Ugly Truth, Beautiful Lies by Janine Harrington

8/10/2019 Ugly Truth, Beautiful Lies by Janine Harrington

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Author of 17 published books. Janine is Secretary ofRAF 100 Group Association, a secret group duringWWII whose key role was to identify and jam enemyradar. She is also Editor of their magazine. This is hersecond thriller. She lives with her husband who sharesher passion for all things aviation. Home is by the sea.She has one daughter, a free spirit who travels theworld.


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U G L Y T R U T HB E A U T I F U L L I E S


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Dedication

To Jo with lovea different journey

&

To the real Joe Maddisonwho shares every journey with me

with so much faith, understanding and love, always


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J ani ne H arr i ngton

U G L Y T R U T HB E A U T I F U L L I E S


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Copyright Janine Harrington

The right of Janine Harrington to be identified as author of thiswork has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in anyform or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claimsfor damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the BritishLibrary.

ISBN 978 184963 525 7

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2014)Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.25 Canada SquareCanary WharfLondonE14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain


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Acknowledgments

I would like to thank all who work at The Herons Nest, Knowle,Warwickshire, for their superb hospitality, and leading me on avoyage of discovery among the mysteries and legends of the Inn,the canal that runs alongside, and a more peaceful and gentle wayof life. It is a wonderful location and one we will return to visitagain.

I would also thank Jay and Heather, Russell, Joyce, Jenny,Mark and all our friends on the staff at The Swan, Coleshill,Warwickshire, who give it such a homely atmosphere and wherewe are always certain of a very special welcome. We willcontinue to visit whenever were in the area.

I remain indebted to The Herons Nest and to The Swan forall your help, understanding and support over very special timesspent with you, and for accepting me as your Writer in Residencefor a while.

Wonderful memories valued friends! Every one of you at both these venues inspired this book and

made it special to me. I consider it amongst my best writings.I would also thank my husband Tony for his dedicated

support, technical guidance, and for making me valued, respected,loved. You continue to be my inspiration in ways you can neverunderstand. It is with you I feel whole and complete, giving methe confidence to keep writing in those times when I am ready toadmit defeat.

This book has proved a learning process for us both a journey of self-discovery which continues on long after the final page is done.


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Books By The Same Author

Stone Cold DeadFirst Joe Maddison Thriller, published by Austin Macauley,2013

ISBN: 978 184963 399 4

For more information on Janine Harrington and her booksvisit:www.JanineHarrington.blogspot.com
http://www.janineharrington.blogspot.com/http://www.janineharrington.blogspot.com/


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Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.

Pamela Vaull Starr


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Lightermen

The waters were dark, brooding, silent, deep.Connor leaned well back to place his bare feet firm on the

walls of the tunnel. The brick linings were covered in calciferousdeposits with hundreds of small stalactites. Soft green weed

slimed his toes, touching, curling, binding them tightly to it. As hebroke free, the cold and damp began to penetrate the pores of his

skin. As it crept in and up and through his light covering ofclothing, he shivered. But he was too used to it to really care.Slowly he began walking his feet along the wall. He kept wellbalanced, his steps small and even. To his right, a small pinprickof light showed the far end of the tunnel. Looking back the waythey had come, the opening was still large enough to see a littleway in. But as they snuck in deep, darkness swallowed themwhole. Now, with only their senses to guide them, the support ofone another was vital.

Long step to the left, short step with his right. Slowly thebarge picked up speed, matching the rhythm of his feet on thewall. It was going to take 866 steps to reach the end. Hedcounted so many times before. And as if by magic the numberswere marking off in his head. The tunnel was actually 433 yardslong. This was only the beginning of their underground journey.There was some way yet to go. He knew it well. The ShrewleyTunnel was a particularly long and very wet tunnel. With no tow

path, the only way through for a horse was to first walk himthrough his own tunnel carved into the hillside. Dusty was neverkeen. Who could blame him? It was a steep, dark, slippery incline.

Always it was a struggle. Hed brought Dust y through and thenon down the slope many a time, tethering him while he came backto help his father with the boat. Now they were navigating a

straight line between the walls, careful not to scrape the paintwork, steering straight ahead as he walked the brickwork to give the momentum they needed to move on.


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This part of the route was hard. In the darkness there wasnothing to focus, nothing to see. It was easy for eyes to close,breathing to ease, the body to relax, and sleep to cast its spell,especially on those who were in need.

No real panic. The delivery was on time. Yet anything couldhappen to slow things in an instant. He had to stay alert.Stalactites made the brickwork humpy and lumpy and that bitmore slippery. It was easy for feet to lose their grip.

Okay Son? He struggled for moments to find breath.Yes Pa. Im okay. And you?

He heard his father grunt. He was probably thinking and planning ahead. He hoped his mind was on the job and not on friends that might be there to meet him. They didnt know heknew. They still thought it was the best kept secret in the world.

More fool them! Didnt they realise they could get Pa in serioustrouble? They werent the first, nor would they be the last. Toomany were trying different ways to take a bonus, to top up meagre

pay. A couple of years back Cousin Henry had been caught

stealing 240 sacks of oats off Alf Woods, a waterman, waiting forcollection at Surrey Docks. It was just before Alf began tonavigate and pilot passenger vessels on the Thames, one of hislast jobs and that much more important. Then his uncle Josephwas at Lavender Warf, down from Tower Bridge. His barge hadbeen lying alongside another. Hed helped himself on a whim toa broken half bag of corn. Of course hed been caught, just lik eCousin Henry. Its the reason theyd appointed Corn Meters, to

stop thieving. But then again, poaching was different. When Paand he had moored, done chores and eaten, once upon a timetheyd gone into the forest at Nottingham. But the Game Keepercaught them, sent a pack of dogs on their trail. He still had thebite marks to show for his adventures. Since then, they were morecareful where and when and how.

Or so hed thought. Now he knew the secret he wasnt so sure. They didnt know he was in one o f the sheds, trying to catch

an hours kip. Theyd sat right outside on barrels, talking inwhispers. Hed heard every word.

Theyd been planning a far more serious crime.


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His foot slipped suddenly on the brickwork. He wasnt payingattention. Falling sideways, he almost came off the barge and intothe still, brooding waters. The boat juddered and sighed uneasy.

