by Carol Rivers
‘You are like a daughter to me and I can’t refuse you. No, I would not do that even though I’m inflamed with indignation at this man’s expectations. I would like him to know that I protest at the situation he puts you in.’ He puffed out his red cheeks in annoyance. ‘Nevertheless, I suppose we must do something.’
Ettie flung her arms around him. ‘Thank you, Terence, oh, thank you. When will we go?’
‘I suppose it must be soon,’ he muttered.
‘It’s of the utmost urgency, as you can read.’
He rolled his eyes and scratched his chin. ‘Then let me think of a plan.’
Ettie waited anxiously, listening to his protesting mumbles and sniffs as he frowned in concentration.
‘Most important we don’t let on about our errand,’ he decided at last. ‘Or we’d be lambs to the slaughter.’
‘Then how do we transport it?’
The butcher heaved in a breath and lowered his voice. ’Here’s what we’ll do. I shall hire a cart and horse from a smithy I know this very evening. Not a comfy ride to the City, no, but workmanlike and won’t arouse no suspicion. At six sharp in the morning, I’ll arrive in your backyard. We shall load that monster between us before Silver Street is awake. With luck and a fair wind, we’ll be back before nine.’
‘I’ll be waiting, Terence,’ she assured him.
‘Now you’d better lock the chest away or the scent of all that loot will seep under the door and alert the whole neighbourhood.’
When the wooden panel was reinstated and Terence had left to hire the horse and cart, Ettie went to her bedroom. She took out her Sunday best coat and bonnet for she wanted to look presentable tomorrow when she turned over Lucas’s chest to London’s Bank of England.
Chapter 33
Ettie was ready long before Terence arrived, a little knot of anxiety in her chest. The morning was overcast and Terence sweated as he took the greater weight of the chest and they dragged, pushed and hoisted it aboard the waiting cart. It was a few moments before he restored his breathing but once their burden was hidden by sackcloth, Ettie felt much relieved their struggle was over.
A fresh breeze struck up as they passed down Silver Street, keeping Ettie alert for unwanted attention. But it was only the marketeers who, bleary eyed, were rigging up their stalls. Once Soho was behind them, Terence began to whistle, resuming his usual calm demeanour.
The lamplighters were out with their long poles, working amidst the early morning smells from the coffee stalls and bakeries. The roads were not yet congested and recognizing very few landmarks, Ettie suspected that Terence was taking a short cut to the city by way of back lanes.
‘You all right, young beauty?’ he asked as he tickled the horse’s rump with the whip and adjusted the tilt of his battered hat, a tri-corner style suited to a man of his generation.
Ettie smiled, thinking how they had both made an effort to look presentable for the clerks of the Bank of England. She had read in the convent’s history books that the bank was named The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, which had amused her until she thought of all those precious books now lost in the fire. It had taken a few minutes to remind herself how lucky she was; if it wasn’t for Terence, she would never have been able to make this journey.
‘How long now?’ she enquired.
‘Just a half hour up the road there’s Princes Street and we’ll turn down Bartholomew Lane. There’s a place we can leave the cart and horse tethered.’
‘Have you been there before?’ Ettie asked in surprise.
‘Once or twice maybe. Came up to town with Gladys to enjoy the occasional show at a decent music hall that wasn’t an excuse for a doss house.’
‘What’s a doss house?’ Ettie enquired innocently.
The butcher laughed as he urged the horse on. ‘Sorry, lass. I keep forgetting myself. A doss house is a glorified lodging like the one near Silver Street where our friend Gino sold his wares. The place was supposed to be a theatre of sorts, but what they got up to inside ain’t for a young girl’s attention.’
At the mention of Gino, Ettie shivered, but she soon rallied and said with a smile, ‘My attention has been brought to a lot of new things whilst living in Silver Street, Terence. My vocabulary is expanding faster than ever it did with the Sisters of Clemency.’
