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Cornwallis woke up and stared at the ceiling, hoping against hope that last night didn’t happen. He moved his arm and winced as the shoulder complained, yep, it certainly happened.
Last night he’d run as fast as he could to the restaurant where his father had taken Rose; when he got there and enquired, he found that they had left there some while before. Cornwallis didn’t know where to look next. He panicked for a moment but then reason took hold, he decided to go to the Stoat and see if they were there. He ran again through the streets, but two sprints in short succession might not be a good idea for someone whose general idea of exercise was to walk slowly to the pub. He puffed his way towards the Stoat with his chest heaving and his shoulder screaming. When he got there, he had to take a few minutes rest to get his breath back, just around the corner so that nobody could see him. When he recovered enough, he walked around nonchalantly, as if he’d just arrived for a pint, but he couldn’t see any sign of either his father or of Rose. Eddie was still hard at work, so Cornwallis asked him whether Rose had returned.
‘Oh yes, came back an hour ago with your father, right fine style apparently. Dropped her off in the coach out back, then they had a little nightcap and then Rose went off to her room.’
‘She still there?’ asked Cornwallis, relieved. ‘Nothing untoward happened to her?’
Eddie laughed. ‘Jack, you’re talking about your father there.’
‘I know, I know. I just got a little worried, that’s all; could you go and ask if she’s still all right?’
‘What’s going on, Jack? This is not like you,’ responded Eddie, a little concerned. ‘Has it got anything to do with working with you?’ he added, suspiciously.
Cornwallis laughed. ‘Come on, Eddie, it’s not as if I would get her to do anything even remotely risky. No, she didn’t say if she would be back tomorrow, you know, first day, new job. She might have changed her mind, that’s all.’
Eddie shook his head and grinned. ‘I don’t know, Jack; what are you coming to, eh? I’ll just send one of the girls up to ask her, if that will make you rest easier.’
He did, and he also poured him a glass of Glockcombers Special Reserve, whisky distilled by the dwarfs down in the mine, one hundred and sixty percent proof and it had a kick worse than a mule with toothache. Eddie gave it on the house, so Cornwallis downed it in one.
‘Hey, steady, Jack. You don’t want steam coming out of your ears again.’
Cornwallis felt it hit the mark and he gasped, then his eyes began to bulge as the heat radiated quickly through his veins, cooking him from the inside out. His mouth opened silently in a mute display of pleading, and then the alcohol hit his brain like a sledgehammer. A volcano erupted behind his eyes, threatening to take the top of his head clean off, with the molten larva dribbling down his face, chest and towards his feet. He sighed as the feeling subsided, leaving behind a warm glow of exquisite pain; strangely, his shoulder had stopped hurting now.
Eddie screwed the top back on the bottle. ‘I reckon one’s enough for you.’
Cornwallis still couldn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded in agreement, another one might just finish him off at the moment.
After a few minutes, Cornwallis couldn’t decide whether he felt better, or worse, but at least he’d found his voice again. ‘How do they make it, Eddie? And how come the glass doesn’t melt?’
‘Beats me, I just sells it. Those little buggers can drink it like water but it don’t affect them ‘til the second bottle.’
The girl came back from her errand with a wide grin on her face. She looked at Eddie first, and then flicked her eyes to Cornwallis. ‘She says, and I don’t think she was too happy about me waking her up, that of course she’s bloody all right and if he’s going to be coming around here to check that I’m all right then he’ll find out that he won’t be all right because I’ll make sure that he isn’t all right. All right? And tell him I’ll see him in the bloody morning if that’s all right. Er, that was her talking and not me, if you understand.’
‘That sounds like Rose,’ observed Eddie, grinning.
Cornwallis breathed a sigh of relief, yep, that certainly sounded like Rose talking, he could rest easily now. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said a little sheepishly. ‘Hope she won’t give you any grief in the morning. I’ll go back now, got a lot to sort out.’
He’d tried Frankie’s place on the way back too, but he knew he planned to be somewhere else, so it wasn’t a surprise when he didn’t get an answer. He’d just have to wait and be patient.
He climbed out of bed and looked at the bruising on the shoulder in the mirror, a delightful purple and orange colour with just a hint of yellow. It felt stiff, but he could still move it. He dressed slowly and then went downstairs to the office, hoping that Frankie had already arrived. The peace and quiet indicated that Frankie had not yet turned up. He had had no idea where to look for Frankie last night; he just clung to the hope that if anything had happened he could at least look after himself. He fired up the embers in the stove and put the coffee on ready for when Rose and Frankie arrived, and then sat down, waiting for footsteps on the stairs.
