The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  With admiring glances, and making mental notes to return the following day, the clot of people around Market Place began to break up.

  Jennet leaned against one of the pillars of the old town hall and lingered to watch the folk band pack away their instruments.

  Hopping over the ground, collecting the stray coins that had missed their target, the young singer drew close to Jennet and with a merry grin stared at her.

  "What's this then?" she asked pertly. "Glued to that pillar, are you? Did you like the performance so much you can't tear yourself away?"

  Jennet smiled shyly. "I thought it was excellent," she said, "only I missed most of it."

  "Well, there's always tomorrow if you can bear any more of my warbles. Some think the old ballads are too long-winded and one exposure is quite enough."

  "No really, I thought that last one was—well, perfect. I understood everything that was happening and why she went off like that."

  "I must admit of all the pieces we do that one is a real favourite with me too. It's got a bit of everything, don't you think? Passion and cruelty, excitement and misery, fear and dread—but that's the way of things. I think if I was tied down to drudge in the one dismal spot for too long I'd go raving mad and run off as well. I don't blame Molly Werbride in the slightest—good on her!"

  Jennet agreed readily. She liked this strange girl, with her bare feet and the ready laugh in her voice that threatened to erupt into explosive mirth at any moment.

  "They call me Pear," she said. "It's actually short for a great mouthful, but what can you expect from a mother who used to be a teacher but expects to be treated like the Queen of Sheba?"

  "Is that your mother—with the fair hair?"

  "Oh, you mean the really ugly one," she nodded sarcastically. "Yeah, it's a shame—she can't help it. Still, her boils and scabs aren't too noticeable today. Urgh! Did you see those letchy old dads in the crowd before? I thought they were going to start slobbering—I almost hit them with the tambourine! Lusting after my mum indeed and her born so deformed! Quite disgusting."

  The girls laughed and the sound made Pear's mother turn and advance towards them with her fine eyebrows raised quizzically.

  "What's all this?" she inquired. "Who's your new friend? Are you plotting something together? Were you talking about me?"

  Now that she could see her more closely, Jennet was certain—the woman was truly beautiful. Every feature was perfectly modelled and the few lines that marred the otherwise smooth and lustrous skin only served to accentuate the exquisite symmetry of her face.

  "Don't you listen to a word this vagabond tells you," she advised. "I'm afraid my daughter has no sense of what's polite or acceptable. No shoes again I see, Pear."

  The girl folded her arms obstinately. "Meta's always nagging at me to wear bits of dead cow on my feet," she complained, "but I keep telling her that shoes are for horses. I want to feel the sand in my toes and the grass under them. I won't eat meat so why should I wear it?"

  "I bet you do in winter," Jennet teased.

  "No I don't, I put my placky wellies on."

  "See what I mean?" her mother groaned. "She's so stubborn—I just know she'll do something really awful one day to shame me."

  "Thought I already had," Pear smirked. "Have to try harder, won't I?"

  The woman gave her a gentle shove then looked back at the others. "Well," she said, "we're ready for the off. Are you coming, you savage?"

  "No," Pear told her. "I'll hang round here for a bit, see you after."

  "All right, I'd leave you and..?"

  "Jennet."

  "I'll leave you and Jennet in peace. Lovely to have met you, catch you later—ciao."

  The two girls watched the trio pack up the instruments and set off down Church Street towards the one hundred and ninety-nine steps.

  "I like your mum," Jennet said. "Is she always so laid back?"

  "Yeah, Meta's cool I suppose, never gives me any hassle. Terminally vain though—the time she spends brushing her hair and looking beautiful, I couldn't be bothered."

  "Funny how you call her by her name," Jennet said thoughtfully. "My mum would've killed me if I'd done that."

  "Why?"

  "She just would've, that's all."

  Pear tied the tambourine to a yellow ribbon around her waist. "That's dumb," she remarked. "Meta would laugh her socks off if I started calling her 'Mummy'. How old is yours? She sounds like a real crumbly."

  Jennet hesitated then replied, "Both my parents are dead."

  "BONG!" Pear howled and promptly enacted a routine where she mimed cutting her tongue off.

  "It's all right," Jennet assured her. "It was a few years ago. I didn't say it to make you feel awkward."

  "Oh, I don't," Pear chirped. "In fact my dad's six foot under too so we're halfway equal. Now, if I could only bump gorgeous Meta off we'd be square!"

  Jennet giggled and realised that she had not felt so relaxed and at ease with anyone for a long time.

  "So where are you staying?" she asked. "Is it in the Youth Hostel up by the abbey?"

  Pear pulled a painful face. "Come off it," she cried. "No, we're parked behind that ugly church on the cliff."

  "Parked? So you're staying outside Whitby?"

  "No, our van's up there. Caroline—the one with the fiddle—owns a camper and we all pile into that."

  And so she told Jennet of the nomadic life the folk band led, drifting all over the country performing their songs and living from day to day—not knowing where they would be from one week to the next.

  Intrigued, Jennet listened and pangs of jealousy rankled within her. It all sounded so marvellous. They were free to do whatever they wished and she felt that her own life was completely drab and uneventful in comparison.

  The two girls talked together for nearly an hour. Pear was a unique character; she was nearly sixteen and despised conforming to convention and the ridiculous rules of society, flouting them whenever possible. She loved to puncture snobbery and regaled Jennet with hilarious stories of life on the road. She had never been to school but had learnt everything from her mother—except how to behave in a "decent and responsible" way.

  Ambling leisurely through the streets, the impudent girl would pull all manner of faces at those who obviously found her gypsy-like appearance startling, and Jennet cracked up to see how quickly they hurried away.

  Yet for all this, Pear was also an excellent listener and Jennet revealed more to her in that short time than she ever had to either Aunt Alice or her brother. Deprived of a real friend for so long, she spoke of her innermost fears and dearest longings.

  "Look," Pear eventually said, "we've been gassing for ages and I'm starved. Why don't you come round and have something to eat with me and the others?"

  Jennet eyed her doubtfully. "Oh, I don't know," she began. "I mean I don't want to intrude..."

  "Rubbish," Pear told her. "You're dying to see the van and it's Liz's turn to cook—the things she does with a packet of lentils and a few herbs! You can't refuse that, now can you?"

  Jennet was intrigued and longed to join them, but she really should have returned to the cottage over an hour ago.

  "'Course, if you've something better to do..?"

  That decided it. "Nothing!" she replied at once.

  Behind the wall of the churchyard, overshadowed by the stately ruins of the abbey, was a large car park. In the winter months the place was deserted except for the steamed-up vehicles of courting couples but in the summer it was choked and congested by many different kinds of transport, from motor bikes to small lorries, and that evening was no exception.

  Pear led Jennet through the maze of cars, chatting amiably as they went. "We were lucky when we arrived this morning," she said. "Someone was just pulling out of a space near the edge and we nipped right