Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  They turned, and Cornwallis saw another man now in the room. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked, amazed.

  ‘He’s a sort of policeman from the other side,’ explained Isabella. ‘He’s harmless to us, but he’s going to help Greyson here.’

  ‘No he’s not,’ snorted Greyson. ‘I’m a member of the union. I told you, I have rights.’

  The celestial policeman slowly shook his head. ‘Not here, you don’t, my lad. You are now part of the deceased majority, and as such you have to leave the minority to muck up their lives as best they can.’

  Greyson looked panicked. This haunting lark had seemed a pleasant way to spend eternity, and now this ghost planned to whisk him off to wherever and whenever and whatever, if what his union man said was true.

  ‘Come on son, let’s go quietly and leave these good people to their mean existence.’ He pulled what looked like a handcuff attached to a long piece of string from out of his pocket when Greyson refused to go. ‘Oh well, I tried.’

  The cuff snapped on. The policeman threw the other end into the air which then snapped tight, and then Greyson was suddenly yanked away, the protest in his throat fading away to silence as his image disappeared into the ether.

  The celestial policeman nodded his thanks to Isabella before looking at the rest of them. ‘Be seeing you, then,’ he said by way of parting, and giving a brief salute, he too then faded away.

  The room went silent, and it took a good few moments before anyone found enough effort to speak.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Fluffy, breaking the tension. ‘No fireworks, no sparks, no screaming?’

  ‘No,’ answered Isabella. ‘It’s all very subdued.’

  ‘Well, I’m impressed,’ said Frankie admiringly.

  ‘So am I,’ agreed MacGillicudy. ‘I just wish I could do that to a good few people I know.’

  ‘I suppose we’d better break up this little gathering of ours and tell the landlord he can have his room back,’ said Cornwallis. He cast his eyes over to Isabella and hoped that she would contradict him. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t.

  ‘Yes, I agree, it’s been quite a tiring time all in all.’

  Frankie and MacGillicudy finished the beers they were holding and put them down in the by now quite full tray of empties. Isabella sorted herself out and looked over at Cornwallis, smiling sadly. He smiled ruefully back and sighed, the night for him had gone entirely against plan — and no underwear! She waited for a moment as the others left the room, holding Cornwallis back with a gentle tug on his arm. She blessed him with that wicked smile of hers, and then lowered her eyes. ‘Sorry, Jack, but I think it might be for the best. We would only get embarrassed next time I had to pay the rent.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded a bit of embarrassment,’ he responded, a little hope rising. ‘All we have to do is to turn around and then lock the door.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, we’ll leave it as it is. Anyway, I saw how you looked at Rose when she came in, and however much fun it would have been, I wouldn’t want to be second best. I can’t compete with that.’

  Cornwallis wanted to deny it, but he hesitated, and then she knew she was right.

  ‘However, you can let me hold on to your arm as we walk back home.’

  He smiled wryly and kissed her on the cheek, then arm in arm they headed down the stairs.

  Isabella had a brief word with Mr Jacobs the landlord before they left and relief flooded his face, with the ghost gone, he had his pub back. He bit his lip as he hesitated to broach the subject of the drinks that had gone up to keep them refreshed.

  ‘Er, there were quite a few bottles consumed,’ he ventured at last.

  Cornwallis held up his hand and put his mind at rest. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Jacobs; we will pay for it all.’

  ‘Frankie, Rose, Jethro,’ yelled Cornwallis. They turned back from the front door. ‘You can settle up with Mr Jacobs for all you’ve been drinking, think of it as your contribution to the evening’s entertainment. Isabella and I will wait outside for you.’

  ‘Wha…?’ groaned Frankie.

  Cornwallis and Isabella brushed past them and stepped out into the late evening air. They shared a look and she patted him on the arm. They walked a few steps down the street and turned to wait for the others to come out, while the cat sat down and huffed. Even though it was late, there were still people about, carriages trundled by and they could hear the clip-clop of horses as folk made their way home, the only thing to interrupt the peace. In any other circumstances, it would have been romantic, but fate had intervened, and waggled its fingers at him derisively.

