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The feelers arrived to sort out the mess, in the guise of a sergeant and two constables. Cornwallis’ face broke into a grin when he saw that one of them was Dewdrop. They arrived with a cart to transport the body of Maxwell and a reluctant Dewdrop looked down onto the headless corpse lying at the edge of the wharf.
‘Where’s the top end?’ he asked with a grimace of distaste. He looked up and then saw Cornwallis, Frankie, and Rose standing in the row of onlookers. ‘Oh,’ he exclaimed in embarrassment.
‘Well, if it isn’t the Lord Cecil Toopins,’ said Frankie grinning. He then turned to Cornwallis and asked. ‘Have you by chance met his Lordship?’
Rose rolled her eyes; for some reason she knew what was coming, but even so, she found it hard to suppress the smile.
‘I must admit that I haven’t,’ replied Cornwallis conversationally. ‘I have met a Constable called Toopins though, are they one and the same?’
‘They are indeed; I would have thought you would have known all about him as you nobby types tend to stick together.’
‘But I’m only an Honourable, you see, a Lord outranks me.’
The sergeant and the other constable looked askance at Dewdrop as they listened to the exchange, the implication being that the whole station would be hearing about this.
The crowd of onlookers took its collective attention away from the corpse and concentrated on the banter going back and forth between Frankie and Cornwallis as they mercilessly took the piss out of the hapless feeler.
‘Does that mean that a Lord lives in a bigger house than you?’
‘Well, he should have a family pile, or possibly even several.’
‘Interesting. Excuse me, Lord Cecil, how are your piles?’
Dewdrop’s face went crimson as the crowd laughed; there were about thirty of them in all, with three polar bears, a gorilla and an orangutan, all tough dock workers and all of them looking straight at him.
Rose found some sympathy in the end and stepped forward, trying to divert the attention away from Dewdrop and back to the corpse. ‘Can you swim?’ she asked, when she had unclamped her teeth from her bottom lip.
Dewdrop nodded.
‘In that case,’ she leant closer so that only he could hear. ‘If I were you I would volunteer to dive in and retrieve the bit that’s missing; and Cecil, when you lie in future, make sure that it’s a lie that can never be found out.’
Dewdrop nodded again and stepped forward to the edge of the wharf to look down into the murky depths of the river, mulling over what he had just agreed to do. He swallowed hard, but it would better than listening to all that piss-taking.
‘Constable Toopins has volunteered to go into the river to retrieve the head,’ announced Rose, turning to face everybody. ‘Now, let’s see what help we can give him. First though, we need to get that boat out of the way.’
The sergeant and the other constable raised their eyes in surprise; this was turning into a really interesting day.
Rose’s request turned into a kind of reflex action from the dockers as they gathered up the equipment they might need. A few ropes appeared and then a small row-boat splashed down on the river below. The arm of a crane swung gently over and a chain clanked down to dangle just above the sunken boat.
‘Right now, Constable,’ intoned the sergeant. ‘I assure you that the Captain will hear about this; now get stripped off and could someone hand me that rope, we don’t want another corpse on our hands, now do we?’
Dewdrop looked worriedly at the sergeant.
‘Come on lad, hurry up, don’t be shy. We’re all lads together here.’
Dewdrop pointed at Rose. ‘But she’s not a lad, Sarge.’
The sergeant regarded Rose and sighed. He could imagine what might happen if he had to strip off in front of her, but as Dewdrop would be doing the stripping, then it didn’t matter. ‘No, but she don’t count as a girl as she is an investigator. Take no notice of her, as I’m sure she’ll take no notice of you.’
‘Aw, Sarge.’
‘Come on, lad, can’t get police property wet, now can we?’ the sergeant leant forward and whipped off Dewdrop’s hat. ‘Let’s get going; we ain’t got all day.’
Reluctantly, Dewdrop took off his jacket and then sort of hopped around as he tried to take off his boots. He eventually sat down on the mooring post and achieved his goal, two big toes stuck out of his threadbare socks and he then stood up as if ready.
‘The rest of it, lad, shirt and kecks please.’
‘Sarge,’ wailed Dewdrop as if pleading for his life.
He couldn’t get away with it; the sergeant wasn’t going to let him. Chalkie, feeling a little guilty, but not guilty enough to dive in, came to stand behind Dewdrop to collect the clothes as he discarded them. The shirt came off next and a ripple of amusement ran through the crowd as the less than manly chest came into view.
‘Could someone give the poor bastard a meal, the last time I saw ribs like that they were on my plate with a dose of sauce on them,’ shouted one of the crowd.
Dewdrop turned his back while trying to cover himself with his arms. He cast a forlorn look to the sergeant who replied with a stern look of disapproval. Dewdrop sighed, and then began to remove his trousers. Two skinny stick-like legs appeared below a pair of very grey underpants. The crowd whooped in delight at the lad’s suffering and someone shouted out, as someone had to with Chalkie standing there. ‘Watch out lad, you have a bear behind!’ The crowd laughed in response as the pale thin Dewdrop stood there trying to cover his lunch box.
Rose took hold of the rope and stepped forward to loop it around his middle.
