The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches

by Robin Jarvis

  'There is no such word as "cannot",' Aunt Alice retorted. 'Say what you mean, tell me that you will not! Let me hear you condemn another poor soul to Rowena's cruelty.'

  The novice shrank back from the force of the old lady's outburst. Her whole frame shook with fear and she hid her face. 'I cannot help you,' she wailed.

  Miss Boston regained her self-control and puffed out her cheeks. 'I'm sorry, my dear,' she apologised. 'I did not mean to frighten you,' She realised that further conversation was useless; the woman was too afraid to talk. Wearily she crossed to the door. 'I hope you can live with yourself when all is done,' she said.

  In the corridor, the Mother Superior asked nervously, 'Did she tell you what you wanted?'

  'No, she told me nothing.'

  'I am sorry,' she said earnestly. 'Perhaps it has all got out of hand. Things are not as simple as once they were. I'm terribly afraid for Sister Bridget—the danger she faces increases every day. The good Lord alone knows how she managed to return here without being discovered, the poor creature.'

  Miss Boston slung her scarf around her neck. 'I fear that there are many in danger because of her refusal to speak. I don't know what I am to do now. There is evil at work in this town and it is steadily growing in strength.'

  The Mother Superior clasped her hands together. 'God go with you,' she said.

  Aunt Alice received the blessing gravely. 'I believe I may need all the guidance He can give,' she said.

  She was not under the chair, nor hiding on top of the wardrobe as she sometimes did. She was not even in the airing cupboard. Miss Droon was exasperated with the bothersome animal and threw Binky down in disgust. It had happened again. Eurydice was missing.

  Tilly had only nipped to the post office to have a word with Edith, but unfortunately one of the windows in the kitchen had been left open. Miss Droon knew at once that Eurydice had made a dash for it, but that did not stop her turning the house upside down just in case.

  Her little sitting room was a hopeless wreck, the threadbare cushions had been yanked off the chairs, the contents of the cupboards were strewn over the carpet and the tall pile of wildlife magazines which had once towered in the corner now resembled a colourful volcano.

  The rest of Miss Droon's menagerie knew enough to get out of her way when this frenzied panic seized her. Under the table cowered a dozen felines, their squabbles momentarily forgotten. Their green and golden eyes watched the whiskered woman dart in and out until, finally, she threw herself at the cushionless couch.

  From the upstairs bedroom, pathetic little mews wailed.

  'Oh, the poor darlings,' cried Tilly. 'How could she leave them again?'

  The truth of the matter was that Eurydice would have needed the nose of a tracker dog to find out where her newest offspring were. Tilly was continually moving them. Either it was too cold in the kitchen at night or she was afraid of jealous attacks from the others if they were left unsupervised in the sitting room. The poor, bewildered kittens had seen every inch of her poky house by now and Eurydice had given up trying to discover where they had been deposited. Every time she got out of the basket to have a drink or something to eat. Miss Droon came along and whisked it away.

  Now the kittens were in the bedroom and, in her frantic search for their mother, Tilly had completely forgotten about them.

  'All God's little fishes!' she cried as she galumphed up the stairs to rescue the little dears from their loneliness.

  The small, furry bundles huddled together in the basket when the bedroom door flew open and the Droon whirlwind gusted in. She scooped up the kittens in her arms and rubbed her furry cheeks against their little bodies.

  'There, there,' she said dotingly, 'don't you worry now. Aunt Tilly's here.' After a few minutes of her suffocating cuddles she returned them to the basket and decided it ought to be moved downstairs once more.

  The kittens peered dizzily over the side of the basket as she carried it down to the kitchen. 'You must be starving, poor darlings,' Miss Droon purred at them. She heated some milk in a saucepan and waited for it to cool. Then she rummaged in a drawer for an old pipette which she used to feed them in these emergencies.

  It was a long, laborious business and most of the milk went everywhere except in the kittens' mouths, but in the end they seemed satisfied enough. Her inept feeding technique had exhausted them, and one by one they fell asleep.

  Miss Droon was pleased with herself. 'That's right, darlings,' she whispered. 'You get forty winks, my poppets.'

