Later, as Garty gazes at every angle of his tidy hair, Trink says, “I remember now. 'Kiano,' that was the name of a family involved in something suspicious about a baby. A newborn!”
As Garty reached into his purse to extract gold coins a customer arrived through the door.
They greeted each other.
“Morning Wallop,” Trink said cheerily. “Please take a seat.”
Wallop, a middle aged man with unkempt grey hair and a “skunk” stubble, sits down to wait for Mr Trink’s attention. Mr Trink passes a newspaper into his hands and the man nods thanks, taking the paper and staring into its pages. He then turns back to his finished client, Garty, who has stepped aside and waits to pay for the service. He notices how quickly Trink reacts in keeping his customers happy. He feels a warm familiarity with this man and admires his precision and care. A man of impeccable taste, Garty reasons in his mind. I shall offer him a goodly sum.
“Thank you Sir for your custom,” he addresses Garty, who hands him three coins. “That is more than sufficient!” he says, giving a slight bow. He extracts a couple of silver coins from a tin box with loose change and hands it to Garty, who shakes his head, refusing this offer politely.
“I believe you deserve what I paid and the change can be yours to keep or spend at you wish!”
Garty felt good saying this.
“Very well, thank you, Sir!” Trink spoke in a whisper as though this was a most private conversation as he pops the coins in his small steel box and locks it swiftly, placing it underneath the desk. “If you even need my services again, I shall be very happy to help.”
“Thank you so much,” Garty replies. He plants his hat on his head.
“My cape, if you will please!” Garty cannot reach it from this position and Mr Trink immediately comprehends his dilemma. He steps away and reaches to the brass hanger, then passes the cape to Garty, bidding him good day with a massive smile beneath his fabulously tempered moustache.
On his short walk back to the Inn, Garty decides to check his notes over the years regarding gypsies being involved in the kidnapping. His own doubts about this aspect of the kidnapping came to the surface.
If gypsies had kidnapped a child, why do so? What could they gain for their community?
Their motives were certainly not clear to him. But, there was some involvement by gypsies, of that he felt certain now, and would pursue that line of thought in this very town. 'Kiano' is the gypsy tribal name I must remember, he vows.
Following the footpath he again feels sleepy, and the new boots he had been loaned by Cob are beginning to tire his feet already. Even after a hearty breakfast he is hungry and ready to eat once again. He hurries to the Maud hoping for a great feed and to write down more notes for his project.
Mrs Bouchée has prepared a hearty lunch of freshly baked bread, local fish from the river running near the town of Scatt, and greens grown in the lower valley. Of course there was also the complimentary apple drink, a famous local product. She reserves a table in the centre of the room for his dining pleasure that boasts a perfect view of any person coming or going into the Maud Inn, which is satisfactory.
Removing his boots later in his room, Garty sits with his long list of notes that he had been taking over the years. They were contained in a ledger that was quickly being filled with extra bits of paper and numerous notes in pen on every page. He now also had hundreds of quick sketches to compare to the picture of the queen in the oligarchy. That is becoming more confusing over time, he muses. Nothing had struck him in all these years about anyone he had met, and a wave of despair flooded over his mind as it had done many times in the present year.
He lays down on the bed and is soon drifting away. He enjoys an afternoon nap and is ready for a clean up and evening meal by 5:00 pm.
He visits his horse Brill, who is enjoying rest as well, and the best of care. Garty pats his horse’s neck.
“This will prove a very rewarding exercise in this town. I feel certain about that!” he tells his horse confidentially.
“You need to feel the breeze in your mane, Brill, I can see that, old boy. I am sorry that you have had to wait. Tomorrow we will go for an earnest ride,” he whispers into his faithful beast’s ear that wiggled in response.
Garty noticed that Brill sports new shoes as well. The Farrier has been busy, methinks.
“That makes two of us, Brill. See, these are only borrowed, but yours are permanent until they wear out!” Another bill to pay!
He feels the burden of a horse shoe debt and subsequent bill even as he tries to be cheery for his horse’s sake. “I am happy for you, Brill.” He needed to count his money again and to find some way to gaining more cash. He heads to his room to do just that immediately.
The velvet bag felt a lot lighter these days and Garty knows he will need to visit the bank again before the week was out and ask for an overdraft. Bills were mounting up in this resort style inn, and Mrs. Bouchée will not take any Promissory notes, of that he is almost certain. Garty rubs his forehead and closes his eyes for an instant. Already he smells the evening meals’ aromas floating through the cracks in his door and gaps in the windows.
“Well, tomorrow is another day. I shall rethink everything then!”