‘Nooo,’ yelled Dewdrop, grabbing his bits even harder. ‘You do it, Sarge — please.’
A smiling Rose handed the rope over and retreated a few steps; tempted, out of curiosity’s sake, to try and have a peek at what he covered up, but she kindly ignored the devil on her shoulder.
Dewdrop dropped over the side of the wharf and clambered down the iron steps fixed to the wall to where the little row-boat bobbed up and down; he stepped in, and the boat moved away, over to the spot where the dinghy and Maxwell‘s head lay. He found just enough courage to climb over the side and then slide into the water. He looked up and saw a whole load of faces staring down. From somewhere he found a little more backbone and waved, before taking a big gulp of air and disappearing below the surface with the ends of the crane’s chain in hand. The crowd hushed and waited expectantly as the ripples died away. About thirty seconds later, his head broke the surface and he trod water while he caught his breath, he gave the thumbs-up and held onto the boat as it moved over to the side. The crane took the strain and then began to lift. He had attached the hooks to the rails and as it broke the surface, the rails began to bend. With yells of encouragement, the crane’s driver swung the thing over onto the wharf, and it was only just in time as the rails gave way and the dinghy crashed to the ground. The crowd cheered, and then everyone started pointing into the water. The row-boat came back, and to shouts of encouragement, Dewdrop slipped again into the water. He dived down three times, each time a failure and he surfaced panting from the effort. But he persevered and tried again as the crowd waited patiently. It seemed as if he was down an age this fourth time, and the crowd actually began to get anxious. But then something broke the surface: like an ethereal arm from one of the river Gods, a hand gripped Maxwell’s head by the hair. Dewdrop knew how to play to the crowd despite his shortcomings. The young feeler’s head came up shortly after, beaming with satisfaction. The crowd cheered, the sergeant threw a sack down and Maxwell’s head disappeared inside the canvas.
The sergeant pulled on the rope to help Dewdrop as he swam to the steps and climbed up to a round of applause. The dripping Dewdrop stepped onto the wharf and found Rose standing in front of him, holding a bit of cloth for use as a towel, he reached forward for it but found he stared straight down the front of Rose’s open necked shirt. He blinked, but his eyes wouldn’t move. Then he realised that water did something to cloth, especially very thin underpants cloth, and he felt something begin to happen. Worriedly he looked down. In a way it was a mistake, because Rose couldn’t help it either — she looked down too.
*
CORNWALLIS HAD A TASK to do in town, so he left Rose and Frankie at the wharf, agreeing to meet up later at the Stoat for a couple of pints, while he nipped back to the office to pick up a package before heading off.
The brown paper bag tucked beneath his arm contained the suit worn by Freddie the Weasel.
He still chuckled to himself at Dewdrops indiscretion as he pushed open the door and stepped through into the interior of Biggins and Shute, Cavel Row; considered the epitome of luxury tailoring with good quality coming at a price, and Biggins and Shute certainly charged a price.
Refined with quiet respectability, the tailor’s had a plush carpet on the floor with scattered upholstered chairs around a few low tables for customers to relax while they waited. There was no counter, just a curtained door, which twitched aside, as an immaculately dressed assistant came out to greet him.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he intoned gravely. ‘May I be of assistance?’
Cornwallis smiled, he hated the place and all it stood for, but his father used it and insisted that he did too; but he had to admit that when they made a suit, it stayed made. ‘I do hope so. Mr Gillimot usually deals with me; I’m Jocelyn Cornwallis. You must be a new member of staff as I don’t believe I have had the pleasure?’
‘Indeed no, sir, I’ve been here this last six months, sir, and I believe you are right. I am Mr Ollivant. Mr Gillimot is indisposed at the present, sir, but if you will allow me, I will do what I can to help.’ He smiled and tilted his head to the side.
Priggish jumped up little shite, thought Cornwallis, but returned the smile and said instead. ‘Perhaps it might be better for me to wait for Mr Gillimot, nothing personal you understand, but continuity and all that?’
‘And rightly so, sir. If you will excuse me I will just go and see how long he’ll be.’
He dived back through the curtain with a graceful bow of the head and Cornwallis sighed; he wondered where they found these people, whether a tree grew somewhere that produced total stuck up knobheads like Ollivant. He could understand the wealthy and the titled having airs and graces, but Ollivant wasn’t one of them; he imagined that he must have been bullied at school. Another thought crossed his mind though, and at this, he smiled to himself. What did Ollivant think of him? It was very probable that they had a common thought.
Frankie and Rose had gone off with two crates of fish for the cat while he decided that he’d better find out whose suit Freddie had been wearing before the Bagman came to collect. So after they had sorted out the headless corpse, they bought the fish and had parted company until later.
As he waited, Cornwallis mulled over the unfortunate event of their afternoon’s endeavours; he really could have done with speaking to Maxwell at length. Though he doubted that Maxwell would have been forthcoming, he might have let something slip. The sight of his headless corpse dangling from the bear’s paw, which looked a bit like a trophy hunters painting in reverse, was going to be the talk of the docks for months to come.
