*
Far away in London, Clara lay in bed in her friend Kitty’s spare room, hugging her pillow close as if it could somehow take away her grief.
Max was dead. Not missing, believed but proper, no doubt about it dead. She had received a letter from a lawyer informing her of this, and inviting her to his office for a meeting.
‘He made a will,’ the lawyer told her, as if this somehow made things better. ‘He left everything to you. His family are very unhappy about it, that’s why it’s taken so long to inform you. You understand.’
No, Clara wanted to say, she didn’t understand. Her own parents had thrown her out of their home because of Max. His mother did not answer her letters. Clara didn’t see why she should be understanding at all, but she didn’t want to seem rude.
‘I can’t imagine he had anything much to leave,’ she said instead. ‘He wasn’t rich.’
‘Ah,’ said the lawyer.
And he told her that Max’s collection of love and war poems, the one which was named after her, had become a bestseller, and that all the royalties were to go to her.
‘I mean, it’s not millions,’ the lawyer said, as he handed her a cheque. ‘Poetry is poetry, after all. But it is something.’
Clara had cried for two days, and now there were no tears left, only an awful emptiness and the question: what was she going to do with her life, now that the waiting was over?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A thunderous rapping on the cabin door jerked Lotti and Ben out of sleep. They both jumped, then froze.
‘Is it Skinner?’ whispered Lotti, hanging upside down from the top berth.
‘It can’t be,’ said Ben. ‘He’s still away.’
‘Then who …’
‘How should I know any better than you?’
‘Pretend we’re not in.’
But the dogs were already howling. Ben reached for his shorts and sweater.
‘Take a frying pan,’ Lotti advised, as he climbed down from his berth. ‘As a weapon, in case it’s a murderer.’
Ignoring Lotti, Ben unlocked the cabin hatch, blinking in the sunlight as the dogs streamed out past him. Lotti dashed to the galley for the frying pan, pulling on her clothes as she went, then ran up to the deck after Ben, prepared for battle. When she saw who their visitors were, she put down the pan and laughed with relief.
‘Molly! And baby Philip!’
The lock-keeper’s daughter stood on the deck with her baby brother strapped to her chest in a shawl. A bicycle lay on the bank behind her. She was panting.
‘Just let me catch my breath,’ Molly gasped. ‘All right, listen. There’s a copper come to the lock this morning all the way from Great Barton, looking for Ben.’ She glanced at Lotti. ‘He didn’t say nothing about Charlie.’
‘Skinner?’ Ben looked appalled. ‘But he’s supposed to be away!’
‘I don’t know his name,’ Molly said. ‘Little feller, sort of pigeon feet.’
‘Skinner,’ sighed Lotti.
‘He’s at our house now. I asked Martha to make him tea to slow him down – I didn’t say why, don’t worry. But this copper, right, he’s not giving up. I did what you asked, said I’d been out by the lock all of yesterday and I’d remember a boy alone on a boat, especially one that looks like this, but that I didn’t see you.’ Her eyes rounded as she considered what she had done. ‘I lied to a copper!’
‘What do you mean, he’s not giving up?’ demanded Lotti.
‘Soon as he’s finished his tea, he says he’s going to the next lock at Anfield. In case I missed you, he says. And then Mum only went and offered to lend him a bicycle so he can follow the canal!’ Molly paused briefly to mark her disgust with her parent, before concluding, ‘So I came to warn you, because it’s not far and if you get going fast, maybe you can get through before he arrives.’
‘You see, Ben?’ said Lotti. ‘I told you we could trust Molly!’
She jumped on to the towpath and began to undo the mooring lines, calling for the dogs.
‘Ben, what are you waiting for?’ she shouted, as the dogs jumped back on board. ‘Let’s go!’
‘Go where?’ Ben felt very tired. They were defeated and he knew it. ‘We can’t outrun a bicycle, even with Skinner riding it. And even if we did – do you think the keeper at Anfield will be as nice as Molly, and lie about us?’
Lotti slumped. An image of her uncle loomed over her. There must be something they could do, there must be …
‘The tunnel!’ she cried. ‘If we can make it to the tunnel, we can hide in there!’
