Voyage of the Sparrowhawk

by Natasha Farrant

  ‘Can you see Skinner?’ she breathed.

  Ben began to laugh.

  ‘Open your eyes, Lotti. You’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Lotti opened her eyes. On the canal bank, a little bent, lay Molly’s bicycle, with Frank beside it almost smiling. And on the roof of the Secret Starling, waving and cheering, stood Jim and Molly, with a clean and splendidly naked baby Philip in her arms.

  There was no sign of Albert Skinner.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Sparrowhawk was moored behind the Secret Starling. Both crews, Molly, the baby and the dogs sat on the bank beside her, drinking tea. Molly – with grazed elbows and knees, and impressive bruises coming up on her shins – had given a breathless account of her encounter with Albert Skinner. Jim had told the story of how Albert called out to the Starling as she emerged from the tunnel, asking if they’d seen a narrowboat called the Sparrowhawk crewed by a lad on his own with a black and white dog, and how he, Jim, had pretended to think about it and then said no, he hadn’t. Lotti had thanked everyone rapturously, and Ben had thanked them more quietly, and the dogs had caught the general excitement and capered madly about. But now the dogs were asleep, and the baby too, and a not very comfortable silence had fallen because Frank, eyes glinting again as they had in the tunnel, had just said to Lotti, ‘Right, Charlie. Explain.’

  Lotti looked at Ben, trying to ask just with her eyes how much she should say. Ben shrugged back that he didn’t know.

  ‘I’m not sure where to start,’ Lotti hedged.

  Frank gave her a hard stare.

  ‘Start with your dad,’ said Jim. ‘Nathan. How come he’s not here?’

  Lotti swallowed and began.

  ‘Nathan’s not my dad,’ she said. ‘He was Ben’s, but then he died.’

  She told them everything. She spoke of a lovely house and a big garden, of a charmed life and an aeroplane crash, of unkind relatives and the loneliness of boarding school. She spoke of beatings and sewing mistresses, of caged dogs and diamonds, of the farm hand sent to kill Federico and of Clara Primrose’s wonderful lessons, of cutting off her hair so nobody would ever pull it again.

  As Lotti spoke, Molly’s and Jim’s eyes grew rounder. Frank’s frown, deeper.

  Ben took over and, more diffidently, spoke of orphanages and the kindness of strangers, of a childhood spent on the water and the coming of war, of a brother wounded and a father gone to comfort him, of bombs falling on hospitals and letters to the War Office, of believed killed not being actually killed, of their plan to go to France.

  ‘France …’ sighed Molly, and her imagination soared.

  ‘France!’ grinned Jim, and anything was possible.

  ‘France,’ growled Frank, and reality landed with a thump.

  ‘We know it won’t be easy,’ Lotti acknowledged. ‘With the copper, and the Channel and the Sparrowhawk built for canals, but …’

  ‘I’ll say it won’t be easy,’ sniffed Frank. ‘You won’t even make it past Anfield Lock. What do you think that lock-keeper’s going to do when he sees you, now that copper’s been asking questions?’

  ‘Call the copper,’ admitted Lotti, her heart sinking.

  ‘Gotta love ’em though, Frank,’ said Jim gently. ‘Going all the way to France to find the lad’s brother.’

  ‘On a blinking narrowboat!’ said Frank. ‘I know the Channel, and I’m telling you it’s not meant for a narrowboat. Boats like ours are made for flat water.’

  ‘What’ll happen to the Sparrowhawk on the sea?’ whispered Molly.

  ‘She’ll sink!’ snapped Frank. ‘You’d better pray for good weather. With a calm sea, you might stand a chance, if you don’t get lost. Slightest hint of a swell and she’ll be gone under the first wave.’

  Molly swallowed and hugged baby Philip close.

  ‘I reckon we should help them though, Frank,’ murmured Jim.

  ‘Help them kill themselves? I’ve a mind to run after that copper right now.’

  ‘Come on, Frank! You’ve seen how the lad handles the boat. I reckon he could have a fair go.’

