‘Thank God for that,’ said Bridges. He sank down in relief. ‘I hated this business from start to finish but felt I had no choice but to co-operate with Mr Abram. Ask what you need to know. I will help you any way I can.’
‘What Phelan told Abram was that the powder was going by canal. Is there anything you saw when they took delivery that might contradict that?’
‘Not really. Canal would be the best way to tranship that amount of amount of powder to a port. No one said, but given Phelan’s nationality, I always assumed it was to go to Ireland and that means going by sea. They could put the whole lot on a barge and though it would take time they could take it quietly and reliably to several ports.’
‘How many?’ asked Josiah.
‘In practical terms three: Elsmere Port or Runcorn on the Mersey, Connah’s Quay on the Dee.’
‘Why not Liverpool, it the biggest?’ asked Michael.
‘All the canals that can be used to get to Liverpool, run through Manchester. It’s a long way round and risks a number of inspections of cargo at junctions between canals run by different companies. There are toll charges due at such junctions.’
‘Why would inspection be a problem? Isn’t gunpowder transported by canal?’ said Josiah.
‘Not usually. The laws that govern how blackpowder can be transported were drawn up before the canals. The law prohibits taking large quantities within a mile of any parish church. The clause was a legal trick to keep large quantities of explosives away from towns or larger villages. Canals link towns to towns. Even in the country they pass close to many parish churches. If powder was found at an inspection, it would mean paying a risky bribe or the game would be up. The three ports I suggested are on quiet canal routes with small numbers of junctions and no long tunnels either; there are often inspections at tunnels as well.’
‘So they went a couple of miles to the canal and loaded a barge and must be headed towards Marple,’ said Michael.
‘Hang on,’ said Bridges, ‘I didn’t say that. I heard the drivers with the wagons talk among themselves. They were going through Disley, so they must have used the Macclesfield canal.
‘How long would it take them?’
‘It wouldn’t be easy. The road across the top from here is steep. The further south they aimed to go the longer it would take.’
Annoyingly, Mr Bridges paused, some might have said for dramatic effect but Josiah thought it more likely that Bridges was just trying to make his estimate as accurate as he could.
‘Ten, even twelve hours, if they go south as far as Bosley and avoid the turnpikes so as not to attract attention.’ Bridges looked at his watch. They could well be loading the powder on the boat about now.’
‘Mr Bridges, did Mr Abram tell you Phelan had demanded twenty-four hours without pursuit?’ said Michael.
‘No he didn’t.’
‘We think they kidnapped Elizabeth to guarantee it,’ said Josiah.
If they did they would have had plenty of time to get to the very far end of the Macclesfield canal. From there are several different routes they could take and plenty of traffic to hide in. They’d be nigh impossible to find from there,’ said Bridges.
On fresh horses from the powder mill, Josiah and Michael rode on. If their surmising was right, they had an advantage over Phelan in that they could use the turnpikes. They had to make that advantage pay if they had any chance of capturing the blackpowder.
It took them about an hour and a half to get beyond the ridge between the Furness Vale and Cheshire Plain to the west. The turnpike brought them out above Bollington and then descended towards Macclesfield. They found a country road going south, so that they could see the line of the canal below, as well as skyline of the escarpment to the west. That way they could keep a sharp eye out for boats on the canal below and wagon’s coming over from Furness Vale.
The day was beautifully clear. Easily visible on the canal was a succession of barges going both north and south. They could even see boats moored at mine wharves in the direction of Poynton.
They pressed on more slowly, intent on observation rather than speed, hoping against hope for something that looked out of place but there was nothing. They were about to cross the road which linked the quarry at Teg’s Nose to Macclesfield, when Michael suddenly stopped. From inside his coat he took out a small telescope and pointed it at a spot on the ridgeline. Josiah looked in the same direction. There was a dot on the horizon. It would have been difficult to see except that it was silhouetted against the sky; a figure on a path coming down from the ridge.
