CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
MOTHER WITHOUT A SON

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"WELCOME TO THE OPENING of the Grace Shelby Institute for the non-insured children of the poor."

Polly was the picture of composure standing behind the podium. Gazing down the bridge of her nose at the crowd of familiar faces made up of family, friends and the folk of Birmingham. Rich and poor, young and old. United by their 'compassion' for children who had nothing, who were born into this world fighting from their first breaths. Children that deserved a chance, and who better to give them the opportunity than the people who had walked in their shoes, been knocked down time and time again, only to come back stronger.

"I would very much like you to join me in thanking the man that made the founding of this establishment actually possible. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Thomas Shelby."

Helen felt an unshakeable sense of pride as she sat beside Tommy, who had one hand on her knee and the other balancing Charlie on his lap. With scattered applause echoing around the newly furnished room -- joined with Arthur's loud requests for a speech -- Tommy stood and faced the crowd, holding his son like a prize he had won in the face of his success. When Polly moved aside to let him join her behind the podium, he entrusted Charlie in Helen's arms, kissed her on the cheek, then finally accepted Arthur's persistence for a speech.

"Say it, Tom," his brother said fiercely. "Say it to 'em!"

"Arthur," Linda chided with a gentle squeeze of his elbow. Helen was only a row in front of them and so she didn't miss the way Linda's lips shaped the words inside voices like Arthur was a fucking child younger than James, who was also bouncing off the walls with excitement.

Rolling her eyes, Helen didn't have the chance to say anything before the applause died down and Tommy cleared his throat. "Um, I didn't come here today to make a speech, but I will say this. These children are now safe."

He gestured for their heads to turn towards the back of the room where the nuns of the institute had ushered in dozens of clean-faced boys and girls; babies, really, who had not long moved into the adjacent dormitories. They wore new shirts, dresses, pants and shoes. Their hair was combed, dirt scrubbed from youthful skin. They seemed hopeful, shiny-eyed. Like children were meant to be.

"In our care, they will be safe. Because we are from the same cold streets as they are, and in our care, they won't be shipped away to the colonies, or separated from kin, or made to work for men in the various ways. They will grow up here, at home, loved. In Birmingham. Because this is our city."

"By order of the Peaky Blinders," barked Arthur, and nobody missed the few eye rolls received in return before another round of scattered applause ensued.

Deciding he'd said enough, Tommy marched out from behind the podium and rejoined Helen while Polly directed everyone to sing Immortal Invisible. With a rare soft smile that had Helen's stomach dipping, Tommy placed an arm around her waist, drew James in close on his other side, and the four of them sang together. When Helen closed her eyes, her mind naturally wandered to what Patrick would have thought of this. His cousin's name on the door, her picture watching over the hallway. She liked to think he would be proud, too.

Once the ceremony was over and the crowd dispersed to mingle, Tommy parted from Helen's side and disappeared through the doorway to where Grace's picture waited for him. Helen watched him go, latching a hand around James' collar when he attempted to follow him.

"Tommy needs a minute on his own, my love," she murmured, trying to soften the blow even though James' shoulders slumped anyway.

"With Charlie's mum?" he observed, making her nod.

"Why don't you play with the children for a little while?"

He almost immediately brightened at this suggestion. "You'll find me when Tommy comes back?"

"Of course," she promised with a low chuckle.

That was enough for James. He darted through the crowd for the nearest kid his age, weaving through legs like he had lightning nipping at his heels. Helen smiled after him, rubbing her stomach with her palm until Polly stepped into her line of view.

"What a relief it must be that he's warmed to Tommy," she remarked, having overheard James' expectant request. Helen merely nodded, still caressing her stomach until Polly spotted what she was doing and Helen tried in vain to hide her hand behind her back. "Something the matter?"

"No." At that, Polly's eyebrows shot up. "I'm not due for another two weeks."

"Sometimes babies like to surprise you," Polly was quick to counter. "Just look at Esme. She's been due for days but her little one's still stuck firmly up in there."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Helen reaffirmed, and she wasn't lying.

The twinges of pain came and went but her water hadn't broken, there was no pattern to the timing and the aches were only mild at best. Surely it was only the baby reminding her that they were alive and kicking.

"Tommy says mingle and smile," Ada approached them then.

Mirroring each other, both Helen and Polly plastered on obviously forced smiles, making Ada sigh and fix her hands on her hips. She waited a second, then two, before Polly caved and pointed her cigarette at the cluster of people in the centre of the room. The windows were wide open, pouring in sunshine that illuminated each and every face in the crowd.

