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"Beware of false prophets, who come to you in. sheep's clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves." -Matthew 7:15
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It had been a long day at the parlor, and Trixie's wrists were aching by the time her lunch break rolled around. She usually worked through it, or ate lunch brought from home with one hand while counting with the other, but she hadn't been able to make herself food thanks to Tommy's earlier intrusion. So, as she watched Arthur duck out early from the office, his bottle of whiskey in his pocket catching a beam of light and throwing it across the room, she followed suit, standing and excusing herself.
Outside, it was another frigid day in this nightmare of a city. Trixie envied anyone who had a place they called home. Every day of her life she walked a thin wire, and she'd never been able to relax. Even now, with Tommy's plan and Polly's orders bouncing around her brain, she couldn't fathom the idea of sitting down long enough to eat. So, she did as her father had always instructed in the face of uncertainty. She went to pray.
The church her father had managed was on the other side of the city—and thank God for it. Trixie still couldn't bring herself to pass by without tearing up, the memories of her father still fresh in her mind, and the guilt at how she'd most certainly disappointed him weighing heavy on her shoulders. No, Trixie found her way to the Shelbys' usual stomping grounds, Saint Catherine's. With all the business that had been conducted inside, it was barely holy ground anymore, but her father had taught her that God was everywhere. Including here.
Inside, the ornate tiles and wall carvings drew her eye towards the Body of Christ at the altar; this was familiar. This was simple. This was easy in a way nothing else was. Through the black lace of her veil, the room felt smaller and less grand. Trixie spent all her days with men who liked to play god, bearing witness to their theatrics. Here, it was real.
Ducking her head reverently, Trixie swept into the first pew and sat down. The church was abandoned now; not many people came to pray on a weekday at noon, especially not in a city like this. She was glad for it—it was hard for her to focus when she knew she was being watched.
What was she even to pray for? Dear Lord, please assure that this criminal operation runs smoothly so that I may buy myself a nice hat at the end of it didn't quite seem appropriate. Dear Lord, give me the strength to lie to the new copper in town so that Tommy Shelby can get away with becoming a merchant of death wasn't right either. She blew out a breath. Maybe she shouldn't have come here at all. Maybe she'd been wrong about God being found in all places. If He had been, what was she doing in this mess? Surviving.
