A Mother's Wish Page 4

  Effie understood only too well, but that night it transpired that Georgie had other ideas and a will of his own. His howls brought Effie running to the cabin where she found Sal shaking him like a terrier with a rat while Jacob and Salter looked on.

  ‘The boy’s possessed!’ Sal screeched. ‘He’s the devil incarnate.’ She raised her hand as if to strike Georgie but Effie lunged at her, giving her a shove that sent Sal sprawling onto the floor.

  ‘Why you little bitch,’ Sal roared, scrambling to her feet and rolling up her sleeves. ‘If you want to play it rough then you’ve picked the wrong woman.’

  Salter took the pipe from his mouth and used it to poke his wife in the ribs. ‘Stow it, Sal. Let her take the little bugger if she thinks she can stop him making that row. It’s giving me earache.’

  Jacob nodded his head, grinning stupidly, and it was only then that Effie realised that her father-in-law was drunk. He picked up a tankard and took a swig, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘He’s got good lungs, I’ll give him that.’

  Sal hesitated, glaring at Georgie who had gone into a full tantrum and was lying on his back flailing his arms and legs and screaming. ‘He needs a good slap,’ she muttered. ‘Spoilt little brat.’

  Effie snatched her child up in her arms. ‘Leave him alone,’ she screamed as a bubble of hysteria rose in her throat. ‘Touch him again and I’ll kill you.’

  ‘You’re no better than me, you stuck up cow,’ Sal snapped, pushing her face close to Effie’s. ‘I can’t stand his noise. Take him outside and let’s see what a night in the pouring rain does for you and your high and mighty ways.’ She turned her back on Effie and lurched over to sit between her husband and Jacob.

  Effie needed no second bidding and she stumbled from the cabin, clutching Georgie to her breast, only to discover that Sal had been right about one thing – the misty drizzle had turned into a downpour. She was soaked before she reached the bows where she had rigged up a tarpaulin to give her a little shelter during the night. She could only be thankful that it was May and not December as she settled down on the blanket that Jacob had grudgingly given her, wrapping Georgie in her shawl and cradling him in her arms until he fell asleep, sucking his thumb. The rain drummed a tattoo on the tarpaulin above their heads and it was a long time before Effie’s clothes dried out and the warmth returned to her body, but at least she had her son safely cuddled up to her and eventually she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

  Next morning she awakened to find the sun shining from a clear sky and steam rising from the wet decking. Georgie’s small body was curled up in her lap, and as she moved he stirred and opened his eyes. A smile of recognition lit his face and Effie felt her heart constrict with love for him. He was so small and precious and she would do anything in her power to protect him.

  A shadow loomed over them and a large hand reached down to pull back the tarpaulin. ‘Get up, you lazy slut.’ Salter leaned over them, his face dark with stubble and his breath stinking of onions and stale beer. ‘I ain’t starting the day on an empty belly so you’d best get into the cabin and make us some food.’

  Effie did not dignify this order with an answer. There was much she could have said but there seemed little point in attempting to converse with an animal like Salter. He strode off along the deck and was about to climb onto the towpath when he turned his head to glare at her. ‘Get a move on, girl. We’ve got these empty barrels to return to the distillery afore noon. You’ll find things a bit different now that I’m running the show.’ He leapt ashore, leaving Effie staring after him as he made his way to where Champion had been tethered for the night.

  She knew now exactly what her life was going to be like on board the Margaret, and it was not an exciting prospect. She reached down to hold Georgie’s hand as he tugged at her skirts to attract her attention. She had no idea how she would achieve it, but she was determined to make her escape at the first possible opportunity. But she would need money and getting her hands on some of her father-in-law’s hoard of cash was not going to be easy. She knew exactly where Jacob hid his money, and that was in a leather pouch concealed beneath the planking that formed his seat during the day and his bunk at night. The main problem was that he so seldom left the cabin, and now she had the added complication of Sal Salter having taken up residence.

