A Ship's Tale (9 page)

Martin shook his head, and then cleared his throat. “Well, I'd best go and set up. Must open on time!” And he took himself off.

Mrs. Beasley poked about the garden for a time, calling, “Oo-ooh, Purdykins, lovely cream! Puss puss puss! Come to mumsy, Purdypoo!” Finding no sign of him, she turned to go back inside. The Orange Peril was crouched under the roses, sodden, rumpled, and in mortal dread of his new nemesis, the Hose. Mumsy would just have to wait.

“He'll be back soon,” she said. “He knows the sound of milk bottles.” She made the bottles give off an enticing clatter and went back into the kitchen. Unlimited fresh milk was a distant luxury to many thousands in these lean days, but Purdykins must never want.

I shut the water off and coiled up the hose. Brushing off my hands, I felt the satisfaction of a job well done. An instant later, I was startled to hear a voice behind me.

“If I were you, I'd have cut down the bloody tree,” boomed Harris.

“Shush! Mrs. Beasley is nearby,” I cautioned.

“I know exactly where she is,” said Harris. “I've been watching this business for the last five minutes. Your method of separating cat from tree was very effective.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Yours seems a trifle extreme. Why are you here this early? Don't you ever sleep?” I asked again.

He fixed me with a serious look, “Flynn, they seem to be wasting little time over the hauling-off of the
Auld Lass
. It could happen as early as tomorrow. If she doesn't go out then, they won't get to it till Monday, which is also the day the circus comes down. I wanted to alert you, so we can arrange to be aboard the tug that's taking her. It's all part of the scheme.”

“Really?” I said, puzzled.

“Trust me,” he answered. Those were loaded words.

“I don't understand how this fits into the plan.”

“Soon enough,” he said reassuringly.

“Damn you, Harris! Now you're starting to sound like Bowman. ‘All things in good time.' Go chase a goose!” I stalked away with my arms flailing, like a mad goose myself. At least tonight I might get some answers to my questions as our group of conspirators was meeting again. I surely had questions enough, not the least of which was: where and how would all this finish up?

The day dragged on interminably while I worked in the garden, waiting for tea-time. I was determined to complete my work as quickly as possible and get paid. My employment would last just a few days longer. It would have been wiser to extend my free room and board by proceeding at a more leisurely pace, but I had fallen behind lately, and I did want to get paid. Plus, I didn't care to prolong any ties to this place save those of Katherine.

Tea-time was only minutes off, and I knew that my appearance must not much resemble anything presentable at table. A violent growling started up under my belt at the thought of
table
and the edibles associated with it. I had worked straight on through lunchtime, and my stomach was reproaching me bitterly for my neglect.

I had a quick wash at the tap, then with a window for a mirror, I combed back my hair and straightened my shirt. I shook out my jacket and draped it casually over my arm. I was ready! I trotted up the steps of the pub restaurant and, taking a deep breath, pushed open the door.

Martin hailed me from the bar. “Hello, Flynn! Have you any more cats you want stewed?” I waved him off in mock disgust and looked about. I couldn't see Katherine anywhere, so I sat by the bar.

“Have you come for your tea, lad?” Martin asked. “We have some nice rock cakes.”

“I'd say it's tea plus lunch, and I'm absolutely famished.” A delicious aroma suddenly struck me. “Here, what's that lot?” I pointed to a fragrant platter, steaming seductively on the back counter.

“Ah,” he said, “a new crop of nice pork pies. They've just come out of the kitchen. And no Spam this time, really.” He brought them over and set the plate on the bar.

My stomach squealed with delight, anticipating those plump little pies. “Bless you, kind sir,” I gushed, laying hold of one. I was about to take a bite, when a voice said softly, “Mr. Flynn, would you pass me one as well?”

I turned round and there stood Katherine, looking very fetching in a sweater and wool skirt, holding a tray and looking at me expectantly. Waves of relief swept over me. I had begun to fear that I was too late or that she forgot the time. This was silly of course, since she was working today. The tray was quickly laden with plates and pies. Joining these was some of Mrs. Beasley's pickles, along with a bit of cheese, Scotch eggs, celery, boiled potatoes from the garden, and a clutch of rock cakes. A pint and a half-a-pint kept them company. To me, it looked fit for the King. Katherine seemed amused.