‘We can’t hide in a tunnel,’ said Ben. ‘It’s not allowed.’
Lotti turned on him in disbelief. ‘Ben, none of this is allowed!’
Barefoot on the towpath, she began to pace. ‘We hide in the tunnel, Constable Skinner goes to the second lock, the lock-keeper says he hasn’t seen us, Constable Skinner leaves. Molly, will you be a hero and let us know when the coast is clear?’
Blushing with pleasure at being included, Molly said, ‘I will.’
Ben’s mind raced. ‘We’re too slow. We’ll never make it.’
‘We have to try, Ben! Molly, is there any way you can slow him down?’
‘Yes!’ A fierce expression crossed the lock-keeper’s daughter’s face, and she began to undo the shawl which contained her baby brother.
‘Take Philip!’ she ordered, thrusting him at Lotti.
‘What? No! Molly! Molly, come back!’
‘No time to explain!’ shouted Molly, as she cycled off. ‘Take him. I’ll get him back later! Go!’
There was no time for thinking, only action.
Lotti shut the dogs in the cabin – nobody wanted a repeat of the duck episode right now – then stood by Ben’s side as he drove away from their mooring, clutching an indignant baby Philip.
‘Can’t you go faster?’ she begged.
If you have ever been on a narrowboat, you will know that they are not boats you can rush. Narrowboats are not like sailing yachts. They are heavy and take a long time to respond. Slow and steady, that is how narrowboats work best, with small commands. Otherwise disaster ensues.
Against his better judgement, Ben pushed the speed lever forward. Philip, alarmed by the sudden noise, bellowed and kicked out, his foot catching Ben’s elbow. Ben jolted the tiller. He tried to correct the movement, but it was too late.
The Sparrowhawk tilted towards the edge of the canal, hit the bank and stopped.
Ben swore, loudly and extensively.
‘What happened?’ cried Lotti.
‘We’re stuck,’ said Ben. ‘The canal edges must be silted up. Just hope the propeller doesn’t get caught, or we’ll never get out …’
On the roof of the Sparrowhawk there was a strong pole for exactly this sort of situation. As calmly as he could, Ben told Lotti to put the baby down and use the pole to push off the bank. Lotti, also trying to be calm, went into the cabin, laid Philip on Ben’s berth, and wedged him in with pillows.
‘Stay here,’ she ordered the dogs, who regarded the baby with amazement. ‘Look after him.’
Then she ran back on to the deck, jumped on to the roof, seized the pole and drove it into the bank.
‘Push!’ shouted Ben. ‘Push as hard as you can!’
Slowly, slowly, the Sparrowhawk floated away from the bank and they continued towards the tunnel.
Slowly, slowly, with a policeman on their tail …
*
Molly sighted Albert Skinner about a mile short of the tunnel.
‘Right, my girl,’ she told herself firmly. ‘You can do this.’
It was going to hurt, but she knew she had to do it. For Ben and Lotti and the mad, sweet dog who nearly drowned, but also for children everywhere who should be free to have adventures without their parents. And for her own sake too, she realised with a chill, because what on earth would her mum say if the copper caught up with the Sparrowhawk and found baby Philip on board?
What on earth would her
mum do?
Molly clenched her teeth, tightened her hold on the handlebars and pedalled as hard as she could towards the oncoming policeman.
WHOOSH! CLANG! CRASH!
For about a second and a half, as Molly sailed through the air over her bicycle, Albert Skinner’s bicycle and Albert Skinner himself, it was almost fun.
Then – well, yes. It did hurt.
Molly’s tears didn’t stop Albert Skinner’s pursuit, but they improved the fugitives’ lead. By the time he had regained his own composure, calmed Molly and checked both himself and his bicycle for damage, the tunnel had swallowed the Sparrowhawk completely.
Albert Skinner, as the plotters had hoped, cycled on towards Anfield Lock.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Sparrowhawk hunkered in the gloom. Ben had cut the engine and he and Lotti lay on their backs on the cabin roof with their feet braced against the tunnel ceiling, to stop the Sparrowhawk from drifting. At either end of the tunnel, they could just make out half moons of daylight, but in the middle where they were, the darkness was almost absolute. Their hearts were beating fast, and their breathing came out loud and ragged.
