by Sam Michaels
‘Yeah, good idea.’
Nearly an hour passed and Charlotte brought Georgina more tea. She saw her look at the clock on the hearth, her face pensive.
‘Johnny should be at Jacob Flowers’ house now. I’ve got a day or two to work out how I’m going to get the money together to pay the Zammits back, along with the final payment to Jacob.’
‘Blimey, Georgina, this is all you need on top of everything else. What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing. Just work on Tim.’
‘I am. He’s taking me out tonight.’
‘Good.’
A tap on the door startled Charlotte but she recognised the knock. ‘That’ll be Lord Hamilton,’ she said, rising to her feet with a smile.
After she answered the door, she quietly warned him of Georgina’s bad mood.
‘Don’t worry, my dear girl, you can count on me to brighten her up,’ he said and swanned into the room, greeting Georgina with a kiss on the back of her hand.
‘So nice to see you again, my dear.’
‘And you. You’re looking very smart,’ she replied, eyeing his beige checked tweed jacket, beige trousers, rust coloured jumper with a crisp white shirt and tie. The sort of day clothes that only people from old money would wear.
‘One likes to make the effort. One never knows who one might meet. Tell me, am I interrupting anything?’
‘No,’ Charlotte answered. ‘We were just talking about how we can earn a good few bob, and quickly. Do you want a cuppa?’
‘No, thank you. But if it’s cash you want, I may be able to offer a suggestion,’ he said, turning to look at Georgina with a wicked grin as he twisted the end of his moustache in his fingers.
‘Do tell,’ Georgina said and Charlotte sat back down, pleased to see that the presence of Lord Hamilton had seemed to lift her spirits a little.
‘Art, my dear. Art.’
Charlotte rolled her eyes, saying cynically, ‘Oh yeah, art you reckon? Well how come you ain’t rich? If you were, you wouldn’t be living here and paying me rent money.’
‘Quite. But I had the unfortunate luck of collaborating with an unsavoury character who left me penniless.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t know anything about art,’ Georgina said.
‘You don’t have to know anything because I do! I’m the expert, and you, well, you’re the muscle.’
This seemed to amuse Georgina. ‘Tell me more,’ she urged.
‘I happen to know of an elderly gentleman, and when I say gentleman, I use the term loosely. Augustus Rice is quite the scoundrel. He lives in a grand home alone, in Hampshire, and has in his possession a collection of the most exquisite Old Masters, albeit not originals but—’
‘—Stop,’ Georgina interrupted. ‘You’ve lost me. What are Old Masters?’
‘An Old Master is an extremely skilled European painter pre-dating the eighteen hundreds.’
‘I’m sorry I asked. Look, Lord Hamilton, I don’t mean to be rude but this really isn’t my bag.’
‘Please, Georgina, hear me out. I’m going to make us both very wealthy.’
‘Go on then,’ she said, sighing.
‘A few years ago, before the war, I worked with Augustus. He’s fanatical about art, to the point of obsessional, especially anything by the Old Masters. After selling him a few paintings, he suggested that we should go into business together. The idea being, I would finance the reproductions of paintings and he would sell them abroad, in America. The Americans adore European art and anything with history. We knew we could make a fortune. But it didn’t work out how I’d hoped.’
‘What happened?’ Georgina asked.
‘I commissioned an expert forger who didn’t come cheaply. Augustus lined up keen buyers in America. It was all going swimmingly… only, Augustus never went to America. He kept fobbing me off and fabricating excuse after excuse. And then war broke out and it wasn’t viable to ship crates of fine art to the States. But now I’m afraid he is threatening me. He’s warned me that if I attempt to contact him again, he will inform my clients and the auction houses that I’ve sold them reproductions. I have a reputation to maintain. He could ruin me!’
‘I see. And you want me to get the paintings from him?’
‘Yes, exactly. When I sell them we can have a seventy-five, twenty-five cut.’
‘Seventy-five in my favour.’
‘You can’t be serious, Georgina. I paid for the paintings. Twenty-five per cent profit will merely cover my original costs.’
‘Fine. Thirty. You’ll get nothing without me and I’m the one taking the risk in stealing them, so take it or leave it.’
