by Clive Mullis
‘Done it,’ announced MacGillicudy as he walked through Cornwallis’ door. ‘Told them straight, I did, and you should have seen the look on their faces. “Women,” I said, “we are going to have women feelers.”’
‘Well done, Jethro,’ replied Jocelyn Cornwallis, standing up and offering a congratulatory hand. ‘I did wonder if you would lose your nerve.’ At thirty four years old with dark brown shoulder-length hair, Cornwallis had sharp equine features. An annoyingly good looking man, he stood six feet tall and dressed in a smart black suit; even worse, as the only son of an earl, he happened to be richer than a rich person should ever be — and a member of the Gornstock Assembly to boot.
MacGillicudy smiled at Cornwallis. They’d become good friends over the last few months, despite Cornwallis’ job as a private investigator. ‘Lose my nerve? Come on, Jack, when did I last lose my nerve?’
Cornwallis raised an eyebrow and grinned back. ‘Three weeks ago, when you had toothache. Rose even went with you, but as soon as you got to the tooth-doctor’s door you turned and ran.’
MacGillicudy had the decency to look a little sheepish. ‘That weren’t work, so it don’t count. And anyway, Frankie tagged along as well, and went on for twenty minutes about how that particular tooth-doctor had spent nearly half an hour with his tweezers in some poor sod’s mouth, and then, he described how he broke three teeth before managing to find the right one. I’m giving you the shortened version as Frankie went into even greater detail, even using sound effects. You would have cut and run under that provocation.’
Cornwallis had to concede the point; Frankie had a sadistic edge when it came to someone else’s misfortune. ‘Come and sit down, I’ll get you a coffee. The children should be back soon, and if you’re good, I’ll let you play with them.’
The children were Frankie and Rose, the other two investigators at Cornwallis Investigations. Born in the slums, Frankie belied his hard as nails persona by being quite gooey underneath. Built like a brick outhouse with puffy ears and a broken nose, topped off with light cropped hair, he matched Cornwallis for height. Rose had long honey-coloured silken hair with two enormous blue eyes, at twenty-three years old and five foot nine tall, slim, she was every man’s dream. Men generally went weak at the knees as soon as they caught sight of her. Luckily, for Cornwallis, he could call her his girlfriend as well as work partner.
MacGillicudy slurped his coffee while he sat at the vacant secretary’s desk. Maud had gone away for the day, doing something with one of her clubs: re-enacting the days of the Morris Council in times gone past for her local fair — which should, if they re-enact it properly, be a bloody and brutal affair. ‘Do you think Rose will have changed her mind?’ he asked, a slightly worried cadence creeping into his voice.
‘She hasn’t said anything to me,’ replied Cornwallis, putting his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair. ‘But you know Rose, if she said she’ll do something, then you can guarantee she’ll do it.’
MacGillicudy nodded. ‘Just checking. Where did they go by the way?’
‘Some scumbag from the Brews is trying to con an old widow-woman out of her money down in the Kingsington area. Frankie and Rose are following him.’
‘I won’t rate his chances, then.’
‘Slim to none, I reckon, especially when Gerald gets to hear.’
Gerald, the King of the Brews, ruled his slum with an iron fist. A few years previously, whilst doing a spot of burglary, he fell into the Universal Collider, which messed with his atoms, so now he could choose not to be there, making it virtually impossible for him to get hurt: the Universal Collider being a device that allows people to look at what’s happening in other Universes, exploiting the rent in the fabric of time and space. He makes sure that his thieves are honest, and diddling little old ladies out of their money is not, as he terms it, legitimate.
MacGillicudy finished his coffee and then leant forward, resting his elbows on the desk. ‘I’ve got the old watch-houses nearly ready. As you know, Stackhouse Lane is already up and running and Pendon is nearly there too; the rest won’t be far behind. How the Assembly agreed to repair them all, I don’t know.’
‘The Assembly is still a bit nervous about crime at the moment, and I think they’ll agree to practically everything you put in front of them. Mind you, I’ve always thought that having just the Yard as a base for all police activity in the whole of the city a bit ludicrous, especially when there are all those old watch-houses sitting around doing nothing. The Yard will get to the point where it can’t cope any longer.’
