Verity manages a weak nod.
‘They were after the boy,’ she says.
‘I heard. Don’t you worry. Won’t happen again. You ladies and the little one are safe now. You’ll not be out of my sight.’
‘Thank you, Captain,’ Constance says, though her voice belies her fears and she sounds very worried indeed.
‘Right.’ Angela enters the cabin. ‘Your eye. ’Tis bad.’
Inside, behind the swagged, lace curtain Angela rummages around in a concealed cupboard.
‘We realize this is your private space and we regret invading your home,’ Constance says.
‘You are welcome here,’ Angela says matter-of-factly.
She gently removes the handkerchief from Constance’s eye.
Verity gasps.
‘Can you see out of that eye?’ Angela asks, as she cleans the area with a fresh wad of muslin.
‘Yes, I am relieved to say.’
‘You’re a brave lady.’
‘Constance has always been brave,’ Verity says.
Angela pauses, and then turns to Verity. ‘You held on to the babe mighty fierce. You are both brave.’
All that is not said here now is breathed in sighs and held fast in their throats and hearts. How could they say, ‘We could not lose another child, now could we … For surely that would be the end of us.’
Angela has swiftly mixed a poultice.
‘Madam, the treatment? Your permission?’
‘Yes, of course.’
A few moments of silence are broken when Percy appears in the door.
‘Good Lord! My dear Constance!’ he says upon seeing her eye.
‘She is quite all right, aren’t you, Constance?’ Verity says.
‘I am indeed, by some miracle. What news, Percy?’
‘We will be on our way again soon. I have just returned from the lock-keeper’s cottage. He has dispatched a man to New Scotland Yard. The Peeler on the beat tonight is policing a violent brawl just north of the basin. He can be of no service to us here. It may be that we cannot report the assault until we reach Horsefall Basin.’
‘We must not be followed to Camden Town, Percy. Whoever those brutes are they mustn’t know the location of our new home! The very thought chokes me,’ Verity says.
‘They will not. With the kind help of Captain Emil and his connections we have a formidable escort on the towpath.’
‘I’ll just be takin’ this up, then.’ Angela carries two plates that serve as trays for the teacups.
Percy makes way for her and then continues. ‘There is talk of a gang in the area.’
‘They were not men in a gang. I am sure of it. And what would a gang want with a baby?’ Constance says.
‘Why are you so certain, sister?’ Verity asks.
‘Did you not smell it? Oh. Perhaps your attacker …’
‘Smell what?’
‘The Danish tobacco. The man reeked of it. His coat, his hands, he smelled like a walking pipe from Copenhagen. It was the scent of our father.’
‘But that does not prove anything. Many smoke Danish,’ Percy says.
‘It is a particular blend. Only available in Denmark. Those despicable men are foreigners.’ Constance is firm.
‘All aboard!’ Captain Emil calls.
Finally, the boat moves forward in a night that is clear and cold. The canal shimmers under the yellow ochre of a nearly full moon. Yet the pall of the unfortunate event hangs over them, and what might have been a livelier evening ride along the water is much more subdued. The passengers and boatpeople are alert to the moving shadows of overhanging trees. The sound of rising and falling through the next lock is somehow more sinister. Each of them anticipates with dread passing through the arch and into the endless void of the Islington tunnel.
Everyone has a job to do as they wait their turn to enter.
Constance and Verity, alone in the cabin, add their whispers to the heavy hobnailed boots and the muffled grunts and voices.
‘The third man, Verity.’ Constance holds her sister’s hand. ‘I think it was the man Clovis Fowler spoke of – Benedikt. Did you see him?’
‘Only his back. It is a revolving nightmare in my mind. Horrible images that I want to forget, not remember, Constance.’
‘The tobacco. Father said it could only be had from Copenhagen. It cannot be purchased in London. And their clothing … It is made from the same wool as the swaddling blanket that was wrapped around Rafe when Mrs Fowler brought him to us. Can you see that they must be foreign?’
‘I do not know! Stop this! We’ve only just been attacked and you wish it all to be sorted.’ There is a pause in the movement of those on board.
‘I am sorry, Constance. I want off this boat and I want to be in our new home, away from these troubles and far from our former lives.’
The sisters fall silent for a moment as the boat moves closer to the darkness.
‘Will you be all right, Verity?’
‘I suppose.’
‘No, I mean, will you be all right?’ Constance turns her sister’s face to meet hers so that there is no escaping her meaning.
‘I will be … for the boy.’ She looks away.
‘Come, sister. Let us go up and witness this tunnel business,’ Constance says.
The two leggers are in position. They lie on their backs and place their hobnailed boots on the tunnel wall. Their legs hang over the boat, above the water, with a slight bend at their knees. A shout goes up from one of the leggers and then begins the first echoing sounds of heavy boots on the damp walls, like organized clapping. The right boot swings over the left, and they paw their way down the tunnel, one sweeping over the other.
Through the blackness the lantern splashes eerie shadows on the tunnel walls created by the dance-like movements of four legs.
‘Marland, give us a song, lad.’
When young Marland sings the first clear note the tensions of their journey drop away. His exquisite voice joins the echoing tunnel and sends them to place without toil and worry.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The leggers jump out where boats are moored at Mr