At this, Terence threw back his head and roared with laughter once more. Ettie joined in too and suddenly the day seemed more like a pleasurable outing than one of intense concern.
She had never known anything of her father and barely much more of her mother, but she liked to believe that her parentage might involve someone like Terence, whose second name she didn’t even know and didn’t care that she didn’t know, for his intrinsic goodness shone like a lighthouse across a stormy sea. He had revealed that he thought of her as a daughter. She was beginning to believe that even if not related by blood, there was a connection between them.
Gradually the city came to life with its monuments and pillared buildings, tall grey spires, and historic places that she had only ever seen replicated on paper. Ettie marvelled at the many classes of vehicles beginning to congest the roads. Bicycles, trams, carts, wagons, cabs and buses all merged on the City, as the bowler-hatted gentlemen scurried to their offices. Once more she felt excited, as she had done on the very first day of seeing the capital.
Then with a slow trot, the pony was guided towards a small row of cut trees that grew like a fringed skirt around the most formidable building of all.
‘Here we are,’ said Terence, pulling on the reins so that Ettie could get a clear view, ‘The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street herself.’
Ettie was taken aback at the sight of the forbidding building; a fortress of dark, carved stones reaching high above the ground to a summit of sentinels perched on the top of the roofs. The austere and dominating facade overshadowed all the other buildings of the street, reminding passers-by of its world-renowned importance. Whatever she had previously imagined, she was filled with a kind of awe even greater than the first sight of the Queen’s residence, Buckingham Palace.
‘Impressive, eh?’ Terence said as he slapped the reins and the horse trotted on slowly behind the traffic. ‘Your tobacconist certainly knew where to put his money.’
Ettie couldn’t take her eyes from the vision of great national importance. Yes, she was sure Terence was right. The money in the cast-iron chest that she had so carefully saved on behalf of her employer now seemed a drop in a very big puddle. All the same, he had been in no rush in the first instance to bank the salon’s takings in his absence. Yet now, his letter had stated great urgency.
‘This looks like the turning,’ said Terence, drawing the pony into an opening where a guard stood behind a pair of strong iron gates.
‘Open up, will you?’ called Terence.
‘What’s your business?’ came the reply.
‘We have a delivery to make,’ called Terence.
‘You want the tradesmen’s entrance,’ barked the man. ‘Turn your horse round and be on your way.’
Terence grumbled in annoyance. ‘Not that kind of delivery. We are on financial business. I’ll show you.’
Ettie noticed how impatiently the guard moved to meet Terence who had jumped down and was waiting at the back of the cart. A smile touched her lips as she saw the guard’s expression when the sacking over the chest was removed.
‘One in the eye for him,’ muttered Terence rejoining her and urging the pony through the slowly opening gates. ‘Thought we was common tradesmen. Soon wiped the smile off his face.’
Ettie could see that Terence was a little anxious under all his bluster. But then, she supposed, anyone might be, who came to make a transaction with The Old Lady.
Her instincts were proved right as they entered the courtyard. Here she could view many lantern windows, some with tiny domes and others that seemed so small even a head might not be able to poke out of them.
Terence drove towards a large bay where other vehicles w
ere parked.
‘Wait here. I’ll find an attendant to help us.’ He jumped down and tethered the animal with others that drank from long troughs. But it was more than half an hour before Terence returned, as Ettie kept watch on a clock set high above on one of the building’s towers. He was accompanied by an official with a scowl on his thin face and dressed in a black frock coat, stiff collar and necktie. Ettie supposed this must be one of the stuffed shirts that Terence had spoken of.
‘This is Miss O’Reilly,’ introduced Terence in a gruff tone as they stood looking up at her. ‘You’ll take instructions from this lady who is expected by your bank on a duty of some importance and urgency.’
Ettie felt herself go bright red under her bonnet. Her stomach clenched as the man scrutinized her appearance with suspicion.