  Frank snorted. ‘Say they do make it across, then what? Two kids alone in a country that’s been blinking torn apart by war …’

  ‘That starling …’ Jim continued softly. ‘Remember our Jack, before he went away? Spent ages copying it on a scrap of paper till it was just right, and kept it in his pocket. Said he didn’t know if they had starlings where he was going, but whenever he looked at it he’d think of home. Said it would bring him luck.’

  Something passed over Frank’s closed face, a grimace of loss and love.

  Lotti knew that look. It was the one we keep for those no longer with us. And she knew without asking that Frank and Jim’s little brother had gone away to the war, and that he had not returned.

  Jim said, ‘Let’s help them through the next few locks at least.’

  With a weary sigh, Frank nodded.

  *

  They said goodbye to Molly and Philip, and then the Starling and the Sparrowhawk went on their way, with the Starling leading. At Anfield Lock, the keeper narrowed his eyes at the Sparrowhawk. Frank asked, almost lazily, ‘All right, Pete?’ before stepping – no, strolling – ashore.

  ‘What you lot waiting for?’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘Lock’s not gonna fill itself! Jump to it – Jim, you do the gates. The kids’ll drive.’

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Lotti whispered to Jim as Frank and the lockkeeper stepped aside, deep in conversation.

  ‘Sorting it.’ Jim winked. ‘Don’t you worry, Charlie. Frank can sort anything. You just drive. It’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Ben called across the water, once they had come through the lock.

  Just for a second, Frank’s granite features softened.

  ‘Popular man, your dad,’ he said. ‘Pete won’t say nothing. And he’ll spread the word. Nobody’ll say nothing. Nobody’ll grass on Nathan’s kid.’

  Word got out among the lock-keepers. After a few locks, it was no longer necessary for Frank to mention Nathan at all. Nonetheless, as the Starling was also going to London, Frank suggested that the two boats continue to travel together. As Jim put it, ‘Two kids on their own, people ask questions. If there’s adults about, they leave ’em alone.’

  *

  Molly longed for adventure, but Frank had frightened her. What if the Sparrowhawk did sink, immediately, straight to the bottom of the sea? For two days she worried over Lotti and Ben’s secret, wondering if she should do something to stop them. By Wednesday morning, knowing the Sparrowhawk would be coming into London and that soon it would be too late, she confessed everything to her sister Martha.

  Martha, who had grown very practical since driving ambulances around Central Europe, went straight to Great Barton to speak with Clara Primrose.

  ‘I didn’t want to go to the police,’ Martha said to Clara, ‘on account of our Molly mowing down that copper on a bicycle. I don’t want to get her into trouble. But in the whole story, you sounded like the only one who cared for them kids.’

  Clara had returned to Great Barton on Monday, intending to get on with her life, only to find that her life had moved on without her. Ben and the Sparrowhawk were gone; Hubert Netherbury had written informing her that she was fired and that Lotti was going away. She had been upset they hadn’t left a note, but as she listened to Martha’s story she began to understand why.

  ‘They thought I’d stop them,’ she said.

  ‘Well, you would, wouldn’t you?’ said Martha.

  ‘I can’t really believe it,’ said Clara. ‘It’s such an incredible story. But rather beautiful too.’

  ‘It’s barmy, that’s what it is.’

  After Martha had gone, Clara sat thinking about what she should do. Of course Martha was right. It was a barmy story. Sailing the Sparrowhawk across the Channel! Looking for Sam! How exactly did they propose to find him? Clara knew what had happened to Sam – the same thing that
had happened to millions of other souls who had gone missing, shot to pieces on a battlefield. That’s what missing meant. It was brutal, but true. She wished Ben had spoken to her before setting off, and that Lotti had come to her about poor little Federico. To be sure, Clara had been away, but they might have waited and she would have helped.

  Well, they were gone now. The question was, what should Clara do?

  Catch up with them! she thought, jumping up from her chair to walk about the room. Stop them before they killed themselves on the sea, get Lotti back to school before the Netherburys returned on Friday, make Ben see sense about his brother. He and Elsie could live with her – why not? She had money now. She could become Ben’s guardian! And she would take in Federico too, of course. She wasn’t overly fond of the little chihuahua, but she would do it for Lotti. And she and Ben would go to Pembrokeshire for the holidays with the dogs and rent a cottage near Lotti’s school – better still, she and Ben would go and live in Pembrokeshire! And visit Lotti all the time!