“So it's high tea then?” she smiled. “Well, I'm game, but you'll spoil my girlish figure yet.”

We bore the feast to a table overlooking the pond. For the next few minutes only my eyes spoke to her, while I stuffed my mouth with culinary delights. Katherine watched me with interest, nibbling at a pie. Once the edge was off my hunger, I recounted the morning's exploits to her. She laughed and related some Purdy tales of her own. She occasionally slipped off to wait on customers, but, fortunately, it was a bit slow. I wanted to know everything about her.

“So tell me,” I asked, “How did you come to be here, and where are you from?”

Her laughter ceased. Into her eyes crept such a haunted look of sadness that I bitterly regretted having asked.

Her story was much like many others nowadays, the War having torn so many families and friends apart. Her words came slowly. She'd emigrated from Dublin with her parents before the War and they'd lived in Islington, not far from some of the London railway terminuses. She had been through the Blitz and battled incendiaries at her home and at her neighbours' houses with her family many a night. Two years ago, while she was away, a V2 came down on the house next door, destroying both houses and sweeping away several others along with her parents inside. She had two brothers, but they'd gone missing in action in Europe. This long after the War, she had no hope of ever seeing them again.

“I've a married cousin in the north,” she continued, “had I wanted to live with them. I could have lived with friends in London, but I didn't care to be anywhere near the place. Too much had changed. I know I can make another life for myself, but it's strange being on my own. If it weren't for this job, I'd have nothing at all. Well, one doesn't dwell on such things. We're all too busy surviving. At least I've managed to keep clear of the less savoury career opportunities.”

I thought of all the others struggling to put their worlds back together. We had our finest hour, and a by-God bloody long hour it had been. I thought of Bowman and his wife and the widespread shambles left behind by the half dozen years of death and destruction.

The War had come too late to touch my family where we'd lived in Basingstoke. My parents had died of diphtheria when I was ten, and I went to live with my uncle near Portsmouth. My father had instilled in me a love of green growing things, of working the soil. Later, it was Uncle George who had stirred up my passion for the seafaring life. He emigrated to New Zealand in thirty-eight and we'd fallen out of touch with one another. I went back to Basingstoke to have a look at my family's former house, but all had been pulled down to make way for a street of flats. Even the fondly remembered little shop where I had once bought copies of
Comic Cuts
and my favourite sweet, farthing turnovers, which sometimes had a lucky silver thrupenny piece inside, though I never got one, was long gone. I had well and truly joined the ranks of displaced persons. As I told all this to Katherine, and how chance had brought me to the Beasley Inn, I realised how good it felt to be able to talk to someone about it.

She smiled in that reassuring way of hers. “Chance is sometimes part of a master plan, you know,” she said.

If so, I thought, let it be a
good
master plan: one with her in it!

We lingered an hour and a half over our high tea. I mentioned that tomorrow was my day off, and asked if I might come and annoy her during her breaks. She coloured, and replied that it would be lovely. I was beaming from every pore in my face and didn't care who saw it!

I made my way outside into the early dusk. As I passed Mrs. Beasley's door, I was surprised to find Headmaster O'Connell standing there with his bandaged nose, looking, if possible, more sour than usual. In his bony hand was the rake I'd been using earlier. It seemed unaccountable. He had evidently just left the flat, so I wondered at his less-than-blissful expression.

Feeling self-assured, I couldn't resist a bit of cheek. “Well, Mr. O'Connell,” I said affably, “are you after my job, or do you just fancy a little wholesome exercise?”

He eyed me balefully. “You left that rake lying about,” he hissed. “I could not avoid stepping on it and was brutally struck on the head by it.” He pulled off his homburg, which bore a perceptible dent. “Look at this!” There was the slightest red mark on his temple, for my money just where he should have been hit with a much larger object…such as a steam engine.