Maxwell’s demise must throw a spanner into the works for Kintersbury. Would he continue now that his henchman had been eradicated? He certainly must be running short of them, as three were incarcerated at the Yard, one had his contract terminated by Gerald in the Brews, another two at Brownlow’s, and now Maxwell, which makes seven. How many did he have left? However many there were, they must be thinking that perhaps their long term employment prospects with the treasury secretary would not be good.
‘Good day, Mr Cornwallis, I’m so sorry to keep you.’ Mr Gillimot flounced through the curtain with a flourish, and then stopped short. ‘Oh. That will not do, Mr Cornwallis, if you don’t mind me saying,’ he said, scrutinising Cornwallis’ suit which had been through the mill in more ways than one over the last few days. ‘A good clean and a press I think.’
Cornwallis grimaced and then brushed himself down a little, he felt like he’d had his wrist slapped. ‘Maybe later, Mr Gillimot, but first I have a request to make.’
‘Request away, Mr Cornwallis, request away.’
‘Good, I appreciate it. I have here something that has turned up during one of my investigations, and I wondered if you would be so kind as to take a look and give me what information you can.’ He pulled the brown paper bag out from under his arm and handed it over.
Mr Gillimot screwed up his face in disgust as he tentatively opened the package. ‘Oh, the smell. Where has it been?’
Cornwallis put on his sombre face. ‘I’d rather not say if you don’t mind, but I don’t think you’d like to know anyway.’
‘Really? Oh well, you young men and your adventures. You had better come through so we can have a proper look.’
Mr Gillimot led Cornwallis through the curtain and into the fitting room where a big long table, ordinarily used for cutting, took up half the space. He placed the package on the table and drew the manky suit out. He sniffed with disgust again at the smell and then separated the jacket from the trousers. ‘Definitely one of ours, though I have never seen one in quite such a bad way before.’ He fussed over it, like the prodigal son returned from adversity.
‘I wonder if you can tell me who it belonged to?’
Gillimot scratched his chin in thought and then, realising what he had just been handling, stopped abruptly. ‘We do have a thing called client confidentiality, I’m afraid, Mr Cornwallis. I’m sure you understand,’ and then he smiled at Cornwallis, holding eye contact.
Cornwallis returned the scrutiny. There were a few moments of silence between them, and then finally Cornwallis pulled out his wallet. He counted out ten dollars and placed it on the table, with Mr Gillimot watching the fall of each note. Mr Gillimot kept smiling, but said nothing, so Cornwallis counted out another ten and placed that on the table too.
‘That’ll do very nicely, sir; now let’s see what we’ve got.’ The money disappeared in a flash into one of his pockets and then he got down to business. ‘Classic cut, Mr Cornwallis, see the lapels? They are slightly wider than yours, and slightly longer in the length; the back is slightly longer too which would indicate one of our more old fashioned clients.’ He reached into the inside pocket of the jacket and pulled out a little label. He moved closer and squinted, and then wrote in his little pad. ‘I’ll just go and get the ledger and see what we’ve found.’
Mr Gillimot went through into a back office and returned a few minutes later carrying a large leather book. He placed it on the table next to the suit and began to turn the pages. ‘Here we are.’ He ran his finger down the entries and then stopped hesitantly with his finger poised. ‘Oh my!’ He checked his pad again, then checked the little label again, and then checked the book again. ‘Well, this is a surprise.’
Cornwallis leant over and saw the name beneath the finger: Pelegrew Kintersbury.
*
‘MAXWELL IS DEAD.’ KINTERSBURY paced the office with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
‘How?’ asked Dumchuck, shocked. He sat back in his chair and just stared in astonishment. ‘Who?’
‘Cornwallis; who else?’ replied Kintersbury. ‘I’ve just heard and came rushing here. Maxwell was at the warehouse when they came to take him, apparently when he tried to escape they just ripped his head clean off his shoulders.’
‘Oh, that’s gross.’
Kintersbury nodded. ‘It means that we will have to bring it all forward now. Don’t worry, it’s all been agreed by the other party. Steps have been taken to ensure that we’re safe.’ He scratched at the cuts on his face which were now starting to itch. ‘We won’t contact each other again until it’s all in place. The day after tomorrow should give me enough time to sort it all.’
‘Oh, I do hope so, Pelegrew. I do hope so.’
*
THEY SAT AROUND THE table in the piazza outside the Stoat, each of them nursing a pint pot as Cornwallis told them what had happened at Biggins and Shute and that now they could at least connect Kintersbury to Freddie the Weasel.
‘It doesn’t prove anything though,’ said Rose. ‘Only that Freddie wore one of his old suits.’
‘No,’ agreed Cornwallis. ‘But it is circumstantial, and when we add everything else to it, a judge would sit up and listen.’
Frankie smiled to himself.
‘What’s tickling you?’ asked Cornwallis, after taking a long gulp.
‘His Lordship actually, what wouldn’t he give for a quarter of what Freddie had, eh?’
‘Oh Frankie,’ admonished Rose. ‘That’s not exactly fair. He’d just come out of the river and stood in a draught, he was wet through and shivering. Even I know that everything disappears when it’s cold. Poor little Cecil looked mortified.’