‘What if another boat comes?’ whispered Ben.
‘It can pass us,’ said Lotti, but she wasn’t sure this was true. It was hard to tell in the dark, but the canal looked awfully narrow.
‘What if it passes Skinner after it’s seen us?’ hissed Ben. ‘What if he asks the crew if they’ve seen the Sparrowhawk?’
‘We just have to hope that won’t happen,’ whispered Lotti.
Then they were quiet and in the quiet and the dark, thoughts came; of what would happen after Albert Skinner found them, of Hubert Netherbury’s anger and the loss of the Sparrowhawk and the dogs …
‘Is the baby all right?’ whispered Ben, to chase away his fears.
‘He’s fine. The dogs are looking after him.’
But Lotti was wrong. Baby Philip was not fine. From the moment his sister shoved him into Lotti’s arms, his indignation had been growing. Until now, there had been just enough distractions to stop that indignation from tipping into full-blown rage, but now he was alone, and it was dark, and in the dark the dogs were snuffling and he was afraid.
Baby Philip began to whimper. The dogs, who were still baffled by him but had accepted him as one of their own, yipped and whined in sympathy. Baby Philip wailed. The dogs yowled. Their combined cries bounced off the walls of the tunnel like the howls of souls in torment. The children cursed under their breath. Lotti swung off the roof and climbed down to calm them all. As she reached the cabin steps her heart skipped a beat. The half moon of bright daylight at the entrance of the tunnel behind the Sparrowhawk had disappeared, replaced by the soft glow of a boat’s navigation light …
Another boat had entered the tunnel behind them.
Up on the roof, Ben froze. What should he do? He knew that the Sparrowhawk had no right to stop in the tunnel, but he couldn’t move on now! How long did Albert Skinner need to get to the lock at Anfield? And to come back again? If they could only have a few more minutes …
The Sparrowhawk swayed as the other boat drew near. Ben blinked in its approaching light but didn’t move from his position on his back with his feet braced against the tunnel ceiling. The other boat’s engine died down. From below, Ben heard Lotti desperately try to shush the howling baby and the dogs, then …
‘Well, blow me down,’ said a familiar voice as the other boat came alongside the Sparrowhawk. ‘If it ain’t our old friends!’
*
It was a sort of miracle, really. Not only that the other boat should be the Secret Starling, but also that Jim should be so good with babies.
There was no conversation possible while Philip was crying. The Starling pulled up beside the Sparrowhawk, Jim threw her centre line up to Ben, hopped aboard and took the sobbing Philip in his arms. With a few practised bounces and a firm rub of his back, he brought the wailing back to whimpering. With the heel of a loaf fetched by Lotti from the galley, the whimpering turned to slurps. And with a click of Jim’s fingers, the dogs sat, then lay, in a silent heap at his feet.
‘Raised a baby myself,’ Jim explained, as Lotti looked on with amazed gratitude. ‘My brother Jack. Comes in useful. You’re gonna have to change him soon, though.’
‘I think we’ll just give him back,’ said Lotti. ‘I really don’t want another one.’
‘Change his nappy, I mean,’ grinned Jim. ‘Not swap the little darling. Where d’you get him anyway? You didn’t have him yesterday.’
‘Case anyone hadn’t noticed, we’re stopped in the middle of a blinking tunnel!’ Frank’s voice floated down towards them from the Starling. ‘Jim, stop nattering and find out what the blinking problem is.’
But Jim wasn’t listening. One hand on baby Philip’s belly, he was staring at the birds painted around the cabin.
‘Well, would you look at that … I knew I remembered the Sparrowhawk. Here, hold the nipper.’
Jim jumped off the Sparrowhawk and back on to the Starling and down into her cabin. He came back out again holding a small painted piece of wood then, ignoring a bellow of rage from his brother, jumped back on to the Sparrowhawk.
Ben lowered his legs and peered down from the roof.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Before Lotti could answer, Jim let out a shout.
‘I was right!’
