by Andy Monk
Had been, she quickly reminded herself, looking down into her coffee.
Amos, however, was eating with enthusiastic gusto and, as far as she could tell, appeared to be completely sober. Either he was being exceedingly polite, or something had gone terribly wrong with his taste buds.
Once his plate was cleared he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, “That was great. Is there any more?”
“More?”
“Oh sorry – didn’t mean to eat you out of house and home.”
“No, it’s not that… you don’t have to force it down to be polite, I know it’s barely edible.”
Amos frowned and pulled a surprised little face, “But it’s really good!”
Molly shook her head and took his plate. Over the years she’d come to realise most men loved her body and hated her cooking.
This guy was even more screwed up than she’d thought.
After watching him scoop another plateful of indigestible slop into his mouth she asked him if the Mayor had said anything about her. She’d thought it safer to wait until Amos had finished swallowing before asking.
“I asked him a few questions.”
“And?”
“I don’t think he was impressed by your swearing.”
“You don’t say.”
“He also said if he wanted you to work in the whorehouse you’d be there already… who knows, maybe your friendly lawyer can persuade him.”
“Fingers crossed…” Molly muttered, though she suspected if Furnedge managed to pull off that particular trick he’d expect her to express her gratitude by means other than meatloaf…
The Lawyer
Guy Furnedge had always hated waiting, or rather being kept waiting. He was always punctual after all, and he was an exceptionally busy man. An important man. The whole town would grind to a halt without him; the cog that turned the wheel, as he liked to think of himself. He barely had a moment to himself, when he wasn’t getting business done he was at home looking after his mad bitch of a wife. And yet he was never late, not once, ever. Nor did he keep people waiting. If somebody had an appointment to see Guy Furnedge at 1pm, then at 1pm they would most certainly see Guy Furnedge, not a minute sooner, not a minute later. It was simple good manners.
He pulled out his pocket watch again and checked how long the Mayor had now kept him sitting in the little anteroom next to his office. 17 minutes!
Furnedge put his watch away and took a deep breath to calm himself. He must not show any irritation, this was, after all, the Mayor and he supposed the normal rules didn’t really apply. He was here for Molly after all. This was important and he didn’t want to ruin his one chance by somehow upsetting the Mayor. No, he would be courteous and professional. Just like always.
It didn’t particularly help that he knew exactly what the Mayor was doing while he was kept waiting. He could hear the rhythmic thud-thud-thud coming through the wall, intermingled with the occasional muffled cry of a woman. Actually it might even be two women.
Furnedge took off his spectacles and rubbed each lens vigorously with the little soft cloth he always kept in his inside left jacket pocket. He tried to stay calm. He tried not to be irritated, he tried even harder not to feel jealous, though he was not entirely successful quashing either feeling. Which was unusual.
After all those years around Lorna, biting his tongue and heroically not throttling her, he had come to quite pride himself on his self-control. Lately, however, things had slipped a little. It was understandable, he supposed, given how close he was now to getting what he wanted and the rewards he deserved. So damn close…
“The Mayor will see you now,” Symmons announced, appearing at Furnedge’s side suddenly enough to make him jump.
“Very good Mr Symmons,” he put his spectacles back on and, after folding it neatly in half, slipped the little soft cloth back into the left inside pocket of his jacket. Picking up his case he followed Symmons out of the anteroom.
“Please accept the Mayor’s apology for keeping you waiting,” Symmons said in a dry clipped tone without looking at him, “but something important came up.”
“It is no problem, I had paperwork with me,” he replied evenly, “I understand how it is when… town business comes up.”
“Actually, I was talking about his cock.” Symmons opened the door and ushered him inside.
“Mr Furnedge for you sir,” Symmons announced from the doorway. Furnedge looked back at the Mayor’s vulgar little aide and noticed two women, dressed in nothing but short satin robes, disappearing up the stairs. He didn’t recognise either of them in the moment before the door was closed in his face.
“Guy, what a pleasure!” The Mayor was slipping his jacket back on as he strode across the room to shake Furnedge’s hand vigorously. His fingers felt sticky.
“Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
The Mayor slapped him lightly on each shoulder, “Any time! Any time!” He indicated the single hard backed chair in the centre of the room as he retreated back beyond his vast empty desk. He was being favoured; most visitors to the Mayor’s office had to stand. It was a good sign, Furnedge thought, resisting the urge to try and discreetly sniff his hand.
“I saw Mrs McCrea earlier,” he said once the Mayor had settled himself back into his chair.
“And how was the poor woman?”
“Quite fraught.”
“And no nearer to paying me back?”
“It would appear not…”
The Mayor nodded and eased himself into the chair, the leather squeaking softly as he leant backwards.
“She has someone helping her you know?”
“Other than me?” Furnedge tried not to look surprised.
“Amos.”
“Who?”
“He’s new to town. A gunslinger.”
“I don’t know him… is he a friend of Mrs McCrea?”
“He is now, I believe.”
Furnedge shifted uneasily in his seat, “A problem?”
