‘No, Alice, I’m not doing anything like that,’ I told her angrily. ‘It’s something from the dark and I’m here to fight it, not be part of it . . .’
‘Not that simple, Tom. Sometimes we need to fight the dark with the dark. Remember that, despite what Old Gregory might say. And be careful. Ain’t a good part of the County to be. I was up there once with Bony Lizzie and lived on the edge of the marsh, not too far from Arkwright’s mill. So take care, please!’
I nodded, then, impulsively, leaned forward and kissed her on the left cheek. She drew back and I saw tears welling in her eyes. The parting was hard for both of us. Then she turned and ran from the bridge. Moments later she’d disappeared into the mist.
I walked sadly down onto the towpath. Matthew Gilbert was waiting for me and he simply pointed to a wooden seat at the front of the barge. I sat myself down and looked about. Behind me were two huge wooden hatches, their padlocks hanging loose. This was a working barge and no doubt a cargo of some sort was stowed down there.
Moments later we were heading north. I kept glancing back towards the bridge, hoping against hope that Alice would appear so I could see her one last time. She didn’t and it gave me a pain in my chest to leave her behind like that.
Every so often we passed a barge travelling in the opposite direction. Each time Mr Gilbert exchanged a cheery wave with the other bargeman. These craft varied in size but all were long and narrow with one or more hatches. But whereas some were well kept, with bright, colourful paintwork, others were black and grimy, with fragments of coal on their decks suggesting what lay in the hold.
At about one o’clock Mr Gilbert brought the horses to a stop, freed them from their harness and tethered them on the edge of some rough grassland at the side of the canal. While they grazed, he quickly made a fire and proceeded to cook us some lunch. I asked if I could help in any way but he shook his head.
‘Guests don’t work,’ he said. ‘I’d rest while you can. Bill Arkwright works his apprentices hard. Don’t get me wrong though, he’s a good man – good at his job – and he’s done a lot for the County. And he’s tenacious too. Once he’s got the whiff of his quarry he never gives up.’
He peeled some potatoes and carrots and boiled them in a pan over the fire. We sat at the rear of the barge, our feet dangling over the water, eating with our fingers from two wooden plates. The food hadn’t been cooked long enough and both the carrots and the potatoes were still hard. But I was hungry enough to eat both the bargeman’s horses so I just chewed thoroughly and swallowed. We ate in silence, but after a while, out of politeness, I tried to engage the bargeman in conversation.
‘Have you known Mr Arkwright long?’ I asked.
‘Ten years or more,’ Mr Gilbert replied. ‘Bill used to live at the mill with his parents but they died years ago. Since becoming the local spook he’s become a very good customer of mine. Takes a big delivery of salt every month. I fill five large barrels for him. I also bring him other provisions: candles, food – you name it. Especially wine. Likes a tipple, Bill does. Not your common elderberry or dandelion wine for him. Prefers his wine red. It comes by ship to Sunderland Point then overland to Kendal, where I take it aboard once a month. He pays me well.’
I was intrigued by the quantity of salt. In combination with iron, spooks used salt to coat the inside of pits when binding boggarts. It could also be used as a weapon against creatures of the dark. But we used relatively small amounts and bought small bags from the village grocer. Why would he need five barrels of salt every month?
‘Is that your cargo now – salt and wine?’ I asked.
‘At the moment the hold is empty,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I’ve just delivered a load of slate to a builder in Caster and I’m heading back up to the quarry to collect some more. We carry all sorts of stuff around in this job. I’ll carry anything but coal – it’s so plentiful and cheap that it’s not even worth bothering to lock the hatches in case of theft. And that black stuff gets everywhere so I leave that to the specialist carriers.’
‘So, Mr Arkwright’s mill – is it right on the canal?’
‘Close enough,’ Mr Gilbert replied. ‘You won’t be able to see it from the barge – it’s hidden by trees and bushes – but from the canal bank you could throw a small stone into the edge of the garden without straining too hard. It’s a lonely place, but no doubt you’ll be well accustomed to that.’
We lapsed into silence again, but then I thought of something that had struck me on the journey.
‘There are a lot of bridges over the canal. Why does it need so many?’
‘I wouldn’t quarrel with that observation,’ Mr Gilbert said, nodding. ‘When they dug the canal, it cut a lot of farms in two. They’d paid the farmers for taking their land but also had to provide them with access to fields that lay on the other side of the canal. But there’s another reason. Horses and barges travel keeping to the left. So when you want to change direction, your horses can switch banks. Anyway, we’d best get on now. You would do well to reach the mill before dark.’
Mr Gilbert hitched the horses to the barge, and we were soon moving slowly north again. It had been misty at dawn, but rather than being burned off by the sun, this soon became a dense fog that closed the visibility down to a few paces. I could see the backside of the nearest horse, but its companion and Matthew Gilbert were hidden from view. Even the rhythmical clip-clop of hooves was muffled. Every so often we passed under a bridge, but apart from that there was nothing to see and I grew weary just sitting there.
About an hour before dark Mr Gilbert brought the horses to a halt and walked back to where I was sitting. ‘Here we are!’ he called out cheerily, pointing into the mist. ‘Bill Arkwright’s house is straight over there . . .’
Collecting my bag and staff, I clambered out onto the towpath. There was a large post on the canal bank, to which Mr Gilbert tethered the leading horse. The upper section resembled a hangman’s scaffold and from this hung a large bell.
‘I ring the bell when I bring supplies,’ he said, nodding towards the post. ‘Five clear rings to tell him it’s me with a delivery and not somebody needing a spook – it’s customary to ring three times in that case. Bill comes out and collects what I’ve brought. If there’s a lot, I sometimes help him carry it back to the boundary of the garden. He’s none too keen on anyone going closer than that!’