At that, the woman began to cry, filling the whole house with misery and pain. Moments later there were heavy boots descending the stairs from the room above. But these footsteps weren’t ghostly. I’d thought Arkwright had gone to bed but he must have been upstairs in that topmost room.
He came along the landing and I heard him halt at the door beyond mine and open it before calling out: ‘Please come upstairs. Why don’t you climb the stairs to my room where you’ll both be warm and comfortable? Let’s talk. Tell me tales from the days when we were all happy together.’
There was a long pause and then I heard him climb the stairs once more. I didn’t hear the ghosts following him, but after a while there was the murmur of his voice from above, as if he were engaging somebody in conversation.
I couldn’t make out what was being said but at one point Arkwright laughed with what sounded like forced joviality. After a while I drifted off to sleep again, and when I awoke, grey light filled the room.
I was up before my new master and managed to cook the fish to his satisfaction. We ate in silence. I just didn’t feel comfortable with him and really missed living with the Spook and Alice. John Gregory could be a bit stern at times but I liked him. When I occasionally spoke out of turn, he put me firmly in my place but he certainly didn’t threaten to beat me.
I wasn’t looking forward to my lessons much, but I would have felt even worse if I’d known what was going to happen next.
‘Can you swim, Master Ward?’ Arkwright asked as he rose from the table.
I shook my head. There’d never been much need to learn. The only water near our farm had been a few shallow streams and ponds, while the nearest river had a good solid bridge over it. And as for my master, John Gregory, he’d never even mentioned swimming. For all I knew he couldn’t swim himself.
‘Well, we need to sort that out as soon as possible. Follow me! And don’t bother to bring your staff. Mine’s the only one we’ll be needing. You won’t be needing your jacket or cloak either!’
I followed Arkwright through the garden and downstream towards the canal. Once up on the canal bank, he came to a halt and pointed down at the water.
‘Looks cold, doesn’t it?’
I nodded. It made me shiver just to look at it.
‘Well, it’s only October now and it’ll be a lot colder before the winter’s out, but sometimes we’ve no choice but to plunge in. Being able to swim could save your life in this part of the County. And what chance would you have against a water witch if you couldn’t swim? So jump in, Master Ward, and let’s make a start. The first part’s the hardest and the sooner you get it over with the better!’
I just stared down at the murky canal water. I couldn’t believe I was supposed to jump into that. When I hesitated and turned back to face him, about to protest, Arkwright sighed and reversed his staff so that he was gripping the end with the murderous spear and barbs. Next, to my utter astonishment, he leaned forwards and pushed me hard in the chest. I overbalanced, fell back and hit the canal with a tremendous splash. The shock of the cold water made me gasp, but by then my head was already under the water and I began to choke as it surged up my nose and into my open mouth.
For a moment I didn’t know which way up I was. Only too aware that I was out of my depth, I thrashed around. Mercifully, my head soon bobbed above the surface and I could see the sky. I heard Arkwright shout something, but then, before I could even suck in a breath, I went under again. I was floundering, panicking, drowning, moving my arms and legs in all directions, trying to grab hold of something – anything that would pull me to safety.
Why didn’t Arkwright help? Couldn’t he see that I was drowning? But then something prodded me in the chest and I reached out and gripped it tightly. Holding on like grim death, I felt myself being pulled through the water. The next moment someone wrapped their fingers tightly in my hair and dragged me to the surface.
I was against the bank, looking up into Arkwright’s grinning face. I tried to speak; tried to give him a piece of my mind. How stupid was that? He’d tried to drown me! But I was still choking and gasping for breath, water not words being expelled from my mouth.
‘Listen, Master Ward, when a diver wants to go deep, the easiest way is for him to hold a big stone so the weight takes him down quickly. You won’t sink to the bottom because it’s easier to float than sink. Your body does it naturally. All you need do is keep your head up so you can breathe and learn a few strokes. Have you seen a frog kick its legs?’ he asked me.
I looked up at him in puzzlement. Only now was I able to suck in the first proper lungfuls of air. It was so good just to be able to breathe.
‘I’ll pull you along with my staff, Master Ward. Practise frog-kicks. We’ll work on your arms tomorrow . . .’
I wanted to let go of his staff and pull myself up onto the bank, but before I could move or protest, Arkwright began walking south along the canal bank, his left hand pulling the staff so that I had to follow.
‘Kick!’ he commanded.
I did as he ordered. The chill was starting to get into my bones so I needed to move in order to keep warm. After a few hundred yards he changed direction.
‘Kick! Kick! Kick! Come on, Master Ward, you can do better than that. Kick harder! Imagine a water witch is after you!’
After about fifteen minutes he pulled me out of the water. I was cold and saturated and even my boots were full of dirty water. Arkwright looked down at them and shook his head.
‘Of course, swimming is a lot easier without your heavy boots, but you might not get the chance to take them off. Anyway, let’s get you back to the mill so you can dry off.’
I spent the rest of the morning wrapped in a blanket before the stove, getting the warmth back into my body. Arkwright left me alone and spent a lot of the time upstairs. I was far from happy at the methods he’d used to try and teach me to swim and certainly wasn’t looking forward to my next lesson.
Late in the afternoon he led me out into the garden, this time telling me to bring my staff. He stopped in a clearing and turned to face me.
I looked at him in astonishment. He was holding his staff raised at forty-five degrees, as if he intended to hit me with it or defend himself. But he’d reversed it again so that the blade was at the bottom, the thicker end at the top.
‘Turn your staff as I’ve done!’ he commanded. ‘No doubt your blade would stay retracted but we wouldn’t want any accidents, would we? Now, try and hit me! Let’s see what you’re made of!’