Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  ‘The mistress seems very happy tonight, Mr Radstock; very pleased with you, I think.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Fitchley; one must do one’s best you know.’ He put the cup down and counted out the money before handing it over.

  She smiled and put the money into her pocket. ‘She’s not always happy with the gentleman, you know; you must be very precious to her. And how has business been going, if I may ask?’

  ‘Good and bad, Mrs Fitchley. I seem to recall telling you that there are a few greedy people around the House, well I understand now that someone got killed because of it.’

  Mrs Fitchley’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my, how awful; what happened?’

  ‘Well, it would seem a cleaner got killed when she got in the way of a burglar. It happened up at Greenwalsh Avenue the other day; at an accountant’s.’

  ‘The poor woman, what is this city coming to?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Fitchley; it’s not something that should concern you.’

  ‘No, no. I’m sure you’re right,’ she replied, pouring the tea. ‘It’s just that people have no respect nowadays, always out for something and they don’t care when someone gets in their way.’

  ‘Exactly, Mrs Fitchley, my opinion precisely,’ answered Radstock. ‘We are getting too soft, we should have more discipline, let them feel the whip end occasionally.’

  Mrs Fitchley smiled. ‘I’m sure the mistress would appreciate your sentiments, Mr Radstock.’

  Radstock just realised what he had said and coughed to cover his embarrassment. He finished his tea and got up to leave, thanking Mrs Fitchley warmly and asking her to thank the mistress for him. He shortly found himself back out on The Crescent and grinned inanely, it had been a wonderful night and to make things even better, no one was around to see him make his way home.

  CHAPTER 6

  Cornwallis woke up and stared at the ceiling, hoping against hope that last night didn’t happen. He moved his arm and winced as the shoulder complained, yep, it certainly happened.

  Last night he’d run as fast as he could to the restaurant where his father had taken Rose; when he got there and enquired, he found that they had left there some while before. Cornwallis didn’t know where to look next. He panicked for a moment but then reason took hold, he decided to go to the Stoat and see if they were there. He ran again through the streets, but two sprints in short succession might not be a good idea for someone whose general idea of exercise was to walk slowly to the pub. He puffed his way towards the Stoat with his chest heaving and his shoulder screaming. When he got there, he had to take a few minutes rest to get his breath back, just around the corner so that nobody could see him. When he recovered enough, he walked around nonchalantly, as if he’d just arrived for a pint, but he couldn’t see any sign of either his father or of Rose. Eddie was still hard at work, so Cornwallis asked him whether Rose had returned.

  ‘Oh yes, came back an hour ago with your father, right fine style apparently. Dropped her off in the coach out back, then they had a little nightcap and then Rose went off to her room.’

  ‘She still there?’ asked Cornwallis, relieved. ‘Nothing untoward happened to her?’

  Eddie laughed. ‘Jack, you’re talking about your father there.’

  ‘I know, I know. I just got a little worried, that’s all; could you go and ask if she’s still all right?’

  ‘What’s going on, Jack? This is not like you,’ responded Eddie, a little concerned. ‘Has it got anything to do with working with you?’ he added, suspiciously.

  Cornwallis laughed. ‘Come on, Eddie, it’s not as if I would get her to do anything even remotely risky. No, she didn’t say if she would be back tomorrow, you know, first day, new job. She might have changed her mind, that’s all.’

  Eddie shook his head and grinned. ‘I don’t know, Jack; what are you coming to, eh? I’ll just send one of the girls up to ask her, if that will make you rest easier.’

  He did, and he also poured him a glass of Glockcombers Special Reserve, whisky distilled by the dwarfs down in the mine, one hundred and sixty percent proof and it had a kick worse than a mule with toothache. Eddie gave it on the house, so Cornwallis downed it in one.

  ‘Hey, steady, Jack. You don’t want steam coming out of your ears again.’

