No Good Deed 95
By Ewan
- 188 reads
Winona Shepherd, in some different clothes and a coating of face-powder, was upright and steady on her feet, although Miss Pardoner held her by the elbow. She handed me my carpet-bag and we headed toward the gang-plank amidships as the Enterprise headed toward the jetty, whilst the Turk was already tied up at the mole further along the riverbank. We walked along the river to board the Grand Turk. At the foot of the gang-plank was a familiar figure with a notebook and pen in hand.
‘Ha! I knowed you was a man of prospects, Sir. Are yuh fer makin’ the river run! Do you have a sportin’ sum involved with someone ‘r’ other? I need it fer the local press, they love a gamblin’ story.’
I brushed past the man and escorted the ladies onto the vessel. The main gave a low-whistle and whispered,
‘Two damned fine women, that’s jest greedy, Mister.’
Quite how Mr Clemens had heard about the river record attempt, I did not know. Be that as it might, there was no doubt that Newberry would think twice about any assault on the Turk. Whichever representatives of the local law he brought with him would doubtless be more circumspect also. I was most nervous about the silver being in the hands of Compair Lapin, but what could I do?
Miss Pardoner saw to it that we had accommodation suitable for the remainder of the trip up river. It was time to remake the acquaintance of the Master of the Grand Turk. We left Miss Shepherd to her own devices. It was quite dispiriting to see such a characterful woman brought so low. Miss Pardoner and I made our way forward to the Pilot House of the boat. I felt a breeze in my face and, I admit it, a certain pleasure in the company of Miss Pardoner. I had bidden her farewell by the burning wreck of Gibbous House in North Northumberland. Little had I thought to be involved in yet another arcane scheme so many years later.
Pilot Ireland was at the wheel. Captain Grey was nowhere to be seen.
I cleared my throat, the pilot turned his head in the most miniscule amount necessary to acknowledge our presence.
‘Howd’ ye do?’
‘Capital, capital, is the Captain indisposed?’
‘He’s in de cabin, cain’t speak to the other.’
‘Might we disturb him, d’you think?’
‘I reckon you might at that, if’n ye’ve a mind to go lookin’ for him there.’
He turned his head fully toward us for the duration of a singularly lascivious wink.
Miss Pardoner and I made for the Captain’s bunk. A hearty application of my fist to the door occasioned grunts and epithets in equal measure, before the door was unlocked and opened by the beauteous Bilhah.
‘It’s the card sharp. Going by Northrup, Cap’n.’ She called this over her shoulder whilst keeping the door no more than slightly ajar.
Miss Pardoner’s hand was thrust past me into this gap and it was grasped in the collegiate style of a banker by the Captain’s personal servant.
‘You must be Bilhah, I am Eileen, sometimes Ellen, always a shepherd.’
This glib sign was met with what I presumed was its countersign.
‘We care for the flock, not the fleece.’
Which interchange most certainly must have been invented extempore, for I could not imagine such twee words as adopted for general use along the Underground Railroad. Nevertheless it was sufficient to gain us both admission to Captain Grey’s inner sanctum.
The Master of the Grand Turk was abed, bed-linen drawn up to his chin and a mob-cap adorned his head. I preferred not to speculate as to his attire beneath the patchwork counterpane. I fully expected Miss Pardoner to take the initiative in broaching the matter of the attempt on the record river passage between Natchez and St. Louis – at least until the sharp application of her elbow to my ribs.
‘Ah… Captain Grey. You may have heard. I wish for the Grand Turk to make an attempt on the speed record from Natchez to St. Louis.’
The man groaned, a sound of deep despair.
‘We require that such passengers are willing to transfer to the Enterprise do so. Those who do stay must contribute to the prize money as they will be hazarding the loss of my own.’
This elicited a further groan, which might well have emerged from a place still more dire than the previous slough of despond. Bilhah responded on her master’s behalf,
‘That’ll be fine, Mister. Most are gettin’ awf. They figure to wait for the next but one boat along. Guess we can all understand that.’
Which utterance I took to mean that my opinion of the Enterprise was shared the length of the Mississippi river. I enquired as to whether the Captain’s indisposition would interfere with an attempt on the river run. This elicited a snort from Bilhah,
‘If’n y’all think anyone but the Pilot is master of this boat, y’all’re a bigger fool than yuh look. Though Ah cain’t hardly credit that mahself.’ She stared at Miss Pardoner for a moment and then busied herself with preparing the Captain’s toilette.
I turned to Miss Pardoner. She gave a tut and pushed me toward the stateroom door. She was most derisive when I asked why the Pilot had sent me to see the Captain, if he was in charge all along.
‘He might be in charge of the boat, Sir, but Bilhah is in charge of the railroad.’
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Comments
Hope you do continue this
Hope you do continue this story Ewan, cause I definitely want to read more.
Jenny.
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