Excerpt
From The Sudbury School Murders...
I
had to saddle a horse myself in order to ride out to the canal the next
morning, because Sebastian and every other stableman had abandoned their
posts. Bartholomew boosted me aboard then followed me on foot to Lower
Sudbury Lock and the crowd gathered there.
This canal was one leg of the Kennet and Avon Canal, which bisected
England from Bath to Reading. I was told that over one hundred locks
raised and lowered water so that canal boats could navigate across the
heartland of England. The intricate locks and arched bridges were fairly
new, the canal having been completed and open for use within the last
decade.
This morning, my only interest in the canal was in the body of the hapless
groom that floated in it.
The gates of the lock were closed, and a barge waited quietly on the
lower side. The pumps clanked as the lockkeeper, a fleshy man with lank
hair and sweat-stained clothes, turned the sluice wheel. Water noisily
drained from the lock to the flat pond that housed the excess water.
The parish constable, a sturdy man of about forty years, stood on the
narrow parapet of the lock, peering over the side.
Bartholomew fell into conversation with a village lad, then reported
what he said to me. "Lockkeeper found him not an hour ago. Came
out to open the gates for the barge, and there was Middleton, floating
all peaceful. They tried fishing him out with a boat hook, but couldn't
catch him. Constable said send in the boat to get him out."
The waiting canal boat was long and narrow, its flat deck filled with
goods. One bargeman watched from the tiller, while the other stood on
shore, his teeth working a piece of straw. He held the barge horse,
a large beast, which lowered its head to crop a patch of grass.
The lock was a simple mechanism, but one that had changed England forever.
Locks allowed barges to move up or down hill without having to portage.
Locks on this particular canal, I'd read, were a marvel of engineering.
Sebastian the stable hand leaned to watch near me, his swarthy face
wan. He wore the same garb as any stable lad, dusty breeches, boots,
and shirt, but his blue-black hair, thick-lashed brown eyes and dark
skin betrayed his Romany origins.
The lockkeeper closed the pumps and cranked open the gates. The bargeman
slapped the horse's side and guided the boat into the lock.
Relative peace descended, broken by the soft sound of canal water lapping
at the gate. I watched while the man on the barge dragged the corpse
onto its deck. I expected the boat to back out again, but the bargeman
signaled for the lockkeeper to close the gates. He did so, and then
rushing water drowned the silence. The water rose slowly, the pumps
struggling to drag water back in from the pond.
Once the boat was level with the upper part of the canal, the lockkeeper
opened the gates. The horse, used to the procedure, pulled the boat
silently into the canal beyond.
The constable trudged to the boat, put his foot on the deck. The bargeman
and his partner obligingly hauled the corpse out onto the green bank.
As one, we crowded round to see. Middleton lay still, his eyes closed,
his body bloated, an ugly gash across his pale throat. Now that I could
look at him closely, I saw that he was indeed Denis' man.
The constable heaved a sigh, hands on hips. "Nasty business, eh?
Now then, one of you lads run for the surgeon. Though it's obvious he
died of having his throat cut, we might as well get it put down right."