It felt uncomfortable knowing that out there, someone wanted him dead. Just two days into the investigation and things were starting to happen. It meant that he had got close to someone, closer than he realised. Now who? The coach had probably been stolen, by the sound of the description; nobody in their right mind would use their own to run someone down like that, but if they could find it, there might still be a clue. He rubbed his hand over his chin, which reminded him that he hadn’t shaved; it could wait, he decided, there were more important things to do. The names he had to play with were Goup, Radstock and Freddie the Weasel; he supposed he could add Eliza Knutt to the list, but she and Freddie were dead. Goup had disappeared, so that just left Radstock, and of course, Samuel Snodgrass, who had conveniently been in the cafe opposite Goup; so possibly even drugs are involved too. Who was “K” who had dropped the handkerchief? Another name was Brownlow, and both Rose and Frankie had thought him nervous. Anyone else? He wracked his brain, but couldn’t come up with anything more, apart from the attempted murder last night.
At last, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and he stiffened slightly. Relax, he told himself, nobody would come here to murder him. The handle twisted and the door slowly opened and in came Rose, looking as if she could spit feathers.
‘What on twearth were you playing at last night?’ She stormed over to him and leant forward, bracing her hands on the desk. ‘What did you think was going to happen, eh? I was with your father you twonk, we had dinner... ’
‘Rose,’ he said quietly, trying to interrupt.
‘...and then he took me around the west end and we watched some of the street entertainment. Then he took me home. Nothing...’
‘Rose,’ he tried again.
‘...did, or was, going to happen. What are you, some sort of stalker?’
‘Have you finished now?’
‘Finished? I’ve hardly started!’
‘Rose, last night someone tried to kill me.’
‘Turning up in the dead of night and waking me up... What did you just say?’ she asked, stopping mid flow.
‘I said, Rose, last night someone tried to kill me. I was scared that someone had gone after you too, but I didn’t want Eddie worried.’
She stared at him, horrified. ‘When? How? Are you all right? What about Frankie?’
‘Look, sit down and I’ll get you a coffee.’
She slumped down heavily just as he got up and went over to the stove; he poured two mugs and brought them back over while she watched his every step. He gave a wry grin, slipped his arm out of his jacket and shirt, and showed her his shoulder. ‘A coach tried to run me down when I walked up Broad Street after coming out the Truncheon. Not a runaway, deliberate. I just managed to jump out of the way in time, but it caught me a glancing blow. Someone must have followed me, so I thought someone must have followed you and Frankie too. I haven’t heard from Frankie yet, and I don’t know where he is. He wasn’t home last night when I tried.’
‘Oh Gods,’ she exclaimed. ‘And I just let rip at you. I’m sorry, Jack.’
He slipped his shirt and jacket back on and sat down. ‘Forget it, I should have thought. What’s important at the moment is that Frankie walks through that door.’ He pointed and stabbed his finger in emphasis.
They sat in silence for a few minutes and stared at the door.
‘Does it hurt?’ asked Rose, after a while. She tried a soft smile and pointed to his shoulder.
‘Just aches a little,’ he replied, with a twitch of his mouth. ‘But I’ll live.’
The minutes ticked by in more silence; it wasn’t that they were awkward with each other; they were just both getting increasingly worried. Cornwallis knew that Frankie would normally be in by now and Rose picked up on his anxiety. She wanted to ask him more about the attempt on his life, but she felt that he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to answer properly. He began to tap his finger on the desk, a sure sign of agitation; then he stopped suddenly and listened intently. There were footsteps on the stairs.
‘Morning all,’ cried Frankie, as he breezed into the office, throwing the door wide and letting it crash against the wall. He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Blimey, look at you two, somebody died?’
‘Very nearly, Frankie, very nearly,’ replied Cornwallis with a sigh of relief. ‘And I thought you might have as well.’
‘What? What the hell are you on about? Rose, what you been doing to him?’
‘I’ll let him explain,’ she said, getting up and walking over to him, ‘but I’m glad you’re here.’ She planted a kiss on his cheek and patted his arm.
‘I don’t know what it is you’re up to, but carry on if you’re going to do that again.’ He touched his cheek, which still had a mild sensation of moist warmth from Rose.
‘Right, we can all breathe easier now,’ said Cornwallis, clapping his hands. ‘Frankie, you can fill the coffee mugs, and then we have a lot to talk about.’
‘Yeah, right, okay,’ replied Frankie, scratching his head in confusion.
It didn’t take long to bring Frankie up to speed with the events of last night. He was as shocked as Rose, and no, unless you counted exhaustion, there hadn’t been an attempt on his life either. The coach sounded interesting though, not the average runabout, that’s for sure. A few enquiries were bound to come up with something. A Truly and Hope sling-back was a classic anyway, and customised, well, not many of them about.
Cornwallis decided to let Frankie search for the coach, as he seemed to be interested in that sort of thing anyway, but first he could inform MacGillicudy of the attempt on his life before hunting for the coach, and besides, perhaps the feelers had already been notified of a stolen vehicle.
