The Ribbajack (12 page)

“Oh, isn’t he lovely, Dad! What sort of animal is he?”

Paddy stroked its back with one finger. “This, me darlin’, is the Malabar Egyptian. Right, Atty?”

The Siamese cook spoke in reverent tones. “That feller mongoose, bravest snake killer in alla world. You wait here, I get friend mongoose some food!”

Whilst Atty was gone, Paddy explained to his daughter about the animal. “Y’see, Migg, this feller ain’t no common mongoose. He comes off a very special strain. His father an’ mother were both prize serpent slayers, bred from rare stock. His bloodline is a mixture of two kinds o’ mongooses. Malabar, an’ Egyptian ichneumon, the bravest there is. They’re also the most lovin’ an’ faithful of pets, ask Atty, he’ll tell ye.”

The cook returned with an egg, which he gave to Miggy. “Hold mongoose, blow in his face gently, soft now.”

She did as he instructed. The mongoose leaned close to her mouth, its nostrils twitching. Atty nodded.

“He know you now. Crack egg a little, put it on floor for mongoose feller. He like egg pretty good.”

Miggy cracked the egg slightly. Liquid leaked from it as she placed it on the floor. Putting the mongoose down next to it, she spoke quietly. “Come on, Sailor, this is for you.”

The little beast leaped on the egg, holding it with its paws and attacking the shell with razor-sharp teeth. Paddy McGrail watched his daughter stroking the mongoose as it lapped up both yolk and white like a hungry kitten. “Sailor, eh? That’s a good name for him.”

Miggy nodded. “Well, he sailed with you, Dad, all the way from India. What do you think, Atty?”

The cook shook his head. “No, should be called Lascar, that name for Indian sailor. Lascar!” He reached forward to stroke the creature’s nose with one finger. It snarled, baring its teeth warningly. Atty pulled his hand away quickly.

“He loyal to you now ’til fifty-sixth of Foreveryear. Best he be called Sailor, he British citizen now. You take care of Sailor, he take care of you, ho, yes!”

Miggy scoffed. “How could a little fellow like him take care of me?”

Atty Lok sounded deadly serious. “I tell you, missy, mongoose fear nothing, not scared of poison serpent or death. He protec’ you good!”

Sailor had finished his egg. He looked up from the well-licked shell fragments at Miggy. Folding him in her arms, she stroked him lovingly. The mongoose snuggled up to his new owner, making rusty little noises of pleasure.

Paddy McGrail cautioned his daughter, “Don’t be carryin’ him round an’ pettin’ him like that. I’ve got a feelin’ that Eric doesn’t like animals of any kind, especially foreign ones. Keep Sailor out of sight when your uncle Eric’s around. No sense invitin’ trouble, darlin’.”

Miggy heeded the warning, it made good sense. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make him a little nest behind my bed, and I’ll only bring him out when Uncle Eric isn’t in.” Whilst she talked, the young mongoose gazed up into her eyes, as if listening intently to every word Miggy said.

Every one of the four days her dad was home, Miggy Mags rose early. She fed Sailor on bacon rinds, crusts spread with molasses and the odd cracked egg, which Atty left out for her. She went about her tasks with a will, the object being to get them out of the way so she could spend time with her father. Everything went well until the third day. Paddy had taken Miggy for a visit aboard the
Bengal Pearl,
a delightful day out for her. Her dad’s shipmates, both crew and officers, went out of their way to make her happy. Most of the men were bachelors and had no children of their own. They were enchanted with Paddy’s young daughter. Miggy was given a tour of the vessel, from stem to stern, by two whiskery old salts. A wheelhouse officer even let her turn the massive brass-bound mahogany steering wheel, allowing her to wear his peaked cap. She was served afternoon tea in the crew’s mess with the captain, doctor, purser and all hands attending. Miggy was treated to ham sandwiches, Madeira cake and Ceylon tea. The captain showed her how to stick out a little finger when holding the delicate Satsuma china cups, which he had provided for the occasion. The purser asked her to pour tea for them, chuckling as he referred to her as “Mother.” It was early evening when they came ashore, Paddy swaggering proudly alongside his young daughter. Miggy had some coins and handcrafted trinkets donated by her dad’s shipmates. It had been a day to remember.

But disaster awaited them on their return to the Mersey Star Boardinghouse.

Atty Lok came hurrying up the quayside to warn them. “Eric have much sick belly, he come home early from pub. Ho, yes, big bad mood, you stay out of Eric’s way until he go up to room an’ sleep!”

The cook was about to tell more when Eric McGrail appeared at the door. His face was ashen. He crouched, clutching his stomach as he roared, “Where’ve ye both been all day, eh? Leavin’ a poor sick man to fend for hisself. Fine family you two are!”