  Cornwallis felt it hit the mark and he gasped, then his eyes began to bulge as the heat radiated quickly through his veins, cooking him from the inside out. His mouth opened silently in a mute display of pleading, and then the alcohol hit his brain like a sledgehammer. A volcano erupted behind his eyes, threatening to take the top of his head clean off, with the molten larva dribbling down his face, chest and towards his feet. He sighed as the feeling subsided, leaving behind a warm glow of exquisite pain; strangely, his shoulder had stopped hurting now.

  Eddie screwed the top back on the bottle. ‘I reckon one’s enough for you.’

  Cornwallis still couldn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded in agreement, another one might just finish him off at the moment.

  After a few minutes, Cornwallis couldn’t decide whether he felt better, or worse, but at least he’d found his voice again. ‘How do they make it, Eddie? And how come the glass doesn’t melt?’

  ‘Beats me, I just sells it. Those little buggers can drink it like water but it don’t affect them ‘til the second bottle.’

  The girl came back from her errand with a wide grin on her face. She looked at Eddie first, and then flicked her eyes to Cornwallis. ‘She says, and I don’t think she was too happy about me waking her up, that of course she’s bloody all right and if he’s going to be coming around here to check that I’m all right then he’ll find out that he won’t be all right because I’ll make sure that he isn’t all right. All right? And tell him I’ll see him in the bloody morning if that’s all right. Er, that was her talking and not me, if you understand.’

  ‘That sounds like Rose,’ observed Eddie, grinning.

  Cornwallis breathed a sigh of relief, yep, that certainly sounded like Rose talking, he could rest easily now. ‘Thanks for that,’ he said a little sheepishly. ‘Hope she won’t give you any grief in the morning. I’ll go back now, got a lot to sort out.’

  He’d tried Frankie’s place on the way back too, but he knew he planned to be somewhere else, so it wasn’t a surprise when he didn’t get an answer. He’d just have to wait and be patient.

  He climbed out of bed and looked at the bruising on the shoulder in the mirror, a delightful purple and orange colour with just a hint of yellow. It felt stiff, but he could still move it. He dressed slowly and then went downstairs to the office, hoping that Frankie had already arrived. The peace and quiet indicated that Frankie had not yet turned up. He had had no idea where to look for Frankie last night; he just clung to the hope that if anything had happened he could at least look after himself. He fired up the embers in the stove and put the coffee on ready for when Rose and Frankie arrived, and then sat down, waiting for footsteps on the stairs.

  It felt uncomfortable knowing that out there, someone wanted him dead. Just two days into the investigation and things were starting to happen. It meant that he had got close to someone, closer than he realised. Now who? The coach had probably been stolen, by the sound of the description; nobody in their right mind would use their own to run someone down like that, but if they could find it, there might still be a clue. He rubbed his hand over his chin, which reminded him that he hadn’t shaved; it could wait, he decided, there were more important things to do. The names he had to play with were Goup, Radstock and Freddie the Weasel; he supposed he could add Eliza Knutt to the list, but she and Freddie were dead. Goup had disappeared, so that just left Radstock, and of course, Samuel Snodgrass, who had conveniently been in the cafe opposite Goup; so possibly even drugs are involved too. Who was “K” who had dropped the handkerchief? Another name was Brownlow, and both Rose and Frankie had thought him nervous. Anyone else? He wracked his brain, but couldn’t come up with anything more, apart fro
m the attempted murder last night.

  At last, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and he stiffened slightly. Relax, he told himself, nobody would come here to murder him. The handle twisted and the door slowly opened and in came Rose, looking as if she could spit feathers.

  ‘What on twearth were you playing at last night?’ She stormed over to him and leant forward, bracing her hands on the desk. ‘What did you think was going to happen, eh? I was with your father you twonk, we had dinner… ’

  ‘Rose,’ he said quietly, trying to interrupt.

  ‘…and then he took me around the west end and we watched some of the street entertainment. Then he took me home. Nothing…’

  ‘Rose,’ he tried again.

  ‘…did, or was, going to happen. What are you, some sort of stalker?’

  ‘Have you finished now?’

  ‘Finished? I’ve hardly started!’

  ‘Rose, last night someone tried to kill me.’

