Voyage of the Sparrowhawk

by Natasha Farrant

  And then there were the people who might come after them – Clara, the Netherburys and Albert Skinner. Of these, the most immediate danger was from Albert Skinner. Ben did his calculations again: Albert wasn’t due back in Barton until Wednesday. By then, the Sparrowhawk should have reached London, where the waterways were so busy she would just disappear.

  Ben hoped …

  It was an awful lot to think about – the physical danger, the risk of getting caught. But if they didn’t go, Ben might lose everything – Elsie, the Sparrowhawk, all hope of finding Sam.

  Pitched against this, Albert Skinner and the Thames and even the Channel were nothing.

  Ben was ready.

  *

  Lotti arrived just after dark, bent almost double under her enormous rucksack. Federico greeted her ecstatically, and she laughed as she made a fuss of him, but when she looked up Ben saw that she had been crying again.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked. ‘Is it your uncle?’

  ‘No, no! He’s gone, thank goodness. It’s just … oh, I know Barton’s not what it was, but I’m a little bit sad to leave, you know? Because I don’t know when I’ll see it again. You’re so lucky, Ben, to be able to run away and take home with you.’

  Ben was dumbstruck. He had never thought of this before.

  ‘Well,’ he said, a little diffidently because it felt like a very big thing to say, ‘the Sparrowhawk’s your home now too.’

  There was a brief, awkward pause in which they both felt suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what they were about to do.

  ‘Your hair …’ said Ben.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Lotti ran her hands over her shorn locks.

  ‘It’s terrible,’ Ben replied honestly. ‘And with the clothes as well … you look like a boy who’s escaped from a workhouse.’

  ‘Good!’ Lotti smiled faintly. ‘That means no one will recognise me. Maybe I’ll call myself Charlie.’

  Another pause, then, ‘Where shall I put my things?’

  ‘I made up Sam’s berth for you,’ said Ben. Then, thinking how cramped the Sparrowhawk must seem compared to Barton Lacey, ‘I mean, unless you’d rather have the workshop …’

  ‘No!’ Lotti knew what Nathan’s workshop meant to Ben. ‘It will be fun to share the cabin. And don’t worry. I will keep it absolutely shipshape! I’ll be so tidy and quiet you won’t even know I’m here!’

  Ben snorted. ‘You! Tidy and quiet!’ and just like that, the awkwardness was gone.

  How many times had Lotti seen the Sparrowhawk’s cabin! Yet now that it was to be her home she drank in every little detail as if it were new, determined to love it with all her heart – the paintings of the birds and the little cat, the clever hooks and shelves, the curved candle sconces and the pot-bellied stove. She unpacked the food in the galley, then swung her rucksack on to Sam’s berth and climbed after it to put away her things in the drawer at the foot of the mattress. When she had finished, she spread Mama’s shawl over the covers.

  ‘This is it,’ she told the little kingfisher by her pillow. ‘No more doing what other people say. This is where it starts.’

  They sat in the cabin to wait for midnight. When it was time, all four runaways went up to the rear deck. Ben took a deep breath to steady his nerves and asked Lotti to untie the moorings. Then, with the engine low, he steered the Sparrowhawk away from the bank.

  A soldier sheltering for the night under the arches of the railway bridge gave a sleepy wave as she passed.

  Other than him, nobody saw her go.

  PART II

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lotti learned to pilot the Sparrowhawk by the light of the moon on the deserted waters of the sleeping canal. It was Ben’s idea, to relieve the tension which gripped them both in those first few hours, when neither of them could quite believe some unforeseen enemy was not already on their tail. Lessons focused the mind.

  They began to relax as dawn broke softly over the canal, preceded by a symphony of birdsong, and their surroundings came into view – a water meadow, grazing cows, a hawthorn hedgerow in flower, and not an enemy in sight. The canal grew busier. Slow and steady, Ben manoeuvred the Sparrowhawk along, passing oncoming boats with inches to spare, responding to greetings with a nod as Nathan always used to. Beside him, seated on the storage seat, Elsie had assumed her habitual driving position: upright, ears flicked forward and muzzle raised as the breeze ruffled the hair around her neck. Ben felt a rush of love for her and for the Sparrowhawk. This was where he belonged on the water with his dog and his boat. He could stay like this for ever. He glanced over at Lotti, who was sitting opposite Elsie with Federico on her lap, her face tilted to the sun.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  ‘More than all right,’ Lotti smiled.

