The Liverpool Rose (43 page)

The speaker was as ruddy-faced as his brother and Lizzie could see a strong family likeness, though Abe was brown-haired and brown-eyed whereas Reuben was so fair that his hair seemed almost white, and his eyes such a pale blue that they appeared at first sight to be colourless. However, both men seemed well disposed towards her and Lizzie, having looked around the bleak countryside surrounding the canal, was happy to agree to this.

‘Are you taking the fleeces right through to Leeds?’ she asked. ‘Will there be someone to receive them? Only tomorrow’s Boxing Day and I daresay the mills will still be closed.’

Abe guffawed. ‘Yes, we’re goin’ right through to Leeds, but we ain’t a fly boat, chuck,’ he reminded her. ‘We don’t travel by night and old Boxer – that’s our horse – ain’t in the first flush of youth, either. We shan’t be in Leeds till well after the holiday. Now how about a bite o’ breakfast?’

‘The bloody fire’s gone out,’ Reuben grumbled, then shot a guilty glance at Lizzie. ‘Sorry, young ’un, I were forgettin’ the company. Still an’ all . . . can you make a fire? If so, I’ll go and fettle up the horse while you get the fire goin’ and make us a bite of breakfast.’

Lizzie opened her mouth to remark that there was only bread and cheese in their cupboard, then
remembered that it would not do to admit she had stolen some of their food. Instead, she said she had made many a fire in her time and doubted that this would be much different from the rest. Having been shown over
The Liverpool Rose
by Clem and having watched Priddy closely as she went about her work, Lizzie knew where dry wood and coal would be kept and soon had a good fire blazing in the closed stove. She went to the cupboard and opened it, thinking that only bread and cheese would meet her eyes, and was surprised and gratified to find some bacon, a bowl containing a dozen or so brown eggs and a freshly baked loaf. On the shelf below, she saw the still-feathered form of a goose and a small sack which she guessed would contain potatoes or some similar vegetable. Wherever they had called last night, they had clearly stocked up for Christmas.

An hour later, Lizzie, Reuben and Abe were sitting round the table, having eaten an excellent breakfast and drunk a great deal of strong tea. Lizzie had noticed Reuben glancing wistfully towards a large enamel jug, but when he had put out a hand towards it, his brother had reproved him instantly. ‘No decent body has porter for breakfast,’ Abe had said. ‘What’ll our new mate think of us if we start boozin’ when there’s work to be done? Besides, that there porter’s for to drink wi’ our Christmas dinner.’

Reuben had sighed but drunk his tea and now, with the meal completed, was getting to his feet and shrugging himself into his jacket. ‘I’ll lead the horse while the young missy clears away and does wharrever she needs to do down here,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’d better all take a turn at leadin’ Boxer because it’ll be hard work sloggin’ along the towpath in weather like this.’

The three of them set about their various tasks and well before Lizzie had finished clearing down the cabin, putting the beds away and making up the fire,
The Singing Lark
was on the move. When she opened the cabin door, she could see Abe at the tiller, completely covered with snow so that even his lashes wore a rim of the stuff. Ahead of them, she could just about make out Boxer’s huge, rounded rump, almost dwarfing Reuben’s well-swathed figure at his head.

‘In another mile or so we’ll change places,’ Abe shouted to her, for the wind was howling loudly enough to make normal conversation impossible. This is no ordinary snow storm, queen, it’s a blizzard. I dunno as we can keep goin’ for the whole of the day. Still, if we tie up early and get movin’ as soon as the weather clears, we shouldn’t be too late arrivin’ at the wharf. We’re on a promise to get this lot’, he jerked his head at the cargo, ‘to a pal o’ mine in good time, and I wouldn’t want to let him down.’ He lowered his snow-covered head and peered at her ‘You’re sure there won’t be no scuffers lookin’ out for you? Only me and Reuben’s never had no trouble wi’ the law and we don’t need it now.’

Lizzie was a little startled by the unexpected question, but shook her head and grinned at him. ‘I told you I wasn’t in any trouble, ’cept wi’ me uncle,’ she reminded him. ‘But if you’re worried about it, just you drop me off at the first village we pass and I’ll either make me way back home or sign on with another boat’s crew, if they’ll have me.’

Abe grinned back at her, shaking his head until the snow flew. ‘Don’t take offence, queen. But you must admit it were a strange thing, you turnin’ up out o’ nowhere in the middle of a blizzard. Why, I never even asked you where you got aboard. Still an’ all,
you’re a grand little worker and me and Reuben’s glad to have you to help out. I can’t promise to pay you, but you’ll be well fed and you can sleep in the fleeces, warm as a bug in a rug and safe as houses. Will that do?’