Michael handed the telescope to Josiah. ‘What do you think?’
Josiah found telescopes difficult to use. Eventually he got it steady. It looked like a man. As he watched, the track turned and it was clear that he was driving a wagon.
‘He’s coming from the right direction but surely he’s way too late to be one of the wagon drivers from the mill?’
‘I agree but it’s a very lonely track he’s using. Maybe he’s seen something on his travels that might help us. Why not ask him?’
They held their course. The track the driver was on seemed to be coming down to their level. As it got lower views of the driver became less frequent due to the lushness of hedgerow and bracken. Then from their left a rutted way, eroded by wagon wheels came in from the left.
They waited. In a few minutes they heard the crunching of hooves and wheels. Someone was whistling but they would not see anything on the trackway until whoever it was reached the junction.
‘Easy boy,’ called a voice. A horses head appeared at the junction, followed by wagon shafts and finally a clear view of the driver. It was Brother Peter.
37
Taking the Low Road
Michael kicked his horse forward, snatched the reins from Peter and brought the wagon to a sharp stop.
Josiah and Peter starred at each other. Josiah had no idea what his own face conveyed. But after his initial surprise, Peter’s bore a rather self-satisfied and complacent smile.
‘You should see your face, Constable, it makes a very satisfying picture. He said it would when you found me. He was right.’
‘You’re doing this for Phelan Hayes, aren’t you?’ said Josiah fighting the temptation to launch himself at Peter and throttle him on the spot in rage and frustration.
‘Yes. Now and last night, though you were such a right bunch of fools as you scurried around being so self-important.’
‘You knew all along Elizabeth was not guarded.’
‘Yes. Your airs and graces and the action of your performing bog-trotter over there, or should I say Croppie, were very comic.’ Michael growled under his breath.
Peter chuckled. ‘I still remember what you did to my shoulder, boyo!’ Michael got down from his horse. Josiah wondered if he was going to hit Peter but the Irish man held his temper and contented himself moving to inspect the back of the wagon.
‘Did you know about the explosives in the room?’
Peter looked slightly guilty at that point. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Phelan didn’t tell me that part. He just told me not to be too keen on playing the hero.’
‘Would it have made any difference if he had told you?’ shouted Josiah.
Peter grinned and shook his head. ‘No, I would have been pleased if you had been blown up, but making a fool of you was enough.’
‘How would you have felt if Rachael had been with me!’
Michael had pulled back the tarpaulin that covered the back of the wagon. It had a great many lumps and bumps in it as if it was concealing barrels of explosives or boxes of cartridges. In fact there were no explosives, just empty crates and other bits and pieces. Pleasure in even this tiny ruse made Peter laugh loudly.
Josiah felt cold with rage. ‘You’re a snivelling coward Peter and you’ll deserve the hanging that’s coming to you!’ Peter stopped la
ughing.
‘Hanging? What hanging?’
‘Peter you really are a very stupid man,’ said Michael. ‘You think you can help Phelan and not stand in danger of your own life. He’s a murderer several times over, but more than that he’s a traitor to the crown. As a result you’re at least a conspirator in sedition, probably a traitor in your own right as well.’
Josiah rubbed the lesson home. ‘By sending you as blind to draw us off and keeping his secret last night when you could have warned us you’re a co-conspirator. Putting you in the position you’re now in is as good as giving you up to the law. If he succeeds and gets clean away you’ll be the only one left to stand trial and when you’re found guilty the judge will make as dramatic and public example of you as he can.’
‘You know,’ said Michael, ‘you hang for murder but I’ve an idea they can still do more than hang you for treason.’ As it had been in the sawmill, Josiah watched as Peter tried to understand but this time he failed.
‘I’ll spell it out, Peter,’ continued Michael. ‘Ever heard of the traditional punishment for traitors: hanging, drawing and quartering? I think that is still the punishment but what does an ignorant Croppie like me know?’