‘Little is the right word there,’ laughed Frankie. ‘Ye Gods, he stood at the back of the queue when that got handed out.’
‘When what got handed out?’ asked MacGillicudy, making an appearance. He pulled over another chair and sat down. ‘Might as well come and annoy you lot, it’s either that or sit at home waving goodbye to my career.’
Rose smiled at him and patted his arm. ‘I’m sure things will work out.’
‘Hmmm, we’ll see. Who handed out what then?’
‘Dewdrop,’ explained Frankie. ‘You missed a good day today. Dewdrop came out of the river sopping wet in just his underpants; Rose here stood just in front of him. You can imagine what happened next, can’t you?’
MacGillicudy opened his eyes wide. ‘Oh, he didn’t, did he?’
Frankie nodded and then raised his little finger in demonstration.
MacGillicudy laughed. ‘Oh, how I wish I could have seen that. Why did he go in the river anyway?’
‘Fishing out Maxwell’s head,’ explained Cornwallis.
MacGillicudy looked confused.
‘Oh, I forgot, you’ve been out of the loop. Maxwell killed Freddie, who we can connect to Pelegrew Kintersbury and the Gornstock Trust and Holdings. We found him down the docks, and when we tried to pick him up, he broke away and fell into a boat. One of the workers down there tried to pull him out of the boat by his legs, but unfortunately his head had gone through the timbers, and when he pulled, the head and the body parted company, end of Maxwell.’
MacGillicudy still looked confused; he looked at each of them in turn with his face a blank. There were a few seconds of telling silence, and then Cornwallis said. ‘I tell you what, let’s get you a pint and we’ll tell you all about it.’
It took two pints to get MacGillicudy up to speed on the investigation, and another two to dissect it. All that excitement and he’d missed it, just for a moment’s aberration when he landed that punch on Grinde. A couple of clues, one or two questions in the right ears, a bit of observation and leg work, a murderer discovered, albeit now a dead murderer, and he had missed it all.
‘What next then?’ asked MacGillicudy, feeling deflated.
‘We have to tie Kintersbury in with Dumchuck. Algernon is keeping an eye on them for the moment, so we’ll just have to see if he comes up with anything,’ explained Cornwallis. ‘Those are two men who we will have to be very careful with.’
Frankie drained his pint, stretched his arms and grinned. ‘Well, if you ain’t gonna need me anymore, I’m off to bed.’
‘This early?’ queried Cornwallis.
‘I didn’t say mine, did I?’
Rose tutted and wagged a finger. ‘If I had said something like that you would have accused me of being a loose woman.’
‘That’s because all the virtue goes to the giver, and not the receiver, my darling,’ replied Frankie, just ducking in time.
MacGillicudy laughed. ‘At least you have all cheered me up; I’ll walk a little way with you, Frankie, if I stay here any longer I won’t want to move.’
Frankie and MacGillicudy left the table and together walked towards the alley at the far end, they were talking and laughing animatedly as they disappeared from view, and Frankie’s raucous laugh could still be heard long after they’d gone.
Cornwallis and Rose sat quietly for a few seconds luxuriating in the peace. He leant forward and toyed with his glass for a few moments as if in contemplation, then sat back again as if he’d made up his mind. He turned to look at Rose and smiled, and then she smiled in return. The light from the oil lamps cast a gentle romantic glow around the piazza on the warm balmy evening and a low hum of conversation from the tables around accentuated the intimate atmosphere. They both took a sip of their drinks and gently placed the glasses back down.
‘There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Rose,’ began Cornwallis quietly, thankful that at long last he’d found the courage to say what he wanted to. He felt awkward, and a little bit scared of what she might say; she might turn him down.
She waited another few seconds and then gave a half-nod. ‘I know, Jack. I thought you wanted to, and you’re right, we should discuss things,’ she replied seriously. ‘It’s not something we can hide from, I know that, but I’m just worried that you might think it would affect our work.’
He reached out and held her hand. ‘It won’t affect our work, I promise you that.’ He looked directly into her sultry eyes.
She squeezed his fingers in hers. ‘Thank you, Jack, that means a lot to me.’
He smiled again, and for the first time didn’t struggle to keep eye contact. He could sense her chest heave as she took a deep breath, but he manfully managed to hold her gaze; after all, things were going far better than he expected and there would be plenty of opportunity later. ‘I think just one step at a time; I won’t push you into anything before you’re ready, but sometimes it happens, just the same; we have to go with the feeling. Neither of us are children, so if it happens, then it happens for the best.’
Rose nodded her agreement and smiled, her lips moist and slightly parted. ‘I think you understand these things much more than me, you’ve had so much experience.’ She reached over with her other hand and clamped his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. She then leant her head back and sighed as if a great weight had been taken off her mind. ‘I’ve been thinking about it most of the day, even when...’ and she chuckled ‘... your hand kept stroking my bum.’
Cornwallis looked at her longingly, feeling that everything was going to be all right; but from behind, he heard a very soft exclamation.
‘Lucky bastard,’ it said.
