by Clive Mullis
Cornwallis ran his hand over his mouth just to check that saliva hadn’t leaked out and found to his relief that it hadn’t. ‘It’s very nice,’ he croaked eventually.
The assistant huffed. ‘Very nice? Is that all you can say? I would say she looks beautiful in it. Don’t you agree?’
Cornwallis nodded, not trusting his voice.
‘I think he likes it really,’ ventured the assistant to Rose. ‘Quiet type is he? Well, never mind, let’s try the next one.’
Rose and the assistant disappeared from view again and Cornwallis just stared at the empty space she left, trying to imprint all the details in his mind before it left him forever.
Eventually he remembered why they were there and he turned back to look out of the window again. The thug was still there, waiting. He paced up and down and then stopped for a moment to light a cigar, flicking the match carelessly away. A coach appeared a few seconds later and the thug seemed to relax, it drew up outside the yard and he climbed in. The driver snapped the reins and the coach sped off. Cornwallis had seen the livery and he smiled to himself; if Brownlow is involved, then he now had another clue.
‘Coffee, sir?’ asked an assistant, who had come up silently behind him. ‘Only your betrothed said that you might want a cup, seeing as she might be here a while. A complete going away ensemble will take some time to put together, you know, especially when you haven’t told her where you’re going.’
Betrothed? thought Cornwallis, she had told them we were getting married? He felt quite pleased. ‘Yes, thank you. Er, no, it’s a surprise.’ He looked at the girl and smiled as he thought he should. She handed the mug over and smiled back; she had pretty little features with a sort of luminescence in her skin, she then ran her fingers through her long dark hair to reveal slightly pointed ears. She’s an Elf, he thought, then that would explain the dress.
‘Half Elf,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘We get used to the look, you know, the sort of double take, the slight twitch of the eyebrows as if you can’t quite believe it. We don’t mind, my sister and me, but it does get boring when people go on about magic rings and things.’
‘I should think it would. Your sister?’ and he indicated the other assistant.
‘Yes, this place is all ours, you know, make everything ourselves.’
She hurried away and began to fuss after Rose again, who now wore fitted trousers with a loose blouse; he supposed she didn’t like it as she hadn’t asked his opinion. More garments came off the rails and the process of trying on and parading continued; he felt he was beginning to get the hang of this now and he looked forward to seeing what came out of the changing room next.
She looked good, no, better than good, in everything, but nothing could compare to that first dress she wore. They huddled around the lingerie bits now and even though he hoped, his hopes didn’t materialise. He heard the giggling and could only imagine what they were talking about. There weren’t many elves in Gornstock and those he had met tended to be aloof; these two were like a breath of fresh air, and he supposed it had to do with the half that wasn’t elf.
He checked his pocket watch. It was a shame but they had been there long enough, and had seen enough. Rose appeared to be enjoying herself, but work pressed. He mined the indication that they should go and Rose quickly got the message. She made her excuses to the two girls and went to change back into her normal clothes.
One of the girls came over to Cornwallis and stood beside him. ‘His name is Maxwell, by the way.’
Cornwallis was startled. ‘Maxwell?’
‘Yes, the man you were staring at.’ She indicated her ears. ‘We have very good hearing, and we notice things like the investigators licence that fell out of your “betrothed’s” pocket. The driver of the coach called him Mr Maxwell.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t know where to look. ‘Thank you. Er, sorry. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, gives us something to do, and anyway, it’s nice to fit someone like her. You should see some of the women who come in here; they want us to perform miracles, but it would take more than a miracle to get them to look anywhere near how they want to look.’ She grinned mischievously, ‘Unlike your “betrothed.”’
Cornwallis grinned back, they had been rumbled, and he felt that he should pay for some of the time they’d spent with Rose. He pulled out his notebook and wrote down a figure; the girl looked at it and nodded. He scribbled some more and then ripped the page out and handed it over.
‘Oh well, it was fun while it lasted,’ groaned Rose, once they were outside. ‘I thought I was doing ever so well too.’