Sorry Pa. Keep alert, Boy! Strike up a rhythm like I taught and stick to

it, adding as an afterthought , And dont let your mind wander, Lad yhear?

Right Pa Sorry. His Pa understood him well enough too well! He set his back firm against the side of the boat, wriggling

into position, feet walking along the wall, toes curled under to grip the brickwork, trying to avoid the creeping wet weed. He wasleaning against the little 119 x 66 wooden structure theycalled home, a small squat chimney rising above it, puffing outwadges of smoke. The rest of the boat was kept clear for goods,like the coal they were ferrying now. Everything they owned wasinside this little shack with its bright green paintwork, patternedin sunshine yellow, bordered with stark red lines. A small cooking

stove with a pot always on the boil sat in the doorway at thebottom of three narrow wooden stairs. Then came the seatingwhich was cramped and, come night time, became make-shiftbeds. There was a small fold-up table and lots of hidden hidey-holes. In one dark corner were his writings. He was working on anew poem, one of his best. Hed need to finish in time and h e wasrunning out of paper. Generally he wrote on anything that cameto hand. But this this was important. He needed it to look and

feel right.These writings were special because they were meant for a

Lady. Words floated through his mind. He had this fantastical

notion they came from some other place. It was only those chosen few who could feel and hear and breathe them and give them life,hed decided. He didnt know how or why or even when hebecame one of the chosen. His parents had called it a gift. Hedbeen hearing words calling him since he was very young.

Learning to write had become a tool to share these words withothers. His fingers itched to write the words he was hearing now.They wouldnt come again and he couldnt keep reciting themover and over so as not to forget. The tunnel was hard work. Heneeded to focus. But if he let go the words even for an instant they


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would be gone back to that other place, gifted to someone moreworthy.

He lingered moments more, desperate to imprint them on hismind. But hed work to do. Hed need to let them go. No choice.There would be others never quite the same, but words would

find their path to him sooner rather than later. His shoulders slumped. He mourned their loss even as he felt them retreat, backinto the ether. He raised his face, closed his eyes briefly, wishingat the stars beyond the brickwork, asking they guide the wordsinto the heart for which they were meant.

Bare feet scraped against brick, grazing painfully. He easedthem up and after a few hesitant starts and misses, caught therhythm of the barge. It had been moving on its own momentum,

slowing almost to a standstill. It needed encouragement. Oncethey got the other side of the tunnel then Dusty could take overand the hard work would be done, until it came time to lift thecoal onto the quay ready for collection and distribution.

Hed been born on the canal, grown up on boats. It was theonly life he knew.

Living and working on the canal meant hard work, longhours, poor pay. People w ho hadnt been born into it left wellalone. But canals were becoming big business. People wereinvesting a lot of money in them, so hed heard; making profits,expanding, taking on new work. Boats were good for moving

fragile goods such as pottery, but also heavy goods like coal. Byboat it was so much faster than carriages and pack mules. Once ahorse got going, its own momentum would keep a barge moving ata decent pace. The quicker it got there, the more the price of coal

fell, the cheaper it was for people to buy. It was a good deal allround.

They were one of the few families of lightermen who ownedtheir own boat. Theyd worked hard to make it so. Hed heard

stories of how it had been for Pa during the days hed had to wait for work, standing for several hours from early morning, even inwinter, not able to leave until the quota of men had been chosen

for that day. When the men had left they would leave behind a plethora of human excrement, too scared to leave and miss thework they needed to keep wives and children fed, having to let gowhere they stood. Often it was a case of favourites being picked


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while those not liked by the foreman would be left for weeks, their families at risk of starvation.

Now they didnt need to wait around in the cold fo r someoneto say he could work. Pa was his own man with his own boat andwell proud he had something to hand down from father to son to

provide an income well into the future. Their barge was namedLady Margaret after his Ma. In many ways she lived on in thewood around them, the castle and roses paintings on the bucketand various household objects. She had taken a real pride in her

floating home, and used her love of art to make a dark cramped space comfortable and clean. Without the door open there was nolight. But cushions and tapestries she made brought their own lifeand colour to otherwise drab surroundings. Shed always beenbusy. It was the female touch that Pa didnt know how to give.

He could just remember her, although he wasnt sure if theimages were sparked by a fertile imagination originating from theone faded sepia-toned photograph standing by the small stove.Often his father would gaze at the photo, a wistful look in his eye.

He still missed her terribly. It made him all the more determinedto honour her and make his father proud.

Ma had been a survivor. Poverty and sickness was a constantcompanion for people living on a boat. At one point hed had abrother and sister. Both had died young, one of measles, the otherof diphtheria. He forgot which way round it came, but his mothercaught the disease and died while nursing them.

Connor lived a transitory existence. He was actually bornthree foot six inches under water. His parents had been carrying aweight of coal at the time and the boat was loaded, sinking at oneend into the murky depths. When Ma died a few years on he

stayed with relatives to attend school. From five or six onwardshed spent a month or so with Gran down on the Thames, going toThameside School. Before his great gra ndfather died, hed spent alittle time living up Liverpool way, attending Croxteth School.

Hed been to school in Lancashire, close by the Leeds to Liverpool Canal. Hed been to school in Norfolk. Hed been to school in the Midlands. But then from nine ye ars old hed workedon boats on the canal alongside Pa. It was where he belonged.

Pa would say: The pen I got in my hand is a barge pole.Steering the lighter, its like Im writing my signature on thewaters. Manys the stories it might tell if there wer e those who


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would heed them. Alluding to the many hardships hed enduredas a lighterman, hed conclude with the words: It would havebeen better for me today had I been at school that is to say,rather than at the hard school of life!

Connor thought there was a certain poetry to his words. Lateinto the evening they would talk. It would inspire him to write. Hewanted to capture the kind of stories shared before they were lostin time.

Pa came from a large boating family. His parents had bothbeen born on the canal. It was how they met. It was how most oftheir kind met uncles, aunts, grandparents. They wereconsidered a closed community. Boat people tended to marry boat

people. Some did jobs on dry land for a spell, but always theydrifted back, li ke it was their life blood and they couldnt keepaway.

