Ikey winced and drew back. 'No thanks, it ain't kosher!'
'Suit yerself, lovey, there's a lot o' nourishment in a pork chop and very little in religion!' Then, pointing to the hamper, she declared, 'All be safe. Paper's come to no 'arm.'
Ikey nodded. 'Thank you, my dear, I am most obliged, most obligin'ly obliged.'
Ikey appeared to hesitate, then continued, 'Marybelle, I needs a favour done and in return I shall put you in the way o' a nice little earner.'
'That's nice, lovey. What is it ya want, then?' She pointed at his coat. 'Sew up the tear in yer coat? I ain't much of a dab 'and at sewin' I warns ya.'
Ikey grinned, though in a feeble way. 'A bigger favour, my dear.'
'Bringin' yer paper, that weren't favour enough?'
'Yes, my dear, and you shall be paid the fifty pounds I promised you.'
'And this favour, it's worth more'n fifty pounds?'
'Much more, if you plays your cards right!'
• • •
It is only necessary briefly to describe the scene which took place in the bank, and the look of consternation on the faces of Silas and Maggie the Colour when Marybelle Firkin arrived in Ikey's place. She carried a letter from Ikey stipulating that she should act as his negotiating agent for the business at hand and the letter further asked that the banker, Mr David Daintree, sign the letter and return it to Marybelle as proof that she had been present. The letter also required the signatures of Silas and Maggie Browne.
Indeed, Ikey was wise to seek proof that the meeting had taken place, for the husband and wife team had conspired to rob him. They had concluded that he had no ongoing supply of paper, but only what he would bring to the bank. If they could rob him of the letter of credit and the money on his way back to London, or even at his place of residence in Birmingham -after all, he was not the sort who could go to the police – then they would possess the plates and the paper without having paid for them.
Mr Daintree, impressed with the handling of so great a sum of money, conducted the proceedings with the utmost rectitude, carefully pointing to where Marybelle should sign her name. When Marybelle handed the hamper over to Silas and Maggie he retired, as had been arranged, to a small inner chamber, while the two of them closely examined the hamper's contents.
Maggie then took a sheet of paper from the banker's desk and using his quill filled nearly half a page in her neat handwriting. Then she dusted the paper and allowed it to dry, whereupon she handed it to Silas. He read it, smiled, nodded and returned it to her, whereupon she indicated that he call the bank officer to return. Neither Silas nor Maggie passed so much as a single word in Marybelle's direction. Marybelle sat patiently, thinking about Ikey's promise of a fortune and trying to imagine how much nourishment it might buy. How many roast beef sides, fat geese, plump partridges, chops and pies and every manner of sweet dish known to the human species.
With the return of Mr Daintree the couple allowed that the credit note be duly signed in her presence by the bank officer. But before handing it to Marybelle, Maggie placed the page of writing on the desk in front of her.
'This be the document we wish to 'ave Mrs Firkin sign before we 'ands over letter o' credit,' she said bluntly, her eyes challenging the banker.
The letter simply stated that as Ikey had not arrived at the bank himself to collect the letter of credit and as Silas and Maggie the Colour had no way of knowing whether Marybelle was not an impostor, the letter of credit could only be presented in London by Ikey himself. If the Courts amp; Company Bank in London did not inform Mr David Daintree of the Birmingham City and County Bank that Mr Ikey Solomon had himself presented the letter of credit within one week of the date which appeared on it, then the money should be returned to Silas and Maggie Browne and the goods returned. But Mr Ikey Solomon himself and no other.
'Is what they done against the laws of England?' Marybelle asked the bank officer.
Daintree frowned, pinching the brow of his nose. 'No, not strictly. A credit note issued in a contract involving two specific parties and identifying one specific party to another specific party and not redeemable by a third party is not uncommon,' he replied, though he was clearly bemused.
Marybelle shrugged. The implications were not lost on her. The husband and wife team would attempt to rob Ikey of the letter before he arrived back in London. She well recalled the look of consternation on their faces when she'd entered the banker's personal chambers. Any plans to retrieve the money and letter of credit, or to harm Ikey, would be based on someone identifying him as he came out of the bank. She, on the other hand, was unknown to any potential robbers.