Which meant that Cornwallis could spend the day in the company of Rose, and it would give him the opportunity to play on his shoulder, and his near death experience, to elicit some more sympathy. Together they would go and see Brownlow again and see what would happen when they squeezed him a little. They agreed that from now on, all of them would keep in regular contact, no off-the-cuff inquiries were to be made, each must know where and what the others were doing. After every task, return to the office and leave a note with the time, findings, and next line of enquiry. It might be a little inconvenient at times, but if a little accident did occur, then at least there would be a starting point for the others.
Understandably, Cornwallis felt a degree of nervousness when he and Rose ventured out into the big wide world; he knew that one failed attempt, meant invariably that a second could be waiting around the corner. He made sure that Rose stayed on the inside of the pavement, so if anything should happen, he could at least offer some protection. He was concerned with being followed, ordinarily not a problem, but walking with Rose, he soon found that she sort of stood out. The streets were busy with people and traffic but they stopped regularly and looked in windows trying to spot anyone looking suspicious.
Rose went over her and Frankie’s interview with Brownlow again as they walked. Cornwallis contented himself with talking business rather than anything else, even though he desperately wanted to know what she and his father had talked about last night. He struggled to keep his mind fully on the job as they walked, his concentration kept wavering and he constantly reminded himself of the priorities.
Cornwallis began to relax when they finally got to the quiet streets. It would be difficult for anyone to stay out of sight when there were only a few people around, and a few quick checks confirmed that indeed they were on their own. Brownlow’s was not too far now, just a couple more streets and they would be there.
‘Let’s wait around a bit first,’ suggested Cornwallis as the carriage yard loomed into sight. ‘See if anyone comes or goes.’
‘I may be new to this, Jack, but two people standing on the pavement staring at a yard is not exactly inconspicuous.’
‘True, which is why we are not going to do that. You are, however, going to be very interested in buying some clothes. I assume you’re happy to try on everything in the shop? Looks like they do a bespoke service too, so you can get measured for that as well; a good hour and a half I reckon. As your companion, I will be bored to death by it all and will feel the need to stare mindlessly out of the window.’ He grinned. ‘That’s how it goes, isn’t it?’
‘Not exactly, you have to feign interest and tell me how I look. And, if I’m trying on everything, there has to be a reason. The assistants will want to know where I’m going, what it’s for, and all that kind of stuff.’
‘I’m sure you can come up with something; you’re a girl, you’re used to this sort of thing.’
Rose took a large intake of breath when they walked through the door; she had never seen so many racks of clothes. It seemed as if they catered for every style, taste, colour and occasion, but as they weren’t buying, she didn’t worry about looking at the prices. Cornwallis did though, just for curiosities sake, and he winced at the amount they were charging for just a little strip of cloth. He should have realised as it said boutique at the front entrance and not ladies apparel; that in itself put a nought on the end of a dollar. He looked up and saw Rose getting stuck in; he smiled to himself as she rummaged through the rails, for all intents and purposes a serious shopper. The two pretty assistants were buzzing around her like flies on a fillet of steak.
He cast his eyes out of the window and over to the carriage yard, where he could see a little movement, but it seemed to be just a couple of lads dipping in and out of the sheds. He heard an “Oooh,” from behind and he turned around, finding the two assistants grinning at him. He furrowed his brow for a moment and then thought Rose must have said something, so he just grinned back inanely before continuing his observation. The chatter from the back of the shop increased, and so did the rummaging.
The minutes passed, and then more minutes passed. Rose was good at this, he thought as he stared at the yard. He realised it had been quiet for quite a while, so turned his head briefly to look; one of the girls stood next to a rail, adjusting it, but Rose and the other girl were out of sight. When he turned his head back, he saw the gate of the yard opening and a heavy set man with a mean countenance walk out. He dressed smartly with an expensive suit, but Cornwallis saw through him immediately, he was a thug. You could dress a turd up as much as you like, but it was still a turd underneath. The man appeared to be waiting for something.
A polite cough from behind disturbed him and he turned his head to see Rose standing there. He gawped; he just stood and gawped. He felt his chin hit the floor as he stared at her, the thug outside all but forgotten. The colour was purple and it was a dress, he knew that much, but he just didn’t know how it fitted like that. It seemed to be fluid, it seemed to mould itself to her; it seemed to show everything but nothing. Oh Gods, he thought, this isn’t fair.
‘Do you like it?’ asked Rose, twirling around. ‘The clingy bits move with you, but I can’t wear anything under as it shows the outline otherwise. I’m wondering if it’s too tight around here.’ She turned to present her back and indicated her bottom area. ‘What do you think?’