Now he was involved in all aspects of the work, but it was Pa,known as Ben outside the family; who cooked and did the washingand kept the boat clean. Hed steer them down the narrow strip ofwater, stopping at places they needed to be, while he led Dusty,the only other family member down the path. There would alwaysbe someone ready to give them help with the lock when it came.

Ma and Pa had had the horse forever. Pa had given him rideswhen he was young. He loved Dusty like he guessed those wholived in houses loved a very dear pet a cat or a dog theyd had

since young, the only difference being Dusty had to earn his keep. From nine years old Dusty had become his responsibility,alongside learning rope work, paint jobs, carrying on thetradition of castle and roses painting, pricings, and so forth.That was after all, the education of a boat lad.

Dusty was special. Not just because he was his, or so he likedto think. They shared a close bond. Dusty would do most things

for him, including going through the dark dank dismal tunnelwhen he couldnt go with the boat. But there was something more.Something he couldnt explain something really weird.

Dusty liked to believe he might one day capture the moon. He was a half shire and if ever they were working all night

and the moon was shining bright, reflected in the canal, Dustywould go into the waters after it! He would swim towards thereflection unhesitatingly, leaning forwards, stretching, reaching... Then hed stop, and the most incredulous expression would


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come over him. It was just as if he couldnt understand how something so bright, so real, could be there and yet not reallybe there at all!

The bright round reflection of the moon would tease and taunthim mercilessly. Over and over theyd need to leave their work todrag him out the canal. Splash! and he would be gone. Andthere werent always steps leading down to the waters to bringhim back. It meant theyd have to take out the boa rds. Connorwould swim to him, pulling a reluctant half shire who didnt wantto leave the moon behind; back to a place where he could safely

get out. Even then it was an effort. Dragging a horse from thedeep dark waters was worse than heaving a ton of coal!

Dusty would be cold and wet and shivering. The problemwould be where to house him for the night, somewhere warm.Great care had to be taken of horses. Without them there wasnothing to pull the boat and they risked losing the means to work.Without work, there was no money. Without money, they starved.

Every boat horse needed a stall in a stable at the end of everydays journey. A hot tired horse couldnt simply be tethered or putout to graze in a cold field. Dusty was no exception. So everyregular stopping place, whether it be a warehouse, wharf orcanal-side pub; had to be equipped with stabling.

The Waterman was one of the best. Larger establishmentsemployed ostlers to look after horses, keep stables mucked outand ready for use for boating cust omers. The Waterman didnt

provide these luxuries, yet it was cosy and warm. It was owned byuncle Joseph, his fathers brother. Hed worked the canals bothas a lighterman and later as a waterman with a licence to ferry

passengers on the Thames, hence the name of the Inn. He knewwhat the job entailed. Always he had their best interests at heart including the horse.

They were heading towards The Waterman now. TheShrewley Tunnel was only a short distance away. It was here he

suspected Pas friends would be waiting. There had been talk ofmeeting up, sharing a few jars. But Connor knew there was somuch more.

He knew their secret. He knew they were going thieving.The group were taking advantage of those who frequented the

Inns. The Waterman was a favoured haven of gossip. Those


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waiting to collect coal would chit chat for as long as the Inn stayed open. With a few jars inside them, loosening their tongues,they were more than ready to spill stories about people in thearea.

Connor wanted no part. But he couldnt help being involvedin their secret because it was his Pa. It meant he couldnt telland he couldnt do anything about it.

And there was something else.When they were last at The Waterman, when hed been in the

shed and heard their plans, they were talking about the big housein The Hollow, Montford Manor. Hed barely managed to stiflehis gasp of horror, stuffing his red spotted kerchief into his mouth

for fear of sound escaping. The friends had made deliveries there, sussed it out during visits, even been invited in for a cup of teaand cake for their labours. One of them, Harry, was courting

Maisie, the maid. It meant they were seriously considering aburglary.

There was to be a gathering of barges at The Waterman thisweekend.

He had to keep Pa from being part of their plans. But how?


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listening to stories, having them read to her instead of reaching toturn the page, closing her eyes to conjure up the characters in hermind. She loved dressing up and was fascinated by the lives oftheatre folk who lived so many different lives in one. Her brotherQuentin was protective of her. Doubtless she warranted hiswatchful eye. But then, did he need to go telling her fathereverything especially those special secret things she sharedwith him on the sp ur of the moment? Why couldnt she wanderand go places on her own?

It was that thought really that sparked the rebellion. Leaving the bag and parasol just the way they were, under the

tree, she skipped lightly over the brow of the hill, away from The Hollow, her departure shielded from anyone who might belooking towards her. The oak had been the limit of her world fortoo long. She hadnt been allowed to explore further at least,not alone. No doubt they had good reason. But if so, why werentthey sharing it with her?

Just over the ridge, beyond the oak, her world unexpectedlyopened out. Following the lane lined either side with hedgerow;

she found a startling array of flora and fauna shed never seenbefore. Shed need to look them up on her return in The Little

Book of Wild Flowers that had come from her grandmother. Shebent to collect a sample to take back with her when, just aroundthe bend, she glimpsed water. Being close to water was her

favourite pastime and one she didnt get to enjoy often, almosthardly at all. She loved to paint, to use colour that matched hermood. Water was calming; it smoothed away any worries thatwere troubling. And the way she was feeling right now it would bemost welcome. She followed the path, eager now to see more andto know where it led, delighted to find a little further on, a bridgewhere waters wove through the countryside and on out of sight.

She found a quiet place half hidden by hedgerow and for along while sat gazing across at the opposite bank where Jack-in-the-Hedge fanned its white flowers into a border along the still

silent waters between. She barely noticed the time. Small pocketsof fluffy white cloud were chasing one another across the skies.Clusters of birds swooped down into the treetops, seeking refuge

for the night. To one side of her was an Inn. When the twinklinglights came on outside it reminded her so much of Christmas past.

Figures slipped in through the doorway like shadows, some


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noisier than others. She was thankful that, well tucked into thebushes, she couldnt easily be seen.

