Now, however, with the certainty that Evie was both all right and indeed happy, he realised he could turn his attention to Sally. He had been growing fonder and fonder of the other girl and hoped that, in her turn, she might be beginning to like him. Geoff did not usually feel at ease with girls, but he had been aware for some time that he was beginning to feel as though he had known Sally for years. Sitting opposite her at the table, he suddenly shot out both hands and seized hers. ‘You’re a grand girl, Sally, and you’ve relieved my mind no end. I felt responsible for Evie in a way, after leaving her with Sid that time. But I don’t feel responsible any more – she’s clearly happy – so now I can tell you . . . that . . .’
His words stuttered into silence but Sally was smiling at him, her expression understanding. ‘I like you, too, Geoff,’ she said softly. ‘Ain’t it odd how difficult it is to tell a feller – or a girl – that you like ’em? Is . . . is . . . that what you were goin’ to say, chuck?’
‘It was,’ he said, mightily relieved to have the words said for him. ‘So shall we go steady, queen? Only it seems to me we gerralong better than most. What do you say?’
‘Well, wharrabout Lizzie?’ Sally said cautiously, but her eyes were shining. ‘I thought you and she . . .’
‘We were just pals,’ he said immediately. ‘Besides, I reckon Clem’s head over heels for our Lizzie. Come on, Sally, say you’ll be me steady girl!’
She giggled. ‘We’ll give it a go then,’ she said. ‘Now let’s visit the canal again and see if there’s any more news of Lizzie or
The Liverpool Rose
.’
As soon as
The Liverpool Rose
reached Blackburn Clem took himself off ashore to persuade the police to telephone around to any officer stationed near the canal so they might keep a look-out for either
The Singing Lark
or
The Pride of the ‘Pool
.
The policeman on the desk was eating sandwiches as Clem entered the station and hastily scooped up the greaseproof-wrapped package and shoved it out of sight under the counter. There was a slight pause while he chewed and swallowed frantically, then he spoke. ‘Sorry, lad, just catchin’ up on missing me breakfast. What can I do for ‘ee?’
Clem took a deep breath before replying because he had so much to remember. Priddy had been firm on the point that, so far as he was able, he should not reveal that the Trelawneys were carrying stolen fleeces. ‘Canal folk stick together,’ she had said. ‘If Alf Hitchin has already caught up with them, he’ll have taken back his cargo and made them pay in some way for the theft. But none of us will want the police to go a-throwin’ a boatman in the clink. It ain’t natural, t’would just about kill the Trelawneys, I reckon, and besides, Abe isn’t a bad feller. Why, even Reuben is only violent when he’s drunk. No, no, we don’t want the police interferin’ with canal justice.’
‘But what about Lizzie?’ Clem had asked, rather scandalised by Priddy’s attitude, though because of his close connection with the canal and its people, he could understand this reluctance to ask help from those ashore. Often enough, when he visited one of the larger towns in order to get supplies, he had been annoyed by the calm assumption that canal folk were really gypsies – water gypsies, to be sure, but even so, the term was abusive rather than complimentary. So now he chose his words carefully. ‘I’d like to get a
message to the crew of
The Pride of the ‘Pool,
’ he told the policeman. ‘I can tell you more or less where they’ll be, though they’re a powered boat so they’ll move a deal faster than us. We’re the crew of
The Liverpool Rose
and we stick to the Leeds and Liverpool since we’re horse-drawn. And I need to send a couple of telegrams to the wool wharf and to Nat Shipley’s yard in Leeds, so perhaps you can tell me where the telegraph office is?’
The policeman pulled a pad of paper towards him and began to write. ‘It’s rare you canal folk ask for help from us,’ he commented. ‘So what’s this all about?’
‘A couple of nights ago we’d stabled our Clydesdale gelding in the Pennines alongside another barge horse. The other boat –
The Singing Lark
– left first, and I suppose, what with the darkness and one horse lookin’ very like another, the crew of
The Singing Lark
tacked up our Hal instead of their Boxer,’ Clem said. ‘They’ll have realised by now, of course, but I doubt they’ll know whose horse they’ve got. We want them to hang fire in Leeds until we arrive so’s we can swap the animals over again.’
The policeman was a large, ruddy-faced man who looked more like a farmer than a scuffer. He cocked a shrewd eye at Clem. ‘I daresay Hal’s a good deal better kept and fed than this ’ere Boxer, ain’t he?’ he asked, a grin lurking. ‘Because, oddly enough, we haven’t had no complaint from the crew of
The Singing Lark
that they’ve got the wrong animal!’
