Voyage of the Sparrowhawk

by Natasha Farrant

  Lotti stayed on the strand a little longer and watched the Thames. Another gull sped past, bright against the filthy water, followed by the smashed remains of a barrel.

  Ben was wrong. The Thames was many things – powerful, dirty, exciting, big – but it was nothing like a canal. Lotti thought back to childhood holidays, crossing the deep, heaving Channel with her parents to go to Armande.

  The Channel was not only water.

  Ben was afraid, whatever he said, and he was right to be.

  *

  After Ben had checked over every inch of the Sparrowhawk and made them both memorise her route again until they knew it by heart, they went to bed. Despite his nerves, Ben fell asleep almost immediately, but Lotti lay in her berth, listening to Elsie’s heavy breathing from the floor in the galley where she slept with Federico.

  Her hand closed over her father’s ring.

  ‘Bring us luck, Papa,’ she whispered.

  But Lotti, who had lost her parents to a storm on a cloudless day, knew that the Sparrowhawk needed more than luck. She thought of Jack, Frank and Jim’s little brother, who had taken a drawing of Nathan’s starling with him to the war.

  Rings and pictures were powerful things, but sometimes you needed people.

  She waited a little longer until she was sure Ben wouldn’t wake up, then climbed out of her berth, pulled on her clothes and, with Federico for courage, slipped away from the Sparrowhawk.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Lotti and Federico stood on the edge of the basin with the water behind them, facing the row of buildings that stood between them and the Thames.

  Going to the pub, Jim had said, but which one? There were at least three.

  ‘We’ll have to try them all,’ she told Federico.

  In all her life, Lotti had never set foot inside a pub. The first she came to was a soot-stained brick building. A man sat on a stool outside with a tankard in one hand and a pipe in the other, and stared curiously as Lotti went in. She squared her shoulders and pushed open the door.

  The air was thick with smoke and the smell of beer, and the noise was deafening. In one corner, a group sang, huddled around a man bashing away at a piano. In another, a group of men were shouting, something to do with a bet, and money that someone did or didn’t owe. Lotti stood with her back against the door and surveyed the room, eyes flicking from bar to piano, table to barstool. There was no sign here of Frank and Jim. She slipped away and moved on to the next pub, a low stone building. Here she found a quieter crowd, intent on a game of cards.

  ‘What you after?’ the landlord shouted as she peered in. ‘No kids allowed, and no dogs.’

  Lotti beat a hasty retreat. Frank and Jim were not here either.

  It was properly dark now, and the dockside smelled of fish and coal and diesel oil. Lotti stepped over a bulk sprawled on the ground. The bulk groaned and she realised it was a person.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry.’

  From the ground, something flew past her ear, only just missing her head, and crashed on the quayside in an explosion of glass and whisky fumes.

  Federico growled. Lotti tugged at his collar and ran towards the third pub, straight into Frank who was strolling out with Jim.

  ‘Should have known it was you when I heard trouble, Charlie.’

  Lotti peered back towards the drunk on the ground.

  ‘I didn’t mean to cause trouble.’

  ‘Course you didn’t,’ said Jim. ‘Want a lemonade?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ve come to talk.’

  They sat on a bench outside the pub. Lotti waited as Frank lit his pipe.

  ‘All right, then. What’s this all about?’

  ‘Ben’s afraid.’ said Lotti, feeling like a traitor. ‘He says he isn’t but I know he is, and so am I.’

  ‘Well, blinking hallelujah,’ grunted Frank. ‘You’ve come to your senses.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Lotti hesitated. ‘More like I’ve come with a business proposition.’

  Frank’s eyes glinted.

  ‘Will you take us over?’ Lotti asked in a rush. ‘To France, I mean? You said you know the Channel.’

  ‘I’ve never crossed it in a blinking narrowboat,’ said Frank.

  ‘I’ll pay you,’ said Lotti. ‘I don’t have a lot of money, and what I do I rather need, but I was wondering if you might take this.’

  She pulled Papa’s ring over her head.

  Frank stared. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It was my father’s.’ Lotti fought to keep her voice level. ‘It’s very old, and immensely valuable. I once heard my grandmother say it’s been in the family since before the French Revolution.’

