He removes his hat and looks around. The highly polished marble on its floor signifies a grand place, a place of perfect safety. Behind bars on his right and left are bank tellers, waiting and working diligently. He walks to the empty spot where an aged man, with greying hair and thick glasses, glares up to stare at Garty, multitasking even as he held pieces of parchment and a rubber stamp in his hands. He continues his work as Garty waits - as though his present occupation is of the utmost urgency!
Garty steps back to wait, his boots making a clinking sound as he stepped, a lone customer in the room that echoes when he walks, he muses about himself, and he feels a little embarrassed. The ceiling is high, with lamps hanging that swung when he opened the main door. It feels quite cold inside the building, somewhat of a surprise to Garty. The facia of the bank seemed to hide its surprising interior. An oil painting of a famous person called “Huckleberry Clove” wearing a multitude of badges and stars glared at him from the wall. Garty cannot help noticing a similarity between this iconic hero and the man with the stamp behind bars. That man could be his father, Garty noted nonchalantly.
“Sir, can I be of assistance?” The man spoke from behind bars that gave him some protection from any enemy wanting to take others’ monies and treasures.
Garty steps forward, his heart racing. He knows that his chances of gaining an overdraft are slim, but he must try.
“Yes, Sir, I wish to see the manager,” he says.
“I am the manager!”
Garty noticed the name “Jammy Clove” on a plaque nearby.
“Certainly, Mr Clove,” said Garty quickly. He must make friends with this man before he gets thrown out! Garty smiled as best he could.
“Come into my office and reveal your business,” said Mr Clove rising from his seat. Garty watched him as he hobbled towards the end of the counter. “In here!” He beckons Garty to a door on the side marked with the label: Manager. Garty followed Jammy into a small room with a desk, two wooden chairs, a book shelf, and a safe with a huge brass lock.
“Take a seat,” he instructs Garty. “Would you like to reveal your business here today?” He slipped a sheet of parchment from a small locked drawer and a black pen from a stand in order to write the details. “Would you like to open an account? Borrow money? We are here to help you,” Jammy said politely.
Garty wondered: why does he used the pronoun 'we' when he is clearly alone? Is someone else spying on them?
Garty braced his stealth. He is now about to ask him for money, a lot of money and his emotions bubble over with anxiety.
“Yes, I would like,” Garty says in a rush. “To borrow money, please!”
The man looks up.
“Give me your personal details, name?”
“Garty Musdo!”
Jammy’s face lit up as a lamp newly lit and happily burning.
“Well, not Knight Commander Garty Musdo, on the King’s business?”
“The same,” replies Garty, accepting the manager’s hand in greeting. Now this is different, Garty thought. How did he find out about me? Of course, it must be from the newspaper, he assumes.
“How much would you like?” Jammy looked up and into Garty’s eyes, testing his resolve.
Garty is keen to get as much as possible, but does not wish to appear greedy.
“Fifty gold coins and one hundred silver coins,” he said after a moment’s thought. He had already deemed what may be necessary to finish this mission whether it was a success or not, and his expenses for the final phase of his mission coming quickly to an end. If he did not use all monies, he could simply put it back into the bank account.
Jammy stopped moving and is quiet with his thoughts. Garty wonders if he is about to hand him a refusal?
He wrote the amount on the paperwork in front of his bony hand, then waves the back of his hand towards Garty, signalling him to leave the room. Garty looks at him in dismay. His heart feels like a stone flung on the waters of life.
“I need to open the safe,” he says abruptly, as a way of explanation, rising from his chair without grace, holding tightly to the dusty desk.
“May I assist?” Garty asks shyly, not knowing if this is the right or wrong suggestion. Jammy’s eyes flew at Garty in anger and Garty stepped away as much as he could in the tight space behind him.
“No!” Jammy almost shouts.
“Sorry Mr Clove! I shall leave thee in peace,” Garty said quickly. How foolish I am to offer help in opening a bank’s safe?
Garty arose, took his hat in his hand and stepped outside the manager’s door. He looked around. There are three customers at the counters now. Each one smiles when he looks their way.
A young woman and her chaperone, an older lady wearing a servant’s cap, and another gentleman in business attire who wears a well trimmed black moustache and a black top hat. They all seem to know him, thought he could not remember meeting any of these people. Friends of friends of mine, no doubt, he concludes.
“Musdo, you can come back in!” He hears the manager’s gruff voice calling from the office. He is seated. A pistol and a small bag lay on his desk. Garty is not shocked as he often held his pistol closely especially where money was involved.
“Sit down.”
Garty seats himself in the allocated chair. He waits for the manager to speak.
“I always keep my pistol ready when handling valuables.”
Garty understands and nods his head slowly, with his eyes fixed on Jammy’s eyes. He knows that being face to face with a pistol holding person, the rule was always 'move nice and slowly'!
He slid the intriguing sealed purse with its tiny brass lock and wax royal seal toward Garty and a piece of parchment that he had written upon.