Something was rattling around in Josiah’s mind that he had heard, even said, but no quite understood. Then he got it. ‘Where is Phelan?’ he asked.
‘How should I know?’ said Peter.
‘Because this isn’t the wagon I saw you use to take Mr Merriman back to the mine.’ This is one of the wagon’s from the powder mill. You left us, took Merriman home, doubled back and picked up this wagon to execute Phelan’s little subterfuge. Which way are they really taking the powder?’
‘Speak up, lad,’ said Michael to Peter, ‘it may be you’re only chance of avoiding the drop or worse.’
Peter paused. ‘They loaded it on the barge on the Peak Forest. Then Phelan paid off the other drivers before he sent me off.’ Then he grinned at Josiah.
Josiah got down from his horse and pulled Peter off the wagon and sent him sprawling in the dust. He seized Peter by the shirt before he could get up and starred, teeth clenched, right into his eyes. ‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ he said quietly. ‘Where are they really talking the powder?’
Peter’s complacency turned slowly to fear. He did his best to cower but Josiah’s grip was firm. Peter swallowed hard. ‘They’re going through Manchester. Phelan said it was the last thing anyone would expect, “even that bastard Ainscough” as he put it.’
Josiah let him go and stood up. Peter fell back on his elbows. ‘Peter, I arrest you in the name of the Queen. Take off your boots and stockings. Michael if he doesn’t obey you take them off for him and I don’t care how permanent is any damage you have to do to him to get the job done.’ Peter looked at Michael and started to comply. When Peter was barefoot, Josiah picked up the boots and hung them over the saddle of his horse. ‘Michael unhitch the wagon horse and make sure it runs off towards home.’
When the horse had gone. Josiah hauled Peter to his feet with Michael they pushed him back onto the wagon. They tidied Peters arms to the back of the seat and Josiah made sure there was no chance he could get away by hand cuffing Peter’s hands for good measure.
Josiah and Michael went as fast as their horsemanship allowed to get back to the turnpike.
‘Phelan will have to go down Marple Locks to get to Manchester,’ Josiah shouted to Michael as they rode. ‘We’ll split up where the road to Marple goes off. Can you go back to the powder mill and get some of Bridge’s workers out to help capture Phelan? Bring them to Marple. It will need reinforcements to take Phelan. Tell them were after the man who killed their work mates in the spring. That should make them keen enough. I’ll go to Marple and do my best to hold him there.’
They joined the turnpike and canter was turned to gallop. Josiah swung north where the turnpike split and Michael went straight on. By the time Josiah had passed the small Methodist Chapel at Marple Ridge, his horse was lathered and sweating.
He leant forward and stroked the horses neck. ‘Not far now boy, not far now. One more effort.’ Pulling up outside the Navigation a groom was alerted by the clatter of hooves. He came out and looked at the horse and rider in astonishment but took the horse with no question asked.
Then it was up to speed of Josiah’s own legs. He ran back to the top lock of the flight. He doubted that Phelan would be in the limekilns basin but his thoroughness and method had got him to the brink of capturing a murderer and he was not going to abandon it now.
He searched quickly but thoroughly. As expected there was no sign of Phelan or anyone who looked like Phelan in disguise in the basin. To save time he ran over the Top Lock gate, balancing on the beam a good fifteen feet above the empty lock. There was a barge entering from downstream and he had to leap the ropes being used by the pony to manoeuvre it into the lock.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!’ shouted the barge woman who was steering the boat. ‘You’ll break you’re bleeding neck, you stupid sod!’ But some of the younger bargees gave him a cheer.
There was no sign of Phelan between the Top Lock and the Buxton road down which he’d just galloped. The canal was hemmed in here, congested with traffic using the tightly packed locks and negotiating moored boats across from the towpath. But there was a convenient path from which Josiah could check each barge without being seen.
