A Country Girl. Nancy Carson

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       Chapter 5

      A high-flying, three-quarter moon afforded ample light by which Algie and Marigold retraced their steps to Buckpool. The occasional drunken shouts from some inebriate or other, lurching in the streets nearby, interrupted the evening’s stillness, but could hardly intrude on the euphoria and tenderness they both felt at their newly established accord. It was nearing ten o’ clock when they returned hand-in-hand to the brace of narrowboats tied up in the canal basin. Marigold had promised her mother she would be back by that time, for there was still work to be done, preparing for tomorrow’s early departure. When they reached the narrowboats, the stove pipe of the Sultan was exhausting a near vertical column of smoke that rose up in the moonlight like some spectral genie just released from a tall lamp.

      ‘So what time shall I see you at Kidderminster tomorrow night?’ Algie asked, taking her hands as they stood facing each other, in readiness for parting.

      ‘Let’s say half past seven.’

      ‘But what if you don’t moor up there?’

      ‘Then we’ll be back this way in the afternoon.’

      ‘Come and knock on our door and let my mother know then, eh? When I get back from work she’ll tell me where you’ll be. Then I’ll just ride till I find you. If you don’t show up, I’ll know you’re between here and Kidderminster, and I’ll find you.’

      Her eyes crinkled into an appealing smile. ‘Just mind you don’t take another look in the cut …’ She turned around to see if her mother was there waiting, having heard them return. ‘I’d better go, Algie,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow … all being well.’ She stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his lips, lingering a couple of seconds, then let go of his hands and went.

      Algie stood watching her as she skipped lightly into the cabin of the Sultan and disappeared. He sighed, smiling contentedly to himself. He had won the affection of Marigold Bingham, and she was a treasure. He exulted in the thought without conceit, merely content that a girl as pretty as she could be the least bit interested in him. It had been a wonderfully eventful day, but he’d had no inkling at all that it would turn out this way when he’d woken up that morning.

      Marigold …

      Lovely little Marigold Bingham.

      She was a cut above the other narrowboat girls he’d seen, the most divine incarnation of delectability, worth giving up Harriet Meese for. He’d admired her from a distance for so long. Now she’d promised to be his girl and he could scarcely believe it. And he had to wait unending hours before he could see her again tomorrow.

      He turned to go, back to the lock-keeper’s cottage under the road bridge. First, though, he would go to the garden shed by way of the back gate, to check that his bicycle was all right and locked away from thieves. There would be sufficient light from the moon to see if there were any globules of water still clinging or dripping from it after its ducking, which he ought to wipe dry and so save the machine rusting before he went to bed.

      As he approached, he heard what sounded to him like the muffled sobs of a girl – it might even be a child – evidently in some distress. He halted in his tracks to listen more intently, his heart pounding at the sudden discovery and the anticipation of just what he might have stumbled across. The whimpers were coming from behind the shed. If it was somebody hurting a child, or even a woman, he’d kill the culprit. He looked about him for a stick or suitable implement with which to thrash him, but could see none in the darkness.

      Stealthily he crept towards the shed, praying that no twig would crack underfoot to give away his presence and rob him of the element of surprise. Then, as he reached the corner he peered around it circumspectly. A man was pressing a young woman against the shed. By the pale reflected moonlight he could see that her skirts were up, her pale, slim thighs a visible contrast to the dark material of her skirt and her black stockings. The man’s hands were grasping her backside, and he was thrusting into her energetically. Her arms were around his neck, but she could have been endeavouring to push him away; a subtle difference in attitude that Algie could not discern in the dimness. To his horror, he could just make out that his sister Kate was on the receiving end of all this physical endeavour.

      Algie was not sure how he should react as he watched incredulously. Was Kate a willing party to this, or had she been forced? Her anguished cries suggested she was not enjoying the experience, that the rogue was hurting her. Then, he realised the rogue was none other than Reggie Hodgetts, that vile son of a rodney boatman whom he knew she had been seeing. Well, Algie did not like Reggie Hodgetts anyway. He and his family were the scum of the canal network. Best to assume Kate was a victim here.

      He rushed at the man, knocking him over. ‘You vile bastard!’ he rasped. ‘What d’you think you’re doing to my sister? I’ll kill you, you bloody turd.’

      At such a savage and unexpected interruption, Reggie was too shocked to know what had hit him. One second he was ecstatically coupled to his worthy companion, whom he saw whenever his work brought him her way, the next he was on the ground beneath an unexpected, mad assailant.

      ‘Algie!’ Kate hissed indignantly, trying to pull her brother off poor Reggie, and desperate that they should not wake her mother and father who were sure to be wrapped up in bed by this time, though not necessarily asleep yet. ‘Leave him be, leave him be. What’s got into you, you stupid fool?’

      ‘I’ll СКАЧАТЬ