Marguerite - A Thomas Shelby story

Chapter 18

It was about 12 PM when Marguerite finally reached the small creaky hotel steps, attempting to make as little noise as humanely possible. Charlie had accompanied her back, silently puffing away on his cigarette as they trudged purposefully down the narrow backstreets, in the attempt to warm their limbs. She'd spent a whole evening chatting with the Uncle Charlie, about her family, and his family. Although they weren't related, he had known her Mother at a young age growing up in Birmingham, and that was reason enough to trust him. 

It was more pleasant than informative, but yet, she did learn a lot, and was thankful for his open-ness. He also warned her about the dangers of getting too involved with Peaky Blinders, but he knew it couldn't be fully helped, since she was Olivia's sister. 

"She's your kin, and of course you'll want to see her, and she'll want to see you. But tread carefully when it comes to the rest of 'em, a'right?" 

That's what he'd told her. He knew better than her. That and...

"Stay out of Tommy's way." 

Ah, of course. The golden rule. She did not plan to mess with him, that was for sure, because there was no telling what he was capable of. 

What he wasn't capable of doing this evening was to stand up. He wasn't in the state to accompany Marguerite back to her and Frank Parsons' hotel room. Not that he would show himself at the front door in his foul-mouthed state anyhow. Frank was not supposed to know about her sister and her family. Or in other words, the gang. But she herself knew nothing.

Marguerite had met Polly, Olivia, Charlie, Arthur, John and Thomas Shelby. But what did she know, really? What was gang life? Real violence? Drugs and death and prostitutes?

It was frightening, but freeing. She was beginning to feel like she wasn't huddled away in a protective cocoon, dumb and oblivious to the lives of poor commoners. She was rich, she could provide for her sister. But not the business they were involved in. She did not want to be seen as some naïve benefactor for their company just because she was family. Now that she was thinking of it, whilst tiptoeing solemnly up the narrow stairway, that was probably what they saw her as. 

In earnest, she may never truly belong, and didn't particularly want to. Not if it meant being involved in nasty business. Olivia was family, and Polly too, to some extent. But that was all. 

And she must think of her Father, and Aunt Emmeline, even though they disapproved of her meddling in the past, she must always remember that they raised her, even if they did lie. Perhaps it was to protect her...

Either way, it was all too late to be mulling over thoughts that bickered in her mind. She needed to sleep to sober up. 

Not drunk but just a wee bit tipsy. I should get a pitcher of water before bed, she thought.

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She awoke to a sound in the room, the clinking of the water pitcher that she'd clumsily placed on her bedside table the night before. Her back was turned, but she could hear Frank fiddling with her things, imagining his strong hand toying with the bracelet she'd worn the night before, a worried frown plastered across his strong features, his jaw clenched, his soft eyes darkened. 

After all, he had promised her Father to keep her safe on their stay in Birmingham, and although they were on intimate terms and that he was young, he was still her teacher. She knew he'd take his duty very seriously. It would be hard to keep things a secret from him, to pretend that she was out doing research on the city. Yet, she would still have to provide some proof of work towards the end of their stay.