Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “Only briefly. Put your hazard lights on and keep them flashing the whole time.”

  Marnie rocked the Disco on the clutch, feeling the rope tauten. She eased forward in a gap in the traffic. All four wheels bit into the ice and snow, and the Volvo lurched free from the drift. Marnie prayed that Ralph would not run into the back of her. She signalled him to slow down. Both cars stopped safely, and she removed the towrope in record speed. On the journey home snow was obscuring the road surface, and they could do nothing but follow in the tracks of others.

  The journey should have taken half an hour. It took more than double that time, much of it at little more than walking pace. Once Marnie rang Ralph on his mobile but got no further than voicemail. She guessed the phone was in his briefcase on the back seat.

  When they left the main highway for the winding country road to the village, conditions became even more treacherous. The snow was thicker than ever and Marnie trundled along in second gear, guided by the hedgerows. She was relieved to reach the high street, but turned through the farm gate onto the field track with a feeling of trepidation.

  Bumping over the first ruts in the surface, she was amazed at what she saw.

  Ten yards into the field a lamp was hanging from a post a few feet from the ground. Below it, an arrow pointed to the right. Further on, she saw more posts and more lanterns, a flight-path extending down the track, marking the way. One of the lamps had failed, but the others were twinkling faintly, clearly enough to guide them home.

  Marnie felt elated when she slithered to a halt and reversed into the garage barn. Ralph was still in his car outside. She walked over and tapped the driver’s door window. No reaction. She yanked the door open. Ralph was sitting with his forehead on the steering wheel.

  He muttered one word: “Migraine.”

  Chapter 8

  Willow

  Marnie awoke confused, in strange surroundings, lying in a sleeping bag on an air mattress. It took a few seconds to realise she was in Ralph’s study on Thyrsis and it was Tuesday morning. Rolling onto her side, she hauled herself out and stood up, yawning and stretching. She remembered the events of the night before and padded barefoot to the sleeping cabin.

  Ralph was on his back under the duvet. She knew from past experience that he would not be sleeping, that he would be afflicted by the migraine for hours to come. She leaned across the bed and whispered in his ear.

  “Hallo, darling. Do you need water or anything?”

  A groan. Was it yes or no? It was usually no. She withdrew and dressed quickly in the study. It was time for a talk with Anne.

  *

  Marnie was stepping down onto the bank, testing the ground for grip when Anne hailed her from the stern deck of Sally Ann. Not wanting to shout, for Ralph’s sake, Marnie signalled that she would come over. Once on board, they sat in the galley.

  “How’s Ralph?” Anne asked.

  “Suffering. It’s so frustrating. There’s just nothing I can do for him.”

  “How long d’you think he’ll be like that?”

  “On past performance, up to thirty-six hours.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “What about our visitors?”

  “Willow and Ben seem to be sleeping.”

  Marnie raised her eyebrows. “Did you say Willow?”

  “That’s what she said her name was when she came round.”

  “Quite nice, actually. Thanks for sorting them out last night.”

  “You had your hands more than full, Marnie.”

  “Good idea of yours, installing them in the empty cottage.”

  “And I’ve fed the horse.” Anne’s tone was matter-of-fact.

  “God! I’d forgotten the horse! What d’you mean, you’ve fed it? What with?”

  “I rang Mr Fletcher at the farm and he came down in the Land Rover with some straw bales and hay. Ben helped me make Poppy comfortable in the little barn. She seemed to enjoy her supper. I gave her another apple.”

  “Poppy,” Marnie repeated.

  “She’s eight years old, trained as a boat horse at stables near Manchester.”

  “Is that where our visitors come from?”

  “Ben said they came from Cheshire, but belong on the cut.”

  “Interesting. Is there a father on the scene?”

  “No. I asked if there was anyone else travelling with them, who needed shelter.”

  Marnie sat pondering. “Well, they can stay in the cottage for a while. Is their boat okay?”

  “Dunno, haven’t seen it yet.”

  “First job after breakfast,” said Marnie.

