The Ribbajack (13 page)

“Eeeeeeyaaaah! The big rat! Ooooowaaaahhh, ’elp!”

Disturbed by the noise, Sailor went shooting round the room like a furred rocket. The girl and the cook had Eric half on his feet when he knocked them roughly aside and thudded off after the mongoose.

He chased Sailor round the dining room, aiming kicks and curses at him. Miggy screamed, “Leave Sailor alone! Don’t hurt him, Uncle Eric, please!”

Upsetting chairs and tables, Eric pounded on, his face the colour of a beetroot. Sailor skipped nimbly ahead of him, always just out of reach. Miggy, seeing the mongoose coming her way, held out her arms to it. “Here, Sailor, come on, boy!”

He leaped into her arms. Holding her pet close, Miggy ran to the door, grappled with the latch, then sped free, out into the fog. Eric booted a table aside and went after her. Like a flash, Atty Lok was blocking the doorway in front of him.

“Leave girl alone, beast not rat, only mongoose, not harm you!”

Eric charged him, flooring the smaller man with windmilling fists and hefty boot kicks. He stepped over the cook’s crumpled form, snarling at him, “I’m goin’ to kill that rat, then I’m goin’ to give that brat the beltin’ she deserves, before I drag ’er off to the parish work’ouse. An’ you, huh, you’re finished round my place. Pack yer bags, an’ be gone afore I gets back!”

Miggy was not sure which way to run, the fog was so dense out on the quayside. Clutching Sailor to her, she hurried about in the cocooning whiteness. Completely lost, the girl ran straight into an iron bollard. A yelp of pain escaped her lips as she staggered to one side, holding her bleeding kneecap. Miggy fell right into her uncle Eric’s bulging stomach. He was standing with his belt off, holding up his trousers with one hand.

His face was livid with rage as he swung the broad, brass-buckled belt at her. “Gimme that dirty rat, or I’ll skin the hide off yer!”

Miggy crouched and covered her head with one arm, protecting Sailor with her body, crying out as the belt struck her.

The force of the blow knocked Miggy off balance. The mongoose jumped from the girl’s shoulders just as Miggy fell backward, hitting her head on the cobbles. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was her uncle Eric. He was gurgling horribly, grabbing at the mongoose, which had him tight by the throat.

Atty Lok heard the splash and limped forward, his bacon knife in one hand, the other holding down a swelling on his forehead. Ice-cold dock water sprayed into his face, causing him to stop right on the edge of the quay. The Siamese cook peered dazedly about him. He saw Miggy lying on the damp cobbles to his left. There was no sign of Eric McGrail, nor the mongoose.

A tall, gaunt man wearing a battered top hat and carrying a sack over one shoulder materialised through the swathes of fog. He saw Atty trying to pick Miggy up, and went to help. “What’s been goin’ on round ’ere? I’m Tommy Dyer, the rat catcher. Where’s big Eric from the boardin’ouse? I’ve got business t’do with him.”

Atty nodded urgently toward the Mersey Star. “Help me get girl inside, I tell you all about it.”

Three minutes later, Tommy Dyer was at the top of the avenue, shouting around the Dock Road, “Man in the dock! Man in the dock! Help, help!”

In a short time, several folk emerged from the fog. One of them, a constable, took charge of the situation. “Right, someone get ropes and hooks, lanterns, too. Quick as you can. Now, sir, where did the man fall in? Take us there. You stop here, sonny, show the men with the ropes which way we’ve gone. Move sharp now, the tide’s on the ebb!”

Miggy lay on the dining room counter. Atty was dabbing her knee with a solution of salt stirred into boiled water. She tried to rise, but he pushed her back, whispering instructions. “You not speak, hear nothing, see nothing. If anyone ask you, stay quiet, Miggs, let Atty do all talkin’.”

It was quite a while before anyone came into the boardinghouse. Sounds of ropes and grappling hooks splashing could be heard amid the shouts from the quay as the constable entered. He was accompanied by Tommy Dyer, two Lock Gate Keepers, an overweight washerwoman, and a well-dressed old gentleman with a carriage driver attending him. Miggy closed her eyes, feigning unconsciousness. She listened to what was going on. The constable spoke first.

“No sign or trace of a body out there, did either of you witness what happened?”

The well-dressed gentleman nodded politely to Atty. “This chap may know something. I hardly think the little girl would, though. She’s completely unconscious.”

