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 GHOST OF A WAILING MOTHER walking in the estate's cornfields at the dead of night was the story their old nanny used to tell them whenever the de Silva siblings were misbehaving. They said it was a mother who lost her stillborn son, and her husband drowned her for that in the river not far from the hacienda. Her vengeful spirit roams around the estate to seek revenge for her unjust and cruel death—some say that they would hear her wail and call out for her child, and rumors were she would metamorphose into a beautiful woman and lure men to their deaths by drowning them.
That was the sole reason Mercedes never stepped foot near the river despite its beauty, but things are different now—they had to sail across the river to make it to the other side of the town. It was happening tonight, their grand escape. Everything was planned to perfection, all they had to do was run quietly through the cornfields until they reach the river dock, where a boat for three people was waiting.
With a single oil lamp held by the raven-haired man, Mercy's hands were clamped into the maidservant's and they scampered on the glade, careful of stepping on dry corn leaves. They have been running for the past ten minutes and were already out of breath, bodies drenched in sweat, and hearts racing.
Don't look back, is what Iago said earlier. Never look back and just run, run far enough until no one can catch them. Even if they had a slim chance of escaping safely, this was their only chance, and they wouldn't risk losing it.