‘You were, and I saw what I wanted. It doesn’t matter that they found out; Elves appreciate secrets and they said they won’t say anything, so all in all, a successful start to the morning’s work. Out of interest, what were you all giggling about?’
‘Girls union I’m afraid. If I told you, I would have to kill you; but you wouldn’t want to know anyway.’
Cornwallis thought that actually he rather did want to know. He suspected that it had been rude and suggestive and that it had involved him, which was a good enough reason, considering his thoughts were rude and suggestive and involved her. However, he didn’t push the point but just replied with a smile.
As they crossed the road, he described what he’d seen from the window while she tried on the clothes and they both came to the conclusion that they might be seeing rather a lot of Mr Maxwell in the coming days.
Rose pushed the gate open and they walked through into the yard; there were a few coils of rope and a trough for the horses, but very little else. The stables were over to the right and the sheds to the left. The route to the offices took them past the sheds with a half open door. As they approached, Cornwallis looked in, and saw to his amazement a partly dismembered coach. He nudged Rose and indicated that she should look too; he saw a Truly and Hope sling-back, probably the one that tried to run him down last night.
They stopped and peered closer; there didn’t appear to be anyone about, so they quickly went inside. The coach was in the process of being stripped down, panel by panel, and there were a number of large crates close by, some of which were already full.
‘I think we’ve hit the jackpot,’ ventured Cornwallis. ‘Let’s see if Brownlow can get himself out of this.’
‘Oi! What’re you doing?’ A lad came into the shed obviously not expecting someone to be there. ‘Sorry, but customers ain’t allowed in the sheds, could be bad for yer ‘elf.’
‘My elf?’ queried Cornwallis. ‘She isn’t an elf, she’s a girl.’
‘I sees that mister, hur hur. But I’s mean yer ‘elf,’ replied the spotty youth.
His overalls were covered in grease and Cornwallis thought that if they had to grab hold of him he would just spit out of their hands like a bar of soap.
‘I think he means health,’ suggested Rose, smiling.
‘Yeah, ‘course I do, that’s what I said, ‘elf. You taking the piss? We got sum o’them others over t’road, youse know. Keep’s well clear o’them, I can tell you. They’s keep going off to the woods to do secret fings and such; I could tells youse sum stories, I could.’
Cornwallis shook his head, trying to understand the yoof… he shook his head again, youth, was nigh on impossible nowadays; they had a language all to themselves. He just hoped it wasn’t catching.
‘What sort of stories?’ asked Rose, biting her lip to stop herself laughing. ‘I’m intrigued.’
‘Well, I don’ts know if I’s should say really, not fer girls, if youse unnerstands me.’ He winked at Cornwallis. ‘I reckons he’s got a good idea what I mean’s.’
‘No, I don’t,’ replied Cornwallis in all seriousness.
The youth’s eyes widened. ‘You must do mister. You know’s, they dance around in the nuddy and all that, do sum magic stuff and the next fing you see is that they ‘ave some bloke with ‘em,’ he mined something in the trouser region. ‘They’s gets up to all sorts of fings down
there, they do.’
‘You’ve seen this?’
‘Well, not me. But a mate’s mate o’mine ‘as, an ‘e only just got out alive.’
Rose didn’t have to bite her lip now to stop herself laughing; the youth’s rantings were so far off the scale of reason that any humour had disappeared into the ether, she was aghast. She knew why elves went to the woodlands; they went for peace and tranquillity, to get away from the noise and the hubbub of the city for a few short hours. They were part of nature. ‘I suppose your mate has told you that dwarfs eat babies, and that fairies steal your valuables as well, eh?’
‘Er, no, don’t be daft,’ he said affronted. ‘Me dad told me that.’
Rose knew she would be hitting her head against the wall trying to get this lad to see reason, she only hoped that he would one day come to realise just how stupid he sounded. ‘Well, thank you for your advice and your concern for our health. I think we will leave you now to get on with your work.’
‘Yeah, right, got to get this fing stripped by this afternoon.’
They left the shed and walked over to the office.
‘You sure that’s the one?’ asked Rose.
