Chapter 66

Tommy was lucky. Polly was at home when he called and in a reasonable state of mind. Or to be more specific she was floating blissfully in that glorious hiatus between her last pill and her first gin.

Michael was also there when he arrived, fussing around his mother and fiercely, but ineffectually, protective like a prideful kitten trying to defend a distracted lioness.

There was something irritating about his nephew, Tommy realised, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He knew, intellectually, that he should be grateful to the lad it since he had help to rescue Arabella but, instead, the feeling of distrust and disquiet had only deepened.

Killing changed a man. Anyone who said it didn't was a liar. His brothers were perfect examples of this simple, devastating, fact. The war had all but destroyed them. And blowing up the train, with its full complement of sacrificial lambs, had only made things worse. John had become quietly more desperate and withdrawn. Arthur had gone mad, then found religion, which to Tommy's mind was basically two versions of the same thing.

Tommy was unwilling to put a name to what had happened to him - but there was a reason that he was too afraid to sleep next to his own wife – and this, along with recent activities, had conspired to bring him here today.

Michael was different. Tommy had seen it on the way back from the fraught meeting with Solomons. The boy become convinced that he could never be harmed.

In some, this sense of invincibility mutated into bravery or willing self-sacrifice for brothers in arms. With Michael it had become a form of insufferable arrogance; a feeling that pulling the trigger would always be the easy way out. It was dangerous, but Tommy couldn't tell exactly how that danger would present itself and that put him on edge.

'Will you take tea?' Polly asked, waiving her hand vaguely towards the door 'I'll get the girl to bring us something. Mary – TEA!' His aunt seemed ill at ease -still not used to having servants in a house as small as this. In Arrow House, servants had been more like very well-behaved vermin.

'Tea would be nice', Tommy replied cautiously. 'Whiskey would be better, if you have it,'

'Bring whiskey', she bellowed, propping herself awkwardly on the edge of her chair. Gesturing towards Tommy she said 'Sit, sit, sit! You make me nervous looming over me like that.'

Tommy sat. Michael remained stood behind his mother's chair, hands gripping the top slat. It was an oddly formal posture and somehow insulting. Did the boy think that Tommy was somehow a danger to her? Or that if he had been, Michael could have provided more of a defence than Polly herself? He almost laughed.

'Michael, I need some time alone with Pol. Why not take the car for a drive or something? I left the keys on the hall table.' Dismissing him, Tommy settled back and lit a cigarette.

Michael stared at him levelly for a few moments and, although Tommy was too focused on Polly to notice, his top lip curled almost imperceptibly. Dropping his hand lightly on his mother's shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, he stalked out, head held high.

After the maid had been in and fussed over laying out the tea things (subtly leaving a bottle of whiskey and a glass on a little side table next to Tommy's right hand and what, Tommy assumed, was a large glass of gin next to Polly) there was a prolonged period of awkward silence.

It was Polly that finally spoke.

'I know you're not here for an insight into the spirit world, so what is it that you want?'

Drawing a mouthful of whiskey over his teeth and feeling it burn its way down his throat, Tommy laid out what he wanted.

Polly listened and then she was angry, just as Lizzie had been. Then she nodded in agreement. She knew when to put the family first - even if it hurt.

Now there was no more Peaky Blinders business for Arabella to attend to in London she was free to see to her own pleasure - and she intended to take full measure. Although, if she had known what was happening in Birmingham, she might not have enjoyed her time in the capital half so much.

She had spent the last few days shopping with Ida and Tilly - replacing her day dresses, evening wear and hunting gear with little thought to the cost – and visiting high-end beauty parlours. Even though she had not been much interested in the feminine arts as a girl, now she had money to spend and time to indulge her whims, Arabella realised that there were elements of them that pleased her.

The surgical attentions of Harold Gillies had made her facial deformities less obvious but judicious use of make-up disguised them still further and this had made her an enthusiastic user of all manner of powders and paints. Visiting Harrods and Selfridges had allowed her to replace both her wardrobe and her beauty supplies, whilst trips to a number of salons had given her new skills at applying them.

After three days of primping and pampering, Arabella felt ready to face the world… But she did not want to join the stuffy upper classes at their operas or theatrical extravaganzas. She wanted to hit the town - and she was determined to take Tilly, Ida and the rest with her.

They were in Ida's lounge with the gramophone playing at full volume. The good rug had been rolled up out of the way and the furniture had been pushed back against the walls. Tilly was perched primly on the edge of a sofa cushion but the others were dancing up a storm.

'Let's go out tonight', Arabella yelled as she poured them out more sidecars,

'Tonight?' Ada slurred. 'There's a meeting of the Open Door Council in Acton. They're holding a series of talks about increasing equal economic opportunities for women. We could attend those'.

Matilda raised her head from her book in interest. 'Is Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence of the Women's Freedom League talking? I've read some of her pamphlets. She has some very interesting ideas on nationalisation and equal pay.'

'Tilly, darling, don't be so dull!', Arabella leant over and filled the woman's empty glass, then pulled the book out of her other hand and tossed it on to the sofa. 'We're in London. Our work is done. We need to have FUN!' She flopped down next to her maid and threaded her arm through hers. 'Let's go to a dance club.'

Refusing to be excited by the noise or the liberal amounts of alcohol and drugs being dished out, Tilly removed her spectacles and set them carefully aside. Arching a single eyebrow, she asked 'And where shall we go?'

'We could ask Alfie', Ada giggled, joining the two women on the cushions. At this Tilly perked up.

Arabella grinned to herself. It was the perfect suggestion. Tilly had developed a serious crush on one of Alfie's men so any chance to spend time his orbit was of intense interest to her. Poor Robbie Briggs was seldom in her thoughts anymore – let alone her dreams.

With both Ida and Tilly on board, Arabella knew that they could now have some serious fun.