He hears a bell and closes the shining brass buttons on his breast jacket. His hair and face looked respectable. The barber has done a magnificent job, he muses. “You are a handsome fellow,” he says aloud with a grin, staring into the mirror at his slick reflection. It is then he notices a shadow passing by the window in its reflection, but reminds himself not to become paranoid. After all, there are quite a number of young servants in the establishment.
“It must have been one of them,” he mutters to confirm his thoughts, closing his door carefully and locking it with the key. He was not going to take any risks.
Having enjoyed a hearty crusty vegetable pie with delicious apple crumble for dessert, Garty took one of the complimentary newspapers, returned to his room, removed his outer garments and snuggled into his comfortable chair to read the local stories.
Some time later he reached for the eiderdown on the bed and covered himself in the chair without missing a snore.
Garty awoke to a loud knocking on his door. For a moment he wonders what has happened. He throws off the eiderdown, stretching to move his body parts. He pulls the curtain open. The sun has not yet risen, so what is going on? How long has he slept? Hastily he throws his cape over his shabby woollen undergarment and bare chest. He opens the door gingerly.
“What’s the problem?” He asks Droop, the young servant in livery standing at his door.
“The problem, Sir? Mrs Bouchée says you are to come to the foyer at once. People are waiting for you.”
“Of course. Tell her I shall come speedily.”
Garty quickly pulls his breeches and boots on, and slicks his hair into shape. He rushes out the door, but remembers to lock it as well. He pops the key ring onto his leather belt around his waist next to his trusty pistol.
He pauses in his tracks when he nears the reception room. The night lamp is still lit. In the subtle light he is shocked to see that the room is filled with people talking, about twenty in total. Mrs Bouchée is standing at the front desk, taking names and offering drinks to those with cash to spend.
“There you are Mr Garty! About time! These people are all waiting to see you.”
“Whatever for?” He asks this even though he has a grave suspicion about what they really want!
She picks up the newspaper and holds it towards his face.
“This is why,” she points to the word, “reward…” and read the rest of the sentence under a printed picture of the Queen, “is offered for information leading to locating missing princess.”
She puts the newspaper down on her shiny surface.
“See what you’ve done, Sir?” Her lips are tight and her eyes brilliant with dismay.
She looks splendidly angry, Garty notes with a slight tinge of fear. He knows that she is a feisty woman, and now he must convince her that this is not his intention.
“I am deeply apologetic and I thank you for your capable care of the situation.”
“We can manage, but it’s unexpected,” she adds staring at Garty just like a Mother Superior in an orphanage he remembers, and cringes before this woman.
“Surely this must be good for business?” Garty argues. He sees that business is ongoing with the patrons drinking apple juice, coffee and milky drinks. Along with slices of baked apple pie and crisp pastries.
Mrs Bouchée makes a noise that sounds like a gurgling in her throat. “Not if they are thieves and robbers! How can I control what they do or where they wander? There are too many!” She is speaking clearly now.
Garty backs away a smidgen.
“Please, do not worry. I will take care of everything,” Garty says.
He moves to the centre of the dining room.
“Please, ladies and gentlemen, I will have an interview with each one of you, but you must keep order in this respectable establishment.”
He looks around to see how he may manage the impending surge of people.
“I shall sit here, at this table, Mrs Bouchée. If you will, please take each person’s name and whereabouts, as you are efficient in this area,” he said across the heads and pairs of eyes, aiming towards Mrs Bouchée at reception.
She seems relieved in a fashion and strode into her role of being his organiser. Coming from behind the desk, she moves with grace and takes command of everyone present with her powerful voice.
“Everyone, please take a seat outside as there is a long bench there. Also, those who arrived first can come into a line here,” she indicates her reception area and stamps her foot to indicate the spot.
A buzz erupts in the room as folk note who was here first and second, and so on. Everyone seems to know who was there before another, which is a great boon for the present situation. Within a few minutes a line has formed of four persons near reception and a few folk standing near the door, to indicate that they were here quite early. Others head outside and are seated in the early morning sun that begins to spread its warmth and light across the hills and into the valley majestically.
Mrs Bouchée asks for paper and pens to be dispersed to Mr Garty who sets up the interviewing chair and table at arms distance from everyone else waiting. Everybody can see but not hear what is going on. Garty feels in his pocket for his velvet purse. He wonders if it is to become light as a feather, even empty in the ensuing hours of interviewing. Dandy, a trainee waiter comes across to Garty.
“For you, Sir,” says the young man in black waistcoat, trousers and yellow long sleeved shirt, the standard service uniform.” He holds a silver tray with coffee, apple juice and toasted fresh bread with melting butter and some honey.
“Thank you, Dandy,” says Garty, reading his engraved name tag in a flash. Another addition to my bill, Garty notes in his methodical mind.