The Mayor steepled his fingers in front of him, “I believe so. A dangerous man, I would say.”
“Why is helping her?”
“I can’t imagine. Why would any man help an attractive vulnerable woman after all…”
“You think he has… designs!?” Furnedge spluttered.
“He spent the night at her house, I understand.”
“But… she is in mourning! Her husband has only just been put in his grave!”
“It is quite the scandal. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard? She walked out of Jack’s with him, bold as you like, in front of the whole town. She’s quite the brazen little hussy it would appear.”
“Perhaps… he just walked her home?”
“My dear Mr Furnedge,” The Mayor smiled thinly, “I’m afraid I do not believe that he is a gentleman.”
“But-”
“He didn’t leave until the morning. I’ve been keeping an eye on her, as you know.”
Furnedge didn’t know what to say.
“It would appear that you have a rival.”
“This must be stopped – he could ruin everything!”
The Mayor waved him down, “What is life without problems? Things rarely go smoothly, especially in matters of the heart.”
“Indeed,” Furnedge sighed. If such things ran smoothly he wouldn’t be married to a dried-up, drunken lunatic.
“What is to be done?”
“I will have to deal with him; he says he is intent on leaving town. Which is good, but not before he has kept Molly McCrea from the whorehouse. Which is not good. It is also strange; he doesn’t strike me as an honourable man…”
“He is a fly in my ointment Mr Mayor… in our arrangement.”
“Don’t fret. You have been a dutiful servant to me. You will be rewarded. I am always generous to those who serve me. You know that?”
“Of course. We have an understanding.”
“Indeed we do. You have no second thoughts I take it?”
“
None at all.”
“And in return you will be my man, always.”
“I am already your man.”
“In mind, in body… and in soul? Forever?”
Furnedge nodded vigorously, “I just want to be happy Mr Mayor. To be rewarded for my labours.”
“Of course, it is only what every man deserves.”
“But if he can help her?”
The Mayor raised a hand, his long fingers splayed wide, “He will not. I will hasten his departure from town; now that I have run my little eye over him I know that he is dangerous, and not just to our understanding. He will be gone, one way or another. I will make arrangements.”
“That is very reassuring, sir.”
“We will proceed then.”
“Splendid!”
“It is only fair I give you one last chance to change your mind. I would not want you burdened later with… regrets.”
“My life as it is… it is intolerable. It cannot continue.”
The Mayor gave the faintest of nods, “Then we shall proceed to the matter of your wife.”
“Good…” Furnedge felt his heart thumping fiercely.
“And her money?”
“Yes, her money. My dues for the service I have given her, the sacrifices I have made... still, it is not my primary concern. As you know Mr Mayor, there are more important things in life than money.”
The Mayor smiled, his eye sparkling as it fixed upon him, “Indeed, Mr Furnedge, there are…”
The Songbird
Cece’s first thought was that the Mayor had moved his piano back from the saloon to his home. It looked exactly the same; brand new, immaculately polished and totally out of place in this remote back of beyond little town.
She ran a finger along the keys; it was perfectly tuned.
“Is this one to your liking too?”
Cece raised her eyes; the Mayor was still sitting expectantly in his upholstered leather chair, a vague knowing smile dusting his lips.
“It is beautiful.”
“As good as the one I sent to Jack’s?”
Cece played a few notes before answering, “You just happened to have two identical grand pianos?”
The Mayor’s mouth twitched with amusement, “Well, you never know when you might need a spare. I like to be prepared for all eventualities.”
“You’re a music lover.”
“I’m a lover of many things.”
“You play?”
“I fiddle now and then.”
Cece watched him, unsettled by the way his single eye flicked over her, seeing more then perhaps it ought to. Her attention was finally pulled away from the Mayor as a woman entered the room; she was young, her blonde hair tumbled down her back and she wore a white silk dress drawn tightly about her slim waist and cut low enough to make the saloon girls back at Jack’s blush. Her figure was so perfect Cece suspected there had to be some serious corsetry at work beneath the silk.
“Our entertainment for the evening,” the Mayor said, still sitting and watching Cece intently. She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the newcomer.
The girl glided by Cece without acknowledgement to stand behind the Mayor, she placed a hand on his shoulder and stared at Cece with big languid blue eyes. She looked bored.
“Cecila Jones, please meet Felicity, one of my companions…”
“You have a spare of her too?” Cece asked before she could stop herself.
The Mayor laughed, Felicity didn’t.
“Would you care for a drink?” Felicity asked, gliding to a decanter next to the Mayor, her tone wasn’t exactly hostile, but it was flat and cold as if she considered the whole business a dull little chore to be endured.
“I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Very wise,” the Mayor commented, his eye flicking to watch Felicity pour herself a large measure before returning to stand behind the chair once more “I prefer a clear head too…” his hand reached up to take the glass from Felicity, “…most of the time…”
“So…” Cece shifted on her stool “…this is where I have to sing for my new piano?”
“Don’t worry; I have no intention of taking it back.”