‘What …’
‘All them birds!’ Jim handed Lotti the piece of wood he had taken from his cabin. Painted on it was the delicate figure of a starling, and beneath the starling, just like beneath the robin over Ben’s berth, and the kingfisher above Sam’s, and every bird Nathan had ever painted, the tiny letters NL. Lotti took a deep breath. She knew now why the Secret Starling had seemed familiar to her when she came out of Emlyn Lock. She took the little piece of wood in her hands and handed it up to Ben.
‘Ben, look!’
He took the little painting from her hands. She saw his eyes widen with shock, then cloud with something else that she recognised – the heavy dullness of a long and lingering grief.
‘The Sparrowhawk!’ Jim exclaimed. ‘Nathan Langton! It’s all coming back now – he painted the sign on the Starlin’ for us, then gave us this one as a present for our little brother Jack, who was down in the dumps because he ’ad a cold. Well, I never! Your dad, is he? I didn’t even know he was married, let alone had kids.’
Lotti, still holding the baby, wished that Jim would stop talking. The way Ben gently stroked the little starling, as if it weren’t a painting at all but something alive and tender, made her want to cry.
With characteristic bluntness, Frank brought everyone back to their current situation.
‘Touching though this is, I don’t like breaking the law unless I ’ave to,’ he said. ‘And right now, I don’t see why I ’ave to, so let’s get a move on, shall we, and take this outside.’
Oh, thought Lotti agonisingly, where was Molly? Why was she taking so long?
‘The thing is,’ she started, then stopped, wondering how to explain without giving too much away that the Starling should go but the Sparrowhawk would linger a little longer in the tunnel.
‘You in trouble?’
Lotti was to grow to love Frank very much, but in that moment he was terrifying. Even in the darkness, she saw his eyes glint.
‘There’s a policeman after us,’ she admitted.
‘A policeman?’ Frank growled.
‘We haven’t done anything wrong!’ said Lotti. ‘Not really.’
‘Where is he?’ demanded Frank.
‘Somewhere between here and Anfield Lock. Our friend’s going to tell us when the coast is clear.’
‘Frank,’ said Jim. ‘They’re Nathan’s kids.’
Something passed between the two brothers, a secret understanding.
‘Right,’ grunted Frank. ‘Charlie, you can explain later. For now, stay here. Jim, take the nipper, keep him quiet. You two, don’t make a
noise. We’ll go ahead. If the copper sees us coming out, he’ll assume there’s no one in the tunnel.’
‘And if he asks, we’ll tell him we ain’t seen no one,’ said Jim. ‘That’ll send him on his way.’
The Secret Starling was gone within seconds. Ben and Lotti resumed their position on the roof.
‘Are you all right?’ Lotti whispered.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was just a shock, you know? Hearing them talk about Nathan like that. And seeing that little starling he painted for them. It was like …’
‘Like having a bit of Nathan back.’ Lotti’s hand went to Papa’s ring, on its string around her neck. ‘I know.’
‘Wasn’t it lucky though, to run into the Starling?’ she whispered. ‘Imagine if it had been another boat! We’d have had to move, wouldn’t we?’
Ben cursed. ‘Oh no …’
‘What is it?’
‘There is another boat.’
Lotti turned to look, and sure enough, there it was, blocking the light to the tunnel, its navigation light growing brighter and its engine louder as it came towards them. She turned back to Ben, eyes wide with fear.
‘Ahoy ahead!’ called a man’s voice. ‘Everything all right there?’
‘Propeller jammed, but it’s all right now!’ Ben called back. Then, shakily, to Lotti, ‘What do we do?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘Move it, will you?’ the voice shouted. ‘I’ve got a cargo of blinking chickens and they’re doing my head in.’
In a daze, Ben rolled off the roof and fired the engine.
‘Go slowly,’ urged Lotti. ‘Go very, very slowly.’
With their hearts in their mouths, they chugged towards the tunnel exit. Lotti squeezed her eyes shut. She would not think about her uncle, she would not, or the lad from Home Farm and his gun. She would think of nice things, of snuggling with Federico, of the garden at Armande …
The air warmed up, she could feel light on her eyelids …
Voyage of the Sparrowhawk Page 8