Lord Hamilton twisted his moustache again, deep in thought. ‘Deal,’ he said, and shook Georgina’s hand. ‘It’ll be worth it just to know that Augustus, the dreadful rascal, hasn’t won.’
‘But couldn’t he still ruin your reputation?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Possibly, but not if Georgina’s men terrify him into silence. And, if Georgina is willing, I have several money-spinning ideas.’
‘Oh, I’m always willing if it involves making money,’ she said with a weak smile, but then her expression changed to one of seriousness and she asked, ‘How soon can you sell the paintings?’
‘I’d be able to sell a few of them immediately. The others may take a some weeks.’
‘And what are they worth?’
‘More than you’d imagine. Put it this way, my dear, the sale of one painting alone to the right person would cover my expenses for a year.’
‘Good. Wait until Johnny returns and we’ll make plans to collect the paintings tonight.’
‘This is so exciting,’ Charlotte said, clasping her hands together. ‘I’m glad you’re home, Georgina. Can I go on the job tonight?’
‘No, you’ve got a date with Tim.’
Charlotte smiled. Yes, she did, and she was looking forward to it more than she cared to admit. But she knew Tim would have a fit if he had any idea what was being discussed just across the hall from where he lived, or that she was harbouring an escaped convict. They were from different worlds, him maintaining law and order and her breaking it. She wished she didn’t like him as much as she did. This wasn’t just a ploy to get him onside. She wasn’t just fooling him and building his trust so that he’d work for Georgina. Her racing heart at the thought of him told her it was more than that. She was falling for him but knew their relationship was doomed before it had even started.
*
Johnny tapped tentatively on Jacob Flowers’ basement flat door. He pushed his shoulders back and chest out, holding his head high. There was something about Mr Flowers that unnerved him but he wouldn’t show it.
When Elsie Flowers answered the door, the undeniable excitement he felt at the prospect of seeing her again was soon replaced with a sinking feeling. Just as he and Miss Garrett had suspected, Mrs Flowers was sporting the evidence of a back-hander from her husband.
‘Please, come in,’ she said coyly, pulling her blonde hair over the obvious bruise and cut on her eyebrow.
‘You don’t have to put up with that from him,’ Johnny whispered as he pointed to her injury.
A look of panic flashed in her eyes and she glanced fearfully over her shoulder. ‘Please, don’t say anything and don’t talk to me again.’
He could feel his top lip twitch with anger. The woman was clearly petrified of her husband, which narked Johnny. He felt an overwhelming urge to pick her up, carry her away and look after her. But not before he’d given Mr Flowers a good kick-in.
Common sense prevailed and he sucked in a deep breath before reluctantly nodding at Mrs Flowers to indicate he’d hold his tongue. She showed him through to her husband’s office and sat in the same corner she had before, her eyes lowered, staring at the darkly varnished floorboards. Christ, she looked uncannily like his beloved Daisy to the point where it almost rattled him.
Johnny refused to take a seat and slapped an envelope of cash on the des
k. Jacob Flowers sneered wryly and meticulously counted the money. ‘Fine, you can go now,’ he said to Johnny dismissively with a belittling shoo of his gangly hand. ‘And pass a message to your boss that she or he, or whatever Miss Garrett likes to class herself as, can expect good results.’
Johnny seethed inside. He’d have liked to reach across the desk and grab Jacob Flowers by the scruff of his neck and haul him to the floor where he’d kick the shit out of him. Instead, he threw Mrs Flowers a sympathetic look, spun on his heel and marched out.
At the front door, Mrs Flowers unlocked it, avoiding any eye contact. Johnny reached into his coat pocket and as he left, he slipped a tiny piece of paper into her hand.
‘This is where you can find me,’ he said quietly.
She went to thrust it back, but Johnny squeezed her hand shut. ‘I’ll be there if you need me,’ he said.
She looked up at his face, her eyes a mixture of fear and gratefulness. He thought she might start crying but she gently pushed him away.