  She eyed the basket uncertainly. Perhaps it would be warmer in the bedroom after all. Before she could make up her mind, she became aware of a faint scratching sound. It was coming from the front door and with a scowl Miss Droon strode into the hall—she knew exactly what that noise was.

  She opened the door and sure enough, there was Eurydice.

  'You wicked thing!' Tilly exclaimed. 'Just where have you been?'

  The three-legged cat darted between her feet and ran into the sitting room.

  'Oh no, you don't, my girl,' blustered Miss Droon. 'You don't get off that easily. I've looked high and low for you.'

  Eurydice leapt into one of the open cupboards and curled round with her back to the world. She was carrying something in her mouth and now she put it down to have a good sniff and inspection. What an afternoon it had been—she had got no peace anywhere. Even her favourite refuge was no longer safe, for the smell of dog was strong there. Still at least she had managed to find this intriguing little titbit.

  'Got you! You little madam!' Miss Droon's strong hands closed about her and she pulled the cat out of the cupboard.

  Eurydice mewed in protest but Miss Droon took no notice.

  'You bad girl!' she scolded. 'It's time you lived up to your responsibilities. From now on. I'm going to lock you in my room with your babies.'

  She began taking the squirming cat out into the hall, but then she noticed the strange object that had fallen to the floor.

  'What's this?' she murmured, stooping to pick it up. Eurydice's trophy was extremely unusual. It appeared to be a weirdly shaped piece of wood and parchment that had been dipped in wax at one end and set in a small pewter holder at the other. The whole thing was very small and light. Miss Droon examined it thoughtfully. She assumed that the wooden part was a carving of some kind that had been covered in parchment, for some reason, and perhaps had held a candle. Now though, it was all a mangled mess, except for the ring of metal fixed round the base. Hammered into that were esoteric symbols and hieroglyphs that made up a bizarre pattern.

  She glared accusingly at the cat under her arm. 'Where did you find this, you naughty girl?' she demanded. Of course there was no answer. Suddenly Tilly gave a little shriek. 'Did you go to Mrs Cooper's house this afternoon? Is that where you got it?'

  What was she to do? The artefact was probably a valuable antique from Mrs Cooper's shop.

  'Oh, Eurydice,' she said, 'just look at it—you've spoilt the ruddy thing.' Miss Droon was very worried: if Rowena noticed that it was missing she might phone the police. 'I'm an accessory to theft,' she moaned, and visions of tall policemen knocking on her door flooded through her mind. She would have to go to court. What if they suspected her of training Eurydice especially for crime?

  'Matilda Droon, head of the cat burglars,' she mumbled idiotically.

  Eurydice wriggled to free herself and her desperate movements brought Miss Droon to her senses.

  'I must take this back to Mrs Cooper at once,' she said to herself. 'Maybe I could offer to pay for it. I hope it wasn't too expensive.'

  She went into the kitchen, where she stuffed the troublesome cat into the basket with her kittens.

  'I'm going to lock you in my room,' she said as she pounded up the stairs with her precious cargo. 'Now you just stay in there and look after your babies.' Tilly slammed the door. 'And behave!' she added.

  Wearing her dark-blue, cat-haired sweater. Miss Droon ran out of the house and made for the hundred and nine
ty-nine steps.

  She hated toiling up the wretched things. Halfway up, she had to rest and sat on one of the benches to regain her breath. The steps were quite busy just now. People in bright anoraks swinging cameras were descending and gave the panting figure on the bench pitying looks as they passed by. It was nearly tea-time and everyone was returning to the main part of town to find a chip shop or restaurant. Tilly watched them go by, keeping the strange little artefact tucked under her jumper where no one could see it.

  When her breather was over, she hauled herself to her feet once more and resumed the uphill slog.

  'Never again,' she spluttered, once the summit had been reached. 'That cat will be the death of me.'

  Miss Droon trotted through the graveyard and out into the car park behind the abbey. The chill of evening wrapped around her as she hurried along the lane to Rowena's house.

  The Hawes looked blank and dreary as she approached. It was a cheerless, uninviting place and she wondered how Rowena could bear to live in it. She opened the gate and crossed to the large window of the antique shop. With her hand shading her eyes as she pressed against the glass. Miss Droon stared inside.

  Nothing stirred; the shop was closed. She pattered round to the kitchen door and knocked loudly, waited for a minute or so, then knocked again.