  Was this the life purpose she had longed for that night in London, after hearing about Max? To bring the children back and keep them safe?

  Clara spent the evening packing. On Thursday morning, she took the train to London, and from there she went on to the coast.

  *

  Far away in Pembrokeshire, the secretary of St Winifred’s Academy entered the headmistress’s study.

  ‘It’s about the new girl,’ she said. ‘Charlotte St Rémy, the one who never turned up. I’ve telephoned every day, but nobody answers. Shall I write?’

  ‘Yes, do,’ said the headmistress. ‘The usual letter for last-minute cancellations. Don’t forget to mention the school fees.’

  The school secretary retired to her office and put a sheet of headed notepaper in her typewriter.

  Dear Mr Netherbury … she began.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was easy to pretend, between Monday morning when the Sparrowhawk and the Starling left Anfield Lock and Wednesday evening when they arrived in London, that they were on a sort of boating holiday. That Albert Skinner would not return, that the Netherburys would never discover Lotti’s flight. That soon the Starling and the Sparrowhawk would not part ways, that the Thames and its currents, the murderous waves of the Channel, the waterways and battlefields of France did not lie ahead, with all their attendant dangers. Easy to pretend, as the sun shone down on the friendly, peaceful canals, that life could drift along like this for ever.

  Lotti improved her driving and learned to operate locks. Ben perfected his handling of the Sparrowhawk. Federico, still enthralled by waterfowl but cured of swimming, took to sitting on the bow like a miniature figurehead.

  Elsie slept.

  And slept.

  And slept.

  By Wednesday morning, Ben was starting to worry.

  ‘Do you think she’s ill?’ he asked Lotti when Elsie fell asleep straight after breakfast.

  ‘Maybe she can sense something,’ Lotti replied. ‘Animals do, you know.’

  ‘Sense what?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Change,’ said Lotti. ‘It’s all around us. Can’t you feel it?’

  It was true, the canal did feel different. Fields and villages were giving way to small towns, the lovely quiet waterways were growing more crowded. The crews of the boats they met were less inclined to chat but had an air of urgency about them as they hurried towards the capital, eager to offload their cargo and reload again before the day was done. Little by little, the sense of urgency communicated itself to Ben and Lotti, even Jim. Only Frank and Federico remained the same, one impassive at the helm of the Starling, the other inquisitive at the bow of the Sparrowhawk.

  At midday, they stopped briefly for lunch. Rather than watch hopefully for scraps as was her usual habit, Elsie lay on her side in the shade, breathing heavily.

  ‘Look how swollen her belly is,’ said Ben. ‘Should I take her to a vet? How much would it cost?’

  ‘A lot.’ Frank narrowed his eyes as he looked at Elsie.

  ‘Never mind the dog for a minute,’ said Jim. ‘Me and Frank, we’ve been thinking. We’ll be coming into Brentford this evening, so you two’ll be wanting to catch the morning tide.’

  ‘What tide?’ asked Lotti.

  ‘The one on the Thames, Charlie,’ growled Frank.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Lotti, avoiding his eye. ‘I forgot about that.’

  ‘God give me strength,’ sighed Frank. ‘You are going to drown.’

  ‘We’ll be unloading at Brentford Basin,’ said Jim, ignoring his brother. ‘And we was going to turn back, but what we’re thinking is we’ll see you on to the Thames first. Ben, you’re first class at the tiller and Charlie, you’ve got a lot better, but the Thames is something different. You’ll be heading east towards the sea, which means you got to cut right across the river to get in the right lane, and the current’ll be fearsome. But all you got to do, Ben, is follow us and do exactly what we do. We’ll see you as far as Limehouse. After that, you’re on your own. Happy?’

  ‘Yes!’ Ben swallowed, feeling daunted. ‘Very happy.’

  They woke Elsie, climbed aboard again and pressed on. Ben and Lotti’s hearts beat fast, their breath was short, their palms were damp.

  London!

  The approach down to Brentford was steep, with eight locks over less than a mile, and the canal was busy. It was slow-going, and hard work, and until they moored alongside the Starling in the crowded basin, Lotti and Ben paid little attention to their surroundings. When they finally looked up, they felt confused. They had been vaguely expecting packed streets, giant warehouses, throngs of smartly dressed people. They saw only a basin crowded with narrowboats, a boatyard, a handful of pubs and chandlers.