  Marnie left Anne preparing it while she went to the office barn to shower. On the way back she checked out cottage number three. No one was yet stirring. She looked in on Ralph on Thyrsis. No change.

  *

  “That must be it.” Anne pointed at a narrowboat moored on the towpath side.

  “A brilliant deduction, Holmes,” Marnie said. There were no other boats in sight.

  They were standing on the accommodation bridge looking north over a landscape that bore a passing resemblance to an Arctic wasteland. A heavy sky threatened another fall of snow, and an icy mist bleached all colour from the view.

  Marnie felt her ears and nose tingling. “Come on, before we freeze to the ground.”

  They slithered and slid down from the bridge, planting their feet carefully. Marnie thought of Ralph singing Good King Wenceslas. She grimaced at the thought of him lying in pain.

  The air was still with not a flicker of breeze. In the night the canal had frozen again, leaving an opaque carpet on which the flakes had settled. They trod through ankle-deep snow on the towpath and stopped close to the bows of the strangers’ boat. It was not what Marnie had expected.

  Glastonbury had once been a seventy-foot working narrowboat. The conversion had been carried out with skill and subtlety. Almost half the length was covered by black tarpaulin, but the remainder looked like a conventional cabin. Her livery was burgundy and gold over a black hull, the paintwork now faded with age. The name in the bows was flanked by a pattern of blue, white, red and yellow diamonds. Several bags of coal and logs were stacked on the roof, encrusted with snow.

  As they walked towards the stern, Marnie and Anne noticed that the knots attaching the boat to the mooring pins were slack and perfunctory, but it mattered little. The boat was firmly wedged in the ice a few feet from the bank. They found a gangplank linking the stern counter with the path, and Anne volunteered to make the first crossing. She turned the plank over to use the dry surface, checked that it was firm and inched her way across.

  Down the steps they found a boatman’s cabin with a traditional bed and the usual trimmings: painted cupboards, lace, decorated plates, bright materials. They quickly passed through the engine room and opened a door leading to a passage past the heads into a second sleeping area containing a single berth. Another door separated this from the galley.

  “This tells its own story,” Marnie said quietly.

  Used crockery was piled in the sink and other dishes, mugs and bowls littered the work surface. The bread bin was open revealing half a loaf. A fruit bowl contained an apple and a tangerine.

  Beyond the galley, the walls sloped steeply to a narrow band of ceiling in a long, darkened living space. No windows were exposed to let in the light. At low level, fitted shelves were crammed with books and CDs. With a small built-in desk, the area had the look of a classroom about it.

  Anne shivered in the cold. “It’s freezing in here.” She pointed. “It won’t do their books any good.”

  She walked to the end of the saloon and put a hand on the stove.

  “Amazing. Fire’s not long out. It’s still slightly warm.”

  “We’d better get it lit,” Marnie said.

  They searched around and found a box of kindling, a few lumps of coal in a scuttle and a bundle of logs under a step with a box of firelighters. Anne riddled the stove and built a fire while Marnie produced a
taper and matches from a drawer in the galley. When the fire began crackling, Anne closed the stove door and went out to fill the coal scuttle. Marnie brought in an armful of logs.

  “We’ll have to try to keep the stove going,” she said.

  “Do you know how to keep it ticking over, Marnie?”

  “No, but I’m sure Ralph will. He may not be a techno-wizard, but this is just his kind of thing.”

  They stood watching the flames flickering behind the glass door. When the stove was hot to touch, Marnie threw in extra coal and they left the boat to warm up. Looking back from the bridge, they experienced a feeling of satisfaction at the sight of smoke rising from the chimney in the still air. The smell evoked childhood stories of gypsy caravans and byway encampments.

  *

  In the office barn Anne’s first job of the day was to make up a breakfast bag while Marnie wrote a note of welcome.

  Good morning!

  Hope you slept well.

  Here are some things for breakfast. Please help yourselves.

  Use as much hot water as you want for baths/showers.

  If you need anything else, we are in the barn opposite.

