Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [67]
“Of course,” said Harry.
He went into the waiting-room and then outside into the square where Becket was guarding the car. “I’m just going to see if there’s a way into the back,” he whispered to Becket. “Do you think you can hold the crowd’s attention?”
“Get Daisy, sir,” said Becket. “I’ve got my concertina in the car.
Harry summoned Daisy while Becket located his concertina and took it out of the box.
“What’s going on?” asked Daisy.
“I think Becket needs your help to keep the crowd’s attention away from me while I see if there’s a way into the back.”
Harry found there was a narrow alley running down the side of the surgery. He paused and listened as Daisy’s voice, accompanied by Becket’s concertina, rose in song.
“Come where the booze is cheaper, Come where the pots hold more, Come where the boss is the deuce of a joss, Come to the pub next door.“
Harry grinned, remembering his tutor telling him that a Guards band had played just that song one Sunday afternoon on the terrace at Windsor castle, and Queen Victoria asked her lady-in-waiting to find out the words to the pretty air. It was with great reluctance that the bandmaster told her.
There was a tradesmen’s entrance at the side. Harry studied the door. It had four panes of glass on the upper half of the door. He could smash one and reach in and slide back the bolt, of there was one. He cautiously turned the handle. The door was unlocked. He stepped inside and examined the other side of the door. No bolts, only a large key in the lock. He extracted the key and went out and closed the door. Now for a locksmith.
A large crowd had gathered around Becket and Daisy. Daisy lad moved onto a sentimental ballad, “The Blind Organist.”
“The preacher in the village church one Sunday morning said: ‘Our organist is ill today, will someone play instead?’ An anxious look crept o’er the face of every person there. As eagerly they watched to see who’d fill the vacant chair. A man then staggered down the aisle whose clothes were old
and torn, How strange a drunkard seemed to me in Church on Sunday
mom; But as he touched the organ keys, without a single word, The melody that followed was the sweetest ever heard.”
By asking one of the few residents who was not listening to Daisy, Harry located the locksmith and handed over the key, saying he needed an extra one to the stables.
The locksmith chatted as he ground the key, saying he had taken over the business from his father, who had died only two months ago. “Funny, I always refused to go into the business,” said the locksmith, “although he trained me. But he left the shop to me, so here I am.”
“What was your trade before?”
“Sort of traveling carpenter. Bit of work here. Bit of work here. There you are, sir. That should do very nicely.”
Harry paid him and took the keys. As he hurried across the square, he saw to his horror that Rose and Daisy were now standing up in the car with their arms around each other, singing at the tops of their voices.
“Any old iron, any old iron, any-any-any old iron:
You look sweet, you do look a treat,
You look dapper from your napper to your feet...”
Harry hurried up the alley, opened the door and put the original key in the lock and sprinted back to the car just as Rose and Daisy were bowing before a burst of tumultuous applause.
Coins were raining into the car. Harry groaned and thrust his way through the crowd. “Show’s over,” he shouted. Daisy clambered into the back next to Becket, and Rose sat down in the front.
Harry switched on the engine. “Throw the money back,” he ordered.
“We earned it,” complained Daisy, but she and Rose and Becket scooped up handfuls of coins and threw them back into the crowd as they drove off.
“What on earth were you doing making a spectacle of yourself like that?” shouted Harry to Rose above the noise of the engine.
“It was fun,” said Rose. “Tremendous fun.”
“Dr. Perriman no doubt was called by his nurse to have a look at you performing and he will wonder if