‘We ain’t far off that now, but I must admit it will be good to clear the Yard of all those feelers and put them in the watch-houses. They can pound their beats from there. All the specialist departments, I’m going to keep in the Yard, but the daily stuff will be the responsibility of the sergeants in charge at their respective watch-houses.’
‘Even Pendon?’
‘Oh no, not there. We can’t have run-of-the-mill feelers in there for a good while yet. Mind, I’m going to have to put a sergeant and a couple of feelers in while it all happens. I just hope I pick the good ones.’
‘When’s the advert in the paper?’
‘Tonight, which means tomorrow is going to be a busy day.’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘I actually think Rose is looking forward to it. She said to me last night that she had a few ideas about how she wanted things to go.’
‘Hope so; just a shame we can’t get her into uniform, but then again, I doubt any work would get done by any of the feelers she’d work with.’
Cornwallis drummed his fingers on his desk while the two of them lapsed into silence. He pulled out his pocket-watch to check the time, then got up and went to look out of the window. Grey clouds filled up the sky, it had been a dull day so far and looked set to stay. He looked down into Grantby Street and watched as the carts and coaches rolled by, wincing as he saw the shoveller dodge the traffic to scoop up the horses leftovers to sell later on down at the market. Then he saw them, laughing, as they walked along the pavement. He turned from the window and went to the coffee pot. He poured four mugs and MacGillicudy smiled as he watched him. A few minutes later, there were footsteps on the stairs, and then the door flew open and in walked Rose and Frankie.
Cornwallis did as he always did when Rose walked into the room, he smiled in a boyish sort of way: the way boys smile when they know that they have the biggest conker in the playground, the way they smile when they know that they, and they alone, have the biggest bag of sweets, the way they smile when they’ve got the biggest cream cake ever and are just about to eat it. MacGillicudy couldn’t blame him, as he spent most of his nights upstairs in his flat with her — not to mention some of his days.
‘Job done,’ announced Frankie, as he walked over to pick up his mug. ‘I only tapped him a little, but bloody ‘ell, did he yell. Afternoon, Jethro.’
Rose followed and then leant over and gave Cornwallis a little kiss on the lips. ‘Gerald got to hear that we were there and sent a couple of his men around too,’ she said, turning and sitting on his lap while wrapping her arms around his neck. She then flashed a smile of greetings towards MacGillicudy, who felt a pleasant little shiver run down his spine.
‘Yeah,’ added Frankie, ‘there were a bit of a queue when we left. I reckon Gerald’s boys’ went in after us and had another little word. Well, we know they did, ‘cause we heard them as we walked off.’
‘Well done the pair of you.’ Cornwallis grinned as he squeezed Rose tighter. ‘Now,’ he said, looking up into her face. ‘Jethro is a bit worried that you might not help him; the advert is in the paper tonight and he’s getting a little concerned.’
‘Oh, Jethro,’ she replied, looking back over to him. She pulled a disappointed face but her eyes were glinting. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ she asked coyly.
‘Always, Rose, but you haven’t told me what you’re planning.’
She relaxed her face and smiled. ‘I’m not plan
ning on anything at the moment. I’m just going to do what you want and pick the dozen that seem the most likely.’
‘I’m quite willing to help,’ said Frankie, sitting down and slurping his coffee noisily.
‘Yes, and we know what sort of help that would be.’
Frankie grinned. ‘I would just give you my expert opinion,’ he said innocently.
‘Yes, that’s what I would be worried about,’ replied MacGillicudy with a frown. He turned his attention back to Rose and stood up. ‘So, first thing tomorrow morning, then; let’s just hope we get some good candidates.’
Rose smiled and nodded. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
MacGillicudy said his goodbyes and left. Tomorrow would see a new chapter in the history of Gornstock’s Police — the introduction of female feelers into the force.