  About an hour after daybreak, when they had been going for over six hours, they stopped for a short rest. Ben brought the Sparrowhawk alongside the bank, and showed Lotti how to drive pegs into the ground to make a mooring. Then, while the dogs nosed about the towpath, Ben made tea while Lotti spread margarine and jam on slices of bread, and he explained the plan for the rest of the day.

  ‘We’ll get to our first lock at Emlyn this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking. If I was a policeman and I was looking for a boat on the canals, the first thing I’d do is ask the lock-keepers if they’d seen her. Now, Skinner’s not back till Wednesday, as we know. Hopefully, by the time he comes looking for the Sparrowhawk, no one will remember us. We just need to be as inconspicuous as possible.’

  ‘I’ve never even been in a lock before,’ said Lotti, a little nervously.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Ben assured her. ‘You just drive the Sparrowhawk and I’ll do the rest.’

  *

  They came to Emlyn Lock at about three o’clock and took their place at the back of a queue of boats waiting to go through.

  ‘It’s good that there are lots of other boats,’ said Ben. ‘Means it’s less likely anyone will remember us. And I can’t actually see the lock-keeper, only that girl over there with the baby.’

  Lotti looked in the direction Ben was indicating and saw a girl of about fourteen standing by the lock with a baby on her hip, talking to the helmsman of a narrowboat which had just pulled in.

  ‘I don’t see why that helps,’ she said. ‘Skinner could interview her just as well as a lock-keeper.’

  ‘Yes, but nobody’s ever interested in what children say.’

  Two boats had gone into the lock, one behind the other. Ben edged the Sparrowhawk forwards, then stopped again, tucked into the bank. There was just one boat ahead of them now.

  ‘We’ll be going in after the Marianne,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll get off before you drive in to work the lock. All you need to do is follow the Marianne, slow and steady and turn off the engine. Right, here we go, the lock’s opening again. Ready?’

  ‘Ready!’ said Lotti, with airy confidence.

  With a thrill of nervous excitement, she took hold of the tiller. Federico leaped up on to the storage box beside her. Lotti grinned and pulled one of his ears.

  ‘Bet you never dreamed we’d be doing this when I rescued you!’

  A pair of ducks flew overhead and landed in the water behind the Sparrowhawk. Federico turned to look at them, whiskers quivering.

  ‘Don’t get any thoughts in your head,’ Lotti warned. ‘We don’t want a repeat of the pheasant. Not here. Here we have to be absolutely, completely invisible.’

  The lock gates opened. Two boats came out. The first didn’t stop, but the second pulled in just behind the Sparrowhawk, close enough for Lotti to see the details of the painted bird perched on the curling letters of her name, the Secret Starling.

  How strange, thought Lotti. I feel as if I’ve seen that boat before.

  But the Marianne was already entering the empty lock. Ben stepped off the Sparrowhawk and called down to Lotti to move on. Eyes narrowed in concentration, she pushed the speed lever forward and began to steer …
r />   ‘Watch out for Federico,’ Ben called. ‘Elsie’s used to locks, but it might scare him.’

  But Federico wasn’t scared at all. Federico was watching the ducks, still paddling in the water …

  His whiskers twitched.

  Slow and steady, the Sparrowhawk followed the Marianne into the lock. Ben began to close the gates behind her. Lotti, careful to be invisible, tried to look as if she had done this many times before, but inwardly she was cheering.

  Her first lock!

  The downhill gates closed behind the Sparrowhawk. The sluices on the uphill gates, ahead of the Marianne, began to let in water.

  The Sparrowhawk and the Marianne began to rise.

  Federico scrambled off the storage box on to the roof of the Sparrowhawk, took a short run and leaped, aiming for the edge of the lock.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  What happened next was spectacular, no doubt about it. Everyone who was there agreed – the girl with the baby, the crew of the Marianne in the lock with the Sparrowhawk, the crews of the Lily Rose and the Princess waiting to come through, the crew of the Secret Starling.

