Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  He raised her face. His eyes shone, love pouring from them. "Why, Helen?"

  "Because I took my pleasure, selfishly, alone."

  "Not alone, Helen. With me. It gives me pleasure to pleasure you… Oh, Helen, you’re my woman."

  He kissed her hard. Then he whispered: "There are many ways of making love, of giving pleasure to each other, of stealing pleasure, of sharing our love without shame… Tell me you love me too!"

  "I love you, Andrew. But sometimes it feels as if you have cast a spell on me. I become putty in your hand." She chuckled, embarrassed by the unintended pun.

  "But I love it if you’re putty in my hands."

  A sudden commotion on deck made them break apart, alarmed. Somebody opened the door of the cargo hold. The bright light blinded her for a moment.

  "A police patrol is on the wharf. They seem intent on searching all ships. You must get off, right away," she heard the captain’s exacting voice.

  Helen tensed up instantly.

  "But how?" asked Andrew.

  "That’s your problem, not mine. I want you off my ship before they board it!" The door closed again.

  "I thought they would stop looking for me when they found the horse. Why are they still after me? Or is it somebody else?" Andrew’s tone expressed disappointment, annoyance, and apprehension.

  "You can’t take any chances, Andrew."

  He picked up the saddle bags and opened the door enough for him to get a view of the wharf. Loud protesting voices and swearing came from a ship farther upstream.

  "We can’t go onto the wharf. Two constables keep watch," Andrew whispered. "We’ll have to go overboard into the water and swim for it."

  "You do that. I’ll go on the wharf. That will distract them long enough for you to slip away. I don’t think they know what I look like. So I should be safe."

  "I don’t like it. It’s too risky, Helen."

  "No, it’s the only way, or else they’ll catch us together, and then I’m in trouble too. Leave the saddle bags here. I’ll take care of them. And now go, Andrew, there’s no time to lose!" she urged. "We’ll meet again at Rose’s."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, go now!" she said impatiently.

  He ducked behind a crate on the deck, shielding him from the policemen on the wharf, and crawled to the port railing, facing the river. A rope ladder hung over the side. Helen watched him disappear down the ladder.

  She now picked up the saddle bags and opened the door to go on the deck. Then she changed her mind, went back inside the hold, and stashed the saddle bags away underneath sacks of goods. Carrying only her handbag, she climbed back on deck. The captain was standing on the starboard railing, watching the police search a vessel farther upriver. She approached him.

  "Sir, if they ask you any questions, I’m your woman and spent the night on board your ship," she said, without so much as a blink.

  He turned and looked at her in surprise. His eyes searched the deck for Andrew, but he did not ask where he was. Then he nodded.

  "Our saddle bags are hidden near the door under sacks. Please give them to another boat for safekeeping before you sail. Somebody will pick them up later… And now, give me a kiss on the cheek, sir!" she told him, her voice completely flat, as if she were talking about the weather.

  For a moment, her request took him aback, then he smiled and kissed her, grabbing her waist longer than needed. It felt unpleasant, but Helen realized that she had asked for it. She stepped down the plank, just as two policemen started going up to the adjoining vessel. She recognized one of them as the constable who had arrested Andrew at The Good Shepherd. For just an instant, she faltered. The two immediately turned around and came straight to her as she walked away from the ship.

  "Madam, please wait. I must talk to you," the constable called out.

  Helen turned to face him. "How can I help you, constable?" She was surprised how cool and unconcerned her voice sounded.

  "I’m Constable Fraser. We are looking for a young man, dark hair, and a young woman, about your age, with red hair like you—"

  "I haven’t seen anybody," Helen interrupted him. "I just came off the Clyde, where I spent the night. They’re sailing at the high tide, sir. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more."

  She started walking away. The constable rushed after her and held her by an arm. She looked at his hand in studied consternation: "What do you think you are doing, sir? Take your hand off my arm!"

  He clearly didn’t expect such a stern rebuke and dropped his hand. "I’m sorry, madam, but you’ll have to wait here, while we search all ships. I need to confirm your story."