  Effie made her way to the cabin and opened the door. The stench of sweaty bodies, stale ale and tobacco smoke hit her forcibly, making her feel physically sick. Jacob lay on his bunk, his jaw slack and loud snores shaking his whole body. Sal had awakened and was sitting with her skirts pulled up over her knees as she scratched her bare bottom. She squinted at Effie with bloodshot eyes. ‘You took your time. Stoke the fire and put the kettle on. When you’ve seen to our food you can go ashore and fetch kindling. There’s no milk left so you’ll have to get some, but then you must know where the farms are around here.’

  Effie nodded her head in response as she bent down to riddle the ashes in the stove. At least there were still glowing embers and it would not take long to get the fire going.

  Sal pulled a purse from the top of her stays and took out a coin, tossing it to Effie. ‘Salter likes a rasher or two of bacon for breakfast and a couple of fried eggs, so best get some while you’re about it. I dunno what you’ve been living on but there’s not enough vittles in the cupboard to feed a mouse. My man likes his food, so bear that in mind.’ She rose to her feet and stretched; a move that seemed to terrify Georgie who buried his head in his mother’s skirts. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Sal demanded crossly. ‘I think that kid’s a bit simple.’

  Effie drew the poker from the fire and turned to point it at Sal. ‘You leave my son alone, Sal Salter. I’ve never hurt a soul in my life, but I swear if you lay hands on my boy once again, you’ll be very, very sorry.’

  Chapter Three

  THE DAYS THAT followed were a living nightmare for Effie. If she had thought her life was hard before the advent of the Salters, she found it doubly so now. Salter himself seemed to have a hold over Jacob and he took over the day to day decisions as to the running of the narrowboat. He dealt with farmers and agents alike, accepting extra cargoes and handling the money. Effie could not understand why Jacob allowed a complete stranger to run the business that he had inherited from his own father and had built up over the past twenty-five years, but she had no doubts that Sal was making herself available to Jacob in the most basic way. The cries and grunts emanating from the cabin in the afternoons when Salter was leading Champion along the towpath would have been evidence enough, even if Effie had not come upon them once in the middle of the day. She had left Georgie taking a nap in the well of the stern while she went to put the stew pan on the stove, and she had entered the cabin without knocking. She had found Jacob straddling Sal with his hands clutching her plump breasts and kneading them like bread dough as he took her with amazing vigour for a man who was supposed to be a cripple. Effie had backed out of the door before either of them had seen her, and her stomach had rebelled, causing her to collapse on deck and vomit over the side of the boat.

  If she had thought it would alter her circumstances she might have told Salter what was going on under his nose, but on reflection she decided that he condoned his wife’s promiscuous behaviour. Effie knew that at night the trio sat up till all hours drinking the raw spirit that Salter tapped from the sealed barrels. How he managed to get away with it she had no idea, but Salter was as slippery as the eels that thrived in the river, and she did not trust him an inch.

  During the next few weeks, the only thing in Effie’s favour was the weather. A warm and sunny May evolved into a hot, dry June, which made sleeping out on deck almost a pleasure. While she steered the boat, Effie kept a strict eye on Georgie as he played with the wooden bricks that Tom had made for him during long winter evenings. She was constantly on the alert in case Georgie became more adventurous, but he seemed content to keep close to her and actually thrived on the outdoor life. His hair was sun-kissed with b
lond streaks and his once pale complexion glowed with a healthy tan, although Effie kept a close watch on him in case his fair skin should burn. She herself worked from dawn until long after dusk, lighting the stove and making sure that the fire was kept going all day. She prepared and cooked all their meals, made tea and cleaned the narrowboat from stem to stern under Sal’s cold-eyed supervision. All this was accomplished when the boat was moored and loading or unloading the various cargoes of grain, spirits, hay and farm produce. At all other times, Effie was at the tiller. Salter saw to it that she did not converse with any of the lock keepers along the way, warning her that if she tried to make trouble she would be set ashore without her child. Effie had no doubt that Salter and his hateful wife would carry out this threat with pleasure, but even so she risked everything once or twice by speaking to the lock keepers she knew well and asking if they had heard any news of Tom. She thought perhaps he might have left a message for her, knowing that the Margaret would have to pass that way. Once, she managed to speak to the keeper at Old Ford lock, but Salter had spotted her before she could elicit any information from the man, and she had been hustled back on board, sustaining a hefty clout from Salter on the way. All that was left to her was to bide her time and await an opportunity to get at Jacob’s hidden cache of money.