Cornwallis ran his hand over his mouth just to check that saliva hadn’t leaked out and found to his relief that it hadn’t. ‘It’s very nice,’ he croaked eventually.
The assistant huffed. ‘Very nice? Is that all you can say? I would say she looks beautiful in it. Don’t you agree?’
Cornwallis nodded, not trusting his voice.
‘I think he likes it really,’ ventured the assistant to Rose. ‘Quiet type is he? Well, never mind, let’s try the next one.’
Rose and the assistant disappeared from view again and Cornwallis just stared at the empty space she left, trying to imprint all the details in his mind before it left him forever.
Eventually he remembered why they were there and he turned back to look out of the window again. The thug was still there, waiting. He paced up and down and then stopped for a moment to light a cigar, flicking the match carelessly away. A coach appeared a few seconds later and the thug seemed to relax, it drew up outside the yard and he climbed in. The driver snapped the reins and the coach sped off. Cornwallis had seen the livery and he smiled to himself; if Brownlow is involved, then he now had another clue.
‘Coffee, sir?’ asked an assistant, who had come up silently behind him. ‘Only your betrothed said that you might want a cup, seeing as she might be here a while. A complete going away ensemble will take some time to put together, you know, especially when you haven’t told her where you’re going.’
Betrothed? thought Cornwallis, she had told them we were getting married? He felt quite pleased. ‘Yes, thank you. Er, no, it’s a surprise.’ He looked at the girl and smiled as he thought he should. She handed the mug over and smiled back; she had pretty little features with a sort of luminescence in her skin, she then ran her fingers through her long dark hair to reveal slightly pointed ears. She’s an Elf, he thought, then that would explain the dress.
‘Half Elf,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘We get used to the look, you know, the sort of double take, the slight twitch of the eyebrows as if you can’t quite believe it. We don’t mind, my sister and me, but it does get boring when people go on about magic rings and things.’
‘I should think it would. Your sister?’ and he indicated the other assistant.
‘Yes, this place is all ours, you know, make everything ourselves.’
She hurried away and began to fuss after Rose again, who now wore fitted trousers with a loose blouse; he supposed she didn’t like it as she hadn’t asked his opinion. More garments came off the rails and the process of trying on and parading continued; he felt he was beginning to get the hang of this now and he looked forward to seeing what came out of the changing room next.
She looked good, no, better than good, in everything, but nothing could compare to that first dress she wore. They huddled around the lingerie bits now and even though he hoped, his hopes didn’t materialise. He heard the giggling and could only imagine what they were talking about. There weren’t many elves in Gornstock and those he had met tended to be aloof; these two were like a breath of fresh air, and he supposed it had to do with the half that wasn’t elf.
He checked his pocket watch. It was a shame but they had been there long enough, and had seen enough. Rose appeared to be enjoying herself, but work pressed. He mined the indication that they should go and Rose quickly got the message. She made her excuses to the two girls and went to change back into her normal clothes.
One of the girls came over to Cornwallis and stood beside him. ‘His name is Maxwell, by the way.’
Cornwallis was startled. ‘Maxwell?’
‘Yes, the man you were staring at.’ She indicated her ears. ‘We have very good hearing, and we notice things like the investigators licence that fell out of your “betrothed’s” pocket. The driver of the coach called him Mr Maxwell.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t know where to look. ‘Thank you. Er, sorry. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, gives us something to do, and anyway, it’s nice to fit someone like her. You should see some of the women who come in here; they want us to perform miracles, but it would take more than a miracle to get them to look anywhere near how they want to look.’ She grinned mischievously, ‘Unlike your “betrothed.”’
Cornwallis grinned back, they had been rumbled, and he felt that he should pay for some of the time they’d spent with Rose. He pulled out his notebook and wrote down a figure; the girl looked at it and nodded. He scribbled some more and then ripped the page out and handed it over.
‘Oh well, it was fun while it lasted,’ groaned Rose, once they were outside. ‘I thought I was doing ever so well too.’
‘You were, and I saw what I wanted. It doesn’t matter that they found out; Elves appreciate secrets and they said they won’t say anything, so all in all, a successful start to the morning’s work. Out of interest, what were you all giggling about?’
‘Girls union I’m afraid. If I told you, I would have to kill you; but you wouldn’t want to know anyway.’
Cornwallis thought that actually he rather did want to know. He suspected that it had been rude and suggestive and that it had involved him, which was a good enough reason, considering his thoughts were rude and suggestive and involved her. However, he didn’t push the point but just replied with a smile.
As they crossed the road, he described what he’d seen from the window while she tried on the clothes and they both came to the conclusion that they might be seeing rather a lot of Mr Maxwell in the coming days.