Marybelle was a brave and tough woman not accustomed to being threatened and she set great trust in Ikey's cunning, so she comforted herself with the thought: Since when is two clumsy bloody country bumpkins a match for two London Jews, fuck their goyim eyes!
'Where does I sign?' Marybelle asked smiling.
'Really, Mrs Firkin, I should caution you, this may not be in Mr Solomon's interest!' the banker exclaimed.
Maggie the Colour jumped from her chair and accosted the man from the bank. 'Really, sir! We don't know who this woman be! We've never laid eyes on 'er before today! We 'ave no specimen o' Mr Solomons' signature, not the least identification, maybe the letter what introduced 'er is a trick? Maybe she stole the merchandise what we just paid for? We'd be plain daft if we took chance with letter o' credit!' Maggie the Colour's brittle tone suddenly softened and she smiled. 'You see, sir, Mr Solomons is much respected by me 'usband and me. If this woman is an impostor and 'as done him wrong, then, at great personal expense to ourselves, we 'ave protected 'is interests with the letter what I just wrote?'
'What about the small scrap o' paper what was in yer letter? Ikey said it were 'is affy davy, what made every-fink kosher?'
'Paper?' Maggie held up Ikey's letter. 'This be no proof 'e wrote it. It could be plain and simple forgery!'
'Not that! The small piece o' paper what was a triangle shape come wif that?'
Maggie the Colour looked at Mr Daintree and then at Silas, her expression plainly bemused. She shook her head slowly. 'Paper? What was triangle shape? That be plain daft for letter writin'. Small piece you say, triangle shape?' she repeated and held up Ikey's letter again. 'This be the only paper Mr Solomon sent and it be rectangle, not triangle and not small neither. I doesn't know what you can possibly mean, Mrs Firkin.'
Mary sighed, her huge bosoms quivering. 'Give us the quill then. Yer a right pair o' villains, you two!' She reached out for the paper which now lay on the desk in front of the banker. 'Be so kind as to show us the exact place where I puts me mauley, Mr Daintree, sir.' Then she looked up and asked, 'Is the address of 'er and 'er 'usband on this 'ere letter?'
Mr Daintree glanced at the letter and pointed to the left-hand corner. 'It's right there where it should be,' he confirmed.
'Will ya read it out loud, lovey? We don't want them two doin' a runner if they's up to some monkey trick!'
The banker, somewhat bemused, read the address out aloud.
Marybelle looked at Silas and Maggie Browne. 'I'll remember that I will, make no mistake!' Whereupon, her pink tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth, she tediously applied her signature to the letter. 'There you are, missus,' she said at last, and then cast a second malevolent glance at the husband and wife. 'Be that good faith enough for the likes o' you lot?'
Maggie the Colour sniffed, and gave the letter to the banker to apply his signature, and thereafter she made Silas do the same. Marybelle recognised in him the same tedious effort in signing his name and concluded that he too had difficulty with writing.
Marybelle then addressed the banker. 'Now, if ya please, sir, I requests the pleasure o' the monickers o' them two on the letter what Mr Solomon gave me what states my position as negotiator on 'is be'arf!'
Daintree attempted to conceal his grin. 'Of course, Mrs Firkin, it is completely in order for you to do so.' He picked up the letter from whe
re it lay on the desk and handed it to Maggie the Colour who read it with her lips pursed and an altogether sour expression upon her face.
'Humph!' she said finally and took the quill up again, signing the letter, as did Silas and Daintree, who blotted it carefully, before handing it back to Marybelle.
Maggie the Colour then asked the banker if he would be so good as to have a clerk make two fair copies of the letter she had written, this to be on bank stationery. When these arrived back she read both carefully, they were duly signed again by all four people present and the original given to the banker for safekeeping. A fair copy was handed to both Marybelle and the Brownes.
With this seemingly watertight agreement in their possession, Maggie and her husband could now set about the task of preventing Ikey from ever presenting their letter of credit. The total cost to them of the paper and plates would be five hundred pounds, though, if they could apprehend him soon enough, the larger part of this too might be recovered.
Marybelle Firkin was helped to her feet by a triumphant Silas Browne and a smiling Maggie the Colour. A concerned David Daintree placed the letter of agreement, Ikey's returned letter and the letter of credit in a heavy linen envelope, sealed it and pressed the bank's insignia into the hot wax. Then he rose and took Marybelle by the arm and guided her to the doorway. Marybelle paused at the door and turned to face the smug-looking couple. She smiled sweetly. 'I wish ya both meesa meschina' she said, a Yiddish expression meaning, 'I wish you sudden death'.