Clem grinned and nodded acknowledgement. ‘Yes, Hal is in better condition than Boxer,’ he agreed. ‘But even if he weren’t, we’d want the old feller back. You know how it is.’
‘Aye, that I do,’ the policeman said heartily. ‘And is
it the same message for
The Pride of the ‘Pool
?’
‘No, not exactly. I want to let the crew of
The Pride of the ‘Pool
know that
The Singing Lark
is still on the Leeds and Liverpool so they don’t waste time searchin’ for her all the way from the Mersey to the Aire and Calder Navigation. Oh, and I want them to know me pal Lizzie’s aboard
The Liverpool Rose
.’
‘Right,’ the policeman said, turning the page and beginning to write. ‘So what’s the message, exactly?’
Clem thought for a moment, sorting out his ideas, then spoke. ‘“Lizzie is safe aboard
The Liverpool Rose,
though Jake has taken a nasty knock”,’ he said. ‘ “
The Singing Lark
is making her way to Leeds, pulled by Hal. We are following with Boxer.” ’
‘Right. I’ll see the messages get passed around to all the stations in the vicinity,’ the policeman said. ‘Anything else? You don’t want to report your horse stolen, for instance?’
‘No, no, it’s just a simple case of mistaken identity,’ Clem said hastily. He turned away and was halfway back to the door when the policeman’s calm and steady voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
‘This Lizzie,’ the policeman said slowly. ‘You wouldn’t be referrin’ to a young girl what’s gone missin’ from Liverpool, around the Burlington Street area, would you? Of course, Christmas is a difficult and confusing time sometimes, but when I come in this morning there were a message concernin’ a young girl . . . I
think
Lizzie were her name . . . what someone suspicioned might have took to the canal to escape some unpleasantness.’ He turned from the counter to root around amongst the papers on a large desk behind him, then turned back, flourishing a piece of paper in one hand. ‘Yes, that’s right. The missing girl’s called Lizzie Devlin.’ He must have
been able to read the indecision in Clem’s face, for he said chidingly: ‘Don’t you go keepin’ information from the Law, young feller, or you really will be in trouble, stolen horse or no stolen horse. By the messages they’ve been sendin’ out from the ‘Pool, there’s been nasty goings on up there. Mebbe even murder, readin’ between the lines. Now tell me straight – have you got Lizzie Devlin aboard your boat or haven’t you?’
Clem turned back, only half reluctantly, towards the counter. In fact, he realised, he felt considerably relieved. He had wondered how to get a message back to Sally that all was well with her friend, but since he did not know who else might be interested in the news had agreed with Lizzie’s wish to reveal as little as possible of her whereabouts. However, if someone had reported Lizzie as a missing person then the sooner the whole thing was cleared up the better. It did occur to Clem, fleetingly, that Uncle Perce might have reported her as missing in order to try to shift the blame for Aunt Annie’s death to his niece, but a little further thought banished this suspicion from his mind. The moment Lizzie reappeared she would tell the truth about that dreadful night and because of Uncle Perce’s bad reputation, if nothing else, Clem was certain she would be believed before her uncle.
Accordingly, he grinned at the policeman and leaned his elbows on the counter. ‘Yes, we’ve got Lizzie Devlin safe and sound aboard
The Liverpool Rose,
’ he said at once. ‘The reason I didn’t tell you immediately, Constable, is because Lizzie is still in mortal fear of her Uncle Perce. She hid herself away on a canal boat because it was one place she thought he wouldn’t search . . . She saw him trying to do in his
wife, you see, and what’s worse, he knew she’d seen. He and his fancy woman chased her a good way, but lost her on the canal bank. Now she’s scared to return to Liverpool in case he’s waitin’ for her.’
The policeman turned and shouted, ‘Andy!’ and another man appeared. ‘Take over the desk, will you?’ the Constable said ponderously. He turned to unhook his cape from its place on a hat stand and clapped his helmet down over his bristly, brown hair. ‘I’m just a-goin’ down to the canal to interview someone as has been missin’ since last Monday, so you’d best put the word around that Lizzie Devlin has been found, safe and sound, aboard
The Liverpool Rose
.’