Johnny didn’t hang around. He didn’t want to get her into trouble with her husband. He headed back to the car but looked behind one final time. She was gone and the door was closed. He hated the thought of that beautiful and fragile woman being left alone with Jacob Flowers. And he hoped he hadn’t made matters worse for her by slipping her his address.
*
Later that night, it had gone midnight. The waning moon offered little illumination in the dark countryside of Hampshire. Johnny, Nobby and Ned, dressed in black and fully armed, crept alongside a high brick wall surrounding Augustus Rice’s house. Eric waited in the lane in the car.
‘I’m bleedin’ freezing,’ Ned moaned.
‘Yeah, me an’ all but we’ll be inside soon. Remember, straight in and out, no mucking about,’ Johnny said, his heart hammering.
They passed the black wrought iron double gates and glanced through to look at the house.
‘Cor, he must be worth a few bob,’ Nobby said.
‘Shush,’ Johnny reminded him. Georgina had warned them that there were two large kennelled dogs. Though it was inevitable, they didn’t want to set the dogs off before they’d gained entry into the house.
They made their way round to the back of the house where Nobby gave them each a leg up and over the wall. Johnny landed with a heavy thud in the dirt and Ned fell forwards into a bush.
‘I’m too old for this malarkey,’ he grumbled as he climbed back on his feet.
‘Shut up, Ned,’ Nobby snapped after he’d somehow managed to scramble over the top of the wall. ‘It ain’t right that Max ain’t here. You’re fucking lucky the Zammits didn’t come for you first but you ain’t stopped fucking moaning. I’m sick of hearing it.’
‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’
‘You, you whinging bastard.’
‘I’ll fucking have you,’ Ned said through gritted teeth and stepped towards Nobby.
‘All right, all right, ladies, let’s calm it, eh,’ Johnny said and stood in between them. ‘You can sort out your differences later. Let’s concentrate on the job in hand.’
‘Yeah, but I’m warning you, Nobby, I’ll fucking have you.’
Even in the darkness, Johnny could see Nobby smile. The thought of Ned picking a fight with Nobby was ridiculous. Ned was half Nobby’s size and had a good few years on him to boot. Though Ned could be vicious and wouldn’t back down from anyone.
‘Come on, hurry up. If you two don’t shut up, you’ll have his dogs barking,’ Johnny whispered.
Ducking as they ran, they scooted to the back door. Nobby wrapped a towel around his hand and punched through a glass panel. The sound of shattering glass set Augustus’s dogs off and the air was suddenly filled with the ferocious sound of them barking.
‘Quick, get us in before the racket wakes him up,’ Ned said urgently as Nobby carefully reached through to quickly turn the key that was left in the lock.
They scrambled inside, closing the door behind them. Johnny held his breath and listened but could only hear the dogs’ incessant barking from their kennels on the front lawn.
‘This way,’ he said, leading Ned and Nobby through the boot room and into a large hallway.
As they made their way to the foot of the stairs, a croaky voice spoke. ‘Who goes there?’
Johnny waved his hand to the others and they pressed their bodies against the wall, the staircase above them. They stood motionless and listened to each step creek as Augustus slowly came down the stairs, stopping about halfway.
‘I know there’s someone there, but be warned, the police are on their way.’
Nobby shot Johnny a worried look but Johnny shook his head. The police weren’t on their way. Georgina had got the layout of the house from Lord Hamilton, and told him there was only one telephone in the house. It was in the drawing room so Augustus couldn’t have called them, despite his threat.
‘Show yourself!’
Johnny casually stepped away from the wall and out of the shadows, his handgun pointing at Augustus. The man’s eyes squinted in the dark and when he realised Johnny was standing at the foot of the stairs aiming his gun, Augustus turned and fled. As he scrambled back up the stairs, he lost his footing and cried out in pain and panic.
‘Stay right where you are,’ Johnny called, ‘or I’ll shoot.’
Augustus, now laying inelegantly across five steps, turned jerkily towards Johnny, his hands in the air. ‘Don’t shoot… don’t shoot,’ he pleaded.
‘Do as I say and I won’t. Now, slowly, get up and come towards me.’
Augustus nodded and pulled off his bed-hat, which was almost covering his eyes. He slowly stood up, using the bannister to steady himself, and cautiously padded down the stairs.
