At ten-thirty George came down and informed Nick he could take his tea. After a ten-minute break he was running down the steps back to the front store when, realising he had left his jacket in the staffroom, he was forced to go back. As he did so he caught George Ackworth’s back view disappearing around a corner. What it was that made him follow he could not say – perhaps it was the furtive crouch of George’s shoulders. Treading carefully, Nick peeped around the edge of the wall and watched as, one by one, George removed a stack of crates from before a doorway.
At one point George’s head spun round, causing Nick to duck swifdy out of sight. But after listening for a few seconds the man relaxed and, taking a key from his pocket, opened the cupboard door which had been exposed by the removal of the stack of crates. Nick craned his neck as George vanished into the cupboard, then bobbed down once again as the man re-emerged. George’s next step was to lift one of the boxes from the stack and carry it into the cupboard. This done he locked the door and replaced the stack in its former position.
Nick was forced to dash, making a mental note to investigate the cupboard at the first opportunity. This, however, did not come until the afternoon.
After lunch Thomasin, pleased with her grandson’s progress, told him he would be working with her on the books that afternoon. ‘If we get you acquainted with them you’ll be a great help to me when it comes to rounding up tomorrow night.’
He was grateful for this chance to display his true talents and, indeed, showed no tardiness in grasping the system, though she had given him little tutoring. The bills of sale accumulated at the end of each day were entered into a ledger, the totals of each day’s sales were in turn transferred to a weekly account book, as were any invoices. This in its turn was entered into a monthly ledger, and finally a quarterly tome, at which point a stockcheck was performed, the theoretical figures supposedly tallying with the actual items in stock.
‘Could I leave you to sort out those bills, Nick?’ asked Thomasin halfway through the afternoon. ‘I’ve a meeting with the accountant at four. I shan’t be long. Perhaps, though, you might care to come with me?’
‘I’d sooner get the measure of these books if it’s all the same to you, Nan,’ replied Nick.
This answer gladdened her, though her face showed nothing. It didn’t do to praise Nicholas – he had a tendency towards egotism that would have to be dealt with before he made a satisfactory shop manager. However, her following concession showed that she was not displeased with his progress. ‘I shall leave my keys in your safekeeping so that you’re able to lock up the counting house every time you step out. Don’t forget now, every time – even if it’s within your view, never leave it unlocked. Understand?’ She left him gazing pensively at the keys.
Allowing her time to get well out of the way Nick strode to the door, stepped outside and locked it, then went in search of George. By a stroke of luck, the man was having his afternoon tea. Flitting past the open staffroom door Nick made for the stockroom and began to dismantle the stack of crates one by one. Once the cupboard was accessible he withdrew Thomasin’s bunch of keys, testing each before finally coming up with the one that fitted. Slipping inside, he closed the door behind him. It was very dim, but a tiny skylight enabled him to see just what George had been up to.
The place was piled high with boxes, crates and packages, bottles, seemingly in no particular order. Nick quickly totted up how much stock was in here and whistled quietly. Then he exited, relocked the door and hurriedly replaced the stack.
On returning to the counting house he experienced a prickling of his vitals on finding the door ajar; that he had locked it he was certain. Going inside he encountered George who straightened abruptly and snapped down the front cover of the ledger over which he had been stooped. Both showed their relief, with an ‘Oh, it’s you!’ then laughed.
‘I thought I’d left the door open,’ smiled Nick. ‘Nan left me the keys. I had to go out the back.’
‘Oh, I see. No, it were me.’ George passed him, making his way out. ‘I have a spare set o’ keys. I just wanted to check up on a few figures. Right, have you had yer tea?’
‘Yes,’ lied Nick. There were more pressing matters than tea at this moment. ‘I’m going to sit down and practise my book-keeping.’
The minute George had gone Nick moved to the ledger and opened it, skimming through the great pages, each covered in a mass of numbers. It was useless trying to unravel anything significant when one didn’t know quite what one was looking for. But he continued to leaf methodically through the ledger until the pages turned up blank, then flipped back to the last completed page and ran his index finger down each column. There seemed to be nothing amiss. Defeated, he was about to close the book when he caught something. It was this he was studying avidly when Thomasin returned.