  Effie’s chance came unexpectedly on midsummer’s day. It had been particularly hot and Sal had complained bitterly about the stuffiness in the cabin. Effie had to hide a smile when she heard Jacob and Sal shouting at each other in the afternoon. It sounded as though Sal had resisted Jacob’s advances for once and he was not at all happy. After a brief spat, Sal stomped out of the cabin adjusting her clothing with an angry twitch of her shoulders, and she had sprawled on a pile of sacks filled with grain, legs akimbo and skirts raised above her knees as she basked in the sun. Jacob had limped out of the cabin and continued to harangue her until she opened one eye and uttered a stream of such foul language that even Jacob was silenced, and he retreated into the cabin, slamming the door.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Sal demanded, raising herself on one elbow and glaring at Effie. ‘Keep steering this contraption or it’ll be the worse for you, missis.’

  Ill-temper had rolled around the boat for the rest of the day, growling like a distant thunderstorm, but late in the evening when they were tied up for the night it appeared that both Sal and her husband had had enough of quarrelling and somehow they persuaded Jacob to accompany them to the riverside inn. Effie spotted her chance. Having waited until they were safely out of the way, she checked that Georgie was sleeping soundly before making her way to the cabin. Her mouth was dry as she prised up the loose piece of planking. What would she do if Jacob had changed the hiding place or spent the money? Her hands were trembling as she felt about in the dark space, and she had to stifle a cry of relief when her fingers curled around a leather pouch, heavy with coins. She emptied the money into her apron, and from her pocket she took out a handful of small pebbles that she had collected on one of her forays ashore when she had gone to fetch kindling. Replacing the coins with the pebbles, she returned the pouch to its hiding place and slid the board back into position.

  She hurried back to where Georgie lay sleeping, and settled down to count the coins. She was thrilled to discover that Jacob had amassed the princely sum of fifteen pounds. She knew she ought to feel guilty for stealing, but she comforted herself with the fact that having worked unpaid for two years, she had earned this money. If Owen had lived things would have turned out differently. But sadly he was dead, and however much she grieved for him, there was no altering that fact. She had their son to raise and she knew that Owen would have wanted the best for Georgie.

  Effie tucked the money bag into the flour sack in which she had packed a few necessities and made herself as comfortable as was possible on the hard decking. The summer dusk was swallowing up the landscape and bats flew overhead making crazy circles against the darkening sky. Owls hooted and in the distance she could hear the mournful bark of a dog fox. The soft lapping of the water against the bottom of the narrowboat was rhythmic and soothing. She took Georgie in her arms and she settled down to sleep, planning to awaken before dawn and leave before the others were up and about. She had toyed with the idea of leaving as soon as they staggered back from the pub, but she had decided that it would be too dangerous to wander about in the dark, and Georgie was getting too big to be carried for any length of time. She must be patient for another few hours, and then she would head for freedom and she would go in search of Tom.

  She was awakened by raucous singing and the crunch of booted feet on the towpath as Sal and Salter returned to the boat one on either side of Jacob, who was singing the loudest of all. They boarded the boat, narrowly missing a dunking in the river as they staggered and stumbled, laughing as they missed their footing and fell against each other.

  ‘Wake the little bitch up, Salter,’ Sal said, slurring her words. ‘I wants a cup of tea.’

  ‘I got better than that, my duck.’ Jacob grabbed her round the waist. ‘Let’s have a proper drink.’

  Sal gave him a shove that sent him stumbling into the cabin. ‘You’re drunk, old man.’

  ‘And so are you, Sal,’ Jacob said, clinging to the doorpost. ‘Come here, my girl, and show me how much you love me.’