Rose pushed the gate open and they walked through into the yard; there were a few coils of rope and a trough for the horses, but very little else. The stables were over to the right and the sheds to the left. The route to the offices took them past the sheds with a half open door. As they approached, Cornwallis looked in, and saw to his amazement a partly dismembered coach. He nudged Rose and indicated that she should look too; he saw a Truly and Hope sling-back, probably the one that tried to run him down last night.
They stopped and peered closer; there didn’t appear to be anyone about, so they quickly went inside. The coach was in the process of being stripped down, panel by panel, and there were a number of large crates close by, some of which were already full.
‘I think we’ve hit the jackpot,’ ventured Cornwallis. ‘Let’s see if Brownlow can get himself out of this.’
‘Oi! What’re you doing?’ A lad came into the shed obviously not expecting someone to be there. ‘Sorry, but customers ain’t allowed in the sheds, could be bad for yer ‘elf.’
‘My elf?’ queried Cornwallis. ‘She isn’t an elf, she’s a girl.’
‘I sees that mister, hur hur. But I’s mean yer ‘elf,’ replied the spotty youth.
His overalls were covered in grease and Cornwallis thought that if they had to grab hold of him he would just spit out of their hands like a bar of soap.
‘I think he means health,’ suggested Rose, smiling.
‘Yeah, ‘course I do, that’s what I said, ‘elf. You taking the piss? We got sum o’them others over t’road, youse know. Keep’s well clear o’them, I can tell you. They’s keep going off to the woods to do secret fings and such; I could tells youse sum stories, I could.’
Cornwallis shook his head, trying to understand the yoof... he shook his head again, youth, was nigh on impossible nowadays; they had a language all to themselves. He just hoped it wasn’t catching.
‘What sort of stories?’ asked Rose, biting her lip to stop herself laughing. ‘I’m intrigued.’
‘Well, I don’ts know if I’s should say really, not fer girls, if youse unnerstands me.’ He winked at Cornwallis. ‘I reckons he’s got a good idea what I mean’s.’
‘No, I don’t,’ replied Cornwallis in all seriousness.
The youth’s eyes widened. ‘You must do mister. You know’s, they dance around in the nuddy and all that, do sum magic stuff and the next fing you see is that they ‘ave some bloke with ‘em,’ he mined something in the trouser region. ‘They’s gets up to all sorts of fings down there, they do.’
‘You’ve seen this?’
‘Well, not me. But a mate’s mate o’mine ‘as, an ‘e only just got out alive.’
Rose didn’t have to bite her lip now to stop herself laughing; the youth’s rantings were so far off the scale of reason that any humour had disappeared into the ether, she was aghast. She knew why elves went to the woodlands; they went for peace and tranquillity, to get away from the noise and the hubbub of the city for a few short hours. They were part of nature. ‘I suppose your mate has told you that dwarfs eat babies, and that fairies steal your valuables as well, eh?’
‘Er, no, don’t be daft,’ he said affronted. ‘Me dad told me that.’
Rose knew she would be hitting her head against the wall trying to get this lad to see reason, she only hoped that he would one day come to realise just how stupid he sounded. ‘Well, thank you for your advice and your concern for our health. I think we will leave you now to get on with your work.’
‘Yeah, right, got to get this fing stripped by this afternoon.’
They left the shed and walked over to the office.
‘You sure that’s the one?’ asked Rose.
‘Oh yes,’ answered Cornwallis, rubbing his hands with anticipation. ‘Now, let’s see what Brownlow has to say on the subject.’
Rose nodded her thanks as Cornwallis opened the door for her; she took a half jump in and then headed to her left across the lobby and in through another door into the empty reception area. With a quick look at Cornwallis, she pushed open the wicker gate and went through. Brownlow’s office was at the back and the door was ajar. From inside they heard a man sobbing, quietly, but with a degree of desperation and despair. Rose and Cornwallis exchanged a look and then he flung the door wide open.
Brownlow sat at his desk leaning forward with his head buried in his arms; the sobbing sounded quite pitiful in its way, but Cornwallis’ recent experience with the coach in the shed had taken away any sympathy he might have had. Brownlow looked up through red-rimmed eyes, took one look at Rose and reburied his head.
‘Go away, I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he whimpered.
Cornwallis noticed he sobbed onto a small picture, so he reached forward and went to pull it away. Brownlow reacted with hostility and smacked down hard on Cornwallis’ hand.
‘Don’t touch that,’ he screamed.
Cornwallis jumped back and rubbed his hand. ‘Bit tetchy, aren’t we? Has that got something to do with being implicated in murder, per chance, Mr Brownlow?’
Brownlow howled. ‘What do you mean? Murder? I haven’t done anything like that.’
‘Gods, I can’t put up with this shit much longer,’ groaned Cornwallis to Rose. ‘Doesn’t he realise we might be able to help him?’
