The Custodian of Marvels Read Online Free PDF Page A

since it was impossible at one time to both stoke and steer. Whenever the boiler pressure faded, I was obliged to disengage the gears, leaving the paddle wheels to drag in the water, slowing us towards a stop. Then, having steered her to the bank and made fast, I would shovel coal, while boats properly crewed steamed past, rocking the Harry in their wake.
    In this fashion, I limped east along the Grantham Canal to the wharf at Casthorpe Bridge, a sleepy mooring place inhabited by more ducks than people. At first no one would admit knowledge of my delivery. Eventually, on my request, the wharf keeper sent a boy to ask in the village. And at length, a cart arrived, driven by a man in a dented hat.
    “I’m to take the cargo,” he said.
    “Have you brought payment?”
    “That’s for the master. I’m to load and carry.”
    “And when the master comes with money, I shall help you load.”
    He took off his hat and scratched at the back of his head, as if trying to dislodge a flea. I folded my arms and gave him what I hoped was an uncompromising stare. Presently he replaced his hat and climbed back on the cart, mumbling something about women and boat people and a deal more besides.
    After an hour or so the wharf keeper approached and told me I would have to pay a mooring fee if I wanted to stay any longer. I told him to charge it to the master, whoever that was. He went away grumbling as well.
    It was noon by the time a man in a high hat and tails rode up. I stood on the steering platform and he remained seated on his fine horse. Looking down at me he said, “You’re late. The contract said Tuesday.”
    “There were delays,” I said.
    “Where’s your husband? I need to talk business.”
    “He’s been called away,” I said.
    “Well, it won’t do! I’m told you refused to release my goods. When your husband hears, you’ll surely get the belt.”
    “It was he who gave my instruction,” I said. “I’m to take payment before letting the cargo off the boat.”
    “Well, you’re a day late.”
    “Half a day. I was here at dawn. You’ve kept me waiting.”
    “Nevertheless – lateness must be paid for. I’ll retain twenty percent of the fee.”
    “Very well,” I said. “Then I’ll retain twenty percent of the cargo. There are some chairs and a table that’ll burn well enough in place of coal.”
    His neck and cheeks purpled. I turned and stepped back down into the cabin. Sitting on the cot, I inhaled deeply then held my breath and counted, doing the exercise my father had taught me to calm my heart before stepping onto the stage.
     
    It was mid-afternoon before the cart returned. This time the man in the dented hat passed me an envelope containing banknotes to the correct sum. I undid the lacing and hauled back the tarpaulin to reveal the hold. There was little enough cargo. It took barely half an hour for me to pass each item up and watch it stowed on the cart.
    When we had done, I offered my hand by way of reconciliation. He stared at it then swept his eye over the rest of me. “Goodbye, missus,” he said. There was something reptilian about his smile.
    When he had gone, I tried to put him and his master out of my mind. I had papers in hand for the collection of six crates of pottery. That might seem a petty cargo, but it would pay for the coal I’d burn getting back to the Trent.
    “Will you help me load?” I asked the wharf keeper.
    “Your cargo’s not here,” he said.
    I could see it behind him, the crates stacked next to the wall of his cottage. I told him so.
    “I’m sorry, missus.” He removed his hat and hung his head. “That’s what I’m to tell you. I’m sorry, but there’ll be no loading today.”
    “And if I wait till tomorrow?”
    “That’s what the master said you’re to do. Tie up on the quayside. It’s sure to be here in the morning.”
    As he spoke the words, he shook his head. There was pleading in his eyes.
    Only then, I understood that I’d pushed too far. I had