  ‘Turning up in the dead of night and waking me up… What did you just say?’ she asked, stopping mid flow.

  ‘I said, Rose, last night someone tried to kill me. I was scared that someone had gone after you too, but I didn’t want Eddie worried.’

  She stared at him, horrified. ‘When? How? Are you all right? What about Frankie?’

  ‘Look, sit down and I’ll get you a coffee.’

  She slumped down heavily just as he got up and went over to the stove; he poured two mugs and brought them back over while she watched his every step. He gave a wry grin, slipped his arm out of his jacket and shirt, and showed her his shoulder. ‘A coach tried to run me down when I walked up Broad Street after coming out the Truncheon. Not a runaway, deliberate. I just managed to jump out of the way in time, but it caught me a glancing blow. Someone must have followed me, so I thought someone must have followed you and Frankie too. I haven’t heard from Frankie yet, and I don’t know where he is. He wasn’t home last night when I tried.’

  ‘Oh Gods,’ she exclaimed. ‘And I just let rip at you. I’m sorry, Jack.’

  He slipped his shirt and jacket back on and sat down. ‘Forget it, I should have thought. What’s important at the moment is that Frankie walks through that door.’ He pointed and stabbed his finger in emphasis.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes and stared at the door.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ asked Rose, after a while. She tried a soft smile and pointed to his shoulder.

  ‘Just aches a little,’ he replied, with a twitch of his mouth. ‘But I’ll live.’

  The minutes ticked by in more silence; it wasn’t that they were awkward with each other; they were just both getting increasingly worried. Cornwallis knew that Frankie would normally be in by now and Rose picked up on his anxiety. She wanted to ask him more about the attempt on his life, but she felt that he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to answer properly. He began to tap his finger on the desk, a sure sign of agitation; then he stopped suddenly and listened intently. There were footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘Morning all,’ cried Frankie, as he breezed into the office, throwing the door wide and letting it crash against the wall. He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Blimey, look at you two, somebody died?’

  ‘Very nearly, Frankie, very nearly,’ replied Cornwallis with a sigh of relief. ‘And I thought you might have as well.’

  ‘What? What the hell are you on about? Rose, what you been doing to him?’

  ‘I’ll let him explain,’ she said, getting up and walking over to him, ‘but I’m glad you’re here.’ She planted a kiss on his cheek and patted his arm.

  ‘I don’t know what it is you’re up to, but carry on if you’re going to do that again.’ He touched his cheek, which still had a mild sensation of moist warmth from Rose.

  ‘Right, we can all breathe easier now,’ said Cornwallis, clapping his hands. ‘Frankie, you can fill the coffee mugs, and then we have a lot to talk about.’

  ‘Yeah, right, okay,’ replied Frankie, scratching his head in confusion.

  It didn’t take long to bring Frankie up to speed with the events of last night. He was as shocked as Rose, and no, unless you counted exhaustion, there hadn’t been an attempt on his life either. The coach sounded interesting though, not the average runabout, that’s for sure. A few enquiries were bound to come up with something. A Truly and Hope sling-back was a classic anyway, and customised, well, not many of them about.

  Cornwallis decided to let Frankie search for the coach, as he seemed to be interested in that sort of thing anyway, but first he could inform MacGillicudy of the attempt on his life before hunting for the coach, and besides, perhaps the feelers had already been notified of a stolen vehicle.

  Which meant that Cornwallis could spend the day in the company of Rose, and it would give him the opportunity to play on his shoulder, and his near death experience, to elicit some more sympathy. Together they would go and see Brownlow again and see what would happen when they squeezed him a little. They agreed that from now on, all of them would keep in regular contact, no off-the-cuff inquiries were to be made, each must know where and what the others were doing. After every task, return to the office and leave a note with the time, findings, and next line of enquiry. It might be a little inconvenient at times, but if a little accident did occur, then at least there would be a starting point for the others.