Miggy felt like a baby as the washerwoman picked her up. “Pore liddle thing! I’ll make ’er a nice cuppa tea, with lots of sugar in it. Come on, queen, let’s get ye in a comfy armchair wid a warm shawl about yeh. Is there any vinegar an’ a clean towel round ’ere? This child’s got a nasty lump, an’ a bruise on the back of ’er skull.”

Miggy allowed herself to be treated by the kindly washerwoman as she listened to Atty Lok’s explanation. The Siamese cook sounded very believable. “I see all, everythin’, sir. Big rat, more bigger’n cat, he come up through hole in floor over there, see. Girl scream an’ run out onto quay, rat run out, too. But rat not chasin’ girl, he runnin’ away from me, I chase rat with big knife. I trip, fall down steps outside. Owner, Eric ’Grail, very brave feller, he run after big rat. Girl Miggs, she hit bollard, knock herself out in fog. I jump up, come runnin’. See Eric on edge of dock, he kick out at rat, slip. Eric fall on rat, both go over edge into water. Very sad, oh, yes. Eric fine feller, tryin’ to save girl from rat. Cobbles wet, very slippy out there in fog, not see where water is. Girl hurt, man help me bring her in here. Very sad, sir!”

The constable took it down laboriously in his notebook. Everyone stayed silent until he had finished. He looked to Tommy Dyer. “Did you see any of this, girl being knocked senseless, man and big rat both falling into the dock?”

Tommy had found the dregs in the rum bottle, so he downed them. Puffing out his narrow chest importantly, he gave what he considered was his expert opinion. “Me name’s Thomas Bernard Dyer. I’m h’employed by the Dock Board as h’official rodent controller. Ho, yes, h’officer, I’ve seen many a great big rat down ’ere, an’ dealt with ’em, too, filfy vermints. I can show ye the scars if’n ye like?”

The well-dressed old gentleman interrupted. “I’m certain the constable has better things to do than inspecting your battle wounds. Speak straight, man, did you actually witness the incident?”

The rat catcher tugged his hat brim respectfully. “No, sir, I h’arrived too late. But I knows me rats, sir. If the h’Oriental chap says that’s wot ’appened, then I’ll back ’im h’all the way. Pore Eric McGrail got word to me only a few days back, askin’ me to come round an’ h’investigate a large vermint, said it was h’infestin’ the premises. Huh, wish I’d a-come sooner. They pays me a ’andsome fee for big rats at the University Medical School. Life’s cruel, ain’t it, now I’m out o’ pocket by two shillin’s, an’ big Eric’s dead!”

The well-dressed gent took a coin from his waist-coat pocket and pressed it into Dyer’s grimy palm. “No doubt you did your duty as you saw it. I don’t think the constable need detain you further, thank you.”

Tommy Dyer took the hint and departed, tugging at his hat.

Miggy, taken upstairs by the washerwoman, was installed in her uncle Eric’s huge bed. It was so very comfortable, the stressful evening’s events soon took their toll. She fell quickly into a deep sleep. Downstairs, the policeman had Atty sign his statement of testimony. Further people arrived—more police and two Waterguards in a rowboat with dragging equipment. The search of the dock waters continued throughout the night.

It was nine o’clock of the following morn when the search for Eric McGrail was abandoned. Miggy was sitting up in bed, where Atty was serving her a fine breakfast he had cooked specially. The constable tapped on the door and entered. He removed his helmet and shuffled awkwardly. “No sign of your uncle Eric, I’m afraid, miss. They think he must have been swept out into the river, what with the lock gates being open and the strong undercurrent. The Mersey can be a treacherous river, so the Waterguards tell me. Your uncle was a brave man, miss, I’m sorry.”

As the policeman left the room, Miggy called out, “Did they find the big rat, Officer?”

He shook his head at her, and went downstairs, muttering, “Did they find the rat! Huh, kids these days, what’ll they think of next, I wonder?”

Miggy buried her face in the pillow and wept bitterly. The cook patted her shoulder gently. “Not worry about Eric anymore, Miggs, he gone for good. Always remember Sailor, though, he was brave mongoose, he save you from Eric. Sailor was true friend, just like I say.”

 

 

 

The
Bengal Pearl
returned to Liverpool in due course. She was soon cargoed up in record time and set sail once again, outward bound for India. However, the ship sailed minus Paddy McGrail, who had to stay home with his daughter and attend to family business.

The well-dressed older gentleman was a barrister. He had left his card with Atty. Paddy contacted him. There was much coming and going between the Mersey Star and his offices during the next fortnight. The old gentleman’s name was Mr. Dalzell Rice. He assured Paddy that he would expedite matters on his behalf. Miggy was puzzled by it all, but she never pestered her dad, who seemed as bewildered as herself.

