The Whitby Witches

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘I don’t care if you were seen,’ Rowena snorted. ‘A human child with the sight can do no harm. Just be sure you obey my instructions tonight. The novice told me nothing. We shall have to proceed with the original plan.’ She broke off as though interrupted. ‘You don’t have to tell me that, I know it could take days to find . . . Well, if we don’t, my husband will have to deal with it, but I am loath to involve him more than necessary.’

  Jennet was intrigued. Was the woman mad? Just who did she think she was talking to? The girl raised her head a little to make sure that somebody wasn’t hiding over there.

  At that precise moment, Rowena looked round and spotted her. ‘Who’s there?’ she screamed furiously.

  Jennet did not stay to tell her. Like a hare, she leapt over the graves and charged towards the steps.

  Mrs Cooper’s face was a mask of rage. She stormed over to where Jennet had been hiding and said coldly, ‘The girl has heard too much.’ Something rustled through the grass and seemed to stop beside her. ‘She’s not for your knife,’ Rowena told the unseen companion. ‘There is a more . . . appropriate way of silencing her.’

  Jennet shielded her eyes from the fierce glare of the arc lamps as she ran past the church. It was not far to the steps now and she hurried over the graves to reach them.

  ‘Aagh!’ the girl cried as her shin struck the sharp edge of a tomb and she fell. Her arms flew out to save herself but it was too late; she cracked her knees on the stone and the top layer of skin was scraped from her hands.

  Frantically Jennet sat up and nursed her bruised knees. Her palms felt as though they were on fire and she blew on them in panic. She did not have time to cry, even though it hurt like mad. The girl turned her head quickly – where was Rowena? She staggered to her feet and looked about cautiously. Nothing; only the grass stirred between the headstones. It was too quiet.

  Suddenly a terrible howl rent the night air. Jennet breathed faster as the sound of her nightmares thundered through the darkness. She whirled round but still could not see anything.

  The howl went up again. Jennet began nervously limping towards the steps and the shadows closed in on her. The light from the arc lamps crackled and flashed like lightning. With a loud crash, the bulbs exploded and glass splintered out on to the path. The cliff-top plummeted into total darkness.

  ‘Oh no, oh no,’ Jennet muttered to herself. ‘This isn’t happening, it can’t be happening.’ She hurled herself forward but in her fear the headstones seemed to rear up before her, barring the way to the steps. She dodged one way and then another.

  A third fearsome howl cut into the night – it terrified Jennet so much that she ran blindly. In the dark Jennet did not realise she was going in the wrong direction. She had totally lost her bearings, and when she stopped running found that she was in the centre of the cemetery, completely surrounded by graves.

  She leaned against one of the stones and tried to quell her panic. The church now lay between her and the steps but the nightmare creature could be anywhere. Jennet’s stinging hands trembled as they automatically clenched into fists; the breathing of a large animal was drawing nearer.

  To her horror, Jennet saw two gleaming red eyes appear in the deep dark ahead. The full glare of their malice was focused on her and she felt faint at their baleful stare. The eyes came closer and then vanished behind one of the headstones: the creature was circling her. She caught glimpses of those hideous, fiery points as it stealthily stalked round, preparing for the kill. Jennet whimpered and the beast stole into view.

  It was the worst moment of her life; her heart leapt into her mouth. The enormous, black hound bared its teeth and its growl rumbled like an earthquake through the cliff. It shifted the weight from paw to paw and tensed itself.

  Then it sprang.

  Jennet screamed as loudly as she could. The beast slammed into her and the defenceless girl was thrust backwards over a gravestone. The world tumbled upside down and she could not move, pinned mercilessly to the ground by the hound’s tremendous weight. Its claws dug deeply into her shoulders.

  Jennet tried to struggle. She flailed her arms and kicked with her feet, but it was no good. Her efforts were puny and ridiculous set against that huge bulk. It lowered its head and the hellish eyes burned into her. Hot breath steamed down on to her face as the hound snapped its frothing jaws together.

  A trickle of saliva dripped on to the girl’s cheek, and she made one last attempt to escape. It was useless. The hound snarled and pressed its wet snout against her throat. Jennet waited for the end and her fists uncurled. Something cold and metal touched her outstretched fingers. It was the fork, which had fallen out of her pocket.