‘Oh yes,’ answered Cornwallis, rubbing his hands with anticipation. ‘Now, let’s see what Brownlow has to say on the subject.’
Rose nodded her thanks as Cornwallis opened the door for her; she took a half jump in and then headed to her left across the lobby and in through another door into the empty reception area. With a quick look at Cornwallis, she pushed open the wicker gate and went through. Brownlow’s office was at the back and the door was ajar. From inside they heard a man sobbing, quietly, but with a degree of desperation and despair. Rose and Cornwallis exchanged a look and then he flung the door wide open.
Brownlow sat at his desk leaning forward with his head buried in his arms; the sobbing sounded quite pitiful in its way, but Cornwallis’ recent experience with the coach in the shed had taken away any sympathy he might have had. Brownlow looked up through red-rimmed eyes, took one look at Rose and reburied his head.
‘Go away, I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he whimpered.
Cornwallis noticed he sobbed onto a small picture, so he reached forward and went to pull it away. Brownlow reacted with hostility and smacked down hard on Cornwallis’ hand.
‘Don’t touch that,’ he screamed.
Cornwallis jumped back and rubbed his hand. ‘Bit tetchy, aren’t we? Has that got something to do with being implicated in murder, per chance, Mr Brownlow?’
Brownlow howled. ‘What do you mean? Murder? I haven’t done anything like that.’
‘Gods, I can’t put up with this shit much longer,’ groaned Cornwallis to Rose. ‘Doesn’t he realise we might be able to help him?’
‘Mr Brownlow,’ tried Rose more gently. ‘What’s happened to make you like this? Mr Cornwallis and I need to ask you some questions, and I think by the way you are going on, you might have some answers.’ She went around to the other side of the desk and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on now, take a deep breath and tell us what’s happened.’ Brownlow’s sobs began to lessen and he leant into Rose.
‘Hey, steady,’ yelled Cornwallis.
Rose hushed Cornwallis with a finger to her lips. ‘There, there, Mr Brownlow. Just tell us what’s happened.’
Brownlow began to get some control back and reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief, he blew his nose and wiped his eyes before shoving it back. ‘They said they are going to sell my family if I don’t do what they want. They’ll pack them up and send them out east, and then sell them to the highest bidder. I have to do as they say or they’ll end up as slaves.’
‘Who are they, Brownlow?’ asked Cornwallis.
Brownlow looked up at Cornwallis. ‘The finance people,’ he wailed.
‘Finance people?’ he murmured to Rose, with a look of confusion.
Rose shrugged her shoulders. ‘We don’t understand, Mr Brownlow, you had better explain.’
Brownlow struggled to get hold of himself again; he sighed and then shivered. ‘The bank sold my loan to a finance company when I couldn’t keep up with the payments,’ he explained. ‘Now they are telling me I should help them out with some favours in lieu of the instalments. I just wanted to keep my business afloat, and now all this.’
‘What sort of favours?’ asked Cornwallis, as if he didn’t know.
‘I had to use one of my coaches the other night to pick someone up, and then I have to use my yard to dismantle another coach.’
‘Do you mean Greenwalsh Avenue?’
Brownlow nodded. ‘Yes, I had to take two men there and pick up a third; then I had to take the two of them back again later. They put some sticky paper on the side of my coach so it didn’t look like one of mine. They say they have a few more little jobs for me, but they haven’t said what. It’s all last minute stuff.’
Cornwallis nodded; they were getting somewhere now. ‘And where did you take the third man you picked up?’
‘The docks, an old warehouse that used to belong to the Great East Company.’
Cornwallis wanted to jump in the air and whoop; they had found where Goup went. Instead, he kept his face neutral. ‘The coach you’re dismantling in the yard, how did that get here?’
‘It came during the night; they have a key to the yard. They just told me to take it apart and pack it up. They’re going to pick it up later this afternoon.’
‘Are they now,’ cried Cornwallis. He reckoned a few pieces of the jigsaw were now in place, the corners and most of the edges. ‘What time?’
‘About four they said.’
‘And what is the name of the finance company?’ asked Rose.