It was as she turned her head back towards the water that, toher right, a long painted barge in colourful greens and yellowsand reds came into view. It was being pulled by a horse, adecorated garland of wild flowers twisted about its neck, and anold straw hat with a brim stuck well down over its ears. It broughta smile to her lips. The colours were so vibrant, so striking, theybrightened the scene and the hat gave the horse character. Shecould just imagine what it might be thinking, dragging the weightof the boat, longing for a drink. But as it drew into the side,

fearful of being seen, hastily she gathered her skirts, preparing tomove away.

The young man about her age appeared from out of nowhere.Suddenly he was right there, in front of her. He seemed just as

startled and they stood for long moments, a little apart, gazingwide eyed at one another in awe.

He caught her eye. Hastily, she looked away. She wasconfused. It was as if her own thoughts had c aught her out. Shednever seen anyone like him before. It was like hed stepped out ofa painting or a book something. He certainly wasnt of herworld. He would have a story to tell and she longed to hear it,knowing it would hold her absorbed for hours, and then some. She

yearned suddenly to hear all the stories he would be able to tellher, because they would explain so much about his world aworld of which she played no part.

* * * *

He knew. Somehow he sensed her thoughts. She also was likenothing hed ever seen.

She was slender and fair with a fragile beauty and theclearest palest complexion. Everything about her spoke ofinnocence and childlike wonder. And yet, she was a Lady! All hewanted to do was to sweep her up and carry her away and makecertain no harm ever came to her. Who was she? Where did shecome from? What was her name? Theyd passed this way so often.Why had he never seen her till now?

She was twisting the thin soft silky material of one sleevebetween her fingers, pulling it up over her shoulder. He was


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making her nervous. Hed never been in the presence of a Ladybefore. He didnt know how to behave when so badly he wanted toreassure, to make her feel safe. He meant her no harm. But thenher lips curled upwards into the crescent moon of a smile.

Immediately, her eyes starred, her face was beautiful, and it was just as if her smile had created an aura that reached right out totouch his heart.

In those first few moments he was in love. Destiny was already forging a path. It was only a matter of

time.Connor!

He twirled around, guilty suddenly, upset, annoyed. Thismoment was his. He didnt want it spoiled, not by anything oranyone.

Connor! Dusty pulled in to his side. The rope lay slack across the path.

He needed to haul it in, tie it secure, bring the boat into moorings for the night. There was so much to do. And yet his feelings were scattered in confusion.

He turned back to see the girl walking quickly away. Only shewasnt so much walking as floating gliding di sappearinginto the twilight, holding up thin layers of skirt so that he spiedthe most perfect little feet and tiny slipper shoes. She was like adancer. Not that hed ever seen a dancer, apart from at Christmasor some special occasion when they celebrated at a Gathering. Itwas no comparison at all to what was going on now. He was usedto the daughters of lightermen providing the entertainment bydancing and twirling through the air. There was no comparison.This was like watching a rare flower softly bending with thebreeze, with such a gentle flow of movement.

Hey there ! What could he say? He didnt even know her name. Didnt

know from where shed come. Who was she anyway? Why had henever seen her before?

Connor CONNOR! For Gods sake!! Weve w ork to do. Dont just stand there gawping. Grab the rope lad, haul it in.Times a -tickin and we need to move fast before all the daylightis gone.

Pas voice! He was shouting loud enough for those sittingoutside The Waterman to hear. They raised their glasses in


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acknowledgement, smiling. He had to obey. He didnt have achoice.

When Pa referred to the incident later, Connor made out itwas nothing at all. But he didnt forget the encounter. He knewthere would be another. He hoped it would be soon. His heart wasalready winging towards that moment. And in readiness, he

penned a poem to mark the occasion, describing his feelings,capturing the raw emotions that continued to fuse with thoughtsthat lingered, wanting somehow to find words to describe this newuplifting experience.


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3

Was it a Dream?

Isabella leaned her head back against the trunk of the tree. Theoak had been there for as long as she could remember, her silent

friend, listening to worries she shared and thoughts shed speakaloud without even knowing. It was solid and dependable andconstant, so unlike the fusion of images now coursing through hermind putting her emotions in chaos. It reminded her of a flurry ofleaves caught by a sudden gust of wind in autumn. She didntunderstand the sudden change. Perhaps shed been out too longin the sun. Or was it that she had been sleeping? Perhaps she haddreamed about the boy with tousled hair the colour of rust,dressed in ill-fitting clothes with sparkling eyes that hinted at

places she longed to visit with so many stories she knew he had to share. He was so different from anyone she had ever known. Perhaps then he was simply the product of an over-activeimagination? But then, why did her fingers flutter? Why could sheno longer be still? What was this strange haunting feeling thateclipsed the peace and solitude she had felt, leaving her nowaching and needy and breathless? Why was her tummy doing

somersaults, flipping over and over and leaving her lightheaded? And if she had set her feet on the path at the side of the hedgerow,where was the sample of wild flowers she had been going tocollect on her way back?

Dusk had fallen. The day was almost at an end. Still in a stateof confusion, she hurried back down into The Hollow, knowing

she would be chastised for being out so late. As she walked pastthe stables and on through the back door, through the kitchen,into the main house, her father was waiting. He was impatient,and yet unusually gracious. It only confused her further.

You were under the oak for the longest time. You must becareful of the sun, my dear. It isnt good to be out in it too long.

So he had seen nothing untoward in her behaviour! Somehowhe had missed her comings and goings. He was assuming she had

spent all her time under the shade of the parasol. Perhaps then it


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had been a dream but a beautiful dream all the same. Shewished she could relive it again and learn more about the youngman who had suddenly come into her thoughts. He seemed soreal. She would love nothing more than to sit awhile with him and

share whatever part of himself he wanted to give. She huggedthese secret thoughts close. Like soft cuddly childhood teddybears, she wanted to enjoy the feelings they brought without the

family imposing restrictions, pricking the bubble with harshreality, shadowing those bright sparkling tingles of pleasuredeliciously running up and down her spine, knowing from wherethey came.

That night, she lay on her bed, gazing through her bedroomwindow across The Hollow to where the moon hovered over theoak, silhouetting its branches against a grey-black sky. It waseasy to conjure up the image of a young man. He had the

strangest way about him. He couldnt be that much younger, perhaps even the same age; and yet they were worlds apart. If shehad dreamed the encounter, where did that image come from?