‘Have you got it mastered then, Nick?’
‘Not quite.’ He uncurved his spine and smiled, then returned to the ledger. ‘Nan… if somebody wanted to steal from you how would they go about it without you finding out?’
‘I don’t care for the sound of that.’ It was delivered in jocular manner.
Nick half-smiled but persevered. ‘I should know if I’m to make anything of the job. How might they do it?’
‘Impossible,’ replied his grandmother, scrabbling in her bag for the spectacles she had taken to wearing. ‘They could get away with it for a while but come stock-taking the deception would be revealed in the figures. Why?’
He smiled and closed the book. ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
‘Well, stop wondering and go fetch your grandmother a pot of tea. I’m parched.’ She pushed him aside to reclaim her seat.
He decided not to tell her about the altered figures yet – the nines changed to eights, the hundred and ten changed deftly into a forty – not until he was sure; knew how George was disposing of his pilfered goods.
On Saturday he found out. Apparently Thomasin’s week followed a set pattern; she did the same things at the same time every day, almost without fail. Late on Saturday afternoon, after the day’s takings had been totalled and all the surplus notes and cash taken from the till, she would absent herself from the shop for half an hour in order to take the money to the bank. Whilst there she would enjoy a weekly chat with her bank manager.
George Ackworth, Nick discovered, also had his Saturday ritual. As soon as Thomasin departed a man who had been waiting out of sight for this eventuality would steer his horse and cart into the kerb, pass over money to his friend George, who would help him load the contents of the cupboard onto his cart, and be safely away before Thomasin’s return.
Watching them now from an upstairs window, Nick wondered how he could get to the bank to warn his grandmother without George spotting him. It was not enough to inform her of the deception; he had to have proof.
George finished his task, slapped the horse on the rump and saw the cart safely away with ten minutes to spare before Thomasin’s return. Nick bristled at the self-congratulatory smirk, the smug dusting of palms and thought – you saucy blighter, robbing my grandmother, in broad daylight too, but I’ll have you! He pulled away from the window as George stepped back into the store and went about his business, racking his brain for some remedy. The idea came quickly, but it took another week before it could be implemented.
Thomasin cashed up as normal, packed her money into the leather satchel and was about to call for a youth to accompany her to the bank until Nick made his suggestion.
‘Wouldn’t it be a good idea if I were to come with you, Nan? After all, you said I should learn every aspect of the trade and I should’ve thought that banking was a pretty vital aspect.’
‘Splendid idea, Nick.’ She handed him a receipt book. ‘You can total that up and fill in the date while I get my coat. Here’s my key, lock the door when you’re ready.’ Exercising her habit Thomasin went to the bank accompanied by Nick, paid the money over the counter and was about to pop her head into the manager’
s outer office when Nick clapped a hand to his mouth.
‘Oh, Nan! I can’t recall whether I locked the door.’ He needed an excuse to lure her back to the store. By giving him the keys she herself had provided it.
‘Oh, Nicholas, how careless of you! Well, that’s that, then.’ She started away from the manager’s door. ‘I can’t sit drinking tea with Mr Sims, wondering if someone is creeping about in my counting house. Come along.’ Her legs moved rapidly under the rustling skirts. There was no hint of age in her step. ‘You really must take more care, you know. You’re very competent in some matters but I should be able to rely on you completely.’
She chivvied him all the way back along the street, then, as they neared the store, she stopped dead. ‘That’s odd. We shouldn’t be getting a delivery today.’ She proceeded on her way, a grimly apprehensive Nicholas marching alongside. ‘George!’
What a picture his face was, thought Nick as the man swivelled in shock, almost toppling under his load of boxes. ‘Mrs Feeney!’
Thomasin stared hard for a few moments at the contents of the cart, before coming to the realisation that this was not a delivery but a despatch. ‘Would you step into the office, George?’ she said icily, then to the man who was about to climb onto his cart, ‘My invitation extends to you also. After you.’ A sweep of the hand. ‘Nicholas, would you accompany us, please?’
