| |
HE REMOVES HIS HAT and looks around. The polished marble on its floor signifies a grand place of perfect safety. Behind bars on his right and left are tellers, waiting and working. He walks to the empty spot where an aged man, with graying hair and thick glasses, glares up to stare at Garty, multitasking even as he held pieces of parchment and a rubber stamp in his hands. He continues his work as Garty waits - as though his present occupation is of the utmost urgency!
Garty steps aside to wait, his boots making a clinking sound as he stepped, a lone customer in the room that echoes when he walks. The ceiling is high, with lamps hanging that swung when he opened the main door. It is quite cold inside the building, somewhat of a surprise to Garty.
An oil painting of Huckleberry Clove, wearing a multitude of badges and stars, glared at him from the wall.
“Can I be of help?”
The man spoke from behind bars that gave him protection from any bank robber.
Garty steps forward, his heart racing. He knows that his chances of gaining an overdraft are slim.
“I wish to meet the manager.”
“I am the manager.”
Garty noticed the name Jammy Clove on a plaque.
“Mr. Clove.”
He must make friends with this man before he gets thrown out! Garty smiled.
“Come into my office and reveal your business.”
Mr. Clove got up. Garty watched as he hobbled towards the rear of the counter.
“Here!”
He beckons Garty to a door marked manager.
Garty followed Jammy into a room. A desk, two chairs, a bookshelf, and a safe were its contents.
“Take a seat. State your business?”
He slipped a sheet of parchment from a small locked drawer and a nib pen from a stand to write the details.
“We are here to help.”
Garty wondered: why does he use the pronoun ‘we’ when he is alone? Is someone else spying on me?
Garty braced his stealth. He is today about to ask him for capital, a bag of money, and his emotions bubble over with anxiety.
“I want to borrow money, please!”
The man looks up.
“Name?”
“Garty Musdo.”
Jammy’s countenance lit up as a flame.
“Knight Musdo, on His majesty’s business.”
“Yes.”
Now this is surprising, Garty thought. How did he find out about me? Of course, it must be from the newspaper, he assumes.
“How much?”
Jammy looked up at Garty’s eyes, testing his resolve.
Garty is eager to get maximum.
“Ten rose ryals, five spur ryals, ten guineas, ten shillings, ten laurels, five florins, twenty groats.”
What he lacked to complete his mission. Excess he’d put back.
Jammy was quiet. Garty was quieter.
He wrote the amount on the paperwork. He waves his index finger towards Garty, signaling him to leave. Garty stares in dismay. His heart was like a stone.
“I intend to open the safe.”
Jammy rises. He clings onto the dusty desk.
“May I assist?”
Jammy’s eyes flew at Garty in anger.
Garty stepped away.
“No!”
“Sorry. I shall dismiss.”
How foolish I am to offer help in opening a vault.
Garty stepped outside the manager’s door. He looked around.
Three customers at the counters now. Each smiles when he looks their way.
A young girl, and chaperone, a lady wearing a cap; and a gentleman in business attire. All seem to know him. He could remember meeting none.
“Musdo, come in.”
Jammy Clove is seated. A pistol and a small bag lay on the man’s desk.
Garty was not shocked, as he often held his pistol close, especially where money was involved.
“Sit.”
Garty seats himself in the allocated chair. He waits for the manager to speak.
“I keep my pistol ready when handling money.”
“Wise.”
Jammy slid the purse toward Garty. A piece of parchment alongside.
“Sign the form.”
No questions?
Garty holds the pen and signs the form. He slides it back towards Jammy.
“We expect you to abide by this.”
Jammy Clove placed the pen in its holder.
“Thank you.”
Garty reached for the money.
“Come back soon.”
Mr. Clove smiled without emotion. He stands, shuffles around his chair. He opens the exit door.
With money in the bag, Garty exits.
His feet pranced. He pats Brill on the way to his suite. He finds the side entrance more private and uses that way to exit and enter his quarters.
Garty is careful to lock his apartment door. He pours the money on the small dining table, moving the vase with fresh flowers towards the back side, near the embossed green and gold papered wall that serves to bring an austere atmosphere to the room.
Garty Musdo, a man with money, places half of the total sum in his velvet purse. He shall pay Mrs. Bouchée for her services anon, he decides.
A tap on the door reminds him that lunch is served, so Garty places the rest of the coins back in the purse, folding down its leather catch and lock. He takes the keys and pops them in his trouser pockets. Running his metal comb through his hair, he is satisfied. He then splashes his face with water, dries his hands and face and for an instant, and stretches to his full height.
Madam Bouchée’s delicious luncheon awaits, he tells his image in the long mirror, feeling humbled by her attentiveness and care of himself as though he were a king. He liked it very much. She had pre-arranged that it was served at 11:00 AM, at his request because of his appointment at midday. He estimated a ride of twenty minutes to reach Hunty’s Dale, the X on the brief note.
Thanking Maud Bouchée, who is busier than ever in the kitchen, he bows his head at the doorway.
Garty notices Brill is well watered and fed. He sees Bubba striding towards the chickens with a feed bucket. She has a faint smile for him, but bows and hurries to her work. Garty knows it is she who cares for Brill. He motions a friendly thanks; she does not look back. He also sees Ted turning to smile at him and hurry away towards the piggery. What well orchestrated servants Mrs. Bouchée has, Garty notes. I am glad they care about you; he muses as he strokes Brill’s neck.
Garty thinks about some of the information snippets he received, trying to recall a silver spoon with an engraved date on it? Could it be the date the princess was born? It was one possibility, he reasons, setting the bridle on Brill, ensuring everything is secure. He places his rifle in a special slot alongside the saddle by his hands, and ensures that his pistol rests near his ribs.
“One never knows who will greet me.”
The steed flicks his mane.
“You are always ready, loyal friend.”
Brill pranced on the spot, and needed a nice long ride into the hill, where he could graze on fresh grass.
He exits through the side gate that leads into a seldom used laneway. From there he rides towards the spot marked with an X, near a wood. He sees smoke coming from a semi-circular shaped roof of a caravan. He knows this is the right place.
Garty finds a nice shady spot, where Brill can graze. He dismounts and heads to the ornate van, painted with gold and red flowers that meld with his cape. He feels at home as he passes by a pair of piebald ponies and calls out to see if anybody is home.
“Hello there,” Garty shouts.