And yet still, it left a strange kind of longing that reached out todraw her in. She placed the two of them together in her mind, andlaughed quietly. They werent alike at all, in m anner or in dress.

He would have to remain a figment of her imagination a dreamnever meant to be.

Connor Connor Connor She whispered his name. Shed never heard such a name

before. Where had it come from? She recalled the older man onthe boat behind him shouting it, drawing his attention away. Buthow could a dream be that real? Her lips quivered while herheart beat with an urgency that couldnt be denied. Why? Whatwas happening to her? How could a dream have such a profoundeffect? Just thinking about him set her heart on fire, creating suchrich vibrant feelings such as she had never experienced before.

Connor hed been wearing an old pair of corduroytrousers, dragged into a very thin waist by a buckled belt. On histop was a grubby ill-fitting shirt with a tight waistcoat and acouple of buttons missing, she couldnt be sure of the colourbecause the dust and grime were so thick. The waistcoat was

faded and well worn not forgetting the flat cap he wore jauntily, pushed down firm on a shock of thick copper-colouredhair. Hed kept tugging thoughtfully at the red and white -spotted


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kerchief knotted round his neck. Had they really stood together onthe tow path by the side of the deep dark waters of a canal?

Perhaps the idea had come from the book she was reading. Butthen the mischievous freckled face held her thoughts for thelongest time. It was that which interested her most. Did such aman exist? And why did she carry the impression of having madehim nervous?

His sparkling eyes were filled with such laughter andknowledge and truths and adventures worth telling. Their gazehad caught and held for the longest time. She was entranced bywhat she found there. So much depth, so much wisdom andunderstanding and compassion, hinting at experiences of a life

she knew nothing about. His eyes were dark and brown and smouldering, twinkling like stars in a midnight sky. Suddenly shehad to know was it a dream? And if it wasnt a dream and shereally had stepped out along the path leading to those waters, sheneeded to explore further. It was her time to reach beyond theboundaries of home and childhood, seeking to draw on this newworld she had caught but a glimpse. And if the young man,Connor, was for real, she wanted to know everything there was toknow about him.

They were a crazy, wild frenzy of emotions grabbing hold ofher, causing such a stir within she could hardly wait till morningand a new day. Never in her life had she felt such need. She felt asif she was being sucked into a rippling whirlpool with everincreasing circles drawing her in. However crazy it might be,these feelings were empowering her with the confidence to riseabove petty rules her controlling father imposed and to make herown mark on a world beyond, reaching out, taking hold.

It was over that long hot summer that she discovered theencounter was no dream. Connor was every bit as real and

special as she had hoped. She used the same trick every time,tripping lightly up the bank of The Hollow to the old oak,carefully laying out a rug, taking a picnic from her bag and

placing a large parasol between herself and the house below.Shed stay awhile, pushing her back firm against the tree. She

found it gave her the courage and determination to carry throughher plan, pushing against what had always been the boundary ofher world. With a book in her hands shed look to anyone who

glanced up from below just as if she were reading. But her


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thoughts were far from its pages. Somehow she knew the treeunderstood her need. It was there for her, an ally. And, as a showof support, its lower branches bent low to touch the ground,

presenting the perfect hiding place. Now she was living for the moment she would meet again the

young man she had first thought a dream, or at best a figment ofher imagination. As time passed, she would leave her leafy cave,impatient and yet careful enough to take precautions. She knewher father would restrict her movements if he found out,

forbidding her to leave the house, and making it impossible tocontinue her liaison. It was vital to maintain secrecy. Given theywere from such different worlds, she knew her father would beangry and go to whatever lengths it might take to prevent themever seeing one another again. She didnt really understand. Sheonly knew that within her something had changed theirrelationship was developing, opening like a bud ready to burstinto bloom.

When she could contain her instincts no longer, lining herselfup with the tree and the house, she would run lightly across themeadow, crossing the boundary of her fathers land to the pathover the lip of the hill where lay the carpet of wild flowers. Withno way of knowing if his boat would be there, she didnt stop untilthe moment she reached the bank of the canal and the ribbon ofwater winding under the bridge and away into the distance. Therewere many times she was disappointed too many times tocount. But she became a familiar figure, like a floret of pale whiteblossom blown by the wind, reaching places it was never meant tobe. And on occasions he was there, he would be waiting towelcome her into the arbour of his loving arms where shewould feel complete, whole and free.


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4

A Game of Chance

Isabella Margaret Rose St John-Smythe. He would speak her name over and over, relishing every tone,

every syllable, speaking it slow and soft in times they were nottogether. It sounded so grand! So not of his world! She was themost fragile, most incredibly beautiful lady hed ever seen. Shewas so different. So feminine. S o everything he had everimagined a lady could be in story books and his imagination, butnever dreamed he would find never mind meet one day, sounexpected. And she carried his mothers name Margaret. Hehad only to think of her and his hand was reaching for a pencil,

scratching at anything he could lay his hands on. Even withoutthinking, the words were right there, slipping so easily from hismind, flowing from pencil to paper. He didnt know how that was

possible. But each time he saw her it was the same. He had eyes and thoughts only for one thing in the days and

weeks that followed his own dear Rose. It was his love -name for her.

But it became increasingly urgent, as the weather turnedcolder, to set up meetings and have a system by which she wouldknow when he was there and when not. He couldnt have herwaiting in the wet or cold. She was so delicate a flower hecouldnt bear the thought of her falling ill or worse.

It had been at her suggestion that they used the old oak.One day while writing a letter to an Aunt, she had looked up

towards the tree standing tall and proud high on the horizon. Immediately she knew the perfect place to hide letters betweenthem. It presented the perfect reason to share his writings, his

poems, and for her to be able to write in secret and have her most private feelings and thoughts known only by the one they weremeant for.

They began leaving small love notes at first, to test the system. But within days, the writing flowed on, messages grewlonger and as passion deepened, poems came as outpourings from


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the heart meant only for one anothers eyes. They would remainhidden in the hollow created by a woodpecker many summersago. There were still feathers lining a deserted nest, proof that itwas dry. And by continuing her steep climb up the hill each day towhere the oak spread wide its branches as if in welcome, shewould prise out any message she found, putting the trunk of thetree between her and the house below as she read whatever hadcome. It was a way of knowing when he was there and as soon as

she was certain her feet would run, sure footed down the now familiar path to the canal. There was an abandoned wood hutwhere she would wait for love to find her and in private theycould meet and talk and share, holding hands and kissing.