‘Mr Brownlow,’ tried Rose more gently. ‘What’s happened to make you like this? Mr Cornwallis and I need to ask you some questions, and I think by the way you are going on, you might have some answers.’ She went around to the other side of the desk and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on now, take a deep breath and tell us what’s happened.’ Brownlow’s sobs began to lessen and he leant into Rose.
‘Hey, steady,’ yelled Cornwallis.
Rose hushed Cornwallis with a finger to her lips. ‘There, there, Mr Brownlow. Just tell us what’s happened.’
Brownlow began to get some control back and reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief, he blew his nose and wiped his eyes before shoving it back. ‘They said they are going to sell my family if I don’t do what they want. They’ll pack them up and send them out east, and then sell them to the highest bidder. I have to do as they say or they’ll end up as slaves.’
‘Who are they, Brownlow?’ asked Cornwallis.
Brownlow looked up at Cornwallis. ‘The finance people,’ he wailed.
‘Finance people?’ he murmured to Rose, with a look of confusion.
Rose shrugged her shoulders. ‘We don’t understand, Mr Brownlow, you had better explain.’
Brownlow struggled to get hold of himself again; he sighed and then shivered. ‘The bank sold my loan to a finance company when I couldn’t keep up with the payments,’ he explained. ‘Now they are telling me I should help them out with some favours in lieu of the instalments. I just wanted to keep my business afloat, and now all this.’
‘What sort of favours?’ asked Cornwallis, as if he didn’t know.
‘I had to use one of my coaches the other night to pick someone up, and then I have to use my yard to dismantle another coach.’
‘Do you mean Greenwalsh Avenue?’
Brownlow nodded. ‘Yes, I had to take two men there and pick up a third; then I had to take the two of them back again later. They put some sticky paper on the side of my coach so it didn’t look like one of mine. They say they have a few more little jobs for me, but they haven’t said what. It’s all last minute stuff.’
Cornwallis nodded; they were getting somewhere now. ‘And where did you take the third man you picked up?’
‘The docks, an old warehouse that used to belong to the Great East Company.’
Cornwallis wanted to jump in the air and whoop; they had found where Goup went. Instead, he kept his face neutral. ‘The coach you’re dismantling in the yard, how did that get here?’
‘It came during the night; they have a key to the yard. They just told me to take it apart and pack it up. They’re going to pick it up later this afternoon.’
‘Are they now,’ cried Cornwallis. He reckoned a few pieces of the jigsaw were now in place, the corners and most of the edges. ‘What time?’
‘About four they said.’
‘And what is the name of the finance company?’ asked Rose.
Brownlow turned his head to look at her. ‘I’ve told you everything, haven’t I? Oh Gods, what’s going to happen? My wife, my girls!’ He began to panic and leapt out of the chair.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Brownlow,’ replied Rose, clinging onto him and calming him down. ‘We can make sure they’re safe.’ She mimed a "can we do that?" to Cornwallis, and he nodded. ‘Now, the name of the finance company, please.’
Brownlow settled back down; he began to sob a little, but not as bad as before. ‘The Gornstock Trust and Holdings,’ he said in the end.
‘The man I saw leaving here an hour ago, Maxwell, is he from the company?’ asked Cornwallis.
‘Maxwell? Is that his name? I never knew it; he’s just the man who tells me what to do. You said something about murder earlier?’
‘Two people have been killed, Brownlow, and not very nicely. I suspect that won’t be the end of it, either.’
Brownlow stared in open-mouthed horror, and then began to wail.
Cornwallis grabbed a piece of paper off his desk and hastily scrawled a doodle, and then ripping it in half, handed one piece over to Brownlow. ‘Whoever has this half,’ and he held up his bit of paper, ‘you are to go with, as you’ll know they will have come from me. Do you understand?’
Brownlow nodded and then wailed again.
*
FRANKIE WAS NOT IN the best of moods as he waited for Sergeant MacGillicudy. He’d just run the gauntlet of Sergeant Grinde and still seethed at the way the odious sergeant kept him waiting. The thoughts that were currently going through his mind were evil, immoral, and definitely illegal; they would probably get him a five to ten stretch, but hey, the satisfaction.
He looked up at Grinde and aimed an imaginary crossbow when a tap on the shoulder distracted him. ‘Watch it, you’ll spoil my aim.’
MacGillicudy chuckled. ‘You’ll have to go to the back of the queue, Frankie; you do for him and hundreds will want to do for you for getting in first. Popular man is our Sergeant Grinde.’
‘Yeah, well; one day.’
A rookie feeler watched him with big wide eyes of astonishment; Frankie noticed and then lowered his crossbow to aim right at him. ‘Yer sandwiches or yer life, sonny boy, what’s it to be?’