  The hound reared its head and opened a slavering mouth as it lunged for her neck. Jennet swung her arm up and stabbed the fork into its jowls, ramming it as far in as she could.

  The reaction was incredible. The beast yelped and fell back, lurching awkwardly and yammering in pain. Jennet could not believe her eyes; it was impossible for her to have inflicted so much pain on the creature. It spun round, whining in agony and pawing at its cheek till the fork fell to the ground. As soon as it was free the hound leaped away and disappeared into the darkness, yelping madly as it went.

  Shaken, Jennet got to her feet. On the ground the fork burst into blue flames and vanished. The girl tore to the steps and ran home.

  IX

  ‘BUT A LITTLE TIME TO LIVE’

  Ben and Jennet sat on the sofa in Aunt Alice’s cosy parlour. The old lady stood in front of the fireplace with her hands clasped behind her back. She had dressed the girl’s cuts and bruises and given them both a hot cup of tea with biscuits. When she had made sure they were comfortable, she made them tell her exactly what had happened.

  Ben had been reluctant to explain why he had come rushing back in such panic; it would mean telling her about the fisher folk. For a while he stared miserably at the floor, but Aunt Alice was insistent – he had never seen her in this mood before. Slowly Ben mumbled about meeting Nelda and Hesper and how they were searching for the moonkelp. Finally he got around to the evil creature he had met on the beach that night.

  Miss Boston stood stiff and stern throughout his tale. Her face was scrunched up in such a way that it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Jennet, however, gawped at her brother as though he had gone mad. She had never heard such a load of old rubbish. Fisher folk, indeed!

  Aunt Alice now turned to her. Jennet guiltily told how she had spied on the novice in the churchyard the previous night and how she had gone out that evening with the same intention. Aunt Alice’s brows raised a little on hearing this and she pursed her lips in disapproval. Jennet then related the events which had led up to the appearance of the hound and described how it had attacked her. When her story was over, the girl kept her eyes fixed on Aunt Alice. She realised her tale sounded almost as ridiculous as Ben’s – would the old lady believe her?

  Miss Boston studied them both for a few moments. Ben was dejected about breaking his promise of silence and Jennet looked unhappy.

  Aunt Alice cleared her throat and rocked on her heels. ‘A most perilous time you pair have had,’ she said eventually. ‘I must say that I am rather disappointed in you both for having kept these things to yourselves.’

  Neither of the children made an answer. They both felt awful.

  The old lady stooped to pick up the poker and gave the dying fire a few irritated and vigorous thrusts. ‘There,’ she said when that was done. Her mood had changed back to normal. ‘Now the main thing is, what are we to do about this situation?’ She rubbed her hands together excitedly. Both Jennet and Ben looked at her, bewildered.

  ‘First of all,’ Aunt Alice began, ‘I must tell you, Benjamin, that you haven’t really betrayed a trust in telling me about your aufwader friends. You’re not the only one who can see them, you know. Of course to me they’re a little blurred, as my gift is not as sharp as it should be. I have seen them many times although I have never had
the courage to go up and actually speak to them, as you did. Do close your mouth, dear, or you’ll catch a fly in it.’ She chuckled to herself at the expressions on the children’s faces. Ben was amazed but his sister was annoyed.

  ‘You don’t mean you believe all that twaddle about goblins on the beach?’ Jennet asked incredulously. ‘I don’t understand you at all. Why let Ben go on imagining things – isn’t it bad enough already?’

  Miss Boston glared her into silence. ‘Really, I’m surprised at you, Jennet,’ she remarked. ‘I thought you had accepted the fact that Benjamin could see things you do not. There are many things in this world which are hidden from us, and the fisher folk are just one of them. Tell me, if you close your eyes now, do you think we have disappeared? Of course not; you know that we are still here, your common sense tells you that. Benjamin merely has an extra sense which most people do not possess.

  Jennet was still doubtful, until suddenly she remembered the way in which Rowena had appeared to be speaking to thin air. ‘Then Mrs Cooper has the sight as well,’ she cried suddenly. ‘It wasn’t herself she was talking to, it was –’

  ‘The disagreeable aufwader who tried to murder your brother,’ Miss Boston put in. She sucked her cheeks and murmured thoughtfully, ‘I am afraid that Rowena Cooper is a very dangerous person indeed.’