He had but one guilty secret he kept from sharing with her.One day he had followed to see where she would go. He had

to know where she lived. And once that information was known, sometimes after mooring the boat and stabling Dusty, hed followthe path to the oak, crouching low to one side of the tree,watching her wend her way from the house, into the grounds.

Always, shed cast a sneaky look behind before pushing open the garden gate, emerging through the stables, crossing the stream inthe valley by way of the stepping stones before snaking up thehillside towards him.

Quickly, he would back off down the path to the hedgerowand watch as she got to the oak, pausing to take another swiftlook around. Always she was careful, cautious, it seemed almost afraid? He wondered what might happen if she was caught if they were seen together? After all, where was the harm? Therewas no evil in them. They were doing no wrong.

Shed leave it several minutes before slowly reaching up ontiptoe, skirts billowing up slightly in the breeze, to slip long

slender fingers into the hole. Even at a distance he could senseher excitement, see the glow that flushed her cheeks, the way

shed flick a hand through her soft fair hair. Hed learned all hermannerisms, and knew without words what she was thinking.Shed sit in a neat bundle on the grassy mound at the foot of theoak, snuggling between its thick gnarled roots, no doubtimagining it was his arms the way she stroked them lovingly. Andthen, slow ly, shed unfold the paper. Oh how he wished he couldwrite on parchment as grand as hers with the motif of an oak tree

stamped at its head! He wished he had the money to buy whatever


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her heart desired. But then, in an instant, he knew that what they shared was already priceless.

Her hands would tremble a little, the paper shaking as sheread words that came from some other place. He liked to think hismother was looking down on them and smiling, wishing themwell. He hoped she could be her Guardian Angel as much as shewas his. Perhaps the trembling of her hands was a sign her heart

fluttered in union with his thoughts. Certainly, her head wouldraise as if expectant, sensing his presence. The cutest smile playedaround those oh so delicious cherry red lips as she gazed up atthe sun like it was her friend, nodding and then laughing, as iftheir secret were too great to be contained.

Hed watch her slip into the hole her own gift of the heart,turning her back towards him. Then shed lift her skirts and ski pback down into The Hollow, back towards home on those days shecouldnt immediately get away. She had a breathless energy and a

glow to her cheeks she had not arrived with. Hed be glad. He haddone that for her. It was his gift. Without even being with her in

person he had the ability to make someone smile, to bringhappiness as if it were a small diamond wrapped up tight in adark velvet box.

If only ! He was saving. But with coal at 10d per cwt it was going to

take years. He needed a miracle to make it happen. Hed been tempted in weaker moments to join his father, to

supplement their meagre income. But then no! What was hethinking? He was loyal to his father but not to his friends. Oneday they would be caught, for certain. One day they would be

punished. Then what? He couldnt bear the thought of beinglocked away from his dear Rose. Besides, hed seen the stress his

father lived under. It was like a power, an energy over which hehad no control drawing him in. It was as if he couldnt help it. H ehad to be there when the others called. They seemed to have ahold over him that would not let him go. He didnt want to be a

part of that. Being under someone elses control meant he wasnthis own man.

No! He wouldnt even go there. But he could see n o way forthem to be together any time soon. He had to place his belief inthe love they shared. He knew he was breaking all the rules. Boat

people lived in their own community. They married one of their


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own. And yet, one day one day they would find a wa y through be together for always.

One day please God, let it be soon!

* * * *

As the days grew short and cold, they developed a new way ofmeeting.

He would leave a note in their secret place letting her knowhe was there. And then, once Dusty was stabled and the boatunloaded, hed settle in a room of his own at The Waterman. Hedargued with Pa about being old enough not to have to share. He

prided himself on earning his own wage. He could pay his way. Room 10 was his favourite haunt. It was near the back stairwell.The door led directly out into the courtyard. He would makecertain it was off the latch, leave his own door unlocked, and wait

for his love to join him. It meant they were private. They couldtouch and hold without fear of intrusion. And more than anythingelse, it was comfortable and warm and meant they had time to talkand share openly without her having to hurry away home.

In turn, Isabella would wait until the evening meal was over,the family settled, excuse herself with a headache, lock herbedroom door, change into old street clothes, and then, like thewind, leave by the back stairs and out the kitchen, crossing thetiles well-scrubbed by the maid ready for morning; running onacross the fields and up and over the stile. The Waterman wasclose to the canal. No other houses around for miles. Shed keepto the shadows, head well down and, with heart beating fast,

shed slip unseen around the back, through the unlatched doorwhere, close by, Room 10 beckoned. Pulling her dress down, andtaking a couple of deep breaths with a hand unconsciously

sweeping through her silky hair, shed look up to see the clock onthe landing showing just a minute to spare before their trystinghour 7pm. They had maybe a couple of hours in each ot herscompany before hed walk her back down the lane to the oakwhere, with a kiss and a hug, hed watch her depart, his fingersitching for pencil and paper to capture his tortured heart.

Wherever she was, whatever she might be doing, at that time,7pm, their trysting hour, their thoughts were always with oneanother, hearts filled with an aching longing neither could


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understand. All they knew for certain was that, to feel complete, tobe whole, they had to be one with the other where they fitted liketwo pieces of a puzzle just perfect!


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5

Goodnight Pa

It was a Thursday evening in June. They had been meeting in secret for a year. Their love had grown stronger, deeper. All theywanted now was to be together. But they couldnt find a way tomake it happen any time soon. It was all they ever talked about,turning their situation inside out and upside down. They yearned

for someone to give them direction, to offer advice and help. Butwho could they trust? There was no-one who would look on themkindly. They came from different worlds. They would be marryingoutside their own class and culture. And yet, together they werecertain they could survive if only someone would give them achance.