‘It’ll be grand,’ Lizzie shouted above the howl of the wind. ‘Are you going to spell Reuben now? If so, I’ll take the tiller for a bit, so’s he can have a warm, get his circulation moving again, like.’

‘If you’ll take the tiller, I’ll nip below meself and mebbe have a mouthful of somethin’,’ Abe said briskly. ‘Then I’ll send Reuben back for a warm after that.’

For the rest of the day, the three of them worked a sort of rota, each taking a turn with the horse and the tiller, though when they reached a lock, it took the united efforts of all three to get
The Singing Lark
and her butty boat through unscathed. Abe had told Lizzie that they would cook the goose when they tied up for the night since, because of the storm and the short December days, this would be earlier than he would have liked. ‘Normally we’d allow ourselves a decent rest time over Christmas – mebbe attend a church service – like other canal folk will be doin’,’ he said piously. ‘But this cargo’s kind o’ special. I give me word to me pal to get it through in good time and I’m a man of me word, even when weather conditions are agin me. So we’ll press on till darkness forces us to moor up and then we’ll have a real merry Christmas, just the three of us.’ He chuckled fatly. ‘Just the three of us and the goose,’ he amended.

Clem had been dismayed, upon waking on Christmas morning, to discover that the snow was whirling briskly past the boat and covering the countryside in
a soft, white blanket. He guessed this would make his task a good deal harder and besides worrying that Lizzie might have got into bad company, became even more worried that she might have decided to set off into the countryside and even now be lying dead in a ditch, frozen as solid as ice. He voiced his fears over breakfast, but Priddy and Jake shook their heads at him, Jake going so far as to lean across the table and buffet his shoulder. ‘From what you’ve told us, young Lizzie’s a gal with a deal of common sense, not some silly little ninny who’s been reared in cotton,’ he said robustly. ‘I know you think she might have been enticed aboard the Trelawney boat – or might have stowed away aboard it, I suppose – but remember, there were a dozen others she could have chose. And not even the Trelawneys would kick her off their craft in weather like this.’

Clem heard Priddy mutter something, but when he asked her to repeat it, she simply smiled grimly and recommended him to, ‘Stop fussin’ and get a move on, so’s we can fetch Hal and get goin’ once more. The Trelawneys are a bad lot, but they ain’t never done no murders as I’ve heard of and turnin’ a girl out on a day like this would be murder, or as good as. We’ll go straight through wi’out stoppin’ and whenever we pass a moored craft we’ll check the name, and unless it was one of the boats moored at Tate’s that night we’ll not bother to question the crew. We wasted time doing that yesterday. Today we’ll cover more ground.’

Clem agreed with this eminently sensible suggestion and very soon he was trudging along the towpath at Hal’s head, keeping as close to the massive horse as he could, for Hal’s sturdy form kept the worst of the snow off him as well as exuding a very
pleasant warmth. On his other side, Brutus pressed close, seeming almost to relish the awful conditions, or at any rate ignoring Clem’s frequent suggestions that the dog might return to the boat for a warm. Even when they changed over, so that Jake could lead while Clem steered, the dog did not go below into the cabin but remained against Clem’s side, staring ahead through narrowed eyes as the snowflakes whirled down ever faster.

At some time during the day, Priddy supplied them with hot cocoa and cheese sandwiches and remarked, as she handed the thick doorstep to Clem, that they had only passed two moored up craft. ‘What with Christmas Day and the weather, everyone will have taken to towns or villages where they can meet up for a bit of a jolly,’ she shouted. ‘For all we know, whatever boat Lizzie’s on may have done just that. If so, we’ll mebbe find it moored alongside the next village we reach.’

‘Oh, Priddy, I’ve ruined your Christmas Day,’ he said suddenly, realising for the first time he had completely disrupted the Pridmores’ plans. They had meant to moor up in Liverpool for the holiday and had actually invited a retired couple they knew to share their Christmas dinner. ‘What’ll Mr and Mrs Routledge do when they find
The Liverpool Rose
has gone missing?’

‘I left them a message,’ Priddy shrieked against the wind. ‘I telled Jenny Finnigan to say as how we were real sorry but we’d been called away on important business. As for ruinin’ Christmas, can’t you smell roastin’ goose? I’ve had ’un in the oven for the past two hours. She’ll be nicely cooked when it’s too dark to go no further.’