CHAPTER 2
MacGillicudy arrived at Pendon Watch-House, now renamed Pendon Police Academy, first thing in the morning. Dawn had yet to break as he unlocked the back door, and then, for no apparent reason, he tiptoed through to the front. The building appeared quiet and peaceful with a smell of wet cement about the place. He sniffed a little in distaste but then found a lantern; he flicked a match to life, lit the wick, and then set it down on the long front desk. This was where newly-caught felons would make their first acquaintance with the process of the law. The cells were close by, down the corridor to his left where a flight of stairs led down to the place of confinement. Upstairs, a dormitory had been fashioned, where the new recruits would stay during their period of training, a secure unit where he hoped to keep as many feelers away as possible. He tried to imagine what he would have done if he were in their position: a whole floor full of females in an impregnable Police Watch-House. He shook his head, not anywhere near impregnable; a determined and resourceful feeler would be able to get in just about anywhere, and despite the uproar which greeted his announcement yesterday, he had no doubt that there were going to be quite a few who would try their luck in the wee small hours. He would have to think of something to keep them away.
Sergeant Diffin arrived next, followed shortly after by two senior feelers, picked because of their experience, their knowledge, and most importantly, their happily married state. Sergeant Diffin detailed the men to get some fires going in the grates of the offices and to get the kettle on the boil so that they could all have the first mug of tea of the day. The first problem of the day arose when it became apparent that there wasn’t any tea, or milk, or mugs, or in fact, a kettle.
MacGillicudy watched on as Sergeant Diffin reluctantly opened the petty cash box that he had brought with him and doled out some money, sending one of the feelers out to get the stuff required to get a brew on. In the meantime, the one remaining began to sort out the posters for the wall and to organise the interview room.
A half hour later, the tea problem rectified, MacGillicudy sat on a chair with a steaming mug in his hands. Sergeant Diffin sat on the desk, keeping an eye out through the open door to make sure the two feelers were getting on with things. Diffin, an old-school feeler like MacGillicudy, had a lived-in leathery face sporting a thin pencil moustache with salt and pepper hair, a tad taller than the commander, he had a habit of barking rather than speaking.
‘You still sure about this, Commander?’ yelled Diffin, even though MacGillicudy sat not three feet from him.
MacGillicudy waggled a finger in his ear to stop the ringing. ‘Yes, Toby, the force is going to have to change; we can’t be stuck in the bad old, dark old days, you know. Anyway, it’s too late now; we’ll have a line half way down the street in a couple of hours.’
‘You’re the commander, Commander,’ bellowed Diffin. ‘I’ll do what I can to get them in shape, but then it will be down to you.’
‘That's my lot in life, Toby. Yours, from now on, will be this place. Once you’ve done with the women, I intend that you will be in charge of training. No more taking them off the streets and chucking a uniform on them, then attaching them to a feeler to show them the ropes. This will be a proper Academy, and I want you to develop one month’s training for all new recruits before we let them loose on the public.’
Diffin’s head swivelled around like a top on a spring and a look of surprise and shock crept over his face. ‘Er… would you run that through me again, sir?’
MacGillicudy smiled; he knew that Diffin couldn’t do anything but accept his decision. ‘I think you got it the first time. Think of it as an opportunity, Toby. You get to train all the feelers coming into the force, and I’ll even let you pick yer own staff.’
Diffin’s mouth opened and the lips moved, but strangely, no noise came out. Eventually, after a bit of a struggle, his voice returned. ‘All of them?’ he asked incredulously.
The commander nodded. ‘Every last one of them — all yours.’
‘B… b… but I don’t want them. I’m only doing this as a favour to you.’
‘Who’s the Commander here, Toby?’
‘Er… you are, sir.’
‘Good. I thought I’d better check.’
MacGillicudy sat back and grinned, and he felt a warm sort of feeling inside; this commanding lark did have its advantages, as no one can argue with you — Diffin’s face had drained of colour, a picture of hopelessness. ‘See,’ he said after a while, as he could sort of see the cogs in Diffin’s mind whirling around. ‘It’s easy when you get used to it. The art of command is delegation.’