In the counting house Thomasin seated herself in the big leather chair and glared regally at the two recalcitrants before her. ‘Now, would one of you kindly explain what was going on out there?’
George snatched a look at his accomplice, at Nick, at Thomasin, then hung his head. No one seemed eager to voice the obvious. Unable to stand the fecund atmosphere Nick decided to act as midwife.
‘As there are no explanations forthcoming, Grandmother, might I put forward my solution?’ At Thomasin’s curt nod he brought forth the ledger and placed it before her. Opening it he pointed out one of the altered figures, telling her also about the secret cache upstairs.
When he had done she asked, ‘How long has this been going on?’
Nick twitched his shoulders. ‘I’ve only been here a fortnight.’
‘If you knew before today then why…?’ she spread her hands.
‘I was taught not to tell tales,’ replied Nick, causing his grandmother to crumple despairingly. ‘That’s why I decided it best you should see for yourself.’
‘And now I’ve seen,’ answered Thomasin in a low tone. ‘To think I trusted…’ She shook her head. ‘Why, George, for God’s sake? You’ve worked your way up from apprentice to a position of responsibility. All those years thrown away in a moment of greed. Didn’t you think I paid you enough? Was that your reason for stealing from me?’
He could not face her. ‘No, ma’am, you paid very well.’
‘Then why? Tell me so I can understand, ’cause I’m damned if I do at the moment. Was it the excitement? Was it a game, or what?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am.’ Shame oozed from every pore.
‘Well, if you don’t, George, I’m sure I don’t.’ She sighed again. ‘I’m sorry but there’s nothing else for it. Nicholas, would you step down to the police station and fetch assistance.’
George’s eyes came up like unloosed arrows. ‘But, missis, yer can’t do that, yer can’t! I’ll be sent to prison. Mrs Feeney, I’ve worked for you for fifteen years…’
‘You didn’t appear to give that much relevance when you stole from me, George, so why should I?’
‘Please, oh please, missus,’ begged Ackworth. ‘Don’t tell the police. I’ll pay back every penny I took.’
‘And just how much would that entail, George?’
He was awkward again. ‘I don’t rightly know.’
‘Then how do you propose to pay it back if you don’t know the exact amount?’
‘I don’t know… but pay it I will.’ His hands pleaded. ‘Have pity, ma’am. I’ve got a family that’s relyin’ on me.’
‘I was relying on you, George. I placed my trust in you and see how you’ve repaid it.’
‘I’ll work for nowt, Mrs Feeney! How’s my family gonna survive if I’m in jail?’
Nick watched the changing expressions on his grandmother’s face, his stomach taut at the fight taking place there – she’s going to let him off, he thought. Dammit, he’s getting round her.
But no, Thomasin’s compassion was overruled by cool authority. ‘And tell me, how is your family to survive if you work for no wage, George?’
There was no response. He hung his head again, beaten.
‘And how would my family survive if I permitted every person in my employ a free hand with my property? We would pretty soon be destitute, wouldn’t we? No, I’m deeply regretful, George, but you and your partner knew what the consequences would be if you were caught. You chose that path and must follow it through. Nicholas, go fetch a policeman.’
When the felons had been removed Thomasin went over the event in her mind, wondering if she had been too hard. She posed the question to Nick and he endorsed her action. Her finger and thumb worked at her wedding ring while she issued her disbelief that this had been going on under her very nose. ‘And we still don’t know how much is missing.’
‘A busy woman like you can’t be expected to know everything that’s going on, Nan. That’s what you need me for.’
For once she gave a hint of acknowledgment. ‘Fair dues, Nick, I have to agree you’ve been most vigilant. What would you like for your reward?’
‘George’s job,’ replied Nick with no hesitation, and at her sharp laugh asked, ‘Why not? I’ve learnt how to roast the coffee, keep the shelves stocked, cash the tills, entrance the customers, do the books – that’s apparently more than George was capable of,’ came the mordant addition. She protested that he had only been at the store for a fortnight. ‘What’s that got to do with anything, Nan? The important question is: can I do the job and the answer is: yes, I can.’