  Federico, having leaped, missed his landing. For a split second, he clawed on to the edge of the lock with his front paws, scrabbling frantically with his back legs against the wall. It seemed as if he would slide back into the water and either be crushed between the wall and the Sparrowhawk, or drowned, or both. Then, with an impressive display of agility, he heaved himself up and over the edge of the lock. For a moment he stood still, getting his bearings. From the tiller of the Sparrowhawk, Lotti yelled at him to stay. Ignoring her, he raced away, past the Marianne, past the lock and flung himself into the canal at the ducks.

  The ducks took off, as ducks always do.

  And Federico … Federico tried to swim, but the water was being sucked towards the lock, dragging him under. Federico fought, managed to surface, was pulled under again, and once more fought his way back up. He was pulled a third time, and now he was tired …

  On the bank, people were shouting. Federico caught a glimpse of the girl with the baby, the man from the Marianne … And Lotti! His Lotti, screaming at him from the Sparrowhawk, and Ben running towards him …

  There was a splash, too heavy for Lotti. A splash and a deep voice swearing at him, using words Federico had only ever heard before from Malachy Campbell, and there was a sort of metal pole and a net and, as the crew of half a dozen narrowboats cheered, he was lifted out of the canal like a fish, and deposited shivering and dripping on the bank.

  The lock gates opened, the Marianne and the Sparrowhawk came out. The Marianne went on her way, her crew waving. A shaking Lotti pulled the Sparrowhawk alongside the bank a safe distance from the lock and waited for Ben to help her moor up.

  ‘So much for being inconspicuous,’ he hissed as he arrived.

  ‘It’s not my fault!’ she protested.

  ‘I told you to watch out for him!’ said Ben, but Lotti was already running back to the towpath where Federico, with a shocking lack of gratitude, was shaking water all over his rescuer. With a cry, Lotti scooped the little dog into her arms.

  The man who had rescued Federico was called Frank. He was the skipper of the Secret Starling, about forty years old, completely bald under his flat cap and dressed in an ancient patched jacket. He was also wet to his waist, and very cross.

  ‘Lucky for you I keep a fishing net on the Starling,’ he snarled at Lotti. ‘Lucky me and my brother Jim skipped our lunch earlier and stopped for a bite before moving on. Lucky Jim heard you scream, and is softer’n me and said we should help.’

  ‘Lucky Frank’s not as tough as he makes out and said yes.’ Jim, who had walked over from the Secret Starling along with the girl and the baby, was as cheerful as Frank was grumpy, with thick brown hair and a spray of forget-me-nots in the buttonhole of his corduroy jacket. ‘Lucky he didn’t think twice about it.’

  Lotti, still holding Federico, held out a hand to Frank.

  ‘My name is Charlie,’ she told him. ‘And I’m forever in your debt. I’m sorry you got wet, and I’m very sorry about my dog. When it comes to birds he is appallingly behaved. I don’t know that I can ever thank you enough.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ grumbled Frank, and they all pretended not to notice he had gone a deep beetroot-red. ‘No need to go on about it.’

  The brothers returned to the Secret Starling and drove away, Lotti enthusiastically waving them off.

  ‘Well!’ said the girl with the baby. ‘That was exciting.’

  Her name was Molly and she was the lock-keeper’s daughter. Her parents had left her in charge of the lock and the baby while they went to London to fetch Molly’s sister Martha, who was just back from the war, driving ambulances in Central Europe.

  ‘I wanted to go too,’ said Molly.

  ‘To London?’ asked Lotti.

  ‘To Central Europe,’ said Molly. ‘But they wouldn’t let me. Said I’m too young.’

  ‘Grown-ups are horribly unfair,’ Lotti said sympathetically. ‘Believe me, we know.’

  Molly’s eyes flicked over the Sparrowhawk. ‘Where are your parents?’

  ‘Dead,’ said Lotti. ‘We’re running away. Will you help us?’

  *

  ‘I don’t understand!’ fumed Ben, when Emlyn Lock was safely behind them. ‘Why did you tell her we were running away?’