  Jim took the ring from Frank and whistled.

  ‘It means a lot to me,’ Lotti continued. ‘But then so does getting to France. For … for all sorts of reasons.’

  Oh, Moune …

  Frank smoked on and said nothing. It was Jim who spoke again, softly, using the same line of argument with his brother as on the day they helped to hide the Sparrowhawk from Albert Skinner.

  ‘If it was our Jack, Frank, stuck in France …’

  Frank’s hand closed around the ring.

  ‘I got two conditions.’

  *

  Back on the Sparrowhawk, Lotti shook Ben gently by the arm.

  ‘Wake up,’ she whispered. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Ben turned on his side and looked at her sleepily. ‘Is it morning?’

  ‘No, it’s still night. I need to talk to you because … well, because I went to see Frank, because I knew you were worried, and I was too. And the good news is he’s going to come with us all the way to France. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘No, it’s good.’ Ben sounded relieved, and Lotti was glad. ‘But shouldn’t we pay him?’

  Lotti’s throat tightened. ‘I’ve given him Papa’s ring.’

  ‘The one you wear round your neck?’ Ben sat up in his berth and looked at her, dismayed. Lotti had told him about the ring, and he knew how much it meant to her.

  ‘I don’t mind.’ It was a lie, but somehow the fact that she had had to give something up did make what she had to say next easier. ‘Ben, there’s more. Frank says he’ll only attempt the crossing if the weather’s good. He says unless the conditions are perfect, the deal’s off.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Ben.

  Lotti gulped. ‘And he says … He says he won’t make the crossing with Elsie. He says if something goes wrong it could put us all in danger, not just her, because you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the boat, and he wants two good pairs of hands on board, and I’m not good enough. And he’s right,’ Lotti added honestly. ‘I’m not. Jim says he’ll take care of Elsie. He says you can pick her up on your way back, when you’ve found Sam. And the puppies. But for now …’

  ‘I have to choose,’ said Ben. ‘Elsie or Sam.’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a very long silence, which Lotti did not dare interrupt.

  ‘We’ll leave her then,’ Ben said at last. ‘I choose Sam.’

  He managed to keep his voice steady but later, when Lotti was asleep, he crept out of his berth and called Elsie softly to him. Together, they padded into the workshop. They slept the rest of the night in Nathan’s berth, with Ben’s arms wrapped round his dog and his hands clutching her fur.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Lotti and Ben woke before dawn the following morning to a rap from Frank on the cabin hatch. For a moment, Ben forgot where he was. Then Elsie shifted beside him and he remembered.

  He was leaving her.

  ‘To find Sam,’ he reminded himself, but it still felt like a betrayal.

  They had let the stove go cold overnight, to prevent sparks from flying if they hit rough waters on the Thames, and so it was a cheerless breakfast on the Sparrowhawk on the morning of their great adventure, bread and jam washed down with water and a hefty dose of heartache. All around them on the basin, other crews were waking, voices calling out to each other
. On board the Sparrowhawk, dogs and crew sat in silence in the galley.

  Another knock, then Frank swung down the steps, a rucksack over his shoulder.

  ‘It’s time,’ he said.

  Ben, with a heart of lead, clicked his tongue. ‘Come on then, girl.’

  Very softly, Elsie began to whine.

  ‘She’s crying,’ said Lotti, close to tears herself.

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Frank. ‘Dogs don’t cry. Come on, Elsie. You’ll have a grand time with Jim.’

  Still whining, Elsie backed into Nathan’s workshop. Frank, with a groan of impatience, stepped after her and picked her up. Followed close behind by Ben, he carried her through the cabin and deposited her on the quayside.

  ‘Lawks, she’s heavy,’ he grunted. ‘At least without her we’ll be lighter in the water.’

  Nobody smiled at his attempt at a joke. Jim folded Ben into a hug.

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ sighed Frank. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going soft too.’

  ‘It’s a big thing, saying goodbye to your dog,’ said Jim.