The sergeant’s hand trembled as he raised his mug to take a swig; he had to think, and think hard. If he had to suffer the fools who were fool enough to join the force, then he’d make damn sure someone else would suffer too. His eyes peered through the door at the two feelers tidying the front desk and a half-smile spread to his lips. The commander had commanded, so therefore, it could percolate down a rank or two. Two feelers were already in his firing line; he in turn could spread a little bit of misery around.
Just as the two feelers were under scrutiny from Diffin, the front door rattled and then flew open. The feelers looked as one and then came to a shuffling attention; they grinned, and then rushed forward to help the new arrival. MacGillicudy didn’t need to look, he knew exactly who had come through the door, and some very eager gentlemen showed her into the office.
‘Good morning, Jethro,’ she purred, as she walked in.
Two pairs of eyes watched jealously as she went behind the desk and planted a kiss on MacGillicudy’s cheek. She had dressed in a way that only Rose could: a long black skirt which fitted snugly over her hips with a white tight soft woollen sweater, matched with a black jacket and black boots. She slipped off her jacket and Diffin’s eyes widened at the very tight sweater.
‘And a good morning to you too, Rose. Do you know Toby Diffin at all?’ he asked, indicating the sergeant sitting on the desk.
‘Only from sight.’ She held out a hand in greeting and then leant across MacGillicudy.
Diffin slid off the desk and smiled as he accepted her hand. ‘It’s a pure pleasure, Miss Morant.’
MacGillicudy could echo that sentiment too as he suddenly became aurally challenged as Rose leant across him. When she stood up, the soft warm muffled feeling slowly began to subside. In a reflex action, he put his hand up to his ear, and had a moment where a grin spread across his lips — not for the first time did he wonder how Cornwallis had got to be so lucky. ‘Well, at least we’re all here now; just need the applicants to arrive.’
‘They’re already starting to arrive, there’s what you might call a bit of a queue outside,’ informed Rose, smoothing down her skirt as she sat down.
‘Really?’ responded MacGillicudy, surprised. He stood up, hurried through, and had a quick look through the window. Indeed, he saw a queue, and his heart sank as he noticed just how long it was. He expected a few women to apply, but that queue snaked half way down the street — and they still had nearly an hour to go before the time stipulated.
Diffin had found a cup of coffee for Rose and she cradled t
he mug and grinned as MacGillicudy returned to his seat. ‘Maybe it might be a good idea to start a little early, then,’ she suggested sweetly.
MacGillicudy nodded dumbly as he slumped back down — this would likely take forever.
*
He turned the page of the paper again and just stared at the advert. He then brought his eyes close to the print and read it again, for the umpteenth time, and he still couldn’t believe what he saw. They couldn’t do it, not in Gornstock, they just couldn’t! It was immoral, it went against what the city stood for, an abomination of the first degree, it just wasn’t right. Who in their right mind would sanction something like that? Who actually thought that the city would stand for it? Who would have the temerity to place a disgusting advert like that in the paper? It went against everything he believed in, what his mother had brought him up to believe in, what she had taught him all those many years ago, watching her scrub the floor of the privy as his father lovingly stood over her with the birch twitching in his hand, ready to encourage her to work harder. Women were bred to be skivvies, to grind their fingers to the bone in unprotesting manual labour in order that men could live their lives as they were really meant to. They were vacuous: their minds unable to assimilate anything more demanding than, “clean this,” or “cook that,” or “lie down while I do the other.” Intelligence was the sole preserve of the male of the species; women were incapable of rational intellectual thought. He didn’t particularly hate them, and he had to admit that some of them had their uses. He’d even given money to some of them for services rendered: indeed, only the other night he had parted with a few dollars for a few moments of relief. Easy money for her as she hadn’t needed to think to do that, she only had to lie still. To think that some of those awful creatures thought to rise above their station in life, to think that some people were encouraging them, some men were encouraging them. He would have to do something about it, he would have to protest, no, more than protest; he would have to take some form of action. He would think of something to stop it — women were not going to become feelers.