The feeler wasn’t sure whether he should grin or run, so he did both, darting to the other side of the room in order to find something to do.
‘Don’t do that to the sprogs, Frankie, their mums won’t like it.’
Frankie grinned at MacGillicudy. ‘You’re getting soft, Jethro; you used to be first in the queue when it came to initiating the youngsters.’
‘Times change, Frankie, we have to be correct nowadays.’ His mind strayed wistfully to days gone past when he had got hosed down in the middle of winter and roped to the A frame, only to have the canteen slops tipped down his trousers. ‘No, those days have long gone.’
‘Ain’t they just,’ agreed Frankie. ‘Jethro,’ he said, changing the subject and becoming serious, ‘I need you to check the crime reports from last night. I’m looking for a stolen coach, so it could even be in the last couple o’ days.’
‘I can have a look, why?’
‘Someone tried to run Jack down last night, and very nearly succeeded.’
‘Last night? I was with him last night.’
‘I know. It happened just after he left you as he walked down Broad Street. A Truly and Hope sling-back, customised. Blacked out windows, wide wheels, low-slung seat. He was lucky, just came away with a bruised shoulder.’
MacGillicudy gave a low whistle and shook his head. ‘Just as well he didn’t have Rose with him then.’
‘Rose? What’s she got to do with the price of carrots?’
MacGillicudy gave a thin smile. ‘Jack planned to take her out last night, but his father got in the way. Booked the restaurant and all he had.’
‘Did he now? The randy little sod.’
They walked over to the crime book with MacGillicudy detailing Cornwallis’ plans for last night. They were gossiping like two old women over the garden fence and they received one or two strange looks from the feelers hanging about. Frankie seemed far more interested in Cornwallis’ plans than looking for a stolen coach and only reluctantly dragged his attention back to the job in hand. MacGillicudy flicked open the book and turned a few pages to get to last night when a booming voice bellowed down from above.
‘Civilians are not allowed to scrutinise official police documents, Sergeant.’
Both MacGillicudy and Frankie looked up and saw Sergeant Grinde looking down.
‘Youse know the rules, Sergeant MacGillicudy. I don’t wish to report one of my fellow sergeants, but I will if I have to. Got to set an example to all our young hofficers.’
‘Grinde, you can just sod off,’ steamed MacGillicudy. ‘If you wish to speak to me then get off your fat arse and come down here; if not then get back to what you do best, and that is being the worst bloody feeler in the history of the force.’
Frankie, a little surprised with the vehemence of MacGillicudy’s reply, could only agree with the sentiments, but MacGillicudy was normally more tactful than that.
Grinde’s face went puce; he didn’t know what to do. Someone speaking to the senior sergeant like that, when he was only doing his duty, went far beyond his comprehension. ‘What d’you say, Sergeant MacGillicudy? Would you mind repeating that, as I’m not sure if everybody ‘eard.’
‘I said, Grinde. Get your fat arse down here. Are you sodding deaf as well?’
Grinde slapped down his pencil and began to climb down the ten steps that led up to his domain, shivering with indignation. Frankie looked from one to the other and then cast his eyes around the area. There appeared to be eleven feelers who were unsure if they had heard correctly, their faces registered dumb shock, but then one or two began to grin with anticipation.
‘Think about this, Jethro,’ Frankie said quietly. ‘Time and place and all that.’
‘Don’t worry, Frankie, I am thinking.’
Grinde reached ground level and then drew himself up to his full height of five foot four; his beard bristled like the hackles of a dog and he stabbed a finger into MacGillicudy’s face, jutting his head forward at the same time. ‘Sergeant, do I have to repeat that civilians are not allow... OH... OW!’
Sergeant Jethro MacGillicudy did what everybody else had been longing to do for years. He grabbed the jabbing finger in one hand and bent the digit back whilst at the same time bunched up a fist and let fly, straight into the face of Sergeant Grinde. A sort of schmock sound reverberated, reminiscent of a sock full of wet horseshit being slapped against the wall and Sergeant Grinde’s face erupted with a spray of blood. The digit still pointed, but not in the right direction, as the sergeant slumped to the floor.
‘See, Frankie, I told you I was thinking.’ For some reason, years of pent up frustration and animosity had erupted as Grinde had called down, the red mist descended and it triggered a primal reflex that MacGillicudy could not deny; it said slap the bastard.
A silence, so complete, fell on those witnessing the event, so much so, that you could’ve heard a feather land on a fresh pile of snow and it seemed to go on forever, until someone started to clap his hands. Very quickly, everybody else joined in, and Frankie wondered if there was to be an encore. Grinde started to come around and the applause cut off just as quickly as it began. Frankie caught a blur of movement from behind him, and he supposed that somebody had gone off to tell Captain Bough.