‘Safe but not altogether sound,’ Clem interpolated, rather anxiously. ‘She had a nasty fall in the snow and dislocated her ankle as well as cutting her head open, but Priddy – that’s Mrs Pridmore, the Number One’s wife – has strapped up the ankle and put a soothing ointment on her head. Mrs Pridmore says she’ll soon be right as rain, as long as she doesn’t overdo it. And I must say that Lizzie’s gettin’ on in prime style since I’ve made her a pair of crutches.’
The policeman’s eyes had widened a little as Clem spoke. Now he shook his head slowly from side to side, looking a little like a baffled bull who knows he got into the field but cannot remember how to get out. ‘I reckon there’s a deal you ain’t tellin’ me,’ he said accusingly. ‘Did that uncle of hers beat her up before she got away, or did she try to stop someone a-takin’ of the wrong horse? There’s a mystery here and we’re bound to get to the bottom of it in time, young feller, so why not come clean wi’ me now? And what’s a Number One when it’s at home?’
Clem laughed. ‘It’s a feller who owns a canal boat,
rather than one who works for the company,’ he explained. ‘I know my story sounds bad when you put it like that but it’s really quite straightforward. Lizzie was walking through the snow when she fell into a sheep cave . . . you’ve heard of sheep caves? . . . and did herself a deal of damage. She’ll tell you herself when we reach
The Liverpool Rose
.’
Making his way through the snowy streets beside the policeman, Clem was heartily glad that Priddy had made them go over and over their story so that the whole crew knew precisely what to say when questioned.
Priddy had asked a doctor to come down to the boat. Having examined Jake, he had said that rest was the best treatment and advised them to continue with their journey but make sure Jake did not leave the cabin.
‘Well, I think we was downright lucky,’ Priddy said as Clem began to get the boat ready to leave. ‘If that scuffer hadn’t been an understandin’ sort o’ man, we could have been held up for half a day instead of half an hour. What’s more, he might have insisted that Lizzie went back to Liverpool on the next bus, like it or not, some of ’ems that officious . . . so I reckon we were lucky.’
Jake, still lying in his bunk, agreed rather weakly that this was certainly the case. Priddy was still unhappy over his condition and had told Lizzie that if he did not improve a good deal over the next few days she would take him up to the Infirmary when they reached Leeds so that the doctors there could take a good look at him.
Now Lizzie was sitting at the table, preparing a quantity of vegetables for the stewpot. ‘That constable
were pretty nice, all things considered,’ she said, scraping vigorously at the outer skin of an enormous carrot. ‘But, of course, I know I’ve got to go back to Liverpool quite soon. Mind you, though the scuffer said Uncle Perce had disappeared, I’m still scared that he’s hidin’ away somewhere, waiting to get me. Once I open my mouth . . .’
‘You’ve already opened it,’ Priddy observed. ‘You telled Constable Rogers everything, just about. How the chamber pot were broke and how you saw your uncle deliberately spillin’ water, and the syrup of figs your aunt always kept in the corner cupboard . . . you even telled him how someone had moved the pile of bricks so that when your aunt fell she hit her head on them. Oh, the wicked old devil! I hope they catches up wi’ him, so I do. And since he writ it all down, and you signed it and swore on the Bible it were true, they’ll clap your uncle in the clink as soon as they lay hands to his collar.’
‘That’s certainly true, young ’un,’ Jake said, from his bunk. ‘I don’t deny you’ll have to go back to Liverpool when we’ve discharged our cargo and picked up a new one, but I don’t see no hurry. After all, Priddy needs you to keep an eye on me when she’s steerin’.’
‘Which I’d better do right now,’ Priddy said, getting to her feet and heading for the cabin door. ‘We’d best get a move on, though, because I’m gettin’ desperate worried about Hal. I know the Trelawneys feed Boxer the best they can and probably see he’s stabled warm o’ nights, but that’s because they need him in good fettle to pull
The Singing Lark
. I wouldn’t put it past them to keep Hal pulling day and night and forget all about stabling because they know very well we’ll claim him back as soon as maybe.’
‘Oh, the Trelawneys ain’t that bad,’ Jake said comfortably as his wife left the cabin. ‘They’ve never had a name for cruelty to animals, though a good few company men ain’t too particular how they treats their horses. I don’t think they’d use Hal badly ’cos they know they’d have me to reckon with.’
‘They were pretty good to the horse while I was with them,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘Tell you what, Jake, when I’ve done these vegetables I’d like to go and sit with Priddy for a bit so that I can take a turn at steering the boat. I know I’m not much use while I’m on crutches, but I’m sure I could steer, even if I had to take a stool out and sit down while I did it.’