  He waved to the two policemen near the warehouse, and one came over at the double.

  "Wait here with this lady," he ordered the man.

  "Aye, sir," was his prompt reply, as he took a position four feet away from Helen.

  The two constables now climbed onto the deck of the Clyde. Helen kept her fingers crossed that Andrew was already well out of sight downriver. She made an effort to display an unconcerned face and tried to strike up a casual conversation with the young man guarding her.

  "Why are you looking for this couple, sir?" she asked.

  "You ask Constable Fraser, madam."

  "Why do you think they’re on one of the ships?"

  He shrugged his shoulders, looking straight past her. In fact, he never really faced her directly. Helen gave up and watched what was happening on the Clyde. Constable Fraser inspected the deck, looking over the railings from time to time, and then talked to the captain for three or four minutes, while his colleague disappeared in the cargo hold. Some time later, he emerged again.

  They left the Clyde and boarded the vessel next to it.

  * * *

  The ladder led down to a small row boat. For a second Andrew was tempted to take it and float down the river, but then he thought better of it. The police would easily spot him. Without causing any noise, he plunged into the water and hid between the rowboat and the ship. Anybody looking down from the railing was unlikely to see him. Although the water was cool, he reckoned that he could probably stand it for fifteen to twenty minutes. By that time the police should have finished their search. He could then either swim away or climb back on deck.

  Why do I always let her face the danger while I get away? he wondered. Yet, he knew that she was right.

  A few minutes later, there were voices right above him.

  "Nobody on board, sir."

  "Aye. Nobody in the river either. Their boat is still attached to port… Maybe we can get the girl to talk. She seems to fit the description given by the turnkey."

  Were they holding Helen? A sinking feeling invaded his bowels. He had the urge to leave his hiding place, to confirm his suspicions. Don’t be foolish now! You would just give both of us away. You can’t help her, he admonished himself silently. A short time later, renewed shouting reached his ears and deepened his anxiety. What was happening now? He waited for another agonizing ten minutes or so before the chill of the water drove him out from the protection of the rowboat.

  * * *

  The search of the ships completed, Constable Fraser returned to the wharf where he called the other policeman standing watch near the warehouse to join them.

  "May I leave now and continue my errand, sir?" asked Helen.

  "Madam, I’m not finished with you. You’ll have to accompany me to the tolbooth."

  "Why, constable, if I may ask?" Helen’s voice betrayed her rising anxiety.

  "The description of the young women we are looking for fits you rather remarkably, including the type of clothing she was wearing. So, we need to verify your identity."

  "But didn’t Captain McGeorge of the Clyde confirm I spent the night on the boat?"

  "He did, madam, but I have reasons to be suspicious of his statement. So, please, come along without causing any trouble."

  Helen’s cool threatened to abandon her. No panic now! But won’t the turnkey recognize me? She f
eared that she was breaking out in a cold sweat.

  "Please come along, now, madam," she heard the constable repeat his request.

  Almost automatically, she followed him, the young policeman right at her side. They had gone but a hundred feet upriver along the wharf when suddenly a boy’s voice called out from a narrow alley between two warehouses: "Constable Fraser, I think the man you’re looking for just ran into this warehouse. Come quick!"

  Helen recognized Owen’s voice. He wouldn’t betray Andrew! Then she caught on to his ruse. In fact, the constable immediately followed Owen’s call, ordering two of the three policemen to accompany him. They ran to the alley where Owen had stood just a few seconds before.

  The young policeman eyed Helen wearily. Should I run? She turned, and he immediately grabbed her arm, restraining her.

  "Don’t do anything silly now, madam," he said sternly.

  Robert’s agonized face after she had kneed him rose in her mind. She turned to the young man and replied with a smile: "No, I won’t, sir," while at the same time raising her skirt a bit in front. Immediately, his tense expression relaxed, just as her knee shot into his groin. He released her arm, reached with both hands for his crotch, and sank to his knees with a hoarse groan.