Connor left a note in their usual place. It had been raining.The grass was sodden. Rivulets of water running down the hill

swelled the stream at the bottom to bursting point. The stepping stones were almost submerged. Looking back, he saw his imprintsin the long grasses beneath the tree. Shed catch a chill and

probably pneumonia if she thought to sit down here today. He glanced up at the sky. Clouds menaced heavy and dark,brooding and ugly. He wondered what her family might say if shetried to leave the house on such a day. What excuse might she usewhen she could so easily stay indoors, warm and snug and safe bythe fire? It was times like this he feared for her safety, feared shewould somehow be taken from him and hed never see her again.

When it was raining or a wind whistled in from the north,they used a stone to secure the paper containing words of theheart. He pushed his writings into the innards of the tree, deepunder the feathers, like a small bird huddling in for warmth. Itwas a strange shaped stone he placed to cover his writing held ina single folded sheet. Running his fingers down the rough wetbark, he begged the oak to keep their love secret and safe. Hetrusted Nature. Nature was more reliable than people. Nature wasconstant ever changing, ever evolving, yet constant. It couldconjure the worst kind of terrors, but always it was good to those


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who worked with it in keeping harmony and balance in the world. He may not be the best scholar. But he knew about such things.

This time it was a different kind of message he left for her to find. It was definitive, instructive urgent!

He had to get her away from Montford Manor. He didntknow what was going to happen before this night was through. If

Pa and his friends went ahead with a burglary there was little hecould do to stop them. He just didnt want her involved.

The day had passed agonisingly slowly. There were momentswhen, for some inexplicable reason, hed feel a hollow ache

somewhere deep inside. It would catch him unawares, making himbend almost double. It felt as if something special had been lost or

stolen from him. He hoped it wasnt a bad omen, a sense of foreboding and doom and that Rose, his love, was safe.

As theyd come through the tunnel, hed raced to untie Dusty,taking hold of the rope to drag the barge to The Waterman wheret hey were staying for the night. Hed watched Pa as boats mooredin around them. It was a Gathering, no mistake. Pas friends werealready inside, waiting for him to join them.

He gazed down The Hollow at the big house. There was alight in the upper window. He strained to see if he could see the

silhouette of her figure. But the weather was against them. Shewould never see him standing by the oak waving. And he didntwant to be seen by another or draw attention to himself. Othersmight be watching her father her brother. He understoodher anxieties so well. The sooner she could leave that way of lifethe better. They would have the freedom of the canals and all thetime in the world. It was going to be a good life the best.

Now he needed to get back to The Waterman. He couldnt risk Pa seeking him out. And he needed to keep a watching brief on Pas friends. But it was vital he talk to Rose to see her towarn her of impending danger and get her away from the house.

In the end, he had to trust his thoughts to paper. His messagewas short and to the point:

Rose, my love, I am thinking of you always. I am holding our love tight. But it is important vital that you get this note today. When you have read this, please, I beg of you, act on itswords.


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Do not delay! There is danger.You must NOT go back to the house.Come to me at our rendezvous immediately.

If I am not there, wait for me. I will come. It is urgent that you do this one thing for me. I will explain when I see you.C x

He took one last look at Montford Manor filled with such adesperate longing for her to sense his presence and appear then all would be well. If only she were leaving now. If he could

just catch sight of her tripping over the stream, holding her skirtshigh and then on up the grassy slopes towards him, he would waitand they could leave together. He wanted that night to be her lastat the Manor. He needed her to leave for good to be together to begin their life anew. Pa would understand once he saw her,

spoke to her, knew her as he did. Looks could be deceiving. Her spirit was strong, especially when she was doing something shebelieved in. They could make it work as a family as long as theyhad each other.

He was still imagining the way of it as he made his way, sure- footed, back along the footpath to the canal. His eyes sparkled inanticipation. His lips turned upwards in a grin, working aroundwords he would use to tell her

Okay Son? Pa met him at the door.Sure Pa.

He was looking at him strange? Anything to tell me? What was this about?Like what?

Pa didnt pry. He never asked questions, at least not about hislife. But he couldnt tell, not yet awhile not until he had first

seen and spoken with Rose and agreed that tonight was the nightthat began their new way of life. He tried to turn the tables.

You okay, Pa? Sure Son. You got anything to tell me?

Pa looked up like a startled rabbit caught in a ray oflamplight, as if he had something to hide. Ha!


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Whats up, Pa? There was a pause.Son, were doing alright, you and me I mean arent we? Sure Pa. Just the same as always were fine. Why didnt he just talk to him? Why didnt he tell him what

was wrong? Or at least share what he and his friends were planning so he had the chance to talk him out of it and sharehis own secret in return?

Youd feel you could talk to me? I mean, if you needed? Inever want you to feel you cant do that, Son?

What the hell was Pa driving at? Why didnt he talk plain, theway he usually did?

And you, Pa? Its the same the other way around, right?Youd tell me if there was anything wrong or troubling you? Imean we can talk and share right?

Again the pause! An awkward silence grew, stretching into moments. Pa was

ducking his head well down, avoiding the issue. Instead of dealingwith it, talking as they should, each set about the task ofunloading the boat because it needed to be done for morning. Thehaul was bigger than usual. It was going to take so much longerto lift onto the quay. They were both tired. It had been a long

journey. Hed been hoping his father would leave it till daybreak. But then, if he did, hed know he was working to his own deadline,and his friends would be waiting.

Its been a long day, Son. Lets call it a day. Now i t was his turn to pause. This wasnt like Pa. Once they

started a task they worked until it was done. But then, he shrugged. Hed keep an eye on things as best he could. He justneeded Rose to get his note and get the hell out of Montford.

Just in case.They dragged tarpaulin across the coal on the barge, tying it

well down, keeping it dry. It was a lousy night to be uncoveringcoal anyway. It wouldnt do it much good, and being left on thequayside was only asking for trouble. Other boats were doing the

same, leaving the cargo till morning. There was going to be quitea crowd.

Pa, Ill share a pie and a pint with you and then Im goingto bed. Im whacked.


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It was the look Pa gave him that, for a second, made himwonder. Did he know?