  See you soon,

  Marnie

  It was snowing again when Anne made the short trip across the courtyard to put the breakfast items and Marnie’s note in the kitchen. She reported back that the cottage was silent, and they decided to wait until the post arrived before investigating their visitors further.

  Shortly after eight-thirty, Anne took a call from Molly Appleton at the village shop. Alan the postman was running late in the treacherous conditions. He didn’t think he could trust the van down the field track to Glebe Farm. Would Marnie mind collecting the post in her four-by-four?

  One look out of the window was enough. The snowfall was heavier. Muttering, the sooner the better, Marnie grabbed her jacket and car keys and headed for the door.

  *

  In the shop Angela Hemingway, vicar of Knightly St John, was filling a basket with tins of soup and rice pudding when Marnie came in and stamped her snowy boots on the doormat. She grinned at the vicar.

  “Aren’t you being rather pessimistic, Angela?”

  “Errand of mercy, Marnie. Elderly parishioners. They won’t be able to get out in this.” She glanced towards the high street. “I’m taking round a few basics to keep them going. You managing all right on the field track?”

  “The Disco relishes adversity. Actually, I’m being an angel of mercy myself at the moment. We’ve taken in some orphans of the storm.”

  “In the form of …?”

  “A woman called Willow and her son, Ben.”

  Angela and Molly traded glances.

  “A hippy?” said Angela.

  Molly corrected her. “They’re called New Age Travellers these days. Is that what they are, Marnie?”

  “Hard to tell. We haven’t had a chance to talk much. They were exhausted, still sleeping in the empty cottage when I came away. Their boat’s stuck in ice the other side of the bridge.”

  “How old’s the boy?” Angela asked.

  “About ten or eleven, maybe.”

  “I wonder if he’s had much education.”

  Marnie had a flashback to a part of the boat that resembled a classroom. “I only met him briefly. Oh, and I forgot to mention Poppy.”

  “A daughter, presumably?”

  Marnie shook her head. “A horse.”

  More trading of glances.

  Angela grinned. “I can see I’ll have to lock up the communion wine when you’re around, Marnie.”

  “I’m serious. Their boat is horse-drawn. Anne’s got Poppy snugly bedded down in one of the barns.”

  “A horse-drawn boat back on the canal,” said Molly. “Whatever next?”

  Angela heaved her basket onto the counter. “It’s very nice of you to give hospitality like that to strangers, Marnie.”

  “Oh! Talking of strangers …” Molly called across to the post office booth where her husband was sitting, counting stamps. “Richard, have you got those things that came for Mr Dekker?”

  He looked up, lips still moving and wrote a hasty note with a pencil.

  “Do what, my love?”

  “The letters for Mr Dekker. Marnie’s here.”

  He smiled at Marnie. “Two letters have come. They look sort of important, embossed printing on the back.”

  “Will you let him know, Marnie?” Molly said.

  “Okay, though I’m not sure if he can get here.”

  “Well, now.” Molly leaned forward over the counter. “That could be a problem. Alan the postman said he’d seen parts of the canal in a bad way, what with the ice and that. It was on the wireless, too.”

  “Frozen over, you mean?”

  “Damage to lock gates, Alan was saying. Are your boats all right down there? The ice won’t damage them, will it?”

  “No.”

  “Thinking of your guests,” Angela said, “would the boy have to attend school while they’re here?”

  “No idea.”

  Her thoughts were turning to Glastonbury, held fast in the ice.

  *

  Marnie rushed into the office barn and went straight to the kitchen area to grab her wellies. She was halfway across the room when she realised that Anne was missing. Through the window she saw that the curtains in cottage number three were open, which probably explained her absence. While she tugged on the boots she made a mental checklist: hay for Poppy; build up the fire on Glastonbury; retie the boat’s mooring ropes; take a bucket to carry coal in from the roof.

  Marnie searched in the cupboard under the sink for the bucket. It was gone. They must have used it on Sally Ann or Thyrsis and forgotten to return it. She made for the door and immediately collided with Anne.