  'She must be out,' Miss Droon muttered, disappointedly. She took a few steps back and looked up at the first-floor windows. A movement at one of them caught her attention; a net curtain was swinging back into position as though it had just been released. Was someone in, after all? Were they peeking out to see who had been knocking and stepped back suddenly when she looked up?

  Miss Droon stroked her moustache. 'Should I knock again?' she wondered. 'Maybe Rowena was having a nap and I've disturbed her.' She knew how annoying it was to be woken up—Eurydice often jumped on her stomach in the middle of the night. 'Yes,' she decided, 'I've come all this way up them perishing steps. She'll just have to come down.'

  She took the object out from beneath her sweater and tutted at the fluff which was now stuck to it. 'Damn it,' she cursed.

  Expecting Mrs Cooper to open the door at any moment. Miss Droon hastily began picking off the fluff. She was none too gentle at the task, for, as Alice Boston had often said, she really was ham-fisted. Then it happened. As she dug her nails into the wax to remove a stubborn hairy bundle, she pulled too hard. There was brittle 'snap' and a large fragment flew over the garden fence.

  'Blast!' she yelped. 'What have I done?' She brought the thing up to her face and lifted the black-rimmed spectacles off her nose to get a better look at the damage.

  A wide section of parchment had been torn off, revealing more of the wooden carving beneath. Miss Droon shook her head and groaned. 'You idiot, Matilda!' she hissed.

  But then the recrimination died in her throat. She peered closer and her eyes opened wide. Tilly nearly screamed as she recognised at last the foul thing in her hand.

  What she had assumed to be carved wood was in fact finger bones and the parchment was dried human skin. The object Eurydice had brought out of Mrs Cooper's house was the stolen Hand of Glory!

  There was very little of it left. Most of the fingers were missing and it was almost unrecognisable. With a sickening shock. Miss Droon realised that it must have been used. She remembered how Mrs Banbury-Scott's house had been ransacked the night before her death, although no one had heard a thing—this grisly charm was the reason why.

  She threw it down in disgust and glanced nervously at the kitchen door. 'My God,' she breathed, 'it was Rowena!'

  Tilly ran down the path and out of the gate. Her mind was in a turmoil of fright and confusion. What was she to do? Everything seemed to fall into place now. Rowena's interest in Mrs Banbury-Scott's house and the way she had ingratiated herself into the fat woman's affections all snapped together. Hidden in that old house was something that Rowena was prepared to steal for. Miss Droon gasped. Not only that: Rowena had probably killed Mrs Banbury-Scott after that night of desperate searching had failed to yield what she was after.

  Tilly stumbled down the lane, horrified at these sudden revelations. Rowena had even persuaded Mrs Banbury-Scott to change her will, and so she had signed her own death warrant in the process. Just what had been in those special chocolates Rowena had force-fed her with?

  'Damn, damn,' Tilly wailed. 'Alice was right all the time!'

  At The Hawes a short figure with an evil, leering face slipped out of the kitchen and hurried after the elderly woman. She had reached the steps and was striding down them. 'I must tell Alice,' she wheezed to herself. 'She'll know what to do.'

  Dusk had crept up over Whitby. There was no one about now; all had gone in search of food. In the town the cafés were alive with light and the happy chatter of contented families but the streets were deserted.

  Tilly was nearly at the bottom of the steps. She took the last three in one jump and set off down Church Street. Her bristled face showed her fear and her footsteps were quick and nervous. Miss Boston's cottage was not far, just through this opening and—Miss Droon halted, turned her head and listened. What was that?

  Above the heaving of her breath a plaintive whine echoed down the street. It was a high-pitched wail, like that of a small child. Tilly uttered a cry of pity—that was no child, it was the sound of a cat in pain.

  The pitiful mewling continued and Tilly's heart ached as she recognised the voice. It was Eurydice! Somewhere her beloved Eurydice was suffering. It was as if someone was deliberately torturing the poor animal.

  'Eurydice, darling!' she shouted. 'Stay where you are. Mummy's coming.'

  Forgetting everything else. Miss Droon hurried up the road, tormented by the dismal shrieks which beckoned her on. Tears sprang to her eyes. How could anyone hurt a small creature like this? It was horrible to hear.