  A battered coach clattered to a halt just in front of them, an unfortunate occurrence, because the noise hid the footsteps that were coming up from behind.

  Cornwallis stared into the distance and pondered what might have been, when Isabella gave a scream of outrage. He turned to her, and found that a man had one arm around her waist and the other clamped around her mouth. From the corner of his eye, he noticed another man reaching towards him and he saw a glint of steel in his hand. Cornwallis whipped around and chopped down on to the hand holding the knife, then punched the man with all his force. He caught the attacker neatly on the nose and blood spurted out, but the hand that held the knife kept on coming. He managed to twist his body somehow in that fraction of a second, the point of the knife passing a hairsbreadth from his ribs. He snapped down on the hand carrying the knife again, and he twisted with all his strength. He heard the bones creak at first, and then a snap. All the time he could hear Isabella’s muffled screaming and he took a moment to look up. Someone flung the door of the coach open as the other man dragged her towards it, then hands reached out and grabbed her, pulling her unceremoniously inside. Cornwallis rent the air with a yell of fury.

  Frankie, Rose, and Jethro, came storming out of the pub, just in time to see the coach pulling away. Cornwallis screamed at them that someone had taken Isabella and they began to run after. Cornwallis had to stay put as he still had hold of his assailant who now writhed in his grip. A head appeared from out of the window of the coach, followed by an arm carrying something. He ignored the three pursuers and aimed a crossbow directly at Cornwallis. As the man triggered the catch, a bolt came searing through the air, and Cornwallis had snapped the assailants head up and turned him to face the coach, a microsecond later the bolt hit home, right into the assailant’s chest. The coach gathered speed, and with a crack of a whip, it disappeared around the corner into Trotters Field, with the three pursuers trailing in its wake.

  Cornwallis lay his assailant down, and he noticed that he looked a little like a sundial with the bolt sticking out of his chest. The man coughed and a trickle of blood seeped out from the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Why? Who ordered this?’ demanded Cornwallis, shaking him by the shoulders.

  The man grinned, he knew he hadn’t much time left and he didn’t seem to care. ‘You’ll never find her,’ he croaked. ‘She’ll be a willy warmer to some eastern fat boy before you know it.’ He coughed again and the trickle turned into a flood. He gasped and then grinned again. ‘Just think, your girl, on her back, and it will be your fault for sticking your nose in where it weren’t wanted.’ His breath became ragged and Cornwallis shook him again. ‘Strange though, why did you make her wear a dark wig?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They said she was blonde.’

  Cornwallis screwed up his face in puzzlement for a moment and then clarity entered his mind. He wasn’t sure how to react, but he knew what they’d done. ‘You got the wrong girl, you bastard, that’s why.’

  ‘Uh…? Oh no,’ and he died.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said a disappointed voice behind him.

  Cornwallis turned and vaguely recognised the man standing there. Then it came to him, he had only seen him fleetingly, but he had a good memory for faces. ‘You’re Magpie, aren’t you?’ he growled.

  Mr Magpie nodded. ‘A bit late with this one,’ and he tapped the body with h
is toe, ‘but it looks like it’s been sorted. No harm done, eh?’ he said lightly.

  Cornwallis breathed deeply and then stood up; his eyes narrowed in anger as he grabbed Mr Magpie by the throat. ‘No bloody harm done?’ he screamed into his face.

  Frankie and the others returned exhausted, they were all out of breath from the chase and they had only given up when the coach had disappeared from sight. ‘Who’s this then?’ he asked, pointing at Mr Magpie whose face now took on the colour of a blueberry with the constriction around his throat, ‘another one of them?’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘No, this little toe-rag is Magpie, my protector.’

  ‘Oh,’ sneered Frankie.

  ‘The bastards got away,’ explained Jethro. ‘I’ll get the Yard on to it straight away. Is he dead?’ he asked, pointing to the corpse.

  Cornwallis nodded. ‘Yes, and he wouldn’t tell me who sent him. He indicated that the plan is to sell her out east.’

  ‘Oh Gods, that’s awful,’ exclaimed Rose.

