‘Well, at least Bertie has no second thoughts,’ Constance says.
‘I am certain it’s best for the boy. Think of the fresh air, the village life. What a lucky lad!’ Percy says.
‘It is a very beautiful house,’ Verity adds.
‘Of course it is. Stunning. And you will still have a home by the water. A kinder body of water, I dare say,’ George adds.
‘It seems on the other end of the earth.’ Constance hands Rafe to Verity.
There is cheese and cold meat. Pickles, bread and cakes fill the plates in their laps and the afternoon sun glints through the sherry glasses.
The workmen arrive, are fed, and begin loading the carts.
When it is time to depart Constance looks back into the empty rooms, surprised by the feeling welling up in her. The last time they left this place they lifted the hems of their wedding gowns and stepped up into the carriage that waited at the door. They didn’t go far, only a few streets away. Fore Street will survive the thrashing the Thames gives it each day. It will go on without them.
‘Come, sister,’ Verity calls out to her.
Bertie carries Rafe, and pauses at the door of the carriage. She turns back to the house, lifting his tiny arm in a farewell wave.
Constance looks ahead at the boy and what is left of her family as she closes the door to the house on Fore Street.
Everywhere the eye roams in Regent’s Canal Dock, cargo is shifted. Salt, ice, timber, rice and coal – tons and tons of coal – are transported on the Regent’s Canal.
Here in this dock, hundreds of narrowboats wait in the lay-by. These long, wooden boats lack the majesty of the tall-masted ships that carry wild-eyed men off to sea. The narrowboat retreats from currents and tides and shifting shoal, and turns instead to the still, inland water.
It is mid-afternoon when the sisters’ carriage arrives at the edge of the crowded, noisy dock.
‘We are in luck with the weather today.’ Verity steps down from the carriage and adjusts her dark green spectacles.
The coachman hands Bertie the last of the small bags and a large hamper.
Swaddled in a soft, red blanket, Rafe struggles to be released from Constance’s firm hold.
‘He’s restless today. Seems to know he is in unfamiliar territory,’ she says.
George Fitzgerald pokes his head out of the carriage door and pleads with the sisters to be sensible.
‘Why must you take one of these … well, I can scarcely call it a boat? Percy is perfectly capable of protecting your goods on his own. You will not be comfortable and the journey will take hours longer. You must take a carriage. The water, Constance, such a long time on the water. And the boy.’
‘George, do not worry about us. We will be safe. We are not as feeble as you may think.’
Perhaps this change in the sisters’ lives unsettles George Fitzgerald, or perhaps he is feeling sentimental in his old age, for his eyes turn glassy and he places his aged and quivering hands upon the their faces.
‘Of course you are not. My sons always took pride in how utterly fearless you both are. Ah! There is Percy.’ He dabs his nose with his handkerchief.
‘Farewell, George. You must promise to visit us when we are settled,’ Constance says.
‘Father, Camden Town is not on the continent. Actually, Constance and Verity will be nearer to us now. Off you go. I will meet with you tomorrow.’ He sees to his father’s comfort before he nods to the coachman and the carriage claims the roads to Holborn.
Normally, the captain’s boat would be loaded with tons of cargo, but today, makeshift seating is arranged near the bow and along the hull.
Captain Emil Unger is in charge of this commission. When Verity and Constance offer their handshakes he looks at them as if they have just slapped his face. Unsettled, he wipes his hands on his trousers, but doesn’t quite know what to do with them.
The captain cannot understand why these women would have any desire to passenger a hauling boat on the canal. He doesn’t normally carry passengers, and certainly not the likes of these wealthy women, who are past the middle of their lives. It will be a tight fit, and they are sure to get in the way.
‘Good afternoon, sir … We place ourselves in your capable hands.’ Constance’s hand remains outstretched.
Surprised that he is addressed in such a friendly way, he relaxes and shakes her hand. What sort of woman offers a handshake? He glances from the child to the sisters and back again, and another question forms on his face.
‘He is our ward,’ Verity explains. ‘His parents have met with difficulty. This is Rafe, our godson. Say hello to Captain Emil, Rafe.’
The baby gurgles and blinks. He stares at the Captain’s weathered face and then throws his head back, opens his mouth wide and erupts with the most enormous peel of laughter. His tiny belly shakes, his laugh grows, as if he has just discovered the thing itself.
Completely won over, the captain’s face softens further when Rafe reaches out to clasp the boatman’s plump, rough finger.
‘There now, hearty lad, catch your breath,’ he says.
‘I have the toll money here,’ Constance says to the captain. ‘And half the agreed wages.’
‘That’s fine then, madam. We’ll be off soon. We normally start out much earlier than this, but we shouldn’t have too much traffic later. Hard to know.’
Percy steps from the second boat over to the third and after more vigorous greeting and handshaking, the bargees demonstrate how securely the furniture is tied and protected under the sheeting.
The boats are well stocked with food and the water cans are full.
‘All aboard!’ Captain Emil calls.
The bargees pole off and enter the queue at the entrance to the yawning jaw of the Regent’s Canal.
It is only now after all the checking and double-checking, after all the securing and preparing, that an elaborate bonnet