  But it really was time. Ben buried his face in Elsie’s neck. Lotti, watching from the foredeck of the Sparrowhawk, tightened her arms round Federico. Federico whimpered. Elsie’s whine turned into a howl as Ben, after a last caress, stumbled back on to the Sparrowhawk.

  ‘Want to drive, son?’ asked Frank.

  Ben shook his head, incapable of speech.

  Frank untied the moorings and fired the engine. As the Sparrowhawk pulled away, Ben kept his eyes fixed on the black and white figure on the quayside and saw, as Elsie strained against the lead, that the golden eyes he had loved since she was a puppy were watching him too.

  He turned away so that no one would see him cry, then whipped back round at the sound of a yell from Jim.

  His heart hammered. Elsie, her hefty weight notwithstanding, was galloping along the quayside, her lead trailing behind her. Jim, rubbing his arm, wasn’t even trying to catch her.

  ‘I don’t blinking believe it,’ Frank said. ‘Not again.’

  ‘She bit me!’ Jim shouted, but he didn’t sound as if he minded. ‘She blinking bit me!’

  Elsie was level with the Sparrowhawk now, gathering on her haunches, preparing to jump …

  ‘Stay, girl, stay!’ yelled Ben. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’

  Never underestimate a determined dog.

  Elsie launched herself off the quayside as the Sparrowhawk pulled out of Brentford Basin and, to the cheers of half a dozen narrowboat crews, landed with absolute precision on the roof. When she had landed she lay down, panting, her eyes fixed on Ben as if to say, ‘Don’t ever try to leave me again.’

  Laughing, or perhaps crying, Ben climbed up to join her.

  ‘Good on you, Elsie!’ yelled Jim. ‘Sorry, Frank,’ he added, seeing his brother’s face.

  But Frank knew when he was beaten.

  ‘Get those blinking dogs in the blinking cabin.’ He pulled his cap more firmly over his smooth bald head then, still grumbling, steered the Sparrowhawk into the lock and out again on to the Thames.

  *

  For as long as they lived, Lotti and Ben never forgot that ride through London.

  The current leaped, tugging the Sparrowhawk sideways. The engine roared. Ben, who had chosen to stay below with the dogs because he couldn’t bear to leave Elsie, sat on the floor with one arm round her and the other round Federico, holding his breath as he felt the hull beneath him shake. The dogs whimpered and pressed into him. Lotti, standing beside Frank at the tiller, gasped at the water’s pull and tried not to think of the smashed barrel and the gulls swept away yesterday on the tide. But then, before any of them had time to be properly afraid, the Sparrowhawk reached the far side, Frank straightened up and they were off, no longer fighting the current but carried by it, flying into the sunrise. Lotti peered into the cabin and begged Ben to come and see.

  ‘Look how beautiful,’ she said, as he came up the steps. ‘The sky, Ben! It’s so much bigger than on the canals.’

  Out along the tree-lined river they swept, past the botanical gardens and under the bridge at Kew, sweeping round past Barnes and under the railway bridge to the suspension bridge at Hammersmith, under the stone pillars of Putney Bridge with its medieval churches standing guard at either end, under more railway bridges at Fulham and Battersea. After racing past the embankment at Chelsea, at last it felt like they were entering the proper city. They raced under Lambeth Bridge, and Lotti squealed as the Palace of Westminster came into view.

  ‘We’re going past the HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT!’

  Lotti knocked into Frank as she jumped up and down, and the Sparrowhawk briefly rocked as she veered off course.

  ‘Sit down, Charlie, for heaven’s sake,’ Frank shouted.

  ‘BIG BEN!’ Lotti screeched.

  Frank’s mouth twitched in an almost smile.

  On and on they swept as the sun rose higher in the sky and the light bounced off the water. Westminster, Blackfriars, Southwark. Lotti was counting off the bridges, using them to measure the distance between her and Barton.

  ‘St Paul’s!’ she squealed and then, in an awed whisper, ‘The Tower of London …’

  The Sparrowhawk seemed very small, as they passed between the giant pillars of Tower Bridge. Ben felt a pang as he remembered another trip, long ago, looking up from the banks of the River Avon at the suspension bridge in Bristol with Nathan and Sam. Lotti, sensing his change of mood, reached out and hugged him. It was the first time she had done this, and he wasn’t sure how to react. But then into his ear she whispered, ‘We’ll get Sam back, just see if we don’t. All four of us together, we can do anything,’ and he hugged her fiercely back.