  ‘Do you think that dog was hers?’ the girl asked. ‘You ought to tell the police she wants locking up.’

  Aunt Alice shook her head. ‘The constabulary would laugh at us, my dear,’ she said. ‘You must remember that Mrs Cooper has made herself very popular in the town – who would believe that she threatens nuns and keeps a huge mad dog?’

  Jennet could see that, put like that, it did sound rather silly. ‘And as for whether the dog is hers,’ the old lady concluded, ‘I’m not too sure about that either.’

  ‘But it must belong to her!’ the girl protested.

  Aunt Alice did not reply. She looked across to Ben, who had fallen fast asleep on the sofa, and checked the time. It was very late. ‘We can discuss this tomorrow,’ she said to Jennet, ‘but right now I think you ought to get some rest. You’ve had quite a harrowing ordeal.’

  A little while later, Miss Boston tucked Ben into bed. She was dying to learn more about the fisher folk and their way of life but that would have to wait till another time. ‘Sleep well, Benjamin,’ she said softly before closing the door. ‘Dream not of darkness.’ With that, she made a curious sign in the air, which she repeated outside Jennet’s room.

  Later that night, on the outskirts of Whitby, mysterious lights flickered behind the windows of Mrs Banbury-Scott’s grand house and a foul smell laced the air. A terrible series of crashes and bangs rang through the old building. But in her pink, chiffon-curtained bed, Mrs Banbury-Scott slept soundly.

  Miss Boston had a very busy day ahead of her. Prudence was to be buried that afternoon and she had taken it upon herself to do all the baking for the small buffet which was to be held in the late woman’s house after the service. The nephew from Halifax had arrived the day before, but he was such an incapable man that she decided it would be best if he left it all up to her.

  By the time Jennet and Ben came downstairs, she had already baked sausage rolls and two trays of scones and was taking a cake from the oven. The children’s mouths watered but she told them that they had to have a proper breakfast.

  Ben eyed the sausage rolls greedily as the milk from his cereal dribbled down his chin and on to his shirt.

  ‘Can I help, Aunt Alice?’ Jennet offered when she had finished hers.

  ‘Thank you, dear. Yes, you make the sandwiches, if you like. I need that loaf buttering. Oh botheration, I used the last of the butter to make the cake. I shall have to nip out to the shops as soon as they open.’

  Jennet played with the spoon in her bowl. She turned it round and round before saying quietly, ‘Do you want Ben and me to come to the funeral this afternoon?’

  Miss Boston smiled. ‘That isn’t necessary, dear, you never really knew her. Besides, I think you have been to enough of those sad occasions, don’t you?’

  Jennet nodded. She didn’t know if she could have coped with it, anyway; it would have reminded her too much of her parents’ death. She stared into her empty bowl for some time and then said, ‘You think Mrs Joyster was murdered, don’t you?’

  Aunt Alice was not at all startled by this statement. She took off her oven gloves and calmly replied, ‘Yes, I do. I think Prudence found something out and had to be silenced.’

  ‘Something about Rowena?’

  ‘Yes – but what can I do about it? As I said last night, one can’t go round accusing people without proof. I shall just have to be careful, that’s all.’

  At half past nine Miss Boston ventured out to buy some butter. On passing the post office, a little squeak caught her attention.

  Miss Wethers was in the window, waving madly at her. ‘Come in,’ she mouthed through the glass.

  ‘Whatever can she want?’ muttered the old lady in surprise.

  The postmistress came to the door and dragged her inside. ‘You’ll never guess,’ she cried. ‘The most wicked thing has happened.’

  ‘My dear Edith,’ said Aunt Alice, ‘are you quite well?’

  ‘Burglars!’ Miss Wethers babbled hysterically. ‘Vandals and hooligans! Ripped the carpets, tore the books from the shelves, kicked in the panelling!’ She blew her nose and fiddled with the top button of her grey cardigan.

  ‘Edith, you’re not making any sense,’ said Aunt Alice. ‘Are you saying that you’ve had burglars?’

  The flustered woman wrung her hands in distress. ‘Not me,’ she gabbled,’ Dora! It’s her house that was ransacked – a shocking mess by all accounts.’

