It's the roaring twenties in Birmingham, the Peaky Blinders exist alongside God but they were much, much closer at hand than Him. Mercedes de Silva, thornless withered rose, petals filled with sorrow. Thomas Shelby, ruthlessly ambitious, conflicted...
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THE THICK AND GRAY SMOG OF SMALL HEATH clung to her white dress like a disease. It had been half an hour since the Jewish henchman dropped her off in Digbeth—it may be a long and tiring walk, but she wouldn't risk the possibility of someone catching sight of them. Mercedes knew that Thomas has eyes everywhere in the form of Jeremiah Jesus.
Her pace gradually became faster as she reached the street of watery lane. By the time she was facing the Shelby's front door, it suddenly opened, revealing the matriarch Shelby. Both of them were stunned to see one another, Mercy lost the grip over her bag and immediately gave her a tight hug.
"Jen, you came," Polly muttered under her breath, stroking Imogen's back. She wasn't expecting to see the woman in the flesh to come back in the place she promised not to return to. The letter, it was just a hopeful attempt and the chances that she would reply were slim. But somewhere, deep in her heart, Polly knew that she was a selfless person.
"That, I did Polly," hearing the nickname they gave her almost made her stomach churn, she spoke again once she pulled away from the hug, "My deepest sympathies, Polly... Could I possibly meet Ada?" Mercy offered her condolences.
"I am actually on my way to see that girl," Polly raised the basket she was holding, eggs and fresh loaf are in it. "Ada's not here?" her forehead scrunched.
"Aye, she's staying at Freddie's house," the matriarch Shelby didn't feel the need to tell all the things that have happened that night—everything was morbid. "All right, I'll come with you," said Mercy before stepping out of the door's way and picked her bag up.
Mercy would be lying if she said that it was relieving not to see Thomas near her sight. She wasn't also mentally prepared to see his other brothers, the feeling of shame starting to wash over her. She didn't even bid proper goodbyes to them, she just disappeared like a bubble into thin air. But... I really don't owe them an explanation, right?
She often thinks of Finn—among the Shelby siblings, the little boy was her favorite. Seeing Finn felt like home to her, even though she despised it. Seeing Finn reminds her of the younger sister she left back in the Philippines. Her name was Soledad, named after María de la Soledad. The girl was only 6 when she fled the country, too young to understand why she had to leave.
"Does anybody know I'm here?" she asked, her eyes staring ahead the street. Most of the Brummies they've passed by were giving them wary glances. It's been only seven months since the last time she step foot in this town, it sure was hard for the people of Small Heath to forget a face like hers—that black wavy hair that used to reach her waist is now cut above shoulders and that haunting bold red-stained lips.
"People talk, love. Thomas would've realized by now," replied Polly, inhaling the cigar between her lips. No one from the Shelby family knew about the letter she had sent to London, except this certain copper she paid to deliver it.