He whipped his head around, but all he could see were the backs of the drinkers as they picked up their glasses.
‘Yes,’ continued Rose. ‘It’s been a strange day, and it also crossed my mind when you made me have that orgasm in the warehouse.’
‘Oh no, this ain’t fair!’ The voice came again, and this time with a hint of desperation.
Cornwallis thought he was quicker this time, but he still couldn’t discern where the voice came from. His eyes bore into the backs of all within sight, willing one of them to turn. When nobody did, he eventually returned his gaze to Rose.
‘So I’m glad we can talk about it,’ she said, with not a hint that she had heard the errant voice. ‘I promise that I won’t do it again, Jack. Think of it as a one off, and it only happened because it scared me.’
Cornwallis continued to look at her with a smile on his face, and then as she spoke his brow became furrowed in confusion. ‘Er...?’
Rose returned the look and smiled, her tongue licking her lips. ‘You know, at Scooters Yard, when I had a little panic.’ She patted the hand she still held. ‘I’m glad you understand.’
‘Oh, er... yes, of course I do.’ He groaned inwardly, there wasn’t a hole big enough for him to fall into at that moment. ‘Yes, er... right. I’m sure it won’t, Rose.’
She sighed again, her chest heaving. This time Cornwallis looked, and mentally waved them goodbye.
‘Do you know, Jack, I’ve just replayed that conversation in my mind, and it sounded very much like you and I were talking about, you know, having a relationship.’
Cornwallis recovered well. ‘Did it really?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad we weren’t talking cross purposes; that would have been so embarrassing.’
‘Yes, it would,’ he agreed, quietly.
They lapsed into silence again while Rose sipped at her drink. ‘You know, it’s so warm tonight; we could do with Big George and his fan.’ She held the front of her shirt open and gave it a shake to move some air.’ I won’t be able to wear a thing in bed tonight; I’ll just have to gently perspire, as that's what good girls do instead of sweat. I’ll be all slippery; I just hope I can sleep.’
A groan came from behind Cornwallis.
‘Right. That’s it. Which one of you is it?’ he demanded, spinning around and standing up. ‘Which one of you has been listening to our conversation?’
Nobody moved, and nobody said a word.
‘The next time I hear any of you say anything, I’ll arrest the sodding lot of you, understand?’
‘Jack? What’s going on?’
He stood there for a few more moments looking daggers, and then relented again. ‘You didn’t hear anything?’ he asked.
Rose shook her head. ‘No. Anyway it’s not important.’ She finished her drink and put the glass down. She had in fact heard, and out of the corner of her eye, she had seen the men at the table lean closer to hear better; but she’d decided that she didn’t want an audience when talking about how they felt about each other, and perhaps they should wait until this job had finished anyway. ‘Ah well, it’s been a busy day. I’m off to bed now, just me and my slippery sweat.’ She flicked an eye to the men. ‘If I can’t sleep, I’ll think about that orgasm all night long.’ She winked and placed a kiss on his cheek. ‘Goodnight, Jack.’
‘Goodnight, Rose,’ he said, as hope left him.
As she made her way to the door, a quiet voice came to Cornwallis’ ears again. ‘I know I won’t sleep, slippery and orgasm, oh ye Gods!’
*
THE NEXT MORNING SAW them all in early at the office, with Rose coming in slightly nervously. Cornwallis still wondered if she really knew what he wanted to say last night, but thought it best now to forget it; the opportunity came and then it went. He decided that she had diverted the conversation just in case he became embarrassed when she turned him down. She had turned the conversation like an expert and it left him floundering. Maybe he’d misread the signs and perhaps friends were all they were destined to be. He watched her sit down and then his eyes focused on the copy of yesterday’s Gornstock Chronicle that she had tucked under her arm. As they scrutinised it, Cornwallis and Frankie were momentarily lost for words. They were looking at an advert, in the recruitment pages.
Secretary/Office worker required
Apply
Cornwallis Investigations
Hupplemere Mews
Gornstock
In person at 9 of the morning
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ asked Cornwallis eventually. ‘We don’t need a secretary.’
Rose became defensive. ‘You didn’t say that, so I assumed that you agreed to it.’
‘But I had a hangover.’
‘Yes, but that was hardly my fault,’ she said indignantly, pointing a finger at her chest.
‘All right. All right.’ He held up his hands in surrender. ‘We’ll give it a go, see what turns up. But we’ll only take someone on if they’re perfect for the job. They can have a week’s trial, and if they’re no good, they go. Does that satisfy you?’
Rose huffed and nodded, and then sat there with her arms crossed, hiding the feeling of triumph as advised. Cornwallis’ father had made the suggestion the other night at dinner, he had told her that his son would never get around to getting a secretary if left to his own devices, and he agreed that they desperately needed one. So when they had finished eating, he had helped write out the advert, and together they dropped it off at the offices of the Gornstock Chronicle. He also told her not to tell him until the applicants were imminent, as he would probably do all he could to get out of it. It was now eight o’clock and they should all be queuing up very soon.