Brownlow turned his head to look at her. ‘I’ve told you everything, haven’t I? Oh Gods, what’s going to happen? My wife, my girls!’ He began to panic and leapt out of the chair.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Brownlow,’ replied Rose, clinging onto him and calming him down. ‘We can make sure they’re safe.’ She mimed a "can we do that?" to Cornwallis, and he nodded. ‘Now, the name of the finance company, please.’
Brownlow settled back down; he began to sob a little, but not as bad as before. ‘The Gornstock Trust and Holdings,’ he said in the end.
‘The man I saw leaving here an hour ago, Maxwell, is he from the company?’ asked Cornwallis.
‘Maxwell? Is that his name? I never knew it; he’s just the man who tells me what to do. You said something about murder earlier?’
‘Two people have been killed, Brownlow, and not very nicely. I suspect that won’t be the end of it, either.’
Brownlow stared in open-mouthed horror, and then began to wail.
Cornwallis grabbed a piece of paper off his desk and hastily scrawled a doodle, and then ripping it in half, handed one piece over to Brownlow. ‘Whoever has this half,’ and he held up his bit of paper, ‘you are to go with, as you’ll know they will have come from me. Do you understand?’
Brownlow nodded and then wailed again.
*
Frankie was not in the best of moods as he waited for Sergeant MacGillicudy. He’d just run the gauntlet of Sergeant Grinde and still seethed at the way the odious sergeant kept him waiting. The thoughts that were currently going through his mind were evil, immoral, and definitely illegal; they would probably get him a five to ten stretch, but hey, the satisfaction.
He looked up at Grinde and aimed an imaginary crossbow when a tap on the shoulder distracted him. ‘Watch it, you’ll spoil my aim.’
MacGillicudy chuckled. ‘You’ll have to go to the back of the queue, Frankie; you do for him and hundreds will want to do for you for getting in first. Popular man is our Sergeant Grinde.’
‘Yeah, well; one day.’
A rookie feeler watched him with big wide eyes of astonishment; Frankie noticed and then lowered his crossbow to aim right at him. ‘Yer sandwiches or yer life, sonny boy, what’s it to be?’
The feeler wasn’t s
ure whether he should grin or run, so he did both, darting to the other side of the room in order to find something to do.
‘Don’t do that to the sprogs, Frankie, their mums won’t like it.’
Frankie grinned at MacGillicudy. ‘You’re getting soft, Jethro; you used to be first in the queue when it came to initiating the youngsters.’
‘Times change, Frankie, we have to be correct nowadays.’ His mind strayed wistfully to days gone past when he had got hosed down in the middle of winter and roped to the A frame, only to have the canteen slops tipped down his trousers. ‘No, those days have long gone.’
‘Ain’t they just,’ agreed Frankie. ‘Jethro,’ he said, changing the subject and becoming serious, ‘I need you to check the crime reports from last night. I’m looking for a stolen coach, so it could even be in the last couple o’ days.’
‘I can have a look, why?’
‘Someone tried to run Jack down last night, and very nearly succeeded.’
‘Last night? I was with him last night.’
‘I know. It happened just after he left you as he walked down Broad Street. A Truly and Hope sling-back, customised. Blacked out windows, wide wheels, low-slung seat. He was lucky, just came away with a bruised shoulder.’
MacGillicudy gave a low whistle and shook his head. ‘Just as well he didn’t have Rose with him then.’
‘Rose? What’s she got to do with the price of carrots?’
MacGillicudy gave a thin smile. ‘Jack planned to take her out last night, but his father got in the way. Booked the restaurant and all he had.’
‘Did he now? The randy little sod.’
They walked over to the crime book with MacGillicudy detailing Cornwallis’ plans for last night. They were gossiping like two old women over the garden fence and they received one or two strange looks from the feelers hanging about. Frankie seemed far more interested in Cornwallis’ plans than looking for a stolen coach and only reluctantly dragged his attention back to the job in hand. MacGillicudy flicked open the book and turned a few pages to get to last night when a booming voice bellowed down from above.