"It must be the trains," she said.

Ada arched an eyebrow. "No Ruben?"

Polly hesitated, asking, "Do you know any other guests from London who've not turned up?"

"Some, I think, yeah," Ada said, though Helen couldn't be sure she wasn't just saying that to protect her aunt's feelings. Polly hadn't divulged what happened between herself and her lover that night they spent in London but Helen didn't need to read minds to know Ruben Oliver had left his mark on Polly's heart. So where on earth was he? "Pol, I'm paid by the company now, so I have to talk to other people..."

Polly waved her away before turning to Helen. "You should get a move on, too. Find Tommy, take Charles with you. People are eating up the doting parents thing."

True to her word, Helen had braved the sea of women in mink coats with hats to match for only a minute before each of her arms was being latched onto by lace gloves and manicured nails.

"Is this Mr Shelby's boy?" A middle-aged lady with a dark chin-length bob admired Charlie's rosy cheeks, completely skipping introductions. It was like Helen wasn't even there. "Oh, he is the sweetest. And such a poor thing... so young and already lost his mum..."

"It's a tragedy," Helen agreed, bouncing Charlie in the hopes of getting him to smile or laugh. Thankfully, it did the trick, tugging at the other woman's already tender heartstrings.

"Where is Mr Shelby?" she gazed around the room in earnest. "I must tell him what a brilliant job he's doing. Come, come."

Helen obliged, catching Tommy's gaze behind the woman's back and smothering a smirk. He, John and Arthur were huddled together in the thick of the attention. While Tommy seemed acclimatised to it, his brothers floundered like fishes out of water. John's brows were furrowed as he furtively sipped on what looked to be a non-alcoholic beverage but Helen had no doubt he'd spiked it. As for Arthur, his jaw had dropped as he watched various people paw at Tommy with money symbols in their eyes.

"Mr Shelby?"

"Yes," Tommy said.

"Your little boy looks so much like you," Helen's new friend gushed.

"He's a little rascal, isn't he?" Tommy agreed with a polite nod, then directed his attention towards Helen. "Nel, darling, where's James got to?"

"With the cousins," she answered, excited to share with him that James had asked for him, but then the vultures descended once again.

"Mr Shelby, would it be too inconvenient to steal you for a moment?"

"No," he muttered. "No inconvenience at all."

The woman was already leading him away, one hand settling in the crook of his elbow, the other fanning her face. Helen cuddled Charlie to her side, desperate to shield him from the image of Tommy's disappearing back, but he'd already noticed his dad and was reaching his hands out desperately.

"He'll be back soon, my boy," she said. However, the damage had already been done.

Charlie's lungs had to be made of steel. He squealed as loud as he possibly could, his little smile long gone as tears streamed down his face in rivers. John, the experienced father he was, lurched back with his hands clapped over his ears, putting a good amount of distance between himself and Helen.

Arthur's face had also paled. "Jesus Christ, what's he crying for?"

"Why don't I ask him?" Helen scoffed, making Arthur shrug defensively.

No matter what Helen did, she was no longer able to settle Charlie. Tommy looked back a few times, alarmed by the sight of his son desperately wriggling in Helen's arms, but every chance he had to try and approach was thwarted. Soon enough, Helen was shoulder-barging her way through the crowd towards him.

"Tommy, I'm sorry but he wants his daddy."

A collective sigh of admiration echoed from female to female.

"So lovely to see a man willing to hold his child in public," remarked Helen's friend from before, who had completely forgotten her as soon as she'd ensnared Tommy in her trap. "From the members of the Moseley War Widow's Institute, made by Mr Winslow himself of Winslow's Castings..."

She gestured wildly for one of her group to bring forth their gift. Inside a fine wooden box was a black-painted ornament of a horse. As soon as Charlie laid eyes on it, he was silenced by shock.

"From a photograph of your horse that ran at the Darby. Grace's Secret."

"Oh, that is very kind," Tommy said as he was ushered in front of a camera and Helen was gestured away. She waited with a rising sense of impatience on the sidelines, curling an arm around her stomach and grimacing when Charlie started to cry again.

"Would you mind holding the horse for us?" said the woman. "So that we can have a photograph for the Gazette?"

"Here," Helen manoeuvred another sneaky shoulder-barge, unable to resist ruffling a few feathers. "Let me take him for a minute."