Frankie warmed to the idea very quickly. He had a vision of what type of secretary they should have, his primary requirement being that she would be young, attractive, and eager to please; just being eager would be enough. He rubbed his hands together and then slurped his coffee. ‘You know, Jack; it ain’t such a bad idea after all. Just think of the saving in time; we could devote all our energies to the job in hand.’
‘Frankie,’ began Cornwallis. ‘We spend most of the time doing nothing as it is, we are reliant on people walking through that door wanting our services, and if no one comes through, then we don’t work.’
‘Yeah, but if there’s always someone here, then anyone who does come in, ain’t gonna go away, are they?’
Cornwallis had to agree with Frankie’s logic there, but would it really work? Some of the cases they deal with are very sensitive, and to have someone they didn’t know handling the files could be asking for trouble. When he voiced those concerns, Rose shot them down.
‘You didn’t know me until the other night,’ she reasoned, ‘and now look. Are you telling me you don’t trust me?’
‘No, no, of course I trust you. But you’re Rose, you’re different.’
‘Jack, I could have been a homicidal maniac and you wouldn’t have known. If you cast your mind back you spent more time talking to my chest than you did to my face. It’s only in the last couple of days that I’ve been confident that when I do speak to you, you are going to look back at me properly.’
Cornwallis felt his cheeks flush because she had a point. He and Frankie had spent a long time that night talking about her various points of interest, and he agreed to try her out because of the effect she had on the men at the Stoat, and the fact that she could scrap,. The main reason though, and he had to admit it, had to do with the effect she had on his trouser department. But things had changed since the other night. He could still see the same strikingly beautiful girl with all the skin and breasts and hair and legs but he could now see more than that. He’d scratched the surface, and underneath it, he found a clever spirited girl, as vulnerable as everyone else. He had already come to the conclusion that she would stay; she had become an integral part of the team. He knew now too, that the likelihood of the relationship developing into something more, would be remote, to say the least, but somehow that didn’t matter; it was more important to be friends, which is as it really should be.
‘Er, yes,’ he stretched the word out as if contemplating his reply. ‘But I know you now.’
Rose changed the pout to a smile. ‘My point exactly, you should give people a chance.’
A knock came at the door, swinging open without invitation and Sparrow walked in. Behind him, followed three men in overalls, and Sparrow pointed out the pictures that they were to take before even saying good morning to Cornwallis. The three looked on speechless as the men got to work.
‘You caused quite a stir yesterday,’ said Sparrow by way of a greeting. ‘Very messy.’
‘Well, Sparrow,’ replied Cornwallis, leaning back in his chair and fixing him with a firm gaze. ‘Maxwell wasn’t trying to kill you, so I think that you can just bugger off. I don’t give a toss what you think. You and the Bagman had your chance, and you declined to take it.’
‘We were biding our time, Mr Cornwallis, letting things fall into place.’
‘Yes, and in the meantime one less investigator wouldn’t have mattered.’
‘I wouldn’t go quite so far as to say that, we do have your best interests at heart. Take your near miss yesterday, if it wasn’t for us you would be looking up at six feet of dirt.’
‘I could have dealt with him easily enough.’
‘Perhaps, but now we will never know. You know Maxwell could have unlocked a few closed doors for us.’
‘I know, Sparrow, that’s why I wanted to talk to him.’
Sparrow smiled benevolently. ‘Bit too late for that now though, don’t you think? Perhaps next time you might listen to us a little more. Incidentally, we have already been down the Yard and removed all the files and the rags that were there. Oh, and the three men you took yesterday as well. If anything arises from our discussions with them we will of course inform you.’
Cornwallis tried hard to keep his temper in check; he intended to go and speak to them some more later that day. ‘Take what you want, Sparrow, and then go. I’m getting a bit bored with your company.’
Sparrow smiled some more. ‘Just hand over the handkerchief, and, oh yes, the pictures that MacGillicudy had done of Mr Weasel, plus the suit; I think then that we will be done. Incidentally, there is quite a crowd of women waiting downstairs, are they all for you?’
Cornwallis swore to himself, the pictures of Freddie the Weasel had only arrived last night and he hadn’t had time to look at them properly. He got up, went over to the cupboard and pulled them out; there were only a few, and they were small, as they should be. He quickly flicked through them and decided that nothing there would give them a further clue. ‘Here, now go,’ he said, handing them over.
Sparrow waited, and then Cornwallis handed over the rest of the stuff.
‘Thank you, Mr Cornwallis. We will meet again. Goodbye Miss Morant, Mr Kandalwick.’ He doffed his hat and walked out behind his men.
‘Bastard,’ muttered Frankie to his back.
Rose thought hard. ‘Do you know, Jack, I think that they are going to let us do all the work, and then when we finally sort it out, they are going to jump in and take all the credit.’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘Yep, that’s exactly what they intend to do. So it will be up to us to make sure that it doesn’t happen. Agreed?’
Frankie and Rose nodded. The Bagman was going to find out that they were more than a match for him.
‘Let’s get this other business sorted out now,’ said Cornwallis, shaking off the effects of the visit. ‘Sparrow said that there were loads of women down there, so we had better start thinning them out.’
