The thing in question was, in fact, no more than two pieces of wood bolted together to form an X, which stood on deck behind the cockpit and supported the end of the boom.
“Don’t worry about the gallows,” said Alastair. “When the sail goes up, she lifts the boom right out of them. They’re only there to keep the thing out of the way when we’re anchored.”
Sure enough, as Henry hauled on the halyard and the great white sail ran up the mast, the end of the boom lifted suddenly, and the gallows fell with a thud onto the deck. The two sails flapped noisily, and Rosemary went up to the foredeck and untied the rope that held Ariadne to her mooring, letting it go until only a single turn round the oaken Samson post in the deck secured the boat. At the tiller, Alastair tightened in the mainsheet, and then hauled on the starboard-hand jib sheet. To Henry’s surprise, the jib filled with wind, and the nose of the boat swung to port, towards the centre of the river. Immediately the mainsail, too, caught the wind, and Alastair said, “O.K. Let her go.”
Rosemary threw the mooring buoy overboard into the water, where it bobbed like a seagull on the wavelets. Alastair quickly released the starboard jib sheet and tightened the port one. And silently, smoothly, Ariadne moved across the river, leaning gently to port, her bows cutting sharply through the shining water.
“Ease sheets,” said Alastair. He pulled the tiller over, and the boat swung round in a left-handed circle. Simultaneously, Alastair let the mainsheet run out until the boom hung out over the water, and Rosemary released the jib sheet until the big foresail, nearly masked by the main, was barely filling with wind. Ariadne steadied herself onto an even keel and moved downriver towards the sea.
“The wind’s dropped,” said Emmy.
“No, it hasn’t,” said Rosemary. “You always get that impression when it’s dead behind you.”
“But we’re hardly moving now,” Henry put in.
“Rubbish. We’re steaming along. Just look at the rate we’re passing that buoy. You get a tremendous illusion of speed when you’re beating into the wind, but when you start to run, it always feels as though you’re standing still.”
Sure enough, the moored boats and marker buoys were slipping rapidly past.
“And that,” said Alastair, “is all there is to sailing. In theory. When you’re going against the wind, haul in the sheets. When it’s behind you, let them right out. And here we are, on an ebbing tide, with the wind astern and headed for Holland.” And he began stuffing tobacco into a very old pipe, keeping one hand on the tiller and one eye on the burgee.
From Berrybridge, the river runs southward for several miles, and then widens dramatically as it approaches the North Sea. For an hour, Ariadne ran smoothly downriver, with the north wind behind her. Apart from a moment of activity when Alastair shouted “Gybe-oh,” and the boom swung noisily over from starboard to port, the crew relaxed lazily in the sunshine. Now they could see the ocean ahead of them, and the horizon beckoned with its siren song.
“Let’s go to Ostend,” said Rosemary. “Why not?”
“Because we’re meeting Colin and Anne in The Berry Bush tonight, for one thing,” said Alastair,
“Oh, to hell with Colin and Anne.”
“Be sensible, darling. We haven’t even got our passports with us. No, we’ll turn north and go up to the Deben.”
They were near the mouth of the river by now. On their right, the southern shore stretched sandily away towards the playgrounds of Clacton and Frinton. On their left, a wooded promontory ran out into the sea, surrounded on three sides by water—for the coastline to the north swept sharply back, almost parallel to the river, making an isthmus of the last few miles of riverbank.
On this isthmus, Henry caught a glimpse through an avenue of elms of a magnificent Palladian façade. “Berry Hall,” said Alastair. “Home of our friend Sir Simon Trigg-Willoughby, the lucky devil. One of the architectural gems of southern Suffolk.”
“Can we go in a bit closer and have a look at it?” Emmy asked.
“No,” said Alastair firmly.
“Why not?”
“Because there’s no water.”
“What do you mean?” Emmy asked indignantly. “The water goes right up to the trees.”
“I told you,” said Alastair patiently, “that Ariadne draws five feet. In another hour or so, when the tide has gone out a bit, there’ll be nothing but sand between us and Berry Hall. At the moment, there’s probably less than three feet. We’re as near inshore as we dare go.”
By this time, Ariadne was approaching the actual river mouth, and Henry could see how the great, beautiful house dominated the landscape, sited proudly as it was on a green hill that sloped to the water on three sides. The front of the house looked straight out over the wide North Sea, and at the edge of the lawns that swept down to the water there was a small boathouse and a jetty.
“How does Sir Simon get his boats out, if it’s all sand?” said Emmy. “Can he only go out at high tide?”
“There’s a tiny channel,” Rosemary said. “It runs from the boat
house as far as Steep Hill Sands—that’s the big bank we’ve got to go around—and then it sort of meanders round Steep Hill and into the sea. But it’s very shallow at low water. Sir Simon can use it, because he’s got a motor boat and a dinghy, and they don’t draw much.”
“Sir Simon Trigg-Willoughby,” said Henry slowly. “The name rings a bell. Wasn’t there a case, about two years ago—a robbery or something?”
“That’s right,” said Alastair. “Cat burglar got the family jewels.”
“I remember,” said Henry. “They were never found, were they?”
“I don’t see why Sir Simon and Priscilla go on making such a fuss about it even now,” said Rosemary. “After all, the insurance paid up—which was jolly decent of them, considering that the whole thing was Priscilla’s own fault. But then, of course, she’s slightly bats.”
“Who’s Priscilla?” Emmy asked.
“Sir Simon’s sister—curious old girl, spinster and more than half-way round the bend. She insisted on wearing the entire family loot to a hunt ball, and then forgot to lock it up afterwards. Personally, if I’d been Sir Simon, I’d have much preferred the insurance money to a lot of badly set diamonds that would have gone to some distant cousin in the end—because the two old dears are the last of the Trigg-Willoughbys. But to hear them go on, you’d think it was the end of the world. Of course,” Rosemary added, “they’re a tremendously family family, if you know what I mean. Berry Hall, the jewels, the Trigg-Willoughby tradition...it’s all very well, but—”
“Sir Simon’s not married then?” Henry asked.
“Poor chap never had a chance,” said Alastair. “Nor did Priscilla. They were brought up by a Victorian martinet of a father who considered that nothing short of royalty was good enough for a Trigg-Willoughby. The old boy only died a few years ago, and by that time Simon and Priscilla were both a bit past it.”
By now, Berry Hall had been left behind, and Ariadne was heading out into the North Sea, cutting the gently crinkling waves with her sharp bows. Henry said, “I thought we were going northward up the coast.”
“We are,” said Alastair.
“But we’re heading straight out to sea.”
“And shall do, for quite a bit. Steep Hill Sands run out about a mile from the point. You should see it at low water, then you’d understand.”
Half an hour later, when it seemed to Henry and Emmy that they must be well on the way to Holland, Alastair said, “All right. Harden sheets. I’m turning up now.”
He hauled in the mainsheet until the big sail was hugged closely in to the boat, while Rosemary did the same for the jib. At the same time, Alastair pushed the tiller to starboard, and the nose of the boat swung round to the north, and almost into the teeth of the wind. Immediately, Ariadne leant gently over to starboard, and the bow wave creamed frothingly as she headed to windward, setting a north-easterly course.