Chapter 34
‘Don’t worry, this won’t take long,’ Terence assured her as they followed two burly porters hailed by the attendant, who carried the chest between them, along a winding corridor to a well-paved hall. ‘Once we have a receipt we’ll be on our way.’
Spread along one wall there were many kinds of wheels and cylinders creating a loud noise and warming the air intensely. Terence whispered to her that this must be the powerhouse of the bank where the gigantic engine serviced the complete works.
The stairs they climbed next were steep. Finally, the porters turned a sharp left and one of them unlocked a pair of plain but very strong-looking doors. A quietness fell about them as they entered a large room with many divisions. There was no natural light – as Ettie had noticed from the road outside – not even a small lantern window. Spaced in these divisions were mahogany desks and bowed heads sitting behind them, the bank clerks writing or attending to the general public as they entered by another door.
Above them in a circular fashion was a high-vaulted saloon, with a cupola and lanterns and too many library shelves to count.
The two porters delivered the chest to one of the clerks and set it on the floor beside his desk. They said nothing, but left without a word as the clerk continued to write.
Ettie waited, noticing the restless shuffling of Terence’s booted feet. All around them were cautious whispered movements and the rattling of silver and gold pieces that were shovelled onto scales with miniature brass shovels.
It seemed an age before the clerk looked up and addressed them. ‘Yes?’ was all he said.
Ettie stepped forward. This man with a pair of spectacles like Sister Patrick’s, balanced on the end of his nose, had not even glanced at the chest.
‘Good morning, I am expected,’ she said in a quiet manner. ‘I’ve come to give the bank some of my employer’s money. It’s locked in this chest.’
‘You mean make a deposit?’ said the man curtly with a brief glance down.
‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘On whose authority?’
‘Mr Lucas Benjamin, who owns the tobacconist’s of Silver Street, Soho and who is away in Switzerland for a short while. This is my friend Terence who helped me transport it here.’
‘Pass Book,’ said the clerk, ignoring Terence.
‘What’s that?’ asked Ettie.
The clerk glared at her. ‘Every account is linked to a Pass Book and is used when making transactions.’
‘I haven’t got one, as it’s not my account,’ Ettie mumbled, her confidence fading. ‘I expect Mr Benjamin has it.’
‘Then Mr Benjamin must present it.’
‘I told you, he’s in Switzerland.’
‘Without account identification, I cannot help.’ The clerk looked back to his writing. ‘Take your – chest – and please make way for the other customers.’
Ettie felt the humiliation burn in her cheeks. She was certain she wouldn’t be treated with such disdain if she was one of their wealthy customers. It wasn’t even as if she was trying to get money out. She was attempting to put it in. Suddenly a pair of hands gripped her shoulders.
‘Ettie love,’ said Terence, as he moved her to one side, ‘go and take a seat over there. See, where them people are sitting, waiting. I’ll have a word with this young whippersnapper.’
Ettie glanced back at the clerk. He was scribbling furiously and rudely ignored them, as though they were nothing but time-wasters.
Terence gave her a little push towards what appeared to be the waiting area. ‘Leave it to Terence.’
Ettie reluctantly obeyed, crossing the room to settle herself on a chair that looked very uncomfortable with a hard seat and back, but she supposed the bank did not want people to stay for very long. At least, that was what the clerk had inferred by his rude manner. And what could Terence do that she couldn’t? Although he meant well, he had no connection with Lucas.
Sighing to herself, Ettie decided to take off her bonnet. The big room was stuffy; hot air she guessed, was generated from the discreet conversations held between the clerks and their wealthy looking customers. Placing her bonnet in her lap, she lifted her fingers to nervously touch the coppery coil of hair at the back of her hot neck. Her large brown eyes, so close to tears a moment ago, were now filled by a flicker of anger. On behalf of Lucas they had brought a great deal of money to be stored at the bank. This famous bank did not deserve its noble reputation if it treated the public in such a dismissive way.