One month later, a Coroner’s Court was convened. Atty was required to attend, along with Miggy and her dad. Mr. Dalzell Rice was already there on their arrival. The coroner’s verdict was that after the required period deemed by law, and in the light of evidence, Eric McGrail was declared officially missing, presumably dead by misadventure, his body having been swept out to sea.

They emerged into the sunlight, where Mr. Dalzell Rice showed them to his waiting carriage. He took them to his offices, which he referred to as “Chambers.” Miggy and Atty were given cups of aromatic coffee and some dainty chocolate-covered biscuits. The office clerk raised his eyebrows on seeing Miggy taking coffee with her little finger extended. Atty wrinkled his nose playfully at her.

“Miggs look like very fine lady now, much growed up. You be eleventeen twenty-two next birthday, I think!”

The girl frowned over the rim of her cup at him. “Kindly drink your coffee, my good man!”

Paddy smiled as he signed his name to what looked like sheafs of official-looking papers. When the business was done, everybody shook hands. Miggy had never seen her dad looking so happy, his face a picture of joy.

Mr. Dalzell Rice gave them the use of his carriage and driver to get back home. They arrived at the Mersey Star Boardinghouse and Chandlery in time for lunch. Paddy McGrail leaped from the carriage and swept his daughter up in both arms.

“Well, Miggy, me darlin’, welcome home! As the only survivin’ relatives an’ kin of the late Eric McGrail, this all belongs to me an’ you now, lock, stock an’ barrel! No more sailin’ for me. We’re proprietors, me love, boardin’house owners. D’ye know what? I think the first thing I’m goin’ to do is to double Atty’s wages an’ declare him dinin’ room manager. Atty Lok, what d’ye think of that? Huh, where’s that feller gone?”

Miggy, sitting on the doorstep, gestured inside. “Prob’ly making lunch for us.”

Paddy looked down at the girl, who was dabbing her eyes on her sleeve and sniffing quietly. Full of concern, he sat down beside her. “Miggy, girl, what’s the matter, darlin’?”

She blinked rapidly to dispel the tears and gazed out to sea. “It’s Sailor. I miss him a lot, Dad. I wish he was here now. He was my friend, and I’ll never see him again.”

Paddy hugged her. “I know, darlin’, I know. But you can’t be sad forever, Miggs, cheer up. You’ll soon be gettin’ nice new clothes an’ goin’ to school . . . bet you’ll make lots o’ mates there. In the holidays we’ll go out together to the beach, an’ to the country, you, an’ me, an’ Atty, too!”

Miggy stood up slowly. “Won’t be the same without Sailor, though.”

As they entered the dining room, Miggy gasped. There was Atty, feeding an egg to Sailor. He grinned at them. “He waitin’ here like old drownded cat. Shall I give him another egg? This mongoose look hungry. Where you been, eh?”

Miggy dashed to the counter with her arms held wide. “Sailor, oh, Sailor, you came back, you’re alive!”

The mongoose leaped into her arms. He licked the girl’s face, leaving traces of raw egg all over her cheeks.

Paddy McGrail could only shake his head in wonderment. “Well, can ye beat that, Sailor’s finished goin’ to sea, too!”

Miggy placed her pet on the counter. “Give him eleventy-seven eggs, Atty, he deserves them!”

Atty grinned. “I give him eleventy-eight if he tell me where he been. See, Miggs, I tell you, mongoose friend for life!”

Miggy nodded fervently. “I believe you, Atty, I always did!”

GO LOCK YOUR DOORS EACH EVENING,
bar all the windows tight—
young Rosie and her boyfriend
are on the prowl tonight.
Don’t snigger at my warning,
you’ll hear as they pass through.
Your marrow will freeze to a cry on the
breeze,
it sounds like this
—
Aaaawwwwwoooooooooooooooh!

 

In a fight, Rosie Glegg could knock spots off any boy in her age group. She never played with other girls, hated frocks, dresses, skirts and ribbons. Rosie used dolls as target practice for her catapult shooting; her skipping rope served well as a lasso. She was always lassoing boys—the pale, studious types fled in terror from her expertly aimed loop.

Rosie Glegg wore jeans and Doc Marten boots. She also kept her hair cut short. She was the proud owner of a Swiss Army knife, which came in handy for cutting up other little girls’ skipping ropes. Rosie harassed the local Boy Scouts and Girl Guide clubs, drove her teachers to distraction and was the scourge of librarians, playing park attendants, shopkeepers, bus drivers, etc., etc.