“Sign the form to say you received the amount you requested.”
No questions asked? Garty, elated, takes the pen and signs the form at the bottom X. He slides it back towards Jammy. He is already calculating his next financial move, pay Mrs Bouchée!
“Take it. It is yours,” Jammy says without flinching. “You already signed the promissory declaration. We expect you to abide by this agreement!” Jammy Clove placed the pen in its holder and rises wearily from the chair.
“Thank you,” Garty says. He reaches ever so slowly for the money and withholds a gasp as he holds the little purse close to his heart. He wants to say, “I got it” and jump around, but stays completely still. He is not out of the building yet!
“Come back any time you are in trouble.” Mr Clove said this without emotion. He stands awkwardly again, shuffling around his chair as if it is infected with wormwood, then walks around his desk to open the exit door. Garty watches Jammy Clove with fascination as he waits to engage the simple rule of politeness, a short bow. With hat in hand and money in heart, he exits the open door feeling like a stage actor departing a scene into the wings, not looking back, waiting for applause.
Garty walks on air back to the inn, exceedingly relieved of his major worry, cash in hand! A fuzzy feeling of gratitude comes over his brain and without warning tears flood his cornea. He brushes them from his eyes and attributes this phenomena to the rising wind blowing from the East. He pats Brill on the way to his room. He finds the side entrance more private and chooses to use that way to exit and enter his quarters. Closing the door behind him, then locking it, removing his cape and hat, he finally relaxes. He breaks the seal and opens the small lock with its attached brass key. He lays the contents on the purse on the small dining table, moving the vase with fresh flowers towards the back side, near the embossed green and gold papered wall that serves to bring an austere atmosphere to the room.
Separating the gold from the silver coins, he places half of the total sum in his velvet purse. He shall pay Mrs Bouchée for her services anon, he decides immediately. A tap on the door indicated that lunch is served, so Garty quickly places the rest of the coins back in the purse they were delivered to him, folding down its leather catch and locking its brass lock. Placing it deep inside a plain looking tin box in the table drawer, but with a small lock. He takes the keys and pops them in his trouser pockets. Feeling content with this process, he focusses on his appearance for a moment. Running his metal comb through his hair, he is satisfied. He then splashes his face with water, dries his hands and face and for a few moments stretches to his full height.
Mrs Bouchée’s delicious luncheon awaits, he tells his image in the long mirror, feeling humbled by her attentiveness and care of himself as though he was a king. He liked it very much. She had pre-arranged that it was served sharply at 11:00 AM, at his request due to his appointment at midday. He estimated a ride of approximately twenty minutes to reach Hunty’s Dale, the X on the little note. His feels a surge of energy and excitement as his life roller coasts along today. It is simply a successful day thus far and he intends to enjoy a brisk ride with Brill.
Thanking Mrs Bouchée, who is busier than ever in the kitchen, he bows at the doorway when he spies her form. She acknowledges his gratitude with a tilt of her fine head, under her neat baker’s cap. He heads off to his room to collect his cape and hat and catch up with his faithful steed, Brill, who is waiting in anticipation of a momentous ride.
Garty notices that Brill is well watered and fed. He sees Bubba striding towards the chickens with a feed bucket. She has a faint smile for him but quickly bows her head and hurries to her work. Garty knows that it is she who cares for Brill. He motions a friendly thanks with his hands but she does not look back for any acclaim. He also sees Ted turning to smile at him and hurry away towards the piggery. What well orchestrated servants Mrs Bouchée has, Garty notes mechanically. I am grateful to them all, he muses as he strokes Brill’s neck.
Placing the saddle on Brill’s sturdy body, Garty thinks about some of the information snippets he received, trying to recall a silver spoon with an engraved date on it? Could it be the date the princess was born? It was one possibility, he reasons, setting the bridle on Brill, ensuring everything is nicely secure. He places his rifle in a special slot alongside the saddle by his hands, and ensures that his pistol rests securely near his ribs.
“One never knows who will greet me today?” he whispers into Brill’s flicking ear. He neighs lowly.
“You are always ready, true friend,” he says patting the thickened hair on Brill’s long neck again. Brill pranced in anticipation of a nice long ride into the distance where he was happiest.
Garty wants to ensure that as few people as possible see his departure or where he is headed, so he exits through the side gate that leads into a seldom used laneway. From there he works his way around the hills and towards the spot marked with an X, near a wood in a small clearing. Even from a distance he sees smoke coming from a semi-circular shaped roof of a caravan. He instinctively knows that this is the right place and feels grateful to Ted for his information.
Settling Brill near a fine crop of grass beneath the shade of a sycamore tree, he dismounts and heads to the highly ornate van, decorated with gold and red flowers that seemed to match his cape brilliantly. He feels strangely at home as he passes by a couple of piebald ponies and calls out to see if anybody is home.
“Hello there,” he shouts.