  Wider and wider the Thames swelled, until it was possible to imagine how it might turn into the sea. The city gave way to warehouses and docks, where giant cargo ships were anchored. Ben gulped at the sight of them. These were the boats they would see on the Channel, which could mow down the Sparrowhawk without even noticing …

  ‘Anything,’ Lotti reminded him. ‘We can do anything.’

  At Limehouse, Frank turned a sharp right off the Thames and into the basin, and they all breathed out at the same time as the current stopped and everything slowed down again.

  ‘That,’ declared Lotti, as the dogs scrabbled to be let out, ‘is the best thing I have done in my entire life.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  At Limehouse, Elsie rested, Federico stalked seagulls and Frank went to discuss the weather forecast with the harbourmaster. Lotti and Ben bought pies from a shack on the waterfront, and filled flasks with strong sweet tea for the next leg of the journey, out through the Thames Estuary and round the Kent coast.

  ‘What’ll we do if the forecast is bad?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Run away,’ said Lotti, licking gravy off her fingers. ‘Go by train.’

  ‘What about Elsie?’

  ‘Leave her with Frank,’ grinned Lotti.

  ‘Seriously, Lotti.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ she told him. ‘Look at the sky! It’s a perfect day for travelling. And here comes Frank looking really, really grumpy. That probably means he’s had good news.’

  Lotti was right. Not only had the harbourmaster confirmed an exceptionally calm forecast, he had also introduced Frank to the skipper of a Dutch barge, the Wilhelmina, which they could follow as far as Ramsgate.

  ‘So everything is perfect,’ said Lotti cheerfully.

  ‘Blinking marvellous,’ snarled Frank.

  But even Frank’s mood lifted as they rejoined the Thames. It was late morning, the tide was still with them, sunlight was bouncing off silver wavelets. Round the Isle of Dogs they went, past the Royal Docks and out towards Tilbury. The dogs stayed below, but Lotti and Ben and Frank all remained on deck, each taking turns at the tiller while the others drank in the surroundings. The river grew wider, its banks flatter and further away, the sky ever vaster, until it was almost possible to imagine what it might be like at s
ea.

  ‘It reminds me of home,’ said Lotti when the city was quite gone and they were surrounded by marshes.

  ‘Barton?’ asked Ben, surprised.

  ‘Not that home,’ said Lotti, and under her breath she began to sing, the song about the nightingale that Moune had taught her in her garden when she was little, which she had remembered on the night she rescued Federico from being shot.

  ‘Pretty,’ said Frank. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a very old song, and quite sad, but beautiful too. It’s about a man who walks past a spring, and the water’s so lovely that he swims in it, and then a nightingale sings and he says, sing, nightingale, sing, since your heart is light. But the man’s heart isn’t light, because his lover turned him away after he refused to give her a rose.’

  ‘Silly,’ said Ben.

  But Frank, remembering a girl long ago whose heart he had lost for just such a foolish reason, said, ‘Teach it to us.’

  ‘What, in French?’

  ‘Long journey ahead, Charlie. And French’ll be useful where we’re going.’

  And so Lotti taught them the song. And Frank and Ben struggled over the French, and they all laughed, but when she taught them the chorus, they all grew thoughtful, because the chorus went ‘Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, jamais je ne t’oublierai’, which means ‘I have loved you a long time and I will never forget you’, and as they sang Ben thought of Nathan and Sam, and Lotti thought of Isobel and Théophile and Moune, and Frank thought of the girl he had lost all those years ago but mainly of his brother Jack, and the tide turned and the little Sparrowhawk battled on and her shadow on the water grew longer.

  In the cabin, the dogs slept.

  They turned eastwards and the air grew claggy with salt. Ahead of them now there was only blue.

  ‘Is this the sea?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Frank. ‘Still the Thames.’

  On they went, under that infinite sky until, six hours after leaving Limehouse, they reached the mouth of the estuary.