“What would you like me to sing for you then?”
“Oh… surprise us with something.”
Cece started with a ballad; she tried to keep her eyes front as much as possible. Somehow being scrutinised by the Mayor’s one restless eye and Felicity’s two cold disinterested ones was more unsettling than a couple of hundred drunks undressing her in their heads.
When she finished the first song she was greeted by silence, save for the sound of Felicity sloshing more booze into her glass. Rather than look up she moved onto another song. And then another.
“Most beautiful,” the Mayor said at the end of the third song, “an angel’s voice, don’t you think Felicity?”
Felicity just sniggered over the rim of her glass; she was less standing behind the Mayor’s chair as draping herself over it.
“Thank you sir.”
“Are you sure I can’t fix you a drink? Some iced water at least? Lemonade perhaps?”
Cece nodded her thanks, “I am a little dry, some iced water would be nice, thank you.”
The Mayor retrieved the whiskey glass from Felicity’s dangling hand and shooed her off to fetch some water. She sauntered past the piano without acknowledging Cece.
“Please forgive her,” the Mayor said once the girl had left the room, “she can be a little aloof at first. But trust me; she does warm up quite nicely...”
“There is nothing to forgive, really,” Cece played with the sleeve of her blouse, which sported modest frills down the front and cuffs. It was by far her most flattering piece of clothing, in so much as it made her look neither like a boy nor a scarecrow. Given the Mayor’s obvious importance in the town she’d decided she should make some kind of effort with her appearance.
“You know how some girls are when presented with another as pretty as they are? They can feel a little threatened.”
She was starting to wish she hadn’t.
Cece swivelled slightly on her stool so that she was half facing the Mayor for emphasis, “There is nothing for her to feel threatened about, truly.”
The Mayor didn’t reply, but the way he smiled suggested he thought otherwise.
The Mayor sipped Felicity’s whiskey, his eye seemed to be moving about less than usual as if Cece were the only thing of interest in the room and the Mayor’s eye had decided to settle solely upon her for the time being.
“Tell me Cecilia, where do you come from. Exactly?”
“Back east…” she replied, “…and people tend to call me Cece.”
“I think I prefer Cecilia, and as I am not most people, I like to be indulged.”
“Of course… it just makes you sound like my father.”
“Well, I’m sure we can live with that, Cecilia is just more… refined. I prefer to be surrounded by things that are both beautiful and elegant. Before Felicity came to me some people used to call her Flissy, would you believe. Quite dreadful. I had to put a stop to that straight away.”
“Do you object to people calling me Cece?”
“Of course not, unless you’re thinking of moving in too?”
Cece shook her head and looked back down at the piano keys, “No… I’m not.”
“Pity…”
“Would you like me to play another song?” She said after an interminably long silence filled only by the ticking of a grandfather clock accompanied by her own thudding heart.
“Why of course, but let us wait until Felicity returns with your water. I wouldn’t want to deny her the pleasure of you.”
The Mayor slowly rose to his feet and came over to stand at the end of the piano, it was a large piano, but it was still too close for Cece’s comfort.
“Where did you say you came from, back east?” He asked after another long pause, his gaze flicking back and forth between Cece and the whiskey he sl
oshed around the glass. He looked like he couldn’t decide which one he wanted to taste first.
“Nowhere you’d have heard of; just a tiny little place by the sea.”
“I’m very well-travelled, it might surprise you to know some of the places I’ve been – ah, here’s the lovely Felicity…”
The young woman ambled over to the piano and placed a long glass of water filled with roughly hewn chunks of ice atop the piano in front of Cece.
She smiled her thanks before sipping the near freezing water, staring at the ring of condensation on the black lacquered piano top rather than the way Felicity poured herself over the Mayor as she retrieved the whiskey from his hand.
“Did you enjoy your ride today?” The Mayor asked, casually slipping an arm around Felicity’s waist.
“Yes…”
The Mayor laughed, “Do not look so concerned Cecilia; I’m not having you watched.”
“You seem well informed of my movements?”
“This is a peaceable corner of the world, particularly given the rack and ruin that surrounds us. You’ve travelled a fair way to get here Cecilia so you must have seen a thing or two in that regard… but even here all manner of undesirables occasionally wash up, so I have men patrol the surrounding land, just to make sure. They told me they saw you on the road. Even close to town it can be dangerous for a woman to ride alone.”
“I can look after myself.”
“You came across a gunslinger I heard.”
“You’re very well informed.”
The Mayor pulled a little face, “It pays to be well informed… and I do pay well to be informed. What was Mr Amos doing out on the grass?”
“Riding.”
“More specifically?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Ah… and I would have put you down as a girl of a more inquisitive nature… wouldn’t you Felicity?”
“Best not to be…” Felicity gave the barest of shrugs, “…curiosity gets kitties killed after all…”
“Well, there is that I suppose… why the interest in Amos?”
“See? I told you Felicity, she is inquisitive.”
“Poor dead kitties, rotting in the sun…” Felicity pouted as she looked down at Cece.