  'Leave her alone!' she bawled as the cries became more urgent. 'Stop it, you bully, she hasn't done any harm.'

  The cat was almost squealing now. Miss Droon could not bear it; she hurried along into Henrietta Street with her hands over her ears.

  On she sped towards that hideous screech, down the narrow street which ended at the cliff edge. The unnatural, piercing sound drew her forward; it had reached inside and taken command of her reason. Nothing could hold her back from finding Eurydice, not even the wire fence which prevented the unwary tourist from straying too near to the sheer drop.

  Tilly pulled herself through this obstacle. She was sobbing with anguish for her loved one and did not feel the wire rake through her hair and scratch her legs. Only the life of Eurydice was important—she simply had to save her.

  The wind was strong on the cliff edge, buffeting against her, and Miss Droon swayed back unsteadily. Desperately, she cast around for any sign of her cat but could only hear the crashing of the sea far below and the rushing of the wind in the grass. The crying had stopped.

  'Eurydice?' she called. 'Eurydice?' But there was no answer. She wept into her sleeve. The madness that had spurred her to this deadly spot was ebbing away now and she glanced round miserably. There was nowhere for the cat to hide: the grass was short and there was no cover anywhere.

  Miss Droon was puzzled. Why had the noise stopped? There was no sign of either Eurydice or her torturer. An awful thought crept up on her: what if the poor creature had fallen? In her panic Eurydice might have fled away from her attacker and not realised until too late that...

  It was too terrible to contemplate. Anything that fell from that dizzy height would be smashed to pieces on the jagged rocks below. Tilly felt ill and the strength left her legs. Her sobs choked her as she plucked up enough courage to peer over the edge, preparing herself for the distant sight of a small, furry body floating on the water.

  The ground was treacherously soft and spongy as she stepped up to the precipitous brink. The wind sang in her ears and tried to drag her back, but she had to know. Standing on the very edge of the cliff. Miss Droon stared down.

  'No!'
she screamed.

  Directly beneath her, clinging to the vertical cliff face like a spider on a wall, was Rowena Cooper. It was impossible for anyone to do that. No human being could hold on so effortlessly; so casually. Tilly stared at her, stricken with horror.

  Rowena threw back her head and looked up. 'Miaow,' she cried mockingly, and the voice was identical to Eurydice's.

  Tilly whimpered as she tried to understand. Eurydice must still be safe at home. Rowena had impersonated her to lure Miss Droon to the cliff edge—but why?

  Even as the question formed in her mind, Rowena scuttled further up the sheer cliff and stretched out a claw-like hand. It grabbed Tilly's ankle and gripped it fiercely.

  'No, no!' she cried in terror.

  Rowena laughed into the wind. 'Fool!' she scorned and Tilly knew she was finished as the evil, derisive laughter cut through her.

  'Look what the cat's dragged in!' cackled Rowena as she pulled viciously.

  Tilly's leg was snatched from under her and, with a last shriek, she toppled over the cliff and plummeted downwards. Far below the pounding waves surged and crashed, but the air above was filled with raucous, uncontrollable laughter.

  11 - The Half Child

  Rachel Turner anxiously surveyed the morning room; it was the best she could do until the workmen arrived. The house of the late Mrs Banbury-Scott was still in chaos, for the damage wrought by those mysterious burglars had not yet been repaired. The large holes in the floor had been temporarily covered with boards by Grice, the scarred oak panelling had been cunningly hidden by pictures and tapestries, but the beautiful old fireplace was ruined. It had taken an awful lot of elbow grease to make the place even remotely habitable again.

  The terms of Mrs Banbury-Scott's will were plain: Rowena Cooper inherited not only the house, but also the servants if she desired. So far she had shown no sign of wishing otherwise.

  Rachel patted a cushion into place and went to join Mrs Rigpath in the hallway. Ayleen Rigpath was a stout woman who bustled about her kitchen with her sleeves rolled up and her face covered in flour or jam, or whatever it was she happened to be making. For twelve years now she had cooked for Mrs Banbury-Scott and she was not happy at the prospect of a new employer. She was not one to try out fancy new recipes; her menus had stayed the same for as long as she had been there and if this Mrs Cooper didn't like them, well, she would have to find someone else.