‘Sophie … I have to go out,’ Cat says suddenly.
‘You what?’ She does not look up from her labelling.
‘I have to go out. Please – only for an hour. I just have to get some fresh air, and be out of this house for a little while. I’ll be back in time to clear up the tea things, I promise …’
‘Oh, promises, promises. You’ll be off to see George Hobson, I know, and not back until you’ve made your bed with him,’ the housekeeper says. Now she looks up, to find Cat’s jaw gone slack with surprise, and her mouth robbed of words to protest. Sophie Bell smiles, not unkindly. ‘You of all people ought to know there’s little goes on around this parish that I don’t know about, Cat Morley. You’ve been seen with him enough times, by enough people.’
‘And I suppose you condemn me for it?’
Mrs Bell frowns a little, turns back to her pen but does not write. ‘There’s scant enough fun to be had in a servant’s life. I’m not so old and sour, as you called me, to begrudge a youngster getting out and about a bit. George Hobson’s an honest enough sort, rough as he is,’ she mutters.
‘Sophie Bell … of all the people I would not have placed on my side in all this …’ Cat shakes her head in wonderment.
‘Shows what you know, don’t it?’
‘So, then – please. I need to go and see him, just for a while. I just need to ask him something, that’s all. And I can’t send a note because he can’t read. Please. If I’m missed, tell them I came over all faint and went to lie down for half an hour … I’ll come straight back again, I promise.’
‘I don’t know … it’s one thing for you to put your own job at stake, quite another thing to start doing it to mine, isn’t it?’
‘Lie, then. Tell them I slipped out without a word, and you were none the wiser. When I get back … when I get back I shall tell you a secret,’ Cat says, teasingly. Mrs Bell looks up, studies her for a moment and then chuckles.
‘Whatever it is, I’ll bet you I know it already. Go on, then – and be quick!’
The sun is like hot metal in the sky, fierce and heavy. Cat goes via the front gate, not caring if she is seen. She walks quickly, breaks into a jog from time to time. In her pocket is the stub of a pencil and a scrap of paper – an old laundry receipt. Though she can’t write George a note, if he is not aboard his boat, Cat will leave some mark, leave some symbol to show she came to look for him. She thinks of the very thing, and smiles. A black cat. That’s what she’ll draw. But, twenty minutes later, as she comes upon his boat and her throat is so dry that it feels torn, she sees him on the deck. Lying on his back, knees bent, bare feet flat, arms crossed over his face to shield them from the glare of the sun.
‘George!’ Cat calls, and can’t keep from smiling, a wide and compulsive smile. ‘Listen!’ She stands by the boat and takes a deep breath – huge, all the way to the bottom of her lungs. They are dry. No catch, no bubble; no fluid to make her cough. George squints at her, confused for a moment, and then he smiles.
‘You’ve got it licked at last, then,’ he says. Cat nods, wipes one hand over her slick brow. Her hair is wet through at the back of her neck.
‘The last of that muck they poured into me, finally gone. Can I come on board?’
‘You can.’ George nods, getting up to take her hands as she wobbles along the gangplank. Standing close to him, so close she can scarce focus her eyes, Cat takes another deep breath. The smell of him, so familiar and enticing. Like the warm wood of the boat; like the dank canal water; like the fresh, pungent foliage all around them. All have sunk their perfume into his skin, mixed and made it wonderful. So wonderful she shuts her eyes, sways on her feet, surrenders herself to the hold of it. ‘You stayed away a good few days. I’d wondered if you would come again after the fright of having the police close in like that,’ George says. His voice is even, the words without emphasis. But when she looks up, his face is pulled apart with emotion, with uncertainty and relief, with love and fear and wounded pride.
‘I didn’t mean to. They’ve been locking me in, George! I couldn’t get word to you … the vicar saw me at The Ploughman. He’s quite lost his mind! He wanted me sent packing, but somebody spoke up for me. But I’ve been locked in my room, each night when work’s done!’
‘They lock you in? That’s not right … they’ve no right to!’
‘I know it. The vicar’s wife takes my part in it. She’s given me a key to unlock the door, so at least I need not spend every night a prisoner, and afraid … but even so I have sworn to her I will not go out at night any more. I don’t like it, but … I have sworn it!’