He was beginning to ask himself what Phelan’s reaction would be if he caught him before Michael arrived with reinforcements. Whatever the details it would be violent and Phelan would be armed whereas all Josiah had was his fists and his truncheon. He must keep the element of surprise in whatever he did and that meant not being seen.
The next landmark was Mr Arlon’s transhipment warehouse just before the bridge that carried the Glossop Road. From the top of the bridge he surveyed the canal as it swung right in a slow curve to the next lock half hidden by trees. There was no barge going down on this stretch unless it was in the lock. But the only usable path was the towpath which he used to approach the next lock which was empty. From it he could see most of the locks left in the flight. There was a barge was entering the next lock down and behind it a butty steered by a woman. Standing on the side of the lock was a man in the dress of a bargeman complete with a working man’s cap but this was no bargee but Phelan.
38
Checkmate
Josiah realised that if he was catch Phelan or at least stop the powder getting away this was the best place to do it. He needed to trap the barge in the locks at the very least. He needed to out flank Phelan and to do it he must get passed without being seen. His looked over the stone retaining wall that supported the towpath where the ground fell away steeply towards the Goyt. Below him was some sort of rough path through the trees next to the wall. That would have to do. He found a point where he could jump down and started to fight his way along through the undergrowth where he thought he had seen a path.
He came to a place where there was no tree cover and the path was clearly visible from the canal for a good twenty yards. He was considering running this gauntlet but stopped when he heard Phelan’s voice from no more than three feet above his head. He must be just below the lock he had just seen the barge entering. Josiah was not the only one feeling the strain; Phelan’s voice was tense and tetchy.
‘Damn it, Fergus. How many more locks! By my reckoning we’ve already come through ten!’ Fergus must be the bargeman.
‘This is number seven.’
‘God’s blood, man, at this rate we’ll not get through before nightfall!’
‘Try to remain calm, Mr Phelan. It will take the time it takes. The more angry and impatient ye get, the more chance there’ll be an accident or some other mistake that will cost us even more time. They count the locks from the bottom upwards so after this there’s six to go.’
‘It’s alright for you to be c
alm, you’ve not got as much as I have riding on the success of this mission.’
‘I suppose they’ll ’ang you if they catch us but it will be just as bad for me and my family; I’d expect a one way ticket to New South Wales and I doubt I’d ever see Jane or me boy again. Now stop griping and help me with this jammed gate!’
There was grunting and sounds of effort and a heavy bang as the gate was swung back. Josiah flattened himself against the wall and inched his way towards the cover of the trees beyond the gap, praying that all eyes above would be focused on the barge as it moved out. When he reached the trees he felt sick but there had been no cries of discovery or worse.
Further on he found another path that came down from the canal which emerged next to a lock below which there were only two more locks left in the flight. Fifty yards upstream he could just make out the lower gates on a lock at an angle to his. As he watched he saw Phelan’s pony come into view as it pulled the barge into that upper lock.
Josiah ran across the small lock bridge and waited, crouched in a damp field of large plants with big umbrella shaped leaves, so he could see how Phelan was doing and give himself time to think.
It was quiet, this far away from the kilns. The sounds of the wind in the trees and the scattered song of small birds had replaced the noise of the hammering of the limestone. It was quiet enough that, as the barge got into the lock, he could clearly both see and hear Phelan and Fergus.
‘How long before we are safe?’
‘I reckon, when we’re across the aqueduct. Then there’ll be fewer eyes to see us and more traffic to hide us. We should be there in about an hour.’
‘Anywhere else we can be delayed?’
‘There no locks from here to Ashton just a few bridges. Not much risk of delay until we’re close to Manchester.’
Josiah looked down towards the bottom of the flight. By the very last lock was a cottage, out of which came a man. He walked up to the penultimate lock and started inspecting the gate mechanism. This must be a lock-keeper and Josiah was very glad to see him. Here was someone with the knowledge and authority to bar Phelan’s way.
Children of Fire Page 23