What would she do if they refused to take Lucas’s money? She could not possibly write back to Lucas and tell him she had failed to do such a simple thing. And yet, without this Pass Book, her mission seemed impossible.
Just then, Ettie saw Terence making a sign with his hands as if to argue with the clerk. Her heart raced and thudded. What if Terence got them thrown out? The clerk who was now very red-faced, had removed his spectacles and stood up.
Terence made the gesture again. The clerk hurried from his desk and almost ran over to another clerk. The second clerk looked just as agitated, and jumped to his feet.
In the confusion another man strode over. He was tall, slightly stooped and lean as a rake, wearing trousers with a faint grey pin-stripe and a sombre black jacket. After a lengthy discussion with Terence he sped across the floor and disappeared out of sight.
Ettie feared that her suspicions about being ejected from The Old Lady might prove true. Had the man gone to call the porters?
She looked anxiously back at Terence, who was giving the evil eye to the two clerks. It was rarely that he became annoyed but, on this occasion, there was no doubt of his intention to engage in a fight as he squared his shoulders and glowered in anger.
Chapter 35
‘Good day, Miss O’Reilly, I am the under-manager,’ said the man with the striped trousers, who approached after rejoining Terence. The under-manager seemed of middle age with sucked-in cheeks and a severe side parting to his hair that Ettie thought made him definitely in the category of a stuffed shirt. ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he began. ‘The clerk did not realize …’
‘Your clerk needs a lesson in civility,’ interrupted Terence, sharply. ‘Now, forget giving us all the frills and fancies! Can we please get on with the job, so me and Miss Reilly can return to our businesses where we make the money to keep your great institution going?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ the under-manager agreed in a humbled tone. ‘I shall have the credit made immediately. Would you care to wait in my private office?’
‘No thank you,’ said Terence, sniffing haughtily. ‘We’ll sit right here and watch all your goings-on.’
‘As you wish,’ said the man and turning to Ettie, he made a little bow. ‘My apologies again, Miss O’Reilly. Er, the chest I presume is locked?’
Ettie searched in her purse and drew out the key.
‘Thank you. We shall not keep you waiting.’
Ettie was open-mouthed as Terence sat beside her, puffing out his breath causing curious glances to be cast, both at the departing figure and the cross-looking butcher.
‘Terence, what happened?’ Ettie whispered.
‘Told ‘em a few home tru
ths about their service, that’s what,’ growled Terence. ‘Said they was missing out on well over three hundred pounds and if they checked their records, they would find a letter from Lucas Benjamin, a client of their bank and British citizen abroad in Switzerland, who had notified them by letter well in advance of our visit. And, I says, that if that letter wasn’t turned up, I would take my complaint to the under-manager’s manager and then his manager.’ Terence took a moment to catch his breath. ‘So, the under-manager scuttled off to the manager’s office and returned shame-faced. I ask you, what a palaver!’
‘But the missing Pass Book!’
‘They are making out a temporary one. You will be asked to sign it as your employer’s courier.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘The Pass Book is just a glorified diary of today's transaction. Your tobacconist will have to produce the original on his return.’
‘Perhaps it’s at home in a drawer.’
‘Perhaps it is, young beauty.’
‘Terence you saved the day!’
The butcher at last, gave a rueful smile. ‘Very nearly did that miserable clerk a serious injury.’
‘Terence, you wouldn’t!’
He chuckled. ‘At my age?’
Ettie put her hand on his sleeve. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
He gave a shy shrug. ‘Not at all dear girl. Done me good to tell ‘em what for. Made me feel like a young man again.’
Ettie gave a little giggle. ‘You certainly set the cat among the pigeons.’ She nodded to the two clerks who were working rapidly to count and weigh the contents of the chest.
Just as the under-manager had promised, the business was concluded promptly, a temporary Pass Book appeared and Ettie gave her signature. With more apologies they were escorted out by the two porters who carried the empty chest through the beating heart of the great building to the square outside.
