Marguerite - A Thomas Shelby story

Chapter 19

Marguerite decided she must keep in touch with her Father to avoid him getting too curious and keep him at bay from what was going on, so she headed back toward his clerk's office, at a steady pace, taking in the smoky streets once more, the explosion of life that had started to grow on her. 

She reached the shop, and pushed the door, causing the bell above the doorframe to ring. The wooden oak surrounding of desks, cabinets and the low ceiling absorbed the bell's ring. It was quiet; all that could be heard was the grandfather clock opposite her Father's desk. On the desk there was a typewriter, and an unfinished letter. The young woman picked it up and read the beginning;

"Dear Inspector Campbell, 

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been a few years since we last corresponded, but I've no doubt in my mind that you'd vividly remember an old friend. 

I've heard from the local police that you've been doing quite well, rising above many ranks amongst the Inspectors in the country. You must surely be the pride of the country. 

I am contacting you at such short notice to ask a favour. Word on the street is that you and your men have recently arrived in Birmingham, which is where I happen to be working at the moment. Your reasons for travelling to this city are not the same as mine, of course. I'm almost certain that you are being called in to deal with the gypsy hooligans ravaging the city. The "Peaky Blinders" as they are called. 

Whilst I know you will be busy, I would still like to ask of you a small favour. My daughter recently arrived in the city herself, and I have concerns that may be relevant to you-"

A few soft steps from the back of the shop were heard, and Marguerite swiftly folded and placed the paper back onto the desk as she had found it, replacing her intrigued look with one of innocence. Her Father appeared, clutching a few books, and solemn and serious demeanour, but smiling slightly as he caught the sight of his flustered daughter, her drowsy grin and feathery hair. 

"My dear, what brings you here? Shouldn't you be at the library with Mr Parsons?" he questioned, lifting an eyebrow, as he sank into his chair. 

"I merely wanted to see you, Father. Just to say hello," she crooned, still eyeing the folded letter. 

"That's sweet, but there is very little to do here, my child. I suggest you run along now, and don't stray. You know what the city is like." 

His tone was emotionless and disinterested; his brow was wrinkled as he focused on examining some documents in hand, paying hardly any attention to his daughter, who was swaying awkwardly on her feet. 

"Speaking of which," he said, his tone peaking, "You should always be accompanied. Where is Parsons?" He turned to her disapprovingly. 

"He's in the library, I told him to go on ahead without me," responded the young woman, a nervousness in the pit of her stomach. She didn't want her Father to dislike Frank Parsons simply because he respected her wishes and let her wander the city as she pleased. 

Matthew Collins grunted in response and returned to his work, signalling to Marguerite that it was her cue to leave. She did so promptly. 

She exited the shop with her Father's letter in mind. 

Who was Inspector Campbell?

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It was dangerous, the shattered pieces of bricks above him, dropping dangerously close to his head. The bullets whizzed above as he crouched behind a wall, panting like a dog. He'd lost his gun, and was frantically searching for his pocket blade. It was all that could protect him now.