They arranged the desk so that it was directly in front of the door, with three chairs placed behind it so that they could sit and watch each applicant as they came in. Rose placed a single upright chair in front for the victim. Cornwallis sat in the middle, flanked either side by his friends. He had given Frankie and Rose a wad of paper and a pencil each, and the three looked quite professional sitting there.
‘Right,’ said Cornwallis, satisfied at the layout. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. Who’s going to drag the first one in?’
Frankie and Rose sat there and looked at each other. Neither of them moved, each reluctant to initiate the process while Cornwallis tapped his pencil impatiently on the desk. Finally, Rose sighed and got up; she sauntered over to the door and flung it open, calling down the stairs for the first person to come up before hurrying back to her seat to get ready for when they came through the door.
‘Good morning,’ said Cornwallis, as the girl came in, ‘and what is your name?’
The girl shut the door and then walked forward slowly. ‘Gladys, sir, but I’m known as Peaches.’
Cornwallis smiled as she came over. ‘Please sit down, Gladys, or Peaches, I should say.’
She smiled, bit her lip, and pouted all at the same time. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Peaches sat down and arranged herself demurely with her hands on her lap.
‘And why, may I ask, have you applied for our vacancy?’
‘Well, sir.’ She held Cornwallis’ gaze and refused to let go. ‘Because I want to have a worthwhile career, sir.’
Rose sniffed. ‘What experience do you have, Gladys?’ she asked pointedly.
Peaches didn’t even turn to look at Rose; instead, she kept her eyes firmly on Cornwallis. ‘Oh I have plenty of experience, sir.’ She smiled, and then she squeezed her arms together; two little domes of flesh popped up, her nickname’s origins becoming quite obvious. ‘But in the service industry mainly, I’m a girl that does, sir, very willing I am, sir.’
Frankie leant forward to get a better look and kicked Cornwallis hard under the table; he for one had got the message.
Cornwallis shot Frankie a look and then returned his gaze to Peaches. ‘We work strange hours here, would that prove difficult for you?’ he asked, ignoring her obvious body language.
‘Oh no, sir, I’d be here at your beck and call, at any time you require, sir. I’d always be ready for anything you need, anything, sir.’ She flicked her eyes to Rose as if weighing up the opposition and then looked at Frankie, her eyes smouldering with the promise of things to come.
Frankie clamped his jaw shut as it had been hanging open and he smiled back. ‘Does that include the occasional night shift?’ he enquired, in hope.
Peaches licked her lips as if thinking. ‘Well, of course, sir. I would always do my best to be accommodating.’
Cornwallis coughed politely. ‘Thank you for coming, er, Peaches; we will let you know.’
‘Thank you, sir, always ready to be of any assistance, sir, you understand, sir?’ She almost winked, but held it back, inclining her head slightly instead and handing over a piece of paper. ‘This is where I live, sir, if you wishes to discuss things further.’
‘Well.’ Rose exclaimed when she had gone. ‘The nerve of the girl.
Frankie grinned. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Rose, I thought she was a good candidate.’
‘Yes, you would, Frankie. But not with regards to her office skills.’
‘Let’s get the next one in,’ said Cornwallis laughing. ‘I don’t think we need a Peaches here, we’d never get Frankie to do any work.’
Frankie put on his indignant look. ‘Bloody cheek, I noticed you had a good look too.’
‘I may have cast my eyes in that general direction, Frankie,’ agreed Cornwallis. ‘But then I didn’t really have a choice, they sort of waved, if you know what I mean. Let’s see what the next one’s like.’
Rose called down for the next one and this time two came through the door.
‘This is Mildred,’ said the older of the two as she sat down. ‘She’s come fer the job, she’s me daughter.’ Mildred chewed on gum and looked around the office like the stroppy skinny teenager she was. Her mother regarded Cornwallis keenly. ‘Good girl she is, too, yer know.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ replied Cornwallis, looking from one to the other. ‘Er... Mildred, what sort of work do you normally do?’
‘She works as a kitchen maid,’ replied the mother. ‘Scrubbing the pans and the like.’ Mildred just stared and chewed, her boredom obvious.
‘Really?’ responded Cornwallis. ‘Well I never.’
‘Yeah, but I tells her to get her finger out an’ get a proper job. No future in being a scrubber, yer know.’
Cornwallis smiled indulgently. ‘You’re so right. So Mildred...’ he began.
‘Oi, Mildred, listen to the man. He’s talking to you,’ interrupted the mother.
Cornwallis tried to smile again, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. ‘Yes, well. Perhaps Mildred would like to tell us what she expects from this position.’
‘She expects to work is what she expects, don’t you, Mildred?’
Mildred obviously didn’t care what anyone expected. She huffed, dug her hands deep into her pockets, and then tried to blow a bubble.
‘I expect Mildred might be more suited to another line of work,’ ventured Rose after a few moments silence.
‘Yeah, p’raps yer right,’ replied Mildred’s mother. ‘Come on, girl, yer no good fer nuffing.’ She clipped her daughter around the ear and then hurried her out of the office.
‘I felt a little sorry for that one,’ said Rose, when they’d gone. ‘What chance has the poor girl got with a harridan like that for a mother?’