  For a second, her own action horrified her. She had the urge to help him, but then the reason she had done it asserted itself again. Raising her skirts to her knees, she dashed along the warehouses and dipped into the second alley upriver from where the three policemen had disappeared.

  Fortunately, it was too early for anybody to be around yet, and by various detours she sneaked back to the rear entrance of The White Heron without encountering a person. Leaning against the fence, she caught her breath. The grating of the gate opening sent her into panic. She began to breathe again when she saw Owen enter and quickly pull the gate shut, a broad grin on his face.

  He took her hand, leading her toward the kitchen, and said with a pleased sigh: "That was a close call, lady… But where’s master Andrew?"

  Spontaneously, Helen hugged him, pressing his head to her bosom, saying "Thank you, Owen, thank you… Andrew went overboard."

  He freed himself and said importantly: "Then I better go and find him, lady. He may need help too."

  "Owen, you can’t go now with the policemen still searching out there. They’ll catch you."

  He only smiled and answered in a cool voice: "They won’t. I already changed clothing and wear a hat now too. Don’t I look almost respectable?" He grinned at her challenging.

  Before Helen could say another word, he disappeared again through the gate. Shaking her head, she entered the kitchen, where Rose was working on the stove. She immediately put down the pan and rushed over, embracing her, then holding her away to look at her, laughing the freeing laugh of relief, and hugging her again.

  "Oh, am I so glad to see you, Helen! When I heard the police were searching the wharf, I immediately got Owen… But where’s your young man?"

  In terse sentences, Helen told her what had happened, and how Owen had led the police on a wild goose chase.

  "I knew he could to do it," chuckled Rose proudly.

  "But won’t the police now search every house near the wharf?"

  "They might come and inquire, but they know me. I’m clean with them. Meanwhile, you’ve a rest in your little room. You look like you need it."

  Which was true! The pressure and tension, the changing fortunes, the lack of sleep—Was it only twelve hours since she was in the tolbooth, went fleetingly through Helen’s mind—she could hardly keep her eyes open. However, she fought it. She wasn’t willing to rest without knowing whether Andrew was safe.

  Rose guessed her thoughts. "Go now, lass. I wake you immediately when I hear anything about your young man. Until then, there’s nothing you can do… You want a drink?"

  Helen shook her head, and Rose forcefully took her to the little bedroom. She only removed her boots and jacket, fell onto the soft bed, and within seconds was out, all her effort to stay awake in vain. Rose covered her with a wool blanket, and watched her for a moment, a warm glow in her eyes, and then went back to the kitchen.

  * * *

  About an hour later, when the last couple of guests of the White Heron finished their breakfast, Constable Fraser entered the tavern. Rose greeted him with one of her effusive smiles: "Constable Fraser! I’ve not seen you for ages. What can I do for you? You let me serve you a hot coffee. I just made a fresh pot. If I remember rightly, you take it black, don’t you? I need one too."

  Without waiting for his reply, she fetched two cups and got the pot standing on the stove. He seemed to be of two minds, but when the enticing smell of the fresh brew reached his nose, he sat at the table where Rose had placed two steaming cups. She seated herself opposite him, and sipped her coffee, watching him with an eager expression, waiting while he took small, careful sips. He nodded approvingly.

  "That feels good. I swear you serve the best coffee in Glasgow, Rose," were his first words. And then he cleared his throat and said: "You must have heard about the young man who escaped from the tolbooth yesterday evening."

  He looked at her expectantly.

  She nodded with a smile: "Who hasn’t? Quite a daring act. I also heard rumors that Joe, that hopeless drunk, was involved. It must’ve been one of his few moments when he was sober enough to stand straight."

  "Yes, Joe—what’s his name again? … Oh, it escapes me right now—"

  "I didn’t know he had a last name," she interjected sarcastically.

  "Anyway, Joe came with this young woman, claiming to be the young man’s father, and the turnkey didn’t recognize him—he was so neatly made up, and then he exchanged places with the prisoner."