  At once Miss Boston became very serious. She took hold of Edith’s shoulders and gripped her firmly. ‘Now start at the beginning for heaven’s sake.’

  The postmistress took a deep breath and began. ‘Well, about ten minutes ago, I was just opening up when Mrs Turner goes by in a terrible state. Of course I asked what the matter was and she tells me that there’s been the most dreadful occurrence at Mrs Banbury-Scott’s house, where her daughter Rachel works. As you know, Dora likes all her staff to live on the premises, so Mrs Turner is rightly worried. Rachel telephoned her just after she had called the police.’

  Miss Boston interrupted. ‘But why? You still haven’t told me what has happened.’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ Edith sniffed indignantly. ‘Some time last night, one person, maybe more, broke into Dora’s house and wrecked it from top to bottom. They smashed that lovely old wooden mantelpiece into splinters and ripped up some of the floorboards.’

  ‘But why weren’t the police called in sooner?’ asked Miss Boston, horrified.

  ‘Because nobody heard a thing! They slept through it all. It’s quite unbelievable, isn’t it? Mrs Turner was very concerned and I’m not surprised. There’s something fishy about the whole business, if you ask me. I hope the police get to the bottom of it – I won’t feel safe in my bed until they do. Burglars crashing about making a din and no one hearing them! It’s not natural.’ She broke off and dabbed her nose reassuringly.

  ‘Nobody heard a thing,’ repeated Miss Boston thoughtfully. ‘How curious. There must have been a dreadful racket going on.’ She rubbed her chin and then gasped, ‘But what about poor Dora? She must be horribly upset.’

  Edith nodded. ‘I think Mrs Turner said Doctor Adams had been called out. It must have been a terrible shock.’

  ‘I think we should go and see how she is,’ Aunt Alice declared.

  At this, Miss Wethers stiffened. ‘No need for that,’ she said with bitterness. ‘Rowena came by just as Mrs Turner left. Apparently Dora had phoned and asked her to go round. When I offered to close the post office and come along too that woman had the temerity to suggest that I would only upset Dora all the more.’

  Miss Boston could not help but smile at the way Edith’s devotion to Mrs Co
oper had completely dissolved. ‘Dear me,’ she clucked, ‘yet another rebuff. I wonder if we shall see Dora at the funeral this afternoon?’

  ‘Well, I shall be there at any rate,’ said Miss Wethers. ‘Poor Prudence.’

  Aunt Alice patted her hand as she took her leave. Before she reached the door, she asked, ‘By the way, Edith, was Mrs Cooper carrying anything when you saw her?’

  Miss Wethers frowned. ‘Why yes, she was. She had a little square box in her hand. I couldn’t see what it was because she had wrapped it up – said it was a gift for Dora. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Oh, no reason. Goodbye.’

  The children had the afternoon to themselves. It was a bright, warm day and Jennet was glad to feel the sun on her face. The dark horrors of the night seemed an age away. She and Ben were together in Whitby and that was all that mattered. She was in such a good mood that she told Ben he could have the pick of the day. This was a game they had played when they were younger: one of them had the honour of choosing what they were both to do for the whole day.

  Ben was thrilled. It was not often he could boss his sister about, but under the rules of the game she had to go along with him. As they wandered through the town he scratched his head and tried to think what he would most like to do.

  ‘Oh, look,’ said Jennet suddenly. ‘It’s that Banbury-Scott woman.’

  The Bentley was bullying its way down the narrow road. As usual, Grice was driving and in the back, heavily veiled and festooned in black mourning, was the fat woman. The car drove slowly by until the weight of traffic forced it to stop altogether. It was now directly opposite the children.

  The obese shape in the back popped something into her mouth and, as she moved her arm, a second passenger was revealed beside her. It was Rowena Cooper.

  Jennet pulled Ben into a shop when she saw her, but Mrs Cooper did not seem to notice them. She was too busy talking to Mrs Banbury-Scott.

  ‘Banbury-Scoff, Banbury-Scoff !’ chanted Ben rudely as he saw the podgy fingers return to those orange lips and stuff something else inside. His words faltered, however, when he caught sight of the second passenger. He had never seen Rowena before. She leaned further forward and said something to Grice, and in doing so he saw the side of her face. Four jagged streaks of silver light were shining on her cheek. They were so bright that they actually lit up the inside of the car.