‘Right, sit there,’ Johnny ordered, pointing to a large dark wooden seat that put him in mind of the electric chair he’d seen in films from America.
Augustus shuffled over and flopped himself down, pulling his dressing gown over his night-shirt. ‘What do you want? Money? Well, you’re out of luck, I don’t have any,’ he snapped, suddenly brazen.
Miss Garrett had told Johnny that Augustus Rice was a mean man who’d swindled Lord Hamilton out of a small fortune. Johnny had no sympathy for the man. His thin, white hair stood on end, making him look crazy. And though he must be scared, his eyes showed nothing but disdain.
Johnny held his gun towards Augustus’s face. ‘I want the key to your gate.’
‘You won’t find it.’
‘I will when you tell me where it is.’
‘I’m not telling you anything! Do you really think I’m going to help you steal from me?’
‘Yes, if you value your life.’
‘Poppycock! I’ve nothing here that common thugs like you would want. Bugger orf, be gone with you!’
‘Well, well, well. You’re a brave old goat, I’ll give you that. But I ain’t messing around, Mr Rice. I’ll ask you one last time… where is the key to the front gate?’
‘Up my arse!’ Augustus answered and roared with laughter.
Johnny turned to Nobby. ‘You heard him. Get it out.’
Nobby sauntered towards Augustus with a wicked grin, giving the impression that he was going to enjoy rough handling him and violating his dignity.
‘Wait… what on earth do you think you’re going to do?’ Augustus screeched, looking horrified.
‘He’s gonna get the key, of course, and he won’t be gentle,’ Johnny answered.
‘No… no… don’t touch me. It’s in the drawer,’ Augustus said defeatedly, pointing towards a long receiver table against the wall.
Nobby rummaged in the drawer and retrieved the key. Ned appeared from the kitchen with a raw chicken and three lamb chops.
‘’Ere, give these to the dogs. It might shut ’em up,’ he said, handing Nobby the fresh meat.
Johnny was impressed by Ned thinking on his feet, not that it mattered that the dogs were barking. Augustus lived on the outskirts of the New
Forest and there wasn’t another house around for a mile or two.
Nobby left the front door open and, minutes later, the only noise Johnny could hear was the sound of the car engine and wheels on crunching gravel as Eric drove the car up the drive.
‘Some guard dogs they are,’ Nobby said when he came back into the house after unlocking the gate. ‘The grub soon shut them up.’
‘Just take what you want and go,’ Augustus said, looking at Johnny with contempt.
‘Don’t worry, we will,’ he said and patted the old man’s cheek three times.
‘Get your hands off me, you shirker. Men like you should be ashamed of yourselves. You should be fighting for your country, not robbing decent men who fought for your freedom in the Great War!’
Johnny ignored his scathing remarks and told Ned and Nobby to search the place. ‘You know what we’re looking for,’ he added.
As the men went from room to room, Johnny whistled a tune from the Mr Cinders musical, Spread a Little Happiness. It seemed apt, after all, everything was going as planned.
‘You think this is funny, do you? Scaring an old man half to death and robbing him of his belongings?’
Johnny shrugged and continued whistling.
‘Your mother should have drowned you at birth, you’re a scourge on society. Though your mother was probably nothing more than a common whore.’
Johnny stopped whistling.
‘Oh, hit a nerve, have I? Well, if your mother was a slut then I should imagine you’re a bastard. Filth from the slums.’
Johnny leapt forward and grabbed a handful of material around the neck of the man’s night-shirt. He pulled him to his feet, his face now inches from his own. ‘Don’t talk about my mother,’ he seethed.
Augustus maintained his composure and grinned cruelly. ‘Sluts from the slums. I fucked lots of them for pennies. I probably fucked your mother!’
Johnny’s jaw clenched and he threw Augustus back down. The man missed the seat and fell to the floor, hitting his head on the side of the chair.
‘I warned you,’ Johnny said, looking down at him.
Augustus didn’t move.
Johnny lightly kicked his ribs but there was no response. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he mumbled, fearing he’d inadvertently killed the man.