Mr Daintree handed Marybelle the envelope, first cautioning Maggie the Colour and Silas Browne to remain seated in his chambers until he returned, then he walked Marybelle across the marble foyer of the bank chambers to the front door.
'Ten minutes it says in the letter? You'll not let them two miserable bastards out o' yer chambers for ten minutes, will ya?' Marybelle paused. 'Mind, I'd be right obliged if you'd make that a bit more, wotcha say, lovey?'
Mr David Daintree, member of the board of Birmingham City and County Bank, smiled. 'My pleasure, Mrs Firkin, fifteen minutes at the least, what?' He turned and instructed the guard at the door to see Marybelle safely to her carriage where two footmen with red rosettes on their top hats waited to work her enormous frame through the carriage door and safely into the interior.
Before pulling away the coachman reported quietly to Marybelle that four horsemen of rough looks and a young lad of about ten were waiting under a group of elm trees not fifty feet from the bank, and that he'd taken the trouble to make a casual enquiry to the doorman who'd indicated that they'd arrived shortly after two in the afternoon.
'Watch to see if they follow us,' Marybelle instructed.
After an hour the coachman stopped at a village inn and Marybelle was helped from the carriage into the hostelry, and taken immediately to a small room which contained only a table and two chairs. The room was fuggy with the steam of dishes covering the table. The landlord bid Marybelle bon appetit and bowing, backed out of the door, locking it behind him. A few minutes later she heard the rattle of a key again and Ikey stepped into the room and locked the door behind him.
'Loverly grub! I got to 'and it to ya, Ikey, ya knows a good nosh 'ouse when ya sees one.' Marybelle pointed to the envelope which sat on the only corner of the table not covered in dishes. 'There you are, lovey, signed, sealed and delivered by yers truly!'
Ikey snatched at the envelope and tore it open. 'You wasn't followed, was you, my dear?'
Marybelle's mouth was already full with a bite from a large chicken pie, and she shook her head unable to answer. Ikey waited until she could speak. 'Nobody followed us, but in the bank, there was complications.' She pointed to the envelope in Ikey's hand. 'Inside is a letter what I didn't know what to do about, so I signed.' Marybelle looked concerned. 'I only 'opes I done right?'
Ikey opened the sealed envelope and examined the letters within. He shook his head and grinned in admiration as he read Maggie the Colour's letter. Ikey looked up at Marybelle, who once again had her mouth full. 'You done good to sign, my dear.'
Marybelle swallowed, and with her mouth now empty she reached for a chicken leg and waved it in Ikey's direction. 'They be after ya, Ikey Solomon.' Still holding the chicken leg, she took up a roasted potato, popped it into her mouth and continued talking, with her mouth full. 'We wasn't followed 'cause the people they sent didn't know to follow me.' She frowned. 'But they'll be lookin' for ya, mark me words, they's a right pair o' villains them two!' She giggled. 'I wished them meesa meschina!'
Ikey laughed. 'More like they wished me!' he said.
Marybelle sucked the flesh of the entire chicken leg from the bone with a soft plop and commenced to chew. Ikey's hand went into his coat, and he withdrew it holding the copper tube he'd ordered in the shape of a cigar container, though somewhat thicker and longer. He placed it on the table beside the letter of credit.
'They aim to do ya in before ya gets 'ome wif that there letter o' credit. That's what 'er letter was all about, weren't it, Ikey? Do ya in, steal yer letter and then claim the contract's been broken!' Marybelle cocked her pretty head to one side and gave Ikey an ingenuous look. 'What's an irrevocable letter o' credit? What's all the fuss about, any'ow?' She pointed to the letter on the table. 'That don't look like no paper what's worth dying for!'
'It's money promised what can't be unpromised once it's been presented from one bank t'other,' Ikey said, trying to stay vague. 'You're perfectly right, my dear, they'll be after trying to stop me gettin' to a bank in London.' Ikey shrugged. 'It's only natural ain't it? You did good not to be followed, my dear. I 'ave made plans, we will make good our escape.'
