Marguerite - A Thomas Shelby story

Chapter 30 - Only Slightly

The four of them, Marguerite, Tommy, Arthur and John ambled in through the front door of Ada's London home. Upon entering, the men felt a current of warmth run through their rigid, rugged bodies. The heating was good, and the dim, warm lights made the high-ceiling double-floor house look cosy. 

They removed their coats and threw them roughly onto the coat racks, as Marguerite exhaled, placing her leather gloves gently on top of a heavy, light-coloured Chester drawer. Tommy watched her curiously, as if waiting for her speak. She felt his gaze on her, so she turned to face him. He raised his eyebrows, nodding to her, his jaw clenching, as if he were annoyed - not annoyed - perhaps confused. 

"What?" she whispered. 

"Are you going to tell us what you're doing here?" he hummed, taking a step towards her. "Because if I remember correctly, you wanted to stay in Small Heath." 

"I came to see Ada," she laughed, poking lightly at his chest. She truly did miss Ada and would continue to do so once they returned to Birmingham. 

"Marguerite." 

Her face fell slightly. He wasn't taking this lightly. What was it she saw? Concern? Doubt? Was it so serious that she had taken it upon herself to make a last-minute trip to London without having warned him? Apparently so. 

"Why, are you mad at me?" she hissed, "I'm a grown woman and I can take care of myself." 

"You couldn't a short while ago," he snapped back. He was making an allusion to the time when she was innocent, when she had first arrived to Birmingham with Frank, full of curiosity and a blind desire to see the world of the Peaky Blinders. Before Frank died - before Frank was killed. 

"Now that -" her voice grew harsh, "that's just mean, Tommy. I threw away everything I had for this new family, to be with Olivia, because she's my sister. To be with Polly, because she is like the Mother I never had. They so happen to be a part of this organisation, so I vowed to live as a Peaky Blinder. Why are you reprimanding me, Tommy? Tell me. Do you not trust me? Even after Frank was killed, do you think I'm betraying you? That there's an ulterior motive for me being here without your knowing? How dare you-" 

Marguerite's voice grew softer, fragile, almost trembling. She was convinced that he still thought she was someone that would betray them. If he thought badly of her, she would have nowhere to go. 

"Marguerite," he repeated, quieter, sliding his hand over her arm.

She dared not look at him. She glanced at Arthur and John, who were busy exploring the lower floor of the house, the colourful carpets, books, bright furniture. 

The Peaky Blinder sighed.

"You're talking nonsense," he said, "But I had to be sure, I just needed to be sure. It's only because I know you still love that god forsaken Father of yours. You claim you don't, but he still means something to you. They always do."

"So you think I'd go running back to him? That somehow I'm some sort of spy, that I'm going around talking to cops about you or something?" 

"Blood is thicker than water, Marguerite. But no, I don't think that lowly of you. Like I said-"

"You just wanted to be sure." She nodded, sighing. 

Their eyes met, their gazes melted. In the whirlpool of icy blue, Marguerite felt reassured. He may be a complicated man, but he was an honest one. Of that she was sure. It was alright, he just needed to be sure he could trust her. Now he did trust her, fully. 

He gave her a questioning nod, as if to ask that she understand his mistrust of people, that she be patient with him, for he knew that he was sometimes cold-hearted. She smiled, tight-lipped, as if to answer a heavy-hearted 'yes' and then turned her attention to the narrow staircase, calling for Ada to come greet her brothers.