‘Impressive, eh?’ Terence said as he slapped the reins and the horse trotted on slowly behind the traffic. ‘Your tobacconist certainly knew where to put his money.’
Ettie couldn’t take her eyes from the vision of great national importance. Yes, she was sure Terence was right. The money in the cast-iron chest that she had so carefully saved on behalf of her employer now seemed a drop in a very big puddle. All the same, he had been in no rush in the first instance to bank the salon’s takings in his absence. Yet now, his letter had stated great urgency.
‘This looks like the turning,’ said Terence, drawing the pony into an opening where a guard stood behind a pair of strong iron gates.
‘Open up, will you?’ called Terence.
‘What’s your business?’ came the reply.
‘We have a delivery to make,’ called Terence.
‘You want the tradesmen’s entrance,’ barked the man. ‘Turn your horse round and be on your way.’
Terence grumbled in annoyance. ‘Not that kind of delivery. We are on financial business. I’ll show you.’
Ettie noticed how impatiently the guard moved to meet Terence who had jumped down and was waiting at the back of the cart. A smile touched her lips as she saw the guard’s expression when the sacking over the chest was removed.
‘One in the eye for him,’ muttered Terence rejoining her and urging the pony through the slowly opening gates. ‘Thought we was common tradesmen. Soon wiped the smile off his face.’
Ettie could see that Terence was a little anxious under all his bluster. But then, she supposed, anyone might be, who came to make a transaction with The Old Lady.
Her instincts were proved right as they entered the courtyard. Here she could view many lantern windows, some with tiny domes and others that seemed so small even a head might not be able to poke out of them.
Terence drove towards a large bay where other vehicles were parked.
‘Wait here. I’ll find an attendant to help us.’ He jumped down and tethered the animal with others that drank from long troughs. But it was more than half an hour before Terence returned, as Ettie kept watch on a clock set high above on one of the building’s towers. He was accompanied by an official with a scowl on his thin face and dressed in a black frock coat, stiff collar and necktie. Ettie supposed this must be one of the stuffed shirts that Terence had spoken of.
‘This is Miss O’Reilly,’ introduced Terence in a gruff tone as they stood looking up at her. ‘You’ll take instructions from this lady who is expected by your bank on a duty of some importance and urgency.’
Ettie felt herself go bright red under her bonnet. Her stomach clenched as the man scrutinized her appearance with suspicion.
Chapter 34
‘Don’t worry, this won’t take long,’ Terence assured her as they followed two burly porters hailed by the attendant, who carried the chest between them, along a winding corridor to a well-paved hall. ‘Once we have a receipt we’ll be on our way.’
Spread along one wall there were many kinds of wheels and cylinders creating a loud noise and warming the air intensely. Terence whispered to her that this must be the powerhouse of the bank where the gigantic engine serviced the complete works.
The stairs they climbed next were steep. Finally, the porters turned a sharp left and one of them unlocked a pair of plain but very strong-looking doors. A quietness fell about them as they entered a large room with many divisions. There was no natural light – as Ettie had noticed from the road outside – not even a small lantern window. Spaced in these divisions were mahogany desks and bowed heads sitting behind them, the bank clerks writing or attending to the general public as they entered by another door.
Above them in a circular fashion was a high-vaulted saloon, with a cupola and lanterns and too many library shelves to count.
The two porters delivered the chest to one of the clerks and set it on the floor beside his desk. They said nothing, but left without a word as the clerk continued to write.
Ettie waited, noticing the restless shuffling of Terence’s booted feet. All around them were cautious whispered movements and the rattling of silver and gold pieces that were shovelled onto scales with miniature brass shovels.
It seemed an age before the clerk looked up and addressed them. ‘Yes?’ was all he said.
Ettie stepped forward. This man with a pair of spectacles like Sister Patrick’s, balanced on the end of his nose, had not even glanced at the chest.
‘Good morning, I am expected,’ she said in a quiet manner. ‘I’ve come to give the bank some of my employer’s money. It’s locked in this chest.’
‘You mean make a deposit?’ said the man curtly with a brief glance down.
‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘On whose authority?’
‘Mr Lucas Benjamin, who owns the tobacconist’s of Silver Street, Soho and who is away in Switzerland for a short while. This is my friend Terence who helped me transport it here.’
‘Pass Book,’ said the clerk, ignoring Terence.
‘What’s that?’ asked Ettie.
The clerk glared at her. ‘Every account is linked to a Pass Book and is used when making transactions.’
‘I haven’t got one, as it’s not my account,’ Ettie mumbled, her confidence fading. ‘I expect Mr Benjamin has it.’
‘Then Mr Benjamin must present it.’
‘I told you, he’s in Switzerland.’
‘Without account identification, I cannot help.’ The clerk looked back to his writing. ‘Take your – chest – and please make way for the other customers.’
Ettie felt the humiliation burn in her cheeks. She was certain she wouldn’t be treated with such disdain if she was one of their wealthy customers. It wasn’t even as if she was trying to get money out. She was attempting to put it in.
