Marguerite - A Thomas Shelby story

Chapter 23 - New Sparks

The grassy lands passed Marguerite, as the rain turned to a gloomy sky, a soft white film of mist settling over the view. John pressed harder on the peddle, and the car accelerated. 

"Aren't we going back to the house?" Marguerite didn't recognise the area, she hadn't visited this part of Birmingham. It didn't look like it smelt of factories, or gin, or tobacco. It looked like it smelt of murky soil, farmland and old brick houses. 

"We're on the outskirts of Birmingham," responded John glumly, once again chewing on a wooden pick. They'd been driving for a while now, and he was tired. There were probably many reasons for that, and Marguerite knew it'd sound dim-witted to ask him about it in the attempts to converse. A few minutes ago, he'd been very accommodating and talkative with Marguerite, until a truck crossed their path on the road, making John slam the brakes, swerving the car dangerously close to a curb. Once they'd abruptly stopped, Marguerite shaken and John fuming, the young woman expected the worse. 

The truck, carrying a heavy load, stopped, reversed and attempted to drive away quickly. The burly man in the driver's seat must have seen a raging, rabid-looking John stomping out his car angrily. When he saw the truck racing away, John pulled out his pistol and shot in its direction. He successfully decorated the vehicle with bullet holes, as well as destroying the side mirrors.

All this he did whilst shouting insults; 

"That's right, you fucking idiot! Piss off why don't ya?!" 

He returned to the car, parked awkwardly in diagonal in the middle of the road. Marguerite sat in utter shock, staring blankly at him and back at the hedge in front of them, the one into which they could have ended up. 

"Stupid bastard," mumbled John under his breath, starting the car up again. His brow was furrowed, as he turned the steering wheel impatiently. 

An annoyed Brummie is scarier than anything I've seen before. The accent makes it even worse, thought Marguerite. 

So, since that incident, John wasn't in the 'chit-chat' mood. The young woman would have to sit impassively until their arrival, whatever the destination was. 

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When they finally arrived, Marguerite was sleeping, the steady ride having rocked her into a light nap. It was around eight o' clock, and the night glow had almost settled, the clouds forming a heavy purple curtains. 

John woke Marguerite, and they left the car, both groggy and cold. 

As she looked up, the young woman saw an estate. A sort of small mansion. It was veiled by trees, and she followed John down a small walkway towards the residence.

"Is it yours?" she inquired.

"Nah, Kimber's house."

"Billy Kimber? I heard about him, Olivia mentioned his name. Why are we here?" 

Apparently Billy Kimber was a dangerous man, that was all she knew.

"We're gonna blow up his house," sneered John, shooting her a playful look. 

"What?" 

"Tommy's orders."

He laughed. She ran up to him, tugging on his sleeve.

"John, why are you blowing up his house?"

"His men tried to shoot Tommy the other day. So, when he came down to Birmingham again, we shot him in the head. Now we're gonna blow up his shit."

"Wha..I..For what reason?"

"To send a message to his allies. And for fun. Look, there's Arthur and Olivia."

He pointed to a gleam of lanterns in the distance, near one corner of Kimber's mansion. Marguerite squinted and she saw her sister, dynamite in hand. Such a strange sight.

Arthur and Olivia, upon noticing the others, ran towards them.

"Get fookin' back!" yelled Arthur giddily, pointing to the detonator. 

Marguerite found herself dragged behind a tree, and they watched in a trance as the house exploded, the walls crumbling. The sound was deafening, the sparks, the bright lights in contrasts with the night sky was absurd. She couldn't quite believe her eyes. 

She stood still, trying to process what had just happened. The colours faded, the darkness of the night returned, but she stood still. Olivia, Arthur and John looked at each other, smiling, and then to her. 

"That was..." she began.

"Crazy?" guessed Olivia, smirking.

"Absolutely fantastic." 

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Excitement and pain had knocked Marguerite out that day. She slept heavily in the back of John's car on the way back into central Birmingham, her head rested on her sister's shoulder. Olivia, smiling to herself, observed the soft features of her younger sister, illuminated only by the moon. In the front seats sat John and Arthur, nattering away, attempting not to give into fatigue themselves. 

"Eyes on the road," whispered Olivia to the two men, "And try not to be so loud." 

They both glanced back, seeing Marguerite's sleepy frame almost cradled in Olivia's arms, as if she were a kid. 

"Welcome to the family," crooned Arthur to the oblivious young woman, and then turning his gaze to Olivia, grinning. "I reckon she's alright."

"Tommy thinks so too," hummed Olivia.

"Eh?"

"When she cried in front of him the other day. As soon as she said she'd do it, betray her - our father to prove her intentions are good, part of him liked her there and then. He may not yet trust her, but he damn well felt sorry for her. That much I know."

"How'd you know?"

Olivia gave Arthur a cheeky smirk, her eyes glistening softly.

"You'd be surprised how perceptive us women are. We notice things men don't. It was in his eyes."

Arthur gave her a longing look and pulled out a cigarette. 

"You women, fucking brilliant." 

They all sat silently for the rest of the car ride, a strange and new warm feeling passing through them. Marguerite had joined them, she was theirs to care for now. 

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thank you for the reads! and to the people voting on chapters, ilysm <3