Pa? Okay, Son. Im meeting up with Joe and Harry and some of

the boys There! Pas head went down again. He was ducking and

diving, going all sheepish. It was as if No matter. He knew.Secrets were flying about all over the place. No-one was

sharing them. He was just as guilty as Pa. He wished he could sitand talk with him and know everything was going to be fine. Hewished he could introduce Rose to Pa tonight and see him pleased

for them. Shed be such a help with chores and prove herself anasset in no time. It would be lovely to have female companyaround them with the homely touches they both missed so much

since Ma died. Rose may not have been born to their way of life,but she was a fast learner, he was sure. He just didnt know what

Pas reaction would be. T he fear of rejection and it making adifference to their relationship was holding him back.

They shared a couple of pints in the end. The rains had stopped outside. He was thankful at least for that. Rose mighteven now be climbing up from The Hollow. He d idnt want her

getting too wet. She was delicate, fragile, like a lady should be. He wouldnt have asked her to come at all if it wasnt urgent. Sheneeded a man to look after and protect her. They were of similarage. And they were so good together

Night, Pa. Night, Son. There was a lot of confusion and noise in the bar. His friends

were filling up the glasses again. Connor slipped away, heading for the stairs. He unlatched the outer back door on his waythrough, retreating into his room to wait.


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6

Fast Forward 160 Years

Joe Maddison was sitting in the University of Life.Dinner was a couple of hours away. But still, he was enjoying

mulling over the menu. He loved good food. Rarely would hesettle for second best. In his early years, his parents made a pointof introducing new flavours, tastes, textures, smells, colour andchoice into food served at home. His grandmother had taught himto cook, and he counted time spent with her in the kitchenamongst his happiest memories. By the time he left home to makehis own way in the world he knew and appreciated good foodwell-presented when he saw it. He was well travelled, well versedin other traditions and cultures. He knew what he liked. And here,they seemed willing to provide any combination, served with asmile.

Warm Mediterranean breads served with infused olive oil and balsamic vinegar for starters? Mmmm he pondered on thatawhile. The main course was obvious: a rare Sirloin Steak with

beer battered onion rings, plum tomato, iceberg wedge, Caesardressing and steak cut chips. Sorted! Handmade salmon and

broccoli fishcakes would appeal to Laura. And a bottle of redwould finish off the meal nicely. The tantalising choice of

puddings he would wait to tease her. For them both they werealways the most important part of any meal.

All around him people were gathering. They were a mix ofshapes and sizes singles, friends, couples, families, parents,grandparents, and siblings, sharing a gamut of emotions. Situatedon a country road running between Solihull and Warwick, passingthrough the quaint village of Knowle, it was a popular haunt. Hewas surrounded by a hodge-podge of humanity offering a varietyof lessons in the University of Life. Some were on holiday, others

just passing through. The majority had arrived in cars. But therewere those whose boats were moored just beyond his window. Hecaught the eye of a waitress, cupped his hand, and made themotion of a drink tipping to and fro. She smiled easily back at


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him. She was well used to his ways. He leaned back against thewall. A large glass of Rioja appeared at his elbow, rich, dark, full

bodied, tasting of vanilla and berries. She added it to his tab andmoved on to a party of people across the lower corner.

Through the window he spied a new boat, its bow inchingunder the bridge like an otters nose above water, sniffing the air,testing the lie of the land. He watched with interest, taking sipsfrom his glass. It was proving to be a most enjoyable day. In fact,this whole trip was long overdue. Laura had arranged it for his

birthday. She was off shopping right now for surprises and he wascontent to sit in this lovely little window-seat out of the way.

The boat was now in full view. Named simply Live the Dream , it had long smooth lines and, as its name might suggest,was painted the colour of cornflowers. He knew Laura was goingto love the decorative Castle and Roses artwork adorning thedoorway and windows. Its hull was jet black. It had theappearance of being well travelled. And across the top gaygarlands of flowers were laid out like a country garden, growingin colourfully painted pots.

A middle-aged couple appeared. The woman steppedeffortlessly off the stern, deftly hauling in the rope, binding itaround one of the small stout stumps set every few feet this sideof the canal. Together they made their way up the bank andthrough the doors. The barman greeted them warmly. Heobviously knew them well. He called through to the back.Moments after, the Inn Keeper came through, shaking them by thehand before joining them the other side of the bar. They sataround a table, clinking well-filled glasses, before quenching anobvious thirst.

The Waterman oozed rustic character and rural charm. As a building, it had weathered the test of time. Joe had read its historymany times. It was a favourite haunt. Built in the early 1800s onthe banks of the Grand Union Canal, from the beginning it had

been used by boat people, moving coal, tea, oats and other goodsfrom one place to another. The white-washed building wassituated in a lovely garden reaching down to the waters edge.Rain or shine there was always a place to sit either in company orisolation, the customers choice. As the weather turned cold, thehuge coal fire would be lit in the main rooms. And it was relaxing


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Yes. Im staying in Room 10 with my wife, Laura. But itwas booked some time ago.

Ah. She will be joining you then? Yes, shes out shopping right now. TMI too much information! Why did they want to know

anyway? Idle curiosity no, something more he was sure! There was a hushed pause. He let it continue, curious to know

where it might lead.And have you stay ed in Room 10 before? I mean, do you

find Room 10 to your liking? Whats to like about a room? Hed stayed in hundreds such

rooms around the world. What did the question imply?Her companion nudged the woman, offering a furtive nod.

A loaded question then! What did it mean? Who were they tobe asking anyway?

But he was intrigued. The emphasis of the conversation hadshifted subtly. The question they asked was begging a response.

The room? Yes, its very comfortable, thank you. He almost left it there. Almost. But then, thinking about it,

continued with:Although He stopped, turning the subject over in his mind. Then he

shrugged:My wife seems to feel a strange atmosphere in the room. She

said it was like a cold wind blowing through, without anywindows or doors being open. We arrived yesterday, and lastnight wasnt one of our best. We were tossing and turning most ofthe time. Talking about it this morning, well, we dont think it wassolely because of travel or a strange bed or anything. Were wel lused to that.

Three pairs of eyes were staring at him hard. He had their raptattention. It was the Inn keeper who asked if hed go further andexplain.

Well, its like Ive just told you. But then again, Laura keptwaking in the night, accusing me of pushing her out of bed. Wewere both tired and irritable, I guess. And yet even though I

pulled myself right to the edge, she still felt me nudging her orso she said. In the end, we changed sides. But then it started over

Documents

Ugly Truth, Beautiful Lies by Janine Harrington