  Salter moved towards Jacob and for a moment Effie thought he was going to do something violent, but to her surprise he swung Jacob up in his arms as if he weighed no more than Georgie. ‘You need a lie down, old man, and that’s what you’re going to get.’

  ‘Toss him overboard,’ Sal said, chuckling. ‘Get rid of the old devil.’

  ‘Shut your face,’ Salter snapped. ‘D’you want the girl to hear?’

  The rest of their conversation was lost as the cabin door slammed behind them. Effie sat bolt upright on the pile of sacks that had to suffice as a bed. Were they really planning to murder Jacob? Or was it just drunken chatter that would be forgotten in the morning? There was no doubt that Salter and his wife were bad people, but Effie did not think they would risk the hangman’s noose. She glanced down at Georgie in case the noise had awakened him, but he was sleeping peacefully. Effie’s throat constricted as she gazed at her infant son; he looked so vulnerable, like a little angel, although that was far from the truth. Georgie might be little more than a baby but he had spirit and he was a normal, mischievous little boy. She experienced a surge of love so great that it almost choked her, and she knew then that she would give her own life to protect him.

  She closed her eyes but sleep evaded her and at the first sign of approaching dawn she rose from their makeshift bed and made ready to go ashore. Georgie whimpered as she lifted him from his warm nest of blankets, but his sleepy head lolled against her shoulder and he did not wake. Moving stealthily as a cat, Effie tiptoed along the deck and stepped ashore. She could tell by the movement of the water that the tide had turned and on a sudden impulse she untied the mooring rope and tossed it back on board. Almost immediately the Margaret began to move, floating silently but swiftly downriver towards its confluence with the River Thames. She knew that it would get no further than the next lock, but by the time Salter realised what had happened she and Georgie would be far away. Salter would have to walk back to their night moorings to find Champion and that would take even more time. She smiled to herself as she pictured their faces when they woke up to find themselves in such a pickle.

  Champion uttered a soft whinny of recognition as she walked towards him and Effie stopped to stroke his muzzle, whispering words of comfort to the old horse, and assuring him that he would soon be found. She realised that he did not understand a word of what she said, but she knew that Owen had loved the animal and she could only hope that Salter would treat him well. She had toyed with the idea of stealing the faithful old horse. It would have been so much easier to ride away from here, but she had no doubt that Jacob would inform the police and horse stealing was a serious offence, although no longer punishable by
hanging as it had been in Jacob’s younger days. Reluctantly, she said goodbye to Champion, and turned south, beginning her long walk back towards London.

  It had not been an easy decision, but in the small hours of the morning when sleep evaded her Effie had made plans for their future. She was not a country girl and she knew nothing of farm work other than the fact that it was hard and paid very little. She had been born in Hoxton, so her mother had said, although the family had left there when Tom Sadler senior had lost his job as a journeyman carpenter. He had taken his family to Bow, where he had found work in the glue factory, and they had lived in one basement room sharing it with rodents, fleas and cockroaches despite all her mother’s efforts to make the place clean and safe. As Effie trudged onwards with Georgie hitched over her shoulder, still half asleep, she remembered the flight from Hoxton with her family, which had then included her younger brother Stanley and her sister, Emily, who had both died in a measles epidemic which Effie had miraculously survived. It was then, when she was nine years old, that Tom had been born, almost costing their mother’s life. Their father had succumbed to cholera shortly afterwards along with thousands of other city dwellers. With no means of support, there had been no alternative for the small family other than the dreaded workhouse. Effie shuddered as she remembered the day when their mother had given up all hope as they passed through the grim iron gates. She had not lasted the year out, and Effie had held three-year-old Tom’s hand while they watched their mother slip away into the other world. Effie had prayed that Ma would be reunited with their pa, and despite her frantic pleas Tom had been taken from her and carried, sobbing his heart out, to the boys’ section of the workhouse. She had been just twelve years old and had spent the next three years picking oakum until her fingers bled. Then, one winter’s morning, she had snatched Tom from his bed and they had hidden beneath sacks in the night soil collector’s wagon and made their escape from the workhouse.