  Cornwallis looked at her and nodded. ‘That’s not all, Rose. I’m wondering what they will do to her now when they realise they’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry, but they were after you.’

  Rose’s eyes widened to resemble two big saucers. ‘Me?’ she gasped.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ confirmed Cornwallis. ‘He thought Isabella wore a wig.’

  MacGillicudy put the whistle to his mouth and gave three long blasts. The sound was piercing, the call to summon every feeler in the vicinity who should come running to give assistance.

  ‘You going to let him breathe?’ asked Frankie, pointing again at Magpie.

  Cornwallis still had hold of him around the throat, and when he looked, the purple colour hadn’t gone away. Magpie’s arms were weakening as he tried to pull Cornwallis’ hands away from his throat. ‘I shouldn’t, but I suppose I will.’ His gripped lessened, and Magpie’s colour began to return.

  As the constriction became lighter Magpie gasped with relief, and then he bent double, drawing in great deep breaths as soon as Cornwallis released his grip. ‘Wh… why did you do that?’ he gasped.

  ‘They’ve taken Isabella, you moron,’ informed Frankie, angrily.

  People began to take notice of the little group standing around a corpse and came over to look. Cornwallis gave then short shrift and growled at them, making them change their minds quickly and hurry away. Rose looked around for the cat.

  ‘Must have decided to bugger off when it all kicked off,’ concluded Frankie. ‘I’m a bit surprised, thought he had more in him than that.’

  MacGillicudy’s whistle had had its effect and feelers were hurrying from all directions. At least something was now going right, thought Cornwallis dejectedly.

  CHAPTER 15

  Fluffy grimly hung on to the coach, desperately trying to get a better grip before being added to the mess in the streets. He had his paws wrapped around the suspension arm and looked like a little furry trapeze artist as he swung from side to side. He’d noticed a little platform just at the back of the coach on the underside and he tried to ease his way towards it. A toolbox sat in there, but Fluffy decided that it wouldn’t be there for long. Just above him he could see a wooden support, so he unsheathed his claws, reached up, and dug them deep into the wood. He had a purchase now, and he swung towards the platform catching his foot claws on the border. Arm over arm he traversed the support, and then dived into the tool platform with a squeal of triumph. He kicked at the tool box and pushed it to the edge; he then got his claws underneath and flipped it out and over, he had space, and now he could breathe easier.

  When Isabella and Cornwallis were attacked the cat was ready to fight too, but when the man had grabbed hold of Isabella and dragged her off towards the coach he knew that she would disappear into the city, perhaps never to be found. She had said she wanted a companion and he had envisaged a life of pampering and luxury. If he didn’t find out where they were taking her, that dream would go the way of all the others — plus the fact that he quite liked helping the investigators.

  The coach slewed around a corner and came to an abrupt stop, the wheels screeching as the driver applied the handbrake. The horses were blown from their exertion and lathered in sweat. Fluffy took a peek and saw the driver jump down and fling open the door to the coach.

  ‘Keep hold of her,’ ordered the driver.

  ‘You try and keep hold of her; the bitch has nails like talons.’

  Fluffy saw the driver jump in and then the coach rocked wildly as the three men fought to keep hold of Isabella. A male voice yelled in pain followed by a cry of triumph from Isabella’s.

  ‘Get your hands off me you malicious evil bastard,’ cried Isabella, as she fought the attackers.

  ‘See what I mean,’ said one of the men who had been inside with her.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me there,’ she yelled indignantly.

  ‘Ow! Grab her hands; she’s got hold of me gonads!’

  Fluffy had a problem; did he go to Isabella’s help now, or wait for a better opportunity? It looked to him as if they were inside a yard with a stable block. He wouldn’t have a problem in getting away, but he doubted that it would be as easy for her. Fluffy knew he had to wait and see what they were going to do.

  He heard a thump, and then everything began to get quiet. The motion of the coach slowed until a little bit of peace descended. Fluffy heard the men breathing hard, and then a click as the door opened.

  ‘Let’s get her out now, then she’s gonna be her problem and not ours,’ said one of the men.