‘You never were short on confidence.’ Like your real father, she thought. You have his deviousness too, but judging by the example you’ve just given you’ll put it to better use than Dickie ever did. After a moment of lip-biting indecision she capitulated. He had, after all, picked things up amazingly quickly. ‘Very well, I shall give you a month’s trial, the same I’d allow any other person applying for the job. Will that be acceptable to His Highness?’
He cocked his head and answered impudently, ‘Mm, for the time being.’
‘You’re a cheeky young monkey,’ she breathed, then studied him carefully. ‘You told me to wait a fortnight before asking if you enjoyed working for me. Have you decided yet?’
He pulled his cuffs down, adjusted his tie and produced a grin which gave her another painful reminder of the boy’s natural father. ‘Oh yes, Nan. I think this young man is going to like working for you very much indeed.’
Chapter Nineteen
On Sunday the sky ripped apart, emptying its wet, noisy load on the streets of York. Just the few steps from the carriage to the door of the church turned their crisp Sunday best into soggy dishrags. All day it continued, making any Sabbath outing impossible, so most of the time was given to chatting with Sonny and Josie who had come over for the day with their youngsters. They returned to Leeds after the evening meal and shortly afterwards everyone else went to their beds. The noise of the storm kept Nick awake; he was a light sleeper at the best of times. There was a tree directly outside his bedroom window whose branches slapped and clawed at the wet pane. Instead of lying there trying to sleep Nick lit a paraffin lamp and selected a book from the pile on his bedside table, settling back against his pillow with a yawn.
The wind roared down the chimney, making him shiver and pull the blankets up further. It also had the effect of making the tree tap more forcefully on the pane. He had turned over two pages before he realised the tapping was not performed solely by the tree. Frowning, he screwed up his eyes and peered at the opaque glass. All he could s
ee was his own reflection and the yellow glare of the lamp. ‘Nick, Nick!’ howled the wind. ‘Let me in!’ And rap, rap, rap! went the branch. Curious, Nick laid the open book on its pages and padded across to the window. Through the effulgence a face loomed – Rosanna’s. ‘Let me in for God’s sake!’
Quickly, he shoved up the sash, lashing at the curtains which billowed in with the gust. ‘What the bloody hell…’
‘Shut up and get out of the way!’ Rosanna slung her knee over the sill and hauled the rest of her body after it, falling in a saturated heap on the bedroom floor.
Nick, hair and nightshirt adrift in the blast, pulled the window down, shutting out the deluge, then turned to stare down at his sister. ‘Is it the cheese I had for supper giving me nightmares? What’re you doing here?’
‘I’ve run away,’ She was pulling off her wet shoes and stockings and massaging her toes. ‘I couldn’t stand it any longer.’
‘But why the window – and why mine?’
‘Because,’ she stripped off more wet clothes, ‘the front door was locked as was the window of my room. I had to crawl along the ledge to yours.’
‘But it’s four inches wide, you could’ve been blown off!’
‘Well, I wasn’t. Oh, Nick, do stop going on like Aunt Erin and get me something to dry my hair with. Just look at me.’ She shook her head, spraying him with droplets.
He found a towel with which she wiped her pink face, then rubbed briskly over her hair. ‘Oh, that’s better. God, I could do with a hot drink, though. I’m absolutely frozen. Oh, Nick!’ She launched herself at him, the tears flowing. ‘It was ghastly, terrible. I hated it.’
‘So you ran away.’ It was said half-accusingly.
‘I had to,’ she wept. ‘I tried writing to Gramps about it but one of the mistresses discovered the letter and tore it up. She said I was being a goose, that I’d soon settle down, but I didn’t, it got worse. They kept us in all the time, wouldn’t let us out for walks unsupervised.’ To Rosie who loved to go wandering off on her own whenever the fancy took her this was the worst possible torture.
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