‘There goes my pension.’ observed MacGillicudy solemnly. ‘Right, Frankie, let’s have a look at the crime reports, it’s probably going to be my last chance.’
They did, and found that a coach fitting the description had been stolen yesterday from across the river. Frankie scribbled the address down just as Grinde pulled himself to his feet.
‘Youse, MacGillicudy, are history. I’m going to ‘ave you for that, in front o’witnesses too. You’ll be drummed out of the force,’ he spluttered through loosened teeth. ‘Drummed out of the force!’ Suddenly, Grinde grabbed his hand as the pain hit and he cried out; it was a little delayed as it must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, but eventually it found the spot. Frankie grinned at his discomfort.
‘What’s going on?’ yelled an authoritative voice. All eyes turned as one. Captain Bough, having been fetched by a young feeler, came in; he had been talking to Constable Wiggins in the corridor and was there in moments. He looked at the face of Grinde and groaned, but then he saw the finger and winced in sympathy. From what the feeler had told him, and what he saw, he had a fair idea of what had happened and thought quickly. ‘Everyone, back to your duties. Grinde, get that finger sorted out and then report to me. Wiggins, you are now acting Sergeant, get up there and start processing that lot,’ he pointed to the reception on the other side of the wall. ‘Sergeant MacGillicudy, I think I’d better have a word with you.’
Bough turned and marched out, closely followed by MacGillicudy. They went down the corridor and up to his office, where Bough collapsed into his chair with a sigh of resignation.
‘Okay, Jethro, close the door and tell me what happened.’
MacGillicudy slammed the door shut and stood to attention right in front of the desk. ‘Accident, sir. Sergeant Grinde did annoy me, I admit to that, but then he came down from his lectern and started pointing his finger at me. I took exception to that, sir, and grabbed hold of it; but then he seemed to stumble, sir, so I reached out quickly to stop him falling, and, I’m sorry, sir, him being a short arse and all, I missed and connected with his face. Pure accident, sir.’
Bough stared at MacGillicudy for a few moments and then wiped his face with his hand. ‘Jethro, if that’s going to be your official response, then fair enough, you will write a report and hand it to me this morning, but we have known each other for years, so please, don’t take the piss. Now give me the unofficial version.’
‘Unofficial, sir?’ asked MacGillicudy innocently, staring fixedly into space.
‘Sit down, Jethro, and yes, I want the unofficial.’
MacGillicudy flicked his eyes to Bough and then hesitated for a few moments, as if weighing up his Captain. He came to a decision and then let his shoulders sag before slumping down into the chair. ‘All right, Harold. The bastard had it coming to him; you know that. I just decided that the time had come. I was just going through the crime reports with Frankie Kandalwick when he started to shove his nose in. I saw red, and thought bollocks to him. He stood in front of me, his finger wagging, and I just wanted to ram my fist down his throat — so I did.’
Bough grinned. ‘You and everybody else.’ He picked up his pencil and began to tap out a rhythm on the desk, thinking quickly. ‘So,’ he said eventually. ‘He provoked you?’
MacGillicudy’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh yes, a great provocation, it was; he was breathing, ain’t that enough?’
‘Jethro, I’m going to have to interview everyone who saw it; if anyone tells me the truth then I’m not sure I will be able to do too much about it. Tell Frankie Kandalwick not to leave, I’ll need to speak to him too. Why were you going through the crime reports with Frankie anyway?’
‘Someone tried to run Cornwallis down last night, nearly succeeded by all accounts.’
Bough looked shocked. ‘Really? Well I never.’
Frankie sat at a desk playing at flicking little paper balls around the room when MacGillicudy came back in. Another feeler followed behind him and began to line up all the witnesses to the “occurrence” to drag them off to see the Captain.
‘Well?’ asked Frankie, raising his eyebrows as MacGillicudy sat down.
‘Who knows? He wants to see you too, and you ain’t allowed to leave until he does.’
‘Oh bollocks. I’ve got to look for that stolen coach and all; I can’t be sitting here all day.’
‘Sorry, Frankie, I shouldn’t have tapped him.’ MacGillicudy smiled ruefully.
Frankie flicked another ball of paper and got rewarded by an ‘Oi, stop that,’ when he came to a decision. ‘Can I borrow one of your better youngsters to get a message to Jack that I’m tied up here?’
‘I suppose I still have the authority. Write it down and I’ll get it sorted.’
Grinde came back in with his finger in a splint; he shot Frankie and MacGillicudy an evil look and then mimed a rude gesture with his good hand.
Frankie laughed and called out. ‘You get a lot of practise doing that, don’t you, Grinde?’
There were a few sniggers, but Grinde ignored them all and carried on walking through. He intended to have his say now, and when he got back, the whole lot of them were going to find out pretty quickly that they couldn’t mess with him and get away with it.