“Terribly sorry, how careless of me,” I said, suppressing an impulse to laugh outright. I fixed an innocent gaze on him. “How nice that you've given the boys a holiday from school to see the circus. And how kind of you to favour us with a visit.”

He glanced surreptitiously at the landlady's door, and a blush briefly struggled to bloom on that colourless face. He flung down the rake, and without further discussion, got into his car and drove up the road. As I picked up my rake, I could hear his car backfiring on its way up the hill. It reminded me of the sounds of combat. It would be too much to hope that he'd be picked off by a sniper or that his car might hit just the least little land mine. Well, a man could dream! I went back to my room for a short rest before tonight's meeting.

Dreaming was my happy occupation well after dark later on, this time peacefully in my bed, when I was again woken by stones rattling against the window. Of course it was Harris come to fetch me for tonight's meeting, which I had conveniently managed to forget. I had really been working hard all day and so had gone to bed early. Sighing, I dressed and slipped downstairs to where he waited outside in a drizzle.

“Look lively, Flynn,” he said, “let's go into the pub for a drink.”

“Harris, I've slaved all the day long, and now you've torn me from my well-earned rest. Are you quite sure that I'm really needed?” I protested.

Harris gave no sign of having heard me. With a deep sigh, I stomped along behind him. As we entered, I could see that Bowman was already installed at the fireside next to Edward. There was no sign of Robert or Boris. With Katherine's aid we were soon nursing a pint along with the others. Once everyone was settled, Harris launched into his latest report.

According to his sources, there was no definite word yet as to when our ship would be moved. We got a reprieve on the impending removal of the
Auld Lass
. She was now due to be taken off on Wednesday. Bowman nodded in approval, and even the taciturn Edward guardedly displayed pleasure at this development. Now we had more time in which to prepare, and Monday's “canvas operation” would be well out of the way before the first tug went to work.

Harris went on, “Flynn, I hope you're planning to join us at the circus on Monday, when the tents come down. We'll need all available hands.”

I told him I didn't think Mrs. Beasley would appreciate my running off for an entire day. My work here was still not finished, and I didn't care to provoke her with further unexplained absences.

He smiled. “Ah, but it needn't be unexplained. You see, if you were simply to make a direct appeal—tell her you'd like to help chaperon the dear little orphans on their outing. One can't have too much supervision when boys go to the circus, after all, even if it's only to work there.”

I knew it was futile to resist. “Well,” I began reluctantly, “I suppose I could ask to take Monday off instead of Saturday. Perhaps I could even finish up by Monday, but you know, once I have no more work to do here, Mrs. Beasley will start charging me room and board if I'm to stay.”

“Not to worry,” Harris said, draining his glass. “Nothing we can't attend to.” He rose. “But now I've much to do. I'll call for you at six o'clock Monday morning on the way to the circus. Don't be late.” He made his way towards the door.

Bowman and Edward followed him out. They had said little during our meeting, and I got the impression they wished to talk more out of my hearing. I daresay it was obvious to them that I wasn't ready to quit the pub. I wanted another word with a certain barmaid. I sat for a time staring into the fire, my pipe unlit, and then forced myself to my feet and managed to catch Katherine's eye. Without going into specifics, I explained that something had come up and I'd be working tomorrow.

“Very well then, you'll just have to annoy me during meals,” she said, looking faintly curious at the change of plans, which obviously had some connection with my departed visitors.

“Starting with breakfast?” I asked, feeling shy.

She nodded, and I went off into the dark drizzle floating in a warm glow. I went to my room and hung up my clothes a second time, then fell into bed completely exhausted. I was unable to quiet my thoughts as I watched the spider-webs on my window, wondering what it would all come to.

The next two days were all I'd hoped. Lingering over breakfast with Katherine was so agreeable that I decided to take elevenses in the pub in order to extend my time to be with her. What with these self-indulgences, plus luncheon, tea, and dinner, I was simply not spending much time outdoors, thus letting good dry working weather go to waste. At least on Sunday she had her half-day, and could keep me company as I picked at my tasks.