two girls, "She's beautiful."

"I'm calling her Florence," Imelda smiled down at the little baby who lay peacefully in her arms, "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

"My mother always says that young mothers are the best at childbirth," Polly told her, in awe of her best friend's strength, "Clearly she was right."