Marybelle smiled, shrugged her shoulders and looked expectantly at Ikey. 'Ya said I done good, we wasn't followed, so where's me fortune what ya promised?'
Ikey dry-soaped his hands, his shoulders hunched. 'You've done special good you 'ave, my dear, you've done it perfect and exact and splendid. I couldn't 'ave asked for no more, 'cept one small thing?'
'What?' Marybelle asked suspiciously, holding another large piece of chicken poised in front of her greasy mouth.
Ikey reached across the small table, picked up the copper cylinder and unscrewed the smoothly fitting top. He carefully rolled the letter of credit into a tight cylinder itself, which he then neatly slipped into the copper container and screwed the top back on.
'Will you take this letter o' credit back with you to London tonight, my dear?'
Ikey placed the cylinder in front of Marybelle, then he announced he was giving her the rights to future instalments of paper from Thomas Tooth and George Betteridge. 'Until I returns to London to live, my dear, though I daresay that be never.'
'This bill paper to come, is it still kosher? I knows yer doin' a runner, Ikey. The law ain't on to it is they?'
Ikey cleared his throat and answered truthfully. 'They is and they isn't, I expects. O' course now, at this very moment, I suppose the Bank o' England will be goin' over the mill at Laverstoke with a fine-toothed comb, though I'll vouch if them two, Tooth and Betteridge, 'ave the good sense to lie low for a while, they'll find nothin'. Give it two months, maybe three or even four to be completely on the safe side, and the scam can be brought back intact. Clean as a whistle, free as a bird, kosher as the Beth Din! The bill paper be worth a king's ransom, keep you in nosh for the rest of your life!'
'Only if you knows 'ow to get rid of it, Ikey. I ain't got no contacts what wants bill paper.'
Ikey raised his eyebrows in surprise, 'Why, my dear, you sells it to them two you met in the bank today!'
'What? Do business wif that filth?'
Ikey shrugged. 'They's villains, but the best, my dear. We're all villains, given 'arf a chance, everyone in the whole world is villains. But in me experience there be two kinds o' villain, them what's got a bit o' class and them what ain't.' Ikey's dark eyes shone. 'That letter Maggie wrote today, that be most excellent. That be topnotch thinkin', nacherly nasty nogginin', my dear!' Ikey spread his hands wide. 'That's
a rare combination what you doesn't find too often in the business o' villainy, brains and the stomach to act.' He paused, scratching the tip of his nose. 'You take my word for it, they be your natural customers, my dear! All you does is wait a year, then come down here with the bill paper what you 'as accumulated, startin' again in four months.' Ikey leaned back. 'You'll make thousands, my dear, thousands and thousands. Your table will be the envy o' dukes and duchesses. The King himself, I dare say, will come to 'ear o' your fine banquets.'
Marybelle picked up the cylinder and waved it at Ikey. 'And what if some villain they send catches me wif this on me way to London?' She drew the cylinder across her throat. 'That's what 'appens.'
'They won't find it will they?' Ikey said puckering his lips. He pointed to the cylinder. 'It be made to be put in a place what a man 'asn't got and a lady 'as. A place where your average villain ain't likely to go pokin' about without your express permission, if you knows what I mean, my dear?'
Marybelle's pretty blue eyes grew large and then shone with delighted surprise. She gave a little squeal, running her fat, greasy fingers along the cylinder's smooth surface.
'Jesus, Ikey! You bleedin' thinks o' everyfink.' In between her laughter she managed to gasp. 'Methinks it will be a tight fit… ha-ha-ha-ha! But wif all the bumpin' o' the coach to London… ha-ha-ha-hee-hee!… I daresay it will bring a lady o' me proportions, oh, goodness lummy, oh, oh… a good deal o' pleasure on the… ha-ha-hee-hee!… journey 'ome!'
Chapter Thirteen
Ikey returned to London three days after he had left Marybelle Firkin at the inn with a pork pie stuck in her gob and his precious cylinder safely tucked away elsewhere on her large person. Waiting in the back room of a chop house in Houndsditch until well after dark when a light snow storm, churned with frequent wind flurries, began to fall and which he judged would further conceal his passage, Ikey slipped into the rookery of St Giles and soon thereafter let himself into the seemingly abandoned building which housed the Methodist Academy of Light Fingers.
The Potato Factory Page 21