‘None, I should think,’ replied Cornwallis with a sigh. ‘Gods, I’ve had enough of this already.’
The next few applicants were just as unsuitable as the first two. Two couldn’t read, which could be thought an advantage, considering what some of their clients had got up to, but left them all at a loss as to how they had known there was a job on offer in the first place. Another one had a serious body odour problem, and yet another didn’t stop talking from the moment she entered the office until the moment she left, leaving all three quite breathless from the experience.
Cornwallis wanted to stop the whole thing there and then, but Rose would have none of it, determined to find someone suitable. She reasoned that there must be at least one person waiting who could do the job, and it only required a little bit of patience to find them. Frankie tried again to get the first one back in the frame, quite rightly saying that she was the best of all that they had so far seen, but Cornwallis just shook his head slowly, adamant that they wouldn’t have a Peaches working there.
Rose left her chair again and called down the stairs. Shortly a woman of indeterminate age walked in, dressed rather plainly but she had clear, smooth skin with dark hair twisted into a tight bun. She smiled at the three of them as she sat down, waiting for the questions to come.
‘And you are?’ began Rose with a smile.
‘Mrs Gridlington,’ said Mrs Gridlington.
Cornwallis shuffled the pieces of paper in front of him. ‘Well, Mrs Gridlington. Could you tell us what experience you can bring to this office?’
‘Why certainly, Mr Cornwallis. At present, I am a housekeeper, but prior to that, I worked for Mr Flammery, the lawyer, until he passed away, may the Gods bless his soul. Before that, I worked with Mr Plugnill, the accountant, until he too passed away, may the Gods bless his soul also. I used to deal with all their correspondence and appointments; kept everything nice and tidy.’
‘Oh, really? I remember Mr Flammery, wasn’t there something a little strange about his passing?’
‘Er, yes, but I’m not one to gossip, Mr Cornwallis. Suffice to say that it was most unfortunate.’
‘You are so right; we need someone who understands confidentiality. Oh, yes, I remember now. Didn’t he expire as a result of, er...’
‘Confidentiality, Mr Cornwallis. I believe the lady involved wishes to remain anonymous.’
Rose wrote on the bit of paper in front of her and passed it to Cornwallis. ‘You say you are at present a housekeeper,’ said Rose, regarding her again. ‘Why the change?’
‘I have always liked working in an office,’ replied Mrs Gridlington, ‘and I only went as a housekeeper on a temporary basis. My intention is to return to the profession as soon as something worthwhile comes up. The lady I work for now is well aware of that and encouraged me to apply this morning. I have a reference here from her if you would like to have a look.’ She then handed over a neatly folded piece of paper.
Cornwallis read it and then passed it along to Rose. Frankie sighed as he could see where all this was going.
Rose read the reply to her note too, saying Mr Flammery died happy wearing a nappy at a special club. She looked at Cornwallis and he winked at her.
‘Most impressive reference, Mrs Gridlington,’ observed Cornwallis, getting back to the job in hand. ‘There would be a lot of comings and goings here; and at odd times too. You would be pretty much left to deal with things as they happen on your own. Would that be a problem?’
‘Oh no, Mr Cornwallis, I’m sure I will quickly pick up how you like things done.’
Cornwallis cast his eyes to Rose and Frankie and then wrote something down on the piece of paper in front. Rose leant across and put a tick next to it, Frankie reluctantly followed suit.
‘Well, Mrs Gridlington, if you still want the position, then I am pleased to be able to offer it to you.’
Mrs Gridlington clapped her hands together and beamed. ‘Oh, thank you, Mr Cornwallis, I will be delighted to join you all.’
‘Well, that’s all done then. When are you able to start?’
‘Would tomorrow morning be all right for you?’
‘That would be splendid,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘We will all look forward to seeing you.’
Mrs Gridlington stood up and nodded her thanks. ‘I’ll be here bright and early, Mr Cornwallis, and I’m so looking forward to it all.’
She closed the door as she left and Cornwallis slumped down in his chair. ‘Thank the Gods for that. I thought we would never find someone. I dreaded any more dross coming through the door. Frankie, would you be so kind as to tell everyone else that the position has been filled and then thank them all for coming.’
Frankie shot Cornwallis a forlorn look and then got up slowly. ‘I still reckon that we should have taken on Peaches, can’t we find a place for her too?’
‘No, Frankie, we can’t.’
‘Oh well, you have her address there, perhaps I might pop ‘round there to tell her she’s been unlucky.’
Cornwallis sighed heavily, Frankie’s priority emanated from just below waist height, and he supposed he wasn’t going to change now. ‘Before you do any popping, we have to go to work; we’ve spent far too long here this morning as it is. You and Rose can go and check with Algernon, see what our friends have been up to, while I’ll go and see the King of the Dwarfs. When you’ve done that, you can go and see Gerald, he will probably want to know that Maxwell is dead.’
‘Aw, Jack; seeing Algie ain’t gonna be the same.’
‘Clear the women out of the place, Frankie,’ ordered Cornwallis with exasperation.