"Thank you, Mr Shelby," she heard them saying as she started searching the room for James. Maybe it would be best to find a quiet room for her boys to rest. And herself. They'd had a very busy morning and an equally chaotic afternoon waited ahead of them.

"Not at all," Tommy sighed, watching Helen leave.

She eventually stumbled upon Karl, Katie and Eddie. The three of them were playing what looked to be a game of tag, weaving in and out of the large velvet drapes that had been pushed aside for the event.

"Troublemakers," she called, doing a quick headcount and coming up one short. "Where's James?"

Katie was the only one to stop running. Faithfully turning towards her aunt, she had a look of guilt on her face that made Helen's stomach twist with a cramp. "He and Karl had a fight."

"A fight?" Helen frowned. "What on earth for?"

"James wanted to play hide-and-seek," she popped her shoulders in a shrug. "But Karl didn't want to play. He likes tag." For emphasis, both of their heads turned to where Karl had latched onto Eddie's wrist, twisting the older boy around so he could shout the words 'tag, you're it' obstinately in his face. "James got upset and said he would play on his own."

With her heart lodged in her throat, Helen scanned the room for her son and came up empty once again. Polly and Ada had found themselves deep in their own respective conversations. John and Arthur lingered to watch Tommy having his picture taken at every possible angle. Even Linda and Esme were mingling as instructed, though they frequently returned to Lizzie who was barely able to keep up as the pages of Tommy's diary were filled to the brim.

None of the family had her son. Everyone else was a stranger.

Something was very wrong.

"Thank you, Katie," Helen forced out, not wanting her to worry.

James might've just been sulking out in the hallway. She didn't want to raise the alarm for nothing. It would look like she was trying to take the attention away from Tommy. From the memory of his dead wife. She was already being overshadowed, overlooked as nothing more than Grace's replacement. She would wait... find her son on her own...

But he wasn't out in the hallway. Everything was silent. She rattled the knobs of locked doors, peered through stained glass into empty rooms. No stone was left unturned. By the time she'd reached the main entry where the large courtyard loomed, she was ready to be sick.

"James," she yelled, hearing the echo of her voice returning to her.

Charlie started to wriggle in her arms. Not only did he recognise who she was looking for but he sensed her distress, fed off it. His face started to twist again, but now Helen couldn't blame him for his tears. Her own pricked behind her eyes.

She'd have to find Tommy, quickly.

Helen turned around, breathless. She didn't hear the quick tap of footsteps rounding the corner with her heart pumping blood in her ears, but she did feel the sharp smack of something hard on the back of her head. Her body crumpled, arms loosening around Charlie as she fought to right herself before she landed on her stomach. The rock slammed into her skull again, painting her hair red. Before her eyes slipped shut, the agony overwhelming her, she caught the unmistakable flick of a long nursing skirt disappearing through the front door. The woman had Charlie cradled in her arms. James was nowhere to be seen.

When she woke up, they were gone and Tommy was the one kneeling beside her, his fingers pressing bruises into her arms.

"Where are our boys?" he asked, repeating those words over and over again like his mouth knew nothing else. "Nel, where the fuck are they?"

With wet blood on her neck and her stomach clenched tight, Helen scrambled to her feet and the two of them ran outside in a panic. Helen's tears were finally making trails down her face, staining her cheeks with mascara. When she saw John standing at the gate, her feet picked up into a jog. He had to steady her with his hands on her elbows, for Tommy had stumbled back to retch in the garden.

"John, she took him from me," she wailed, unable to believe it.

How hadn't she heard them sneaking up on her? Why couldn't she have fought back?

There was no agony quite like a mother losing all her babies at once.

"Nel? Holy fuck," John grazed his hand over the back of her head and pulled back with a crimson palm, wondering what on earth was possessing his brother that he'd overlooked the wound oozing blood on the back of his girl's head. If he was in his right mind, Tommy would have a doctor tending to her at a moment's notice. "Come sit down."

But Helen batted his hands away. "No, we need to find them. She took them, John. I didn't see James but I know he's gone with her. He's only a little boy... my boy..."

Helen's stomach squeezed again and she let out a cry. Tommy's hands landed on her back as he joined them, shouting at his brother to get a move on. And then Arthur was there, divulging what witnesses had seen, holding both of them up as the world shattered. He made promises that Helen didn't hear, for water had rushed between her legs to pool on the concrete at her feet.

"Tom," she whimpered.

At once, she forgot how to breathe.

The pain was no longer mild. The timing was no longer sporadic. Polly had been right after all. Her babies were full of surprises.