Paddy pushed Miggy behind him as he enquired about his brother. “Eric, are you alright, mate, what ails ye?”

The boardinghouse keeper allowed himself to be escorted inside by Paddy and Atty. He lowered himself, groaning, into a chair, where he sat wiping slobber from his chin. “I could’ve been dead an’ laid out, for all youse lot care. I was took bad in the Maid of Erin, an’ had t’find me own way home. It musta been somethin’ that foreign heathen put in me brekkist this mornin’.”

He bent forward, wincing, as he pointed at Miggy. “Either that, or I’ve been infected by that rat you been keepin’. Where is it now, ye filthy liddle scut?”

Paddy answered, defending his daughter. “Easy now, Eric, you’re sick. Miggy wouldn’t keep no rat as a pet, she’s scared of rats. There might be some outside, on the wharves an’ under the piers. Talk sense, mate, whoever heard of anyone havin’ a dock rat indoors as a pet, eh?”

Sweat beaded on Eric’s pasty brow as he heaved himself up. “Oh, ye think I’m out o’ me mind, talk sense, is it? I’ll talk sense right enough. I saw the thing with me own eyes, a rat, near big as a cat the damned thing was. It was skulkin’ round in my cellar when I went down to look for the girl. Come an’ see for yer selves!”

Lifting the trapdoor behind the kitchen counter, he beckoned the trio to go down ahead of him. “Go on down there, I’ll show ye. Nobody calls Eric McGrail a liar!”

Paddy called back as they negotiated the single-board steps, “No one’s callin’ ye a liar, mate, I was only sayin’ that my Miggy ain’t keepin’ a rat down here.”

The curtain had been ripped down from Miggy’s alcove. Her navy blanket and few pitiful belongings were strewn about the cellar floor. However, there was no sign of Sailor. Eric shuffled about, squinching his face and holding on to his griping stomach. He kicked the tin of drinking water over and ground his boot down on on the bacon rind, eggshell and bread crusts.

“Tell the truth, girl, you’ve been keepin’ a rat down here!”

Miggy shook her head. “No, I haven’t, I don’t like rats.”

Eric glared at her from under beetling brows. “Don’t take me for a fool, ye liddle liar!”

Atty interrupted his tirade. “Miggy good girl, not tell lies, she never keep rat!”

Eric turned on him furiously. “Then it’s you, poi sonin’ me grub, ye son o’ Satan!”

The Siamese cook folded his arms, gazing implacably at Eric. “If I want to poison you, long time ago you’d be dead. You make plenty foolish talk.”

Completely lost for words, Eric pushed the cook aside and lurched over to the stairs. Then he turned, fixing the three of them with a malicious sneer. “So be it then. I’ll cook me own grub from now on. But I warn ye, I’ll get to the bottom o’ the rat business. When I’m fit again, I’ll send for Tommy Dyer, the rat catcher. Hah, no rat ever escapes Tommy, he’ll catch the vermin alive an’ sell it to the sportin’ gang at the Slaughterhouse pub. They’ll sling it in the pit with two rattin’ terriers, then bet on which one’ll tear your rat to bits first!”

When the trapdoor slammed shut, Miggy searched the cellar, calling out in a loud whisper, “Sailor, where are you, Sailor?” She gave a squeak of surprise when the mongoose dropped lightly onto her shoulders from out of the ceiling crossbeams. He licked Miggy’s ear and curled about her neck. Paddy looked worried.

“I should’ve known it was wrong, bringin’ a mongoose to Eric’s place. I think I’d best take him back aboard ship.”

Large tears popped from Miggy’s eyes as she pleaded with her dad. “Oh, please don’t take Sailor away from me, I love him so much! I’ll hide him better this time, Uncle Eric will never know he’s here. Let me keep him, please, Dad!”

Paddy McGrail had never seen his daughter cry since she was a babe in arms—it upset him. She was usually a tough little soul. He looked to the cook for help. “What d’you think, Atty, would it work out if I left him here?”

Atty Lok had quite firm views on the subject. “Paddy can no give daughter gift, then take away, not honourable! Leave Sailor here with Miggy, she take care of him. I look out for Eric, things be fine again.”

Paddy relented. “Alright, Sailor stays. But Miggy, me darlin’, don’t let Eric see him, whatever ye do!”

 

 

 

At floodtide on the following morn, Paddy McGrail boarded the
Bengal Pearl
and sailed for Greenock. Miggy stood on the quay, waving, as the ship glided by under sail, like a huge white swan.