Clem could not smell the roasting meat through
the muffler wound round his face but he was glad that the Pridmores would have some sort of Christmas cheer, despite his quest. Though when eventually they sat down in the cosy cabin, with the snow still whirling down from the black sky, the goose might have been bread and cheese – or indeed sawdust – for all he noticed. He could not help it, his concern for Lizzie grew apace with every moment that passed and when he went to Hal’s stable to check that the horse was comfortable before seeking his own bed, the ferocity of the weather was such that he was unable to get a wink of sleep for some considerable while. He lay in the dark, a prey to increasingly horrid worries, until at last sheer exhaustion dragged him down into sleep.

Clem was awoken some hours later, by the sound of Brutus growling softly. Listening, he realised that he could hear voices. He lay for a moment, still dazed with sleep, and then became aware that it was not only voices he could hear, but the rattle and scrape of a craft being brought alongside and then the even more definite rattle as someone knocked loudly on the cabin doors of
The Liverpool Rose
. Brutus barked sharply and he and Clem emerged into the whirling snow and dark on the little deck together. A tug was drawn up ahead of
The Liverpool Rose
and its crew, two sturdy-looking men in jackets and flat corduroy caps, were standing on the towpath, holding a lantern by whose light they could see to knock on the cabin door with a boat hook. Brutus immediately took exception to this and leapt ashore, growling ominously as he ran along the path. Clem shouted to the dog who skidded to a halt and sat back on his haunches, though he continued to growl, hackles
raised, even after the two men had stepped hastily away from
The Liverpool Rose
and turned back towards Clem. ‘Sorry to wake you so early, la’,’ the older of the two said apologetically, pushing back his cap to scratch his forehead. ‘The thing is, we’s desperate for some information and there’s precious few craft around whose crews we can ask. But we saw you’d been moored snugly here overnight – the depth of the snow on your fore-deck told us that – so we thought we’d stop and ask if you’d seen or heard owt of any other craft headin’ for Leeds?’

‘No, but I’ve slept like the dead all night,’ Clem said. ‘I dunno about Priddy and Jake, though. Jake always says he sleeps with one eye and one ear open so mebbe, if a fly boat passed . . . not that I can imagine any fly boat being foolish enough to work through the night over Christmas and in this sort of weather . . . he may have heard it.’

At this point, the door of the cabin creaked open and Jake’s head appeared. ‘There’s nowt been past this night,’ he said authoritatively. ‘A fly boat makes a deal of motion in the water and I’d have known of its passing even if I didn’t wake.’ He peered curiously at the two men in the lamplight, screwing up his eyes as though to see better. ‘It’s Alf Hitchin, ain’t it? Wharra you doin’ out at this hour, Alf? It can’t be more ‘an six o’clock.’

‘Mornin’, Jake,’ the older of the two men said. ‘I’m almost ashamed to tell you ’cos I’ve been made a right fool of, that’s what. A couple o’ days ago we brung a load of fleeces down from Leeds to the Liverpool docks in
The Pride of the
‘
Pool
. We unloaded Christmas Eve but the ship what was meant to take them aboard was late dockin’, so we left them under canvas on the wharf. Never gave a thought to trouble, believin’ the
ship would dock that night. Only next mornin’, when she did dock and we went to help load, there weren’t a fleece in sight. We axed around, but at first no one had any idea what had happened to them. Then someone said they’d seen the Trelawneys in one of the dockside pubs – you know what their reputation is, Jake – and the brothers had said they were spending Christmas in the ‘Pool, ’cos the youngest lad, Job, had broke a leg slipping on the ice, and it takes three of them to manage the two boats.

‘So me and Bill here went along to where the Trelawney boat should ha’ been only she’d slipped moorings and made off during the hours of darkness. And if that ain’t a sure sign that them buggers have burgled our fleeces, I don’t know what is,’ he finished.

‘If they left when you say they did, then they’ll be well ahead of here by now,’ Jake observed. ‘They won’t stop for darkness, not wi’ a stolen load aboard, they’ll keep goin’ night and day until they reach Leeds – unless they know someone in a canalside town or village who’ll handle stolen goods, that is – and you won’t catch up with ’em unless you do the same.’

‘You’re wrong there, ’cos for one thing
The Singing Lark
is horse-drawn and horses need a rest, particularly in weather like this, and for another there’s only two of ’em doin’ the work of three, so navigatin’ through the locks is liable to be a perilous slow business,’ Alf’s companion observed. Freddie was about Clem’s age with a thin, cheerful face, although right now he was scowling. ‘What worries me is that they might have taken t’other route to Leeds, goin’ via Leigh, across the Barton Aqueduct and up to the Rochdale. Come to that, they could take any number of other routes because although they’re usually on
the Leeds and Liverpool, there’s nowt to stop ’em switchin’, particularly if they think we’re hot on their trail. What’ll concern them most is selling the fleeces before we’ve got word out that it’s a stolen cargo – if only it weren’t Christmas and the weather so foul!’