‘Where is the bloody river, Francis?’ Fitzgerald was panting heavily. He looked as if he couldn’t go on for much longer.
‘Just there, Johnny,’ said Powerscourt. He realized that his left hand had been wrapped round the pistol ever since the discovery of Richard Martin.
They clambered into one of the rowing boats. Richard was bent almost double at the stern. Fitzgerald cut the rope.
’Do you want me to put a hole through the bottom of this other boat here, Francis? In case we have company a little later on?’
‘No,’ said Powerscourt. ‘I am sure they will check the station first. I think we should get out of here.’
The little boat had two seats in the centre for the rowers and further seats at the bow and stern. Powerscourt settled himself in the central seat and began to row as quietly as he could. Soon they rounded a bend in the river and Blackwater passed out of sight. Fitzgerald was keeping a watchful eye behind.
Captain Powerscourt banned all speech for the first ten minutes of their journey. Then it was only in whispers. They were on a long straight stretch now, trees lining both banks. A barrel overtook them rolling from side to side as it went. They could see a town approaching on their left.
‘The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks,’ Powerscourt muttered to himself,
‘The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep moans round with many voices.’
There was a scuffling at the back. Richard Martin was sitting upright at last, rubbing sadly at the bruises on his face.
‘Push off,’ he said, smiling through the pain,
‘and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.’
Fitzgerald was peering back down the river, straining to see what other craft might lie behind. They shot under the centre arch of a great railway bridge.
‘It may be that the gulfs will wash us down,’ Powerscourt went on,
‘It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles whom we knew.’
‘To hell with Achilles for now.’ Johnny Fitzgerald sounded very worried. ‘The gulfs or the Happy Isles would do me fine at this moment. The only thing is, there’s another bloody rowing boat behind and they’re gaining on us. We might meet Achilles sooner than we think. We’re going to need him.’
He leapt into the central thwart, grabbed a pair of oars and pulled for all he was worth.
‘Richard, there,’ said Powerscourt, ‘can you see the others? The other boat I mean.’
‘Yes, I can, sir. They’re about two hundred yards away.’
Nobody spoke as Powerscourt and Fitzgerald tried to widen the gap. They had left the little town behind and were in wide open country, fields and pasture spreading out beside the Thames. The only noise was the splashing of the oars and the ripple of the water beside the boat. Powerscourt was feeling stiff again from his cricket. Twenty-five years have gone since I last rowed a boat in anger, he said to himself. Maybe we’ll reach Henley. We could have our very own regatta in the middle of the night.
‘I’m terribly sorry, sir,’ said Richard Martin squinting back up the river, ‘I think they’re gaining on us.’
Far off to the left a puff of smoke announced the arrival or departure of a late night train. They had entered a long sharp bend so the pursuing boat was lost from sight. Another town materialized out of the gloom, nestling along the river’s edge.
‘Steer over to the bank, Johnny, quick as you can. We could get out on the towpath over there and vanish into the streets.’
‘That won’t do you much good,’ said Fitzgerald, ‘once they realize this boat is empty they’ll come back and look for us in there.’
‘We don’t have much time, Johnny,’ said Powerscourt anxiously.
‘Tell you what,’ said Fitzgerald. ‘You and Richard get out right now. I’ll keep going. They won’t know you’re not on board any longer. Quickly now. I’m sure this boat will go better with only one person. And I’m sure I can row faster than those other buggers.’
Powerscourt and Richard Martin leapt on to the towpath. Powerscourt gave the boat a huge shove and ran into the side streets. Johnny was making good speed, shooting through the central arch of the town bridge. He sounded as if he had begun to sing. Powerscourt thought he recognized the drinking song from La Traviata as Fitzgerald serenaded himself on his night flight down the Thames.
26
It was three o’clock in the morning when Powerscourt reached Markham Square. He brought with him not only Richard Martin, but his mother, wrapped up in her best coat and very apprehensive about going to stay at a grand house in Chelsea.
‘I’m not happy about leaving your mother here,’ Powerscourt had said to Richard when they reached his little house in North London. ‘I’m going to ask the cab to wait. You go inside and tell your mother to get ready.’
Mrs Martin thought she was dreaming. First of all here was Richard, back home in the middle of the night with bruises on his face. Now he was telling her to pack a bag and come to Lord Powerscourt’s house at once.
‘I can’t do that, Richard. What will the neighbours say to me disappearing like that in the small hours of the morning? I’ll never be able to raise my head in the street again. People will think I’m a criminal being taken away by the police.’
‘Just pack your bag, Mother,’ said Richard, ‘and please hurry. There’s a cab waiting outside the door.’
Richard wrote a note to Sophie while he waited. Powerscourt had told him they could drop it off on the way so she would know he was safe and well in the morning. ‘Dear Sophie,’ he wrote, ‘I am back in London after some very exciting times. I can tell you all about it tomorrow. Lord Powerscourt says you are to call at his house after you finish teaching. That’s 25 Markham Square in Chelsea.’ Richard paused briefly. Then the elation of his escape took over, the dramatic row down the Thames with the enemy in pursuit. ‘Love, Richard.’
Richard had given Powerscourt the details of his incarceration on the train from the Thames Valley to Paddington. He told how he had been summoned to Mr Charles Harrison’s office, how two men had seized him and bundled him into a waiting cab and on to the station for Blackwater.
‘They blindfolded me before we got to that big house, my lord, so I wouldn’t remember where I had been, I suppose. Then they tied me up in that little house where you found me. They used to come and ask questions every couple of hours or so. If I didn’t answer them they would hit me sometimes. Every now and then they would bring me food and a glass of water.’
‘What did they want to know, Richard?’ said Powerscourt, his eyes never leaving the far end of the carriage where any new passengers would appear, his hand deep in his coat pocket.
‘They wanted to know what I had told Mr Burke,’ said Richard, grimacing at his memories. ‘I said I hadn’t told Mr Burke anything. They didn’t believe me. They said I had been seen talking to him at the cricket match. Then they wanted to know if I had talked to anybody else. I said, No, I hadn’t. I wasn’t going to tell them I had talked to Sophie, was I?’
‘Sophie did very well, you know, very well.’ Powerscourt smiled at Richard. ‘If she hadn’t come to tell Mr Burke you had gone missing you could have been locked up in that little cottage for days, if not weeks. She was very brave.’