“Have a safe trip, Dad, see you next week. Don’t worry, you-know-who will never catch sight of you-know-what!” She ran to the river wall, waving until the big clipper became a white smudge far up the River Mersey.

Miggy Mags continued her daily drudge at the Mersey Star Boardinghouse and Chandlery. Scrubbing floors, washing pots and dishes, serving food, plus a hundred and one other chores between dawn and dusk.

She was forced to take extra care, as her uncle’s illness had not improved. Eric McGrail had not set foot outside in days, sitting in the corner of the dining room, full of self-pity. His expressions alternated between abject misery and rank foul temper. Miggy and Atty were run ragged keeping up with his orders and demands.

Whenever the girl got a chance, she would creep downstairs to look after Sailor. The cook had provided some things to keep the mongoose amused: an oval white pebble, which resembled an egg, and a small coil of cotton rope, which Sailor treated like a snake. Miggy liked watching her pet wrestle with the stone one moment, then pounce on the rope suddenly. She petted the little creature, feeding him Demerara sugar and some of Atty’s rice cake. Sailor nuzzled her hand, then rummaged in her apron pocket, searching for more. Miggy whispered, “All gone, mate, all gone. Be a good boy an’ I’ll bring you somethin’ nice for dinner tonight. Go an’ play now, I’ve got work to do upstairs.”

Eric was thumping his boot on the floor, and calling for her. “Girl! Where in the name o’ blazes has that idle scut got to?”

When Miggy appeared, Eric pressed four pennies into her hand. “Go to the Maid of Erin. Ask Aggie the barmaid for four penn ’orth of dark Jamaica rum. Shift y’self, girl, an’ don’t dare spill any, d’ye hear?”

Miggy bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Uncle Eric.”

Atty, carrying a pail of rubbish out, escorted Miggy to the door, calling out scornfully, “Hah, four penny of Jamaicy rum, only fool drink that for sick belly. That rum burn holes in man’s gut. Here, I give you two more pennies, get six pennies of Jamaicy rum, finish Eric off proper, for good!”

The girl trotted off up the cobbled avenue with Eric’s voice echoing in her ears as he bellowed at the cook, “You mind your own business, ye heathen poisoner! If I want Jamaica rum, I’ll have it. I know what’s best fer me!”

Down in the cellar, Sailor had tired of his play-things. Scampering up into his perch among the ceiling beams, he amused himself by gnawing at the wooden planking overhead. Sniffing the kitchen odours of frying food and molasses from above, Sailor began ripping earnestly into the wood, thinking there might be eggs up there—his favourite food. The little creature’s teeth and claws went furiously to work. He was determined to assess the egg situation of the Mersey Star’s kitchen. Within half an hour, Sailor could see daylight showing through the pine boarding. He redoubled his efforts cheerfully.

 

 

 

A thick fog fell over the waterfront that evening, enveloping the Liverpool coast in a pall of impenetrable mist. The dining room was empty save for Eric, still ensconced in his corner chair. With a jug of hot water and a bottle containing the dregs of his rum, the boardinghouse keeper sprawled ungracefully, his chin resting on his chest, snoring aloud. Atty and Miggy had crept off, down to the cellar, to feed Sailor. There was not much for him—a few crusts, spread with lard, dipped in sugar. The mongoose stayed up in the rafters, busy at his work. Atty had tried climbing up to coax Sailor down.

But the mongoose would have none of it. Miggy stared up into the dark shadows, brushing away at the splinters which drifted down on her. “Sailor, come down here this instant! Be a good boy and come down, there’s nice supper for you. Come on, Sailor!”

The mongoose ignored her for once. It was Atty who came scrambling down, brushing wood splinters from his hair. “No can get near Sailor, him little naughty beast, nearly bite Atty’s finger again. Not listen to you, Miggs.”

Stretching on tiptoe, the girl peered up into the rafters. “But what’s he doing up there? Sailor, Sailor, come dow—”

Her voice was drowned out by an almighty bang—the snapping of wood—and Eric McGrail bellowing like a wounded buffalo.

Sailor had completed his task. He had burrowed through the ceiling, up into the dining room. The problem was that he had been digging directly alongside the leg of Eric’s chair. With the weight of the big fat man, the damaged floor broke. One of the chair legs broke through the weakened timber.

Sailor shot through the gap just in time as Eric fell awkwardly sideways, the furniture collapsing beneath him. Kicking and howling, he lay on the floor, trying to extricate himself from the wreckage of the chair. Sailor nimbly dodged the thrashing legs. He skipped up Eric’s body, over the swollen stomach, across the chest, hopping across the horrified man’s face. Miggy and Atty came rushing upstairs. Eric’s voice rose to a panicked screech.