  He was angry and Lotti was sorry for it, but she felt very calm.

  ‘Molly liked us,’ she said. ‘She thought we were exciting and she’s longing for excitement. She wanted to go to Central Europe! And I think, Ben, though I’m very good at lying, sometimes it’s better to tell the truth. I didn’t tell her much; I didn’t give any details. All I asked was that if a policeman comes, she tells him she hasn’t seen us.’

  ‘A lot of use that will be. About a million other people saw us. They were cheering us!’

  ‘I know,’ said Lotti. ‘But Molly is the one Constable Skinner is most likely to ask. Don’t be cross, Ben. It will be all right, I promise. Let’s stop soon and eat and take the dogs for a walk before they get up to any more mischief. We’ve been miles and miles already, and Constable Skinner doesn’t even know the Sparrowhawk’s gone yet.’

  ‘I’m not stopping,’ said Ben. ‘Not until we get to France.’

  But soon he began to yawn, and once he had started the yawns just kept on coming. Lotti was right. There was no reason to push themselves further today, especially after such an early start.

  A couple of miles after leaving Emlyn Lock, they came to a lovely stretch of canal, wide and quiet, with woodland on one side and meadows on the other, where they moored for the night. They gathered wood to make a fire, and with these comforting, familiar actions Ben’s anger began to dissipate.

  When the flames had died sufficiently, he brought a grill from the Sparrowhawk, and put it over the embers to cook sausages.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Clara,’ he said as he cooked. ‘Do you think we should have left her a note explaining what we are doing?’

  Lotti, who still hadn’t forgiven Clara her own short little note, said, ‘She’d only come after us and try to stop us.’

  The sausages, salty and slightly charred, cooked in the open air and shared with the dogs, were delicious. After they had eaten, Ben and Lotti took the dogs for a walk along the towpath until they came to a tunnel. Lotti leaned over the water to peer in, cupped one hand over her mouth and hooted. A faint echo hooted back.

  ‘We should camp in here,’ she said. ‘No one would ever find us.’

  ‘Apart from all the other boats coming through.’ Ben yawned again. ‘And you’re not allowed to stop in tunnels. It’s a law. Come on, I have to sleep.’

  When they came back to the Sparrowhawk, bats were swooping over the meadow. The dogs flopped instantly asleep, but despite their tiredness Lotti and Ben stayed up on deck a little longer, unwilling to let the day go. Night fell and a barn owl sailed past like a ghost.

  ‘A go
od omen,’ Ben said.

  Stars punctured the sky and the world felt perfect.

  Ben and Lotti went to bed, intending to rise before dawn again the following day to continue their journey. But the peace of the evening, the beauty of the night, were too powerful. It was their first night sleeping alone on the Sparrowhawk and it felt delicious.

  They slept late into the next morning.

  How could they have known that Albert Skinner was already on their trail?

  *

  An outbreak of whooping-cough at his son’s nursing home having cut short Albert’s visit, he had returned to Great Barton late on Sunday afternoon. On his way home he stopped at the police station, where he found a letter from the War Office, informing him that there had been no news of Sam Langton since he was reported missing, believed killed ten months ago.

  With a heavy heart, Albert went to the Sparrowhawk to tell Ben. On seeing that she was missing from her usual mooring, he went to Clara Primrose’s cottage. On finding her absent, he went to the boatyard to speak to John Snell.

  ‘Gone to find his brother,’ John said. ‘Didn’t say where.’

  ‘But his brother’s dead. Well, missing, but it’s the same thing.’

  ‘Just telling you what he told me.’

  Gone to find his brother. It made no sense.

  Albert was weary, and Albert was sad. He had been looking forward to a few days visiting his boy, who was beginning to show signs of recovering from his own war injury. But Albert was also conscientious. As Ben had predicted, he set out to interview the lock-keepers.

  The first uphill lock was only a mile out of town. Albert walked over to it after speaking to John Snell, but the keeper there had not seen the Sparrowhawk. It was too late to go downhill all the way to Emlyn today. He decided to borrow a police car in the morning, and drive out to it first thing.