  The others obviously agreed, as shortly after there came a scraping noise, and then a grunt, and then they carried an unconscious Isabella out of the coach and across the yard to the back entrance of a house. Fluffy waited for a few seconds and then jumped down to follow.

  They’d left the back door open as they went through, but that didn’t matter, as they were obviously cat lovers in the house as the door had a flap built into it. Fluffy grinned and knew he had an escape route. He tentatively edged his way into the house and saw the men carrying Isabella go around the corner of the corridor and then into another room. He ran forward and watched as they kicked open a door and went through. Fluffy saw there were steps leading down and he waited, and then they took Isabella through yet another door, which unfortunately this time banged shut. Fluffy waited for a few seconds before padding down the steps to the bottom. He sat down and licked his paws.

  A crash startled the cat as something hit the wall. ‘Who do you call this, then?’ screamed a voice. Another crash came, followed by lots of tinkling noises. ‘I told you to get the girl he was with, not this one.’ Then a thwack, as something solid hit something squidgy.

  ‘Ow! That hurt!’

  ‘It’ll hurt a bloody sight more in a minute, can’t you do anything right?’

  ‘Gordon got killed; Cornwallis did it. This girl was with him. Ow! Don’t do that!’

  Fluffy grinned to himself.

  ‘You are all bloody useless; if we still had Maxwell here, he’d use your sodding heads as doorstops. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve managed to bugger it all up.’

  Another crash and something else disintegrated, quickly followed by another thwack and then a low groan. ‘Get out all of you; I now have another problem to sort out, thanks to you.’

  Fluffy dived up the stairs and skidded around the corner, just as the basement door flew open and the men inside rushed up, covering their heads from the missiles that followed after. The door below banged shut and the men at last slowed to a halt.

  ‘Could have been worse,’ observed one of the men after they got their breath back.

  *

  They had searched all night. MacGillicudy had got half the Yard looking as well, but they couldn’t find any sign of the coach, and even worse, no sign of Isabella. The trail had quickly gone cold. They had checked with Algernon and his band of watchers, but there had been no movement at any of the locations under
watch. Everything had drawn a blank. They had even checked the warehouses, and took a quick look at the brothel, but all appeared silent. As they trudged forlornly back to the office all three were in despair.

  Rose stoked up the fire and brewed a fresh cup of coffee. All of them tired out from searching and they needed to take a few minutes to think. They were getting nowhere running around the city like headless chickens, they had to stop, work it all out and come up with a plan; unfortunately, at the moment, nobody could come up with one.

  ‘If what that man said was true,’ reasoned Rose, as she set the mugs down on the table, ‘then at some point they are going to have to get her out of the city. If the plan is to sell her out east then they will need a ship.’

  Frankie nodded. ‘And that means the docks.’

  Cornwallis looked at the two of them through eyes full of remorse, he blamed himself for the situation and the guilt weighed heavy. ‘You’re just forgetting one thing, Rose, I don’t really want to point this out, but they weren’t after Isabella; they were after you. As soon as they realise they haven’t got you, what will they do?’

  If Cornwallis felt guilty, then Rose felt the guilt equally so. She had inadvertently escaped being kidnapped, and should therefore feel relieved. But she didn’t. She felt as if it was her fault that Isabella had ended up in the hands of these evil greedy people, and possibly faced a fate far worse than she would have done. ‘Thanks, Jack, it’s not as though this is easy for me. I know what should have happened; perhaps you’d have felt better if they had taken me instead.’

  ‘You’re being silly now, Rose. Of course I wouldn’t feel better, but if I hadn’t kept hold of that man who tried to kill me, then I could have stopped it.’

  ‘Or have been killed in the process.’

  Frankie tried to inject some semblance of reason into the proceedings, a novelty for him. ‘It don’t matter who did what or who didn’t do this, we can’t do nothing about it now, apart from trying our best to find Isabella. At the moment all I hear is you two competing to see who is feeling worse about it. I say forget guilt, ‘cause that ain’t gonna help anybody now. We’re sure it’s all tied up with Kintersbury, so I say, let’s go grab the bastard and squeeze him ‘til he squeaks.’