  "Nobody recognize him? I mean, this is hard to believe."

  "I agree with you fully, but that’s water down the Clyde. We’ve been searching for them ever since last evening. I won’t rest until we catch them."

  "Ah… In this area?"

  "Yes, we’ll check every vessel leaving the wharf."

  "I see, as a precaution? … But come to think of it, the lass must have come down to the wharf, otherwise she couldn’t’ve engaged Joe, … unless Joe’s really the young man’s father. His wife had a teenage son when she finally got sick of his drinking and returned to her folks in Lanark. It must be nigh ten years ago already."

  "I don’t think so. I actually arrested the young man. He claimed to come from Argyle, although my impression was that he’s English. He has a strong southern accent. The trouble is, I should have taken a more careful look at his wife when I arrested him at The Good Shepherd."

  "They stayed at The Good Shepherd? They’ve expensive taste!"

  "I guess you’re right… Look, Rose, the reason I’m here is to ask if you did see the young woman. All we know is that she has red hair, is of medium height, dresses expensively—according to the turnkey, she wore a gray skirt, white blouse, and dark jacket. He also said that she’s good-looking. ‘Striking’ was the word he used. The trouble is that no more than half an hour ago I talked to a young woman who fitted that description. But when we chased after a young man who had been seen hiding in Jarvis’ warehouse, she got away from one of our new recruits."

  "She got away?" Outraged surprise colored her voice. "What kind of recruits do you get now-a-days who can’t even hold on to a young woman?"

  "Oh, she was quite nasty."

  "What do you mean by nasty?"

  "She kicked him in the groin. He still has trouble standing straight, the stupid fellow."

  Rose whistled through her teeth, shaking her head. "She’s quite a lass. First, springing her man from prison and then cutting down a policeman… I can’t help admiring her a bit."

  "Yes, she is. I really misjudged that pair completely. When the provost told me to lock up the young man, I felt quite sorry. He had this innocent look about him. But I’ll have no pity for him, not after what happened last night. How he got his wife to fool the prison wardens
so brazenly is beyond me!"

  Naturally, it would never occur to you that a woman planned all this, she said silently to herself, smiling inside, feeling smug.

  He continued: "You know, we searched all over the city for that horse, every single inn. I think yours was the only one we didn’t search, but then only sailors would ever know of your place anyway."

  She suppressed a grin and nodded vigorously.

  "And then in the middle of last night, we got this anonymous letter that we would find the horse in the stables of The Golden Eagle. And it was there. But when our men tried to detain the highlanders who were lodging there and claimed to own the four horses in the stable, they got beaten up rather badly. The one guarding the stallion managed to ride away and call for reenforcements, but when we got to the inn, the four had vanished."

  "You don’t say! Could they have been the young man’s accomplices?"

  Constable Fraser pondered this for a few seconds, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. "If they were, why would he have denounced them?"

  "How do you know that he wrote that anonymous note?"

  "We found a second on the stallion, signed by him."

  "Well, they may have fallen out with each other. You know how readily these Highlanders pick a quarrel."

  "That could explain a few things…" He left the sentence hanging in midair. "Anyway, as I started to say before, we are looking for all of them, and particularly the young couple. The young man is about the same height as I, just a bit slimmer." He patted his bulging stomach. "Black hair, well spoken. He had a full beard, neatly trimmed, but is now probably clean shaven—"

  "I haven’t seen anybody fitting this description, nor did I see the lass around here," interrupted Rose again, "but if I hear anything, I’ll let you know. In fact, I’ll make some discreet inquiries among my regulars… So Joe’s really involved. I’ve a hard time believing that. What’s going to happen to him now?"

  "Apparently, he’s still too drunk to be questioned, and he won’t remember anything. My guess is they’ll let him go in a week or so rather than having to put up with him… But now, I better get back to my patrol and see whether they have found any traces of that young man or his wife. Thanks, Rose, for that delicious coffee. I really should visit you more often."