  Understandably, Cornwallis felt a degree of nervousness when he and Rose ventured out into the big wide world; he knew that one failed attempt, meant invariably that a second could be waiting around the corner. He made sure that Rose stayed on the inside of the pavement, so if anything should happen, he could at least offer some protection. He was concerned with being followed, ordinarily not a problem, but walking with Rose, he soon found that she sort of stood out. The streets were busy with people and traffic but they stopped regularly and looked in windows trying to spot anyone looking suspicious.

  Rose went over her and Frankie’s interview with Brownlow again as they walked. Cornwallis contented himself with talking business rather than anything else, even though he desperately wanted to know what she and his father had talked about last night. He struggled to keep his mind fully on the job as they walked, his concentration kept wavering and he constantly reminded himself of the priorities.

  Cornwallis began to relax when they finally got to the quiet streets. It would be difficult for anyone to stay out of sight when there were only a few people around, and a few quick checks confirmed that indeed they were on their own. Brownlow’s was not too far now, just a couple more streets and they would be there.

  ‘Let’s wait around a bit first,’ suggested Cornwallis as the carriage yard loomed into sight. ‘See if anyone comes or goes.’

  ‘I may be new to this, Jack, but two people standing on the pavement staring at a yard is not exactly inconspicuous.’

  ‘True, which is why we are not going to do that. You are, however, going to be very interested in buying some clothes. I assume you’re happy to try on everything in the shop? Looks like they do a bespoke service too, so you can get measured for that as well; a good hour and a half I reckon. As your companion, I will be bored to death by it all and will feel the need to stare mindlessly out of the window.’ He grinned. ‘That’s how it goes, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not exactly, you have to feign interest and tell me how I look. And, if I’m trying on everything, there has to be a reason. The assistants will want to know where I’m going, what it’s for, and all that kind of stuff.’

  ‘I’m sure you can come up with something; you’re a girl, you’re used to this sort of thing.’

  Rose took a large intake of breath when they walked through the door; she had never seen so many racks of clothes. It seemed as if they catered for every style, taste, colour and occasion, but as they weren’t buying, she didn’t worry about looking at the prices. Cornwallis did though, just for curiosities sake, and he winced at the amount they were charging for just a little strip of cloth. He should have realised
as it said boutique at the front entrance and not ladies apparel; that in itself put a nought on the end of a dollar. He looked up and saw Rose getting stuck in; he smiled to himself as she rummaged through the rails, for all intents and purposes a serious shopper. The two pretty assistants were buzzing around her like flies on a fillet of steak.

  He cast his eyes out of the window and over to the carriage yard, where he could see a little movement, but it seemed to be just a couple of lads dipping in and out of the sheds. He heard an “Oooh,” from behind and he turned around, finding the two assistants grinning at him. He furrowed his brow for a moment and then thought Rose must have said something, so he just grinned back inanely before continuing his observation. The chatter from the back of the shop increased, and so did the rummaging.

  The minutes passed, and then more minutes passed. Rose was good at this, he thought as he stared at the yard. He realised it had been quiet for quite a while, so turned his head briefly to look; one of the girls stood next to a rail, adjusting it, but Rose and the other girl were out of sight. When he turned his head back, he saw the gate of the yard opening and a heavy set man with a mean countenance walk out. He dressed smartly with an expensive suit, but Cornwallis saw through him immediately, he was a thug. You could dress a turd up as much as you like, but it was still a turd underneath. The man appeared to be waiting for something.

  A polite cough from behind disturbed him and he turned his head to see Rose standing there. He gawped; he just stood and gawped. He felt his chin hit the floor as he stared at her, the thug outside all but forgotten. The colour was purple and it was a dress, he knew that much, but he just didn’t know how it fitted like that. It seemed to be fluid, it seemed to mould itself to her; it seemed to show everything but nothing. Oh Gods, he thought, this isn’t fair.

  ‘Do you like it?’ asked Rose, twirling around. ‘The clingy bits move with you, but I can’t wear anything under as it shows the outline otherwise. I’m wondering if it’s too tight around here.’ She turned to present her back and indicated her bottom area. ‘What do you think?’