‘Was you looking for someone?’ One of the men approached her, looming over her.
‘I – I just wanted to see—’ She spoke timidly, but then found the courage to say, ‘That man who just went out, was that Darius Bartholomew?’
The man took his cap off and rubbed sweat from his forehead with his arm. ‘That ’un? Darius the younger. That’s ’is boat, the
Esther Jane
down there. We’ll
be working on ’er next.’
‘That’s the
Esther Jane
– over there?’ She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Along from the dry dock she could just see the prow of another
boat. ‘Oh – can I go and see?’
The man shrugged. ‘Don’t see why not. Ain’t no one aboard ’er though.’
He left her to walk over by herself, picking her way over the muddy ground. The boat was tied up by the bank, waiting for her turn in the dry dock, where she’d be strapped up while the
water was drained out of the dock so that the men could work underneath her. It was with a feeling almost of disbelief that Maryann approached her. There she was, the
Esther Jane
! And on the
roof, curled asleep, a little brown and white dog.
‘Jep?’ She could hardly believe it! He looked up on hearing his name and, jumping down on to the bank, came and licked her hand. ‘Oh Jep – it
is
you!’ He was
a little grey round his sandy muzzle, but still full of life. ‘Oh – is Ada back on board with you now then?’ She was full of happiness and excitement. How could she have left
them? How could she have stayed away so long? Still squatting, petting Jep, who was all awriggle with pleasure, she looked over the boat.
‘Hello there,’ she found herself saying softly. ‘So ’ow’re you then, old girl?’
While the boat made no reply, the state of her seemed to speak for itself. The last time Maryann had seen her she was in good repair, freshly painted and spick and span, brasses polished, her
hold washed out as often as they could manage between loads. But now what she saw filled her with dismay. She looked a sad, worn-out old lady. The paint was cracking off her, it looked a long time
since her brasses had had a rag anywhere near them and she was covered in grime all over. Chances were she was in the same state inside – dirty and heaving with bugs if they hadn’t had
time to stove her. In her dismay Maryann immediately felt like jumping aboard and setting to work but she knew she mustn’t. It was clear the
Esther Jane
had fallen on hard times. Her
mind was jumping with questions. What had happened? Why was Darius back running the boat? Where was his father and, above all, where was Joel?
With Jep following her she went back to look for the man who she found in the dry dock, working on another boat called the
Venus
.
‘D’you know if Mr Bartholomew’s coming back soon?’
The man looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Oh, I should think so. That was one of Essy Barlow’s men ’e went off with. Don’t s’pose ’e’ll stay with
’im long.’
‘Samuel Barlow?’ S.E. Barlow owned one of the carrying companies and she’d often seen his pairs of boats on the cut. ‘’E ain’t selling the
Esther
Jane
?’
‘Seems like ’e might be,’ the man said. ’E could do worse. Times’re tough, everyone chasing about for not enough loads. If ’e sold out to Barlow ’e
wouldn’t ’ave to chase the loads ’imself, would ’e?’
Maryann was appalled. She knew how hard old Darius and Joel had always worked to stay independent, to be Number Ones like they’d always been, not tied to a boss, a company. How would Joel
feel about this?
‘Can I wait till Mr Bartholomew gets back? I’d like to speak to ’im.’
‘Stay as long as you like.’ The man winked at her. ‘Don’t see anyone complaining, do you? So long as you don’t get under anyone’s feet.’
She went over to the side of the yard. From somewhere near by she could hear the sounds of a forge: a horse being shod. She hoped Darius Bartholomew wasn’t going to be too long. In a
couple of hours she would need to set off for Charnwood House, but the way she felt just then she would have waited for ever and damn everything else. Having seen the
Esther Jane
it was
almost as if the past six years had not existed. She was back on the cut with the boat and the people she loved and she was desperate to know what had befallen them. Suddenly it was all that seemed
to matter.
Almost an hour later Darius Bartholomew came back. She saw him the second he strode, grim-faced, into the yard. He was a large, striking presence. He looked puzzled and not especially pleased to
see someone standing by his boat.
‘Mr Bartholomew?’ she said, even before he reached her.
She found him rather forbidding, in the same way she had often found his father. Those strong, chiselled features seemed to scowl down at her.
‘My name’s Maryann Nelson. I—’ How did she explain? ‘A few years back I lived on your boat – with yer dad and Joel – and Jep here – until Ada went
off. . . .’