  ‘It looks like any old town,’ said Ben.

  ‘Go and look at the Thames if you don’t believe you’re here,’ Frank grunted. ‘Then you’ll blinking know we’re in London. And take that dog for a walk while you’re at it, see if you can get her to drop before setting off on your blinking suicide mission.’

  He stomped away, hands deep in the pockets of his patched jacket. Lotti and Ben watched him go, thunderstruck.

  ‘Jim,’ whispered Lotti. ‘What does he mean, get her to drop?’

  Jim scratched his head. ‘Lawks, this is awkward,’ he said. ‘Frank just worked it out, while we was coming down the locks. Elsie’s pregnant, that’s what. She’s going to have puppies. And she’s pretty far gone, I’d say.’

  ‘Puppies!’ breathed Lotti, after Jim had gone.

  ‘Puppies …’ echoed Ben.

  They looked at each other in awe.

  ‘Do you think …’ Ben tilted his head towards Federico.

  ‘Of course,’ said Lotti. ‘Who else would it be?’

  ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ said Ben carefully. ‘I think I need to go for a walk.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Lotti. ‘Me too.’

  Side by side, with Elsie lumbering behind them and Federico trotting ahead, they headed away from the Sparrowhawk in the direction of the Thames, wrapped in thought.

  Puppies! Lotti walked in a starry-eyed daze. Tiny little baby puppies! Soon – very soon, if Jim was right – they would be not just Ben and Lotti and Elsie and Federico living on the Sparrowhawk but a whole family …

  How many of them? wondered Ben, chewing his lip. Would they be girls or boys? How did one look after newborn puppies? What did they need? And what if they came when they were out on the Channel? Would it be dangerous? What if something went wrong, and Ben was at the tiller, and couldn’t help?

  They had walked around the basin to the row of buildings on its southern edge and turned into a narrow alley between a chandlery and a pub. Something in the air changed as the light ahead grew brighter. The wind picked up, bringing with it a smell of river mud, laced very faintly with salt. At the end of the alley there was a wall, with steps leading up to the top. Lotti and Ben climbed them together, and gasped.

  They had found the Thames.


  *

  As it flows east through London, the Thames at high tide swells as wide as four hundred and fifty feet at Woolwich. At Brentford it is still relatively modest, at about a hundred yards across. And though a hundred yards may seem a lot when you have been used to canals, it was not the size of the river that struck Ben and Lotti, but its strength.

  Massive, grey, turbulent and sullen, the Thames pushed its way westward on the incoming tide, possessed of infinite energy.

  There were steps on the river side of the wall, leading down to a strand of exposed mud and pebbles, about ten yards wide. Federico bounced down them. A gull landed in the water before him and was promptly swept away by the current. Federico, with a yelp of joy, gave chase along the strand.

  Lotti burst out laughing.

  ‘Come on, let’s run!’

  She tumbled down the steps after Federico to the edge of the Thames, and threw wide her arms to take a deep breath of salty, muddy London air. This was it – the end of the beginning, the start of the really big adventure! Tomorrow, the Sparrowhawk would take her place on this marvellous, powerful river, and all that was rotten about the past, Uncle Hubert and school bullies and pain and misery and loneliness would be swept away as surely as that gull.

  She turned to Ben. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

  Ben had followed Lotti down on to the strand and was staring at the river in fascinated horror.

  ‘Wonderful,’ he whispered.

  ‘You’re afraid,’ said Lotti, slipping her arm through his. ‘That’s normal. It’s huge, what we’re about to do. But it’s exciting too, Ben, it’s so exciting.’

  ‘It is,’ said Ben determinedly. ‘And I’m not afraid. The Thames is just like a big canal, really. It’s only water, and so’s the Channel. We can absolutely do this. But I think I’ll go back to the Sparrowhawk now. There’s a lot to do before tomorrow.’

  He turned and walked back up the strand to the steps. Elsie lay on the wall, waiting for him. He crouched to pat her, and she gave his hand an affectionate lick as if telling him not to worry, then heaved herself after him down the street.