There is a third man. They hear his running steps before they see him in the faded light. He leaps onto the narrowboat and lands beside Verity. He too wears a kerchief around his face, and the night is too dark to see him clearly. The third man surprises the attacker when he knocks his hat off, grabs a handful of his hair, and pulls him away from the child. Angela keeps her pistol trained on Verity’s attacker.
A loud splash in the water distracts them. The man who assaulted Constance has jumped into the canal and is swimming away from the boat’s bow. The other attacker takes advantage of the diversion and leaps from the stern onto the next boat. The third man does not waste a moment. His black coat sweeps through the night air as he pursues the man who now jumps from boat to boat.
Brandishing her pistol, Angela strides to the bow.
‘Get the babe down to the cabin,’ she says to Constance.
She takes aim and fires into the water.
Verity does not flinch at the sound of gunfire, but stands fixed, glued in fear.
‘Take him to the cabin,’ Constance tells her. ‘Verity!’
Verity stares dumbly. Her shoulders tremble and she seems oblivious to Rafe’s terrified cries.
Constance’s eye throbs and her vision begins to blur. Her good eye tracks the third man and the attacker as they flee in an acrobatic chase across empty barges. The attacker reaches the bank and runs to a timber yard. The mountainous stacks of long planks soon swallow both men.
Constance approaches Verity with great care. She has known her sister in this trance-like state of shock before. Gently, she places her hands on Verity’s shoulders.
‘Verity. It’s Constance, darling. Everything is fine. Look at me, Verity. See here? You have Rafe safely in your arms. I am here. We are all safe.’
Verity turns her gaze to Constance.
‘There is blood coming from your eye, sister.’
Constance reaches up to her swollen eye.
‘So there is. Come now, we shall go down into the cabin and sit by the range.’
Angela reloads and fires a second time into the water, but the man is an excellent swimmer and is beyond the bullet’s reach.
Men with great, white cloths tucked under their chins, who seconds ago were enjoying their picnic suppers on the small parcels of green near the bank, scramble for safe cover, unsure of what has caused the melee.
Several men give chase on the towpath towards the City Road Lock. Impeded by their weapons and lanterns, the attacker outruns them. Though he is drenched, his nimble legs carry him further and further to safety in the pitch-black evening.
With a storm on his face Captain Emil comes barrelling towards his boats. Then there is Percy, breathlessly sprinting from barge to barge. Last comes Bertie, who finds it difficult to negotiate the slope of a hill and drops her basket, lifts her skirts and eases her way back to the mooring.
In the cabin, huddled near the range on bunk seats, Constance holds Rafe and rocks him until his whimpering begins to subside. The warmth from the stove is welcoming. Ashen-faced, Verity sits beside them with her head bowed and her hands clasped. She chants a prayer in Latin. Over and over her voice quakes with the same phrase that no one else understands, not even Constance.
On deck, Angela’s arm hangs down by her side, the pistol heavy in her hand. Captain Emil parts the crowd gathered near his boats. He is yet to know what, exactly, has happened and stops short when he sees his wife standing on the boat. Angela looks at him with a strange expression on her face. He approaches her slowly, then when he is upon her, he reaches down and eases the pistol out of her hand. He begins to speak, but she places her hand over his mouth. No, not yet. But he is bursting with questions.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘The ladies?’
‘I think not.’
‘I know the bastards ran with empty hands. What were they after?’
‘The baby.’
What? I don’ understand.’
‘None of us do. Give ’em a minute. They need a drink … something strong.’
His crew is still on land helping to search the timber yard, although they have lost hope that the attackers are still near. The guilty will not be found tonight.
Bertie stifles a cry when she finally reaches the sisters and sees their faces, shadowed by lamplight. Constance’s gruesome eye glows red with blood. Verity mumbles like a lunatic through her blue lips.
‘Sweet Mary and Jesus and all the saints preserve us,’ Bertie says.
‘Ah, Bertie, there you are. Where is Percy?’ Constance asks.
‘He’s off to find the authorities. He knows you three are safe. With great thanks to Angela here.’
The boat is heavy with people again. Angela motions for Bertie to join her on deck, and there speaks softly to her, receiving quick nods in return. ‘Yes,’ Bertie says, ‘bring it quickly, too.’ Angela fetches the whisky from the stern.
No one has noticed that the temperature has dropped except the three boys who care for the horses. They carry a collection of blankets they’ve gathered from the other boats.
‘Here, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ says the eldest. ‘You shiver so.’
Constance looks up at the boy from where she sits with her head held back and resting on the cabin’s scumbled panel. She holds her handkerchief over her eye.
‘You are the son of the captain and Angela?’ she asks.
He grins at her and nods. ‘And them two runts up there be my brothers.’
Captain Emil stands at the door, gives his son an approving glance and then motions for him to move along. ‘We will leave here soon. Make ready, Marland.’
Angela pours a round into teacups.
‘Madam, a bit better?’ he asks Constance.
‘Yes, captain.’ She takes the whisky in one gulp. ‘I have never been struck before. I do not recommend it.’
‘Angela will see to you. She has a talented hand at the medicinal, ’specially the leeches.’
‘And what about you,