For a moment he stared blankly at her, then his face softened a fraction. ‘Did you? I remember they ’ad a lass on board for a bit.’
He seemed about to turn away, sinking back into his own thoughts again, so Maryann asked quickly, ‘Only – I wanted to ask after everyone. Your father and Ada – and
Joel.’
Darius Bartholomew climbed over into the
Esther Jane
and stood on the steering platform looking back at her. He shook his head. ‘You won’t be seeing our Ada no more. She were
drownded four year ago, God rest ’er.’
‘Ada?’ Maryann gaped at him. ‘Oh no . . . No!’ Not cheeky, vivacious Ada.
‘They was working the Grand Union – right down to the Thames. It’s all wider and faster there, with currents and that. Our Ada was knocked overboard – got swept away.
Took ’em days before they found ’er.’ Seeing the tears in Maryann’s eyes he looked down with a sigh. ‘She were a good’un.’
Maryann swallowed, wiping her eyes. ‘And your father?’ She could hardly bear to ask about Joel.
‘I left ’im down at h’Oxford with ’is sister what lives on the bank. What with Joel and the boat in this state I said I’d bring ’er up ’ere one
’anded. He ent a young man. He’s finding the life harder and harder and ’e’s been poorly.’
‘And Joel?’ she breathed.
Darius started shaking his head in that grim fashion again and Maryann felt as if a great pressure was bearing down on her chest. Not him as well. He couldn’t be drownded as well, oh
please God, no!
‘Bad,’ Darius said. He seemed almost glad to have someone to whom he could pour out all his troubles. ‘He’s took real sick. He’s been heading for it since the
winter, what with ’is chest, but this time it went from bad to worse. I had to get him took away to the ’orspital at Birnigum even though ’e begged me not to leave ’im on
the bank. But he was that burning up with fever I couldn’t look after ’im and see to the boat and the loads . . . And with fighting for regler loads and back loads—’ He
wiped one of his huge, dark hands over his face. ‘It looks as if we’re giving in – going to Essy Barlow. S’the only way now.’
‘Oh dear.’ Maryann wiped her eyes again. ‘I’m ever so sorry you’ve had such troubles, Mr Bartholomew. I truly am. I know how Joel and your father felt about selling
up.’
‘Times move on – what with the roads taking over . . . Some of ’em’re acting like they’ve never heard of the cut these days. I don’t know what can be done,
that I don’t.’ He pushed open the cabin door. ‘I’m going to get the stove going and brew up. You stopping for some tea?’
‘Yes please.’ She was desperate to know more about Joel. She had to know how he was, where he was . . .
‘Come aboard – that’s if you don’t mind?’ He eyed her pretty frock. ‘It ain’t spick and span like it oughta be.’
Stepping into the
Esther Jane
again after all this time was a wonderful feeling and despite her anxiety, Maryann found herself smiling as the memories poured back. She sat by the tiny
table, looking round, itching to get to work and clean the place up: the plates and copper kettle and Esther’s brown and white teapot. The crochet work was filthy, the whole cabin dull and
dirty compared with how it had been before when either she or Ada had kept it nice. She watched Darius stoking the range and suddenly found herself aching for it to be Joel here beside her so that
she could see him again. She remembered her younger self, confused and frightened, lying alone at night in this cosy cabin, this place of refuge as it had been.
‘Where have they taken Joel?’ she asked as the kettle was heating.
‘I told you – to the ’orspital up Birnigum.’
‘Yes, but which one? D’you know?’
Darius looked round at her, stooped over, scraping old leaves out of the teapot. ‘I never ’ad the chance to see ’im. Our father weren’t well neither and what with chasing
the loads I don’t know ’ow Joel is even. ’E’ll not like being on the bank for long. That’s if ’e even . . .’ He trailed off, but she knew he was going to
say ‘lives’. ‘Never been right really, ’e ent – not since that war.’
Every moment she sat there, she was filling more and more with an urgent determination. Joel was sick, maybe dying, and she had to see him. He’d been so good to her and she’d repaid
him unkindly. Now it was her chance to do something for him. She didn’t need to ask if there was anyone else in Joel’s life. No one had been mentioned and Joel would only have married
someone who could live on the cut, who would be his ‘mate’ aboard the
Esther Jane
. If there was any such woman in his life, where was she?