  “Ah, good. You’re back. How are they?”

  “Willow and Ben? Don’t know, haven’t seen them yet. Their curtains are open, though.”

  “I thought you were over there. I’m just off to sort out the horse and the boat.”

  “Done that.”

  “You’ve fed Poppy?”

  Anne nodded. “I put hay in the wheelbarrow as a manger, gave her the last of our apples. And I filled the bucket with water. You should hear her drink!”

  “The bucket,” Marnie repeated.

  “The one from the kitchen. I washed it out first.”

  “What about the boat?”

  “The stove was still hot. It picked up great as soon as I chucked in a couple of logs. When it was blazing I put in some more coal. I closed the vent thingy and watched it for a bit. Seems okay.”

  “We’d better bring in some coal. There are plenty of sacks on the roof.”

  “Done that. Used the scuttle in the cratch. I’ve left it full. More logs, too.”

  “I was going to fasten the mooring ropes,” Marnie said.

  “I tightened them. They were a bit slack.” Anne fingered a small key on a string round her neck. “I’ve padlocked the door, just to be on the safe side. With the smoke from the chimney the boat looks occupied, but you never know.”

  Marnie looked over to the cottage. “Give me five minutes. Then we’ll call on our guests, before I feel completely superfluous.”

  *

  Marnie tiptoed along to the sleeping cabin on Thyrsis and looked in. The space was almost in darkness. Ralph lay on his side, facing the wall. She whispered close to his ear.

  “Darling, are you asleep?”

  “No.”

  Ralph’s reply was barely audible. She could hear the pain in his voice.

  “Could you drink a little water? It might help.”

  A groan.

  She poured half a glass and touched Ralph’s shoulder. With laboured breathing he made a supreme effort and turned onto his back. Supporting his shoulders, Marnie helped raise him just enough to take a few sips. Ralph kept his eyes closed, licked his lips and lay back on the pillow, murmuring something that Marnie took for thanks. She knew better than t
o stay.

  *

  Marnie noticed that the canal was totally frozen over as she headed into the spinney. No boats had pushed their way through. The snow was still falling steadily and the trees were coated overall in white crystals. Reaching the office barn, she poked her head in and called to Anne.

  “Are you coming across?”

  Anne dropped the letter she was reading, stood up and tugged on her jacket. On impulse she grabbed the vase of freesias from her desk.

  Marnie eyed the flowers. “Nice thought.”When they knocked on the cottage door, it was opened almost at once. The boy stood before them dressed in his jacket, grinning.

  “You’ve fed and watered Poppy, and us too.” He stood aside to let them in.

  In the kitchen his mother was putting dishes away in the cupboard. She looked pale but rested as she extended a hand towards Marnie.

  “Hi. I’m Willow.” Like her son, she had a slight northern accent. “We haven’t met. Silly thing to say. We certainly have met, though I didn’t know it at the time. You’re Marnie.”

  “You guessed. I’m glad Anne was on hand to help you when I was called away.”

  Willow smiled at Anne. “She was wonderful.”

  “She’s seen to Poppy this morning as well,” Ben chimed in.

  Willow took the vase from Anne, put it on the table and arranged the freesias. “Wonderful to all three of us.”

  “We were worried if there was anyone else who might need to be cared for,” Marnie said. “Sorry. That sounds as if I’m prying.”

  “There was someone else, but that was years ago. Would you like a cup of tea?” A self-deprecating smile. “Your own tea, of course. I hope to be able to offer you hospitality on our boat as soon I can.”

  “No, thanks. All in good time. Stay as long as you wish.”

  A cloud passed briefly over Willow’s face. “That’s kind, but we ought to be getting back to our boat. Important to keep it aired and dry.”

  Anne removed the key from round her neck and draped the string over Ben’s head.

  “You’ll be needing this to get in. I made the boat secure. The stove’s lit and should be all right for a little while.”

  “You’re very thoughtful. You seem to understand about boats.”