‘Is ’e all alone there?’ she asked. ‘No one who can visit?’
Darius shook his head, ashamed. ‘There ain’t no one.’
‘Can’t you think which ’ospital it
might
be? Daint they say when they took him?’
Darius’s brow wrinkled. ‘I think it might be the one near the chocolate fact’ry.’
‘The chocolate factory? Bournville. Would it be the Infirmary at Selly Oak?’
‘Might be,’ he said hopelessly. ‘Ain’t no good me knowing when I can’t ’ope to get there, is there?’
‘But I could go.’
Darius stopped in the middle of handing her her cup of tea. ‘You?’
She reached out and took the cup and the absolute resolve in her face was plain to see. ‘Yes. Me.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Letcombe, but I really do ’ave to go – it’s someone in my family.’ How else could she describe Joel? ‘He’s very
ill, maybe dying.’
‘But when will you be coming back?’
‘I don’t know. I’m ever so sorry.’
And she was sorry. Almost heartbroken. Throughout the train journey to Birmingham the tears kept rising up in her eyes. She could go back, Mrs Letcombe said. They’d give her a week or two.
But she knew that she wouldn’t be returning, that everything had changed and that she could only look forward. Deep in her heart she had known that one day she would have to go back to
Birmingham and face her family and now that day had arrived. And it was Joel who had brought her there. He seemed closer to her now than he had in all the years she had been away. The thought of
him, and her worry about him and his weak lungs, was with her all the time. Now she knew she had to see him she was in a desperate hurry to get there. Darius had said he would try and get to
Birmingham when the
Esther Jane
was ready. But she had to get there more quickly. Throughout the journey she wanted to command the train to go faster, faster!
She looked out as it chugged slowly into Birmingham. It was a hot but overcast day and a grey pall hung over the city: all the smoke from the factory chimneys and no breeze to blow it away. A
blackness lay over everything and along the tracks the buildings seemed to be closing in, the workshops and warehouses, with what windows they had poky and filthy, their walls covered in soot and
grime. The sight of it shocked her. What a grim, stifling place it looked! She had been away so long, had become used to the space and clean air of the country, the warm-coloured stone of the
houses, and felt almost panic-stricken at the thought of being enclosed behind these dark, cramping walls again. But down there, under it all, she told herself, was the cut, slipping through and
between and under. Another world, sealed off from the rest of the city, and the thought gave her hope and a way out, a sense of freedom.
When the train lurched to a standstill her pulse began to race even harder. This was really it now. She was back. People were jostling to get out of the train and she pulled her little case down
from the luggage rack.
‘Time to face the music,’ she thought. ‘But not before I’ve seen Joel.’
Changing platforms, she waited for a local train to Selly Oak, and it wasn’t long before she was stepping out of the station. It was dinner time, a bit early to go and visit, so she went
along the Bristol Road to find a place to sit and have a cup of tea and a sandwich and try to steady her nerves. She found a workmen’s café and sat listening to the voices round her,
remembering how much Diana Musson had laughed when she had first heard her talk at Charnwood. That place which had at first felt so strange and foreign had become a second home to her. It felt very
odd to be back in this big, clanging, rackety city. Once again the thought of Charnwood brought tears to her eyes.
She had said her goodbyes the evening before. It was no hardship to part with Evan, but even the crustier characters like Sid and Wally and Cook had shown surprising affection for her. Cook had
flung her arms round her and gone all dewy round the eyes. Parting with Mrs Letcombe had been very emotional even though the housekeeper herself was rather unconcerned, because she was sure Maryann
would soon come running back, and kept saying, ‘There there, m’dear, I don’t know what you’re crying about.’ Even saying goodbye to Alice had brought tears to her
eyes: though she’d never had very warm feelings towards her, they had spent a lot of time working together.
To her surprise, though, it had been Roland Musson who had aroused the most emotion in her. When she went up last night to prepare his room during dinner he had come in as she was turning down
the bed for him.
‘Oh—’ he said, taken aback. ‘I forgot you’d er, be . . . Just popped up to er . . .’ She saw him go to his decanter of whiskey, pour himself a generous couple
of fingers and gulp them down. He turned to her, shamefaced, still holding the glass. ‘Ah – that’s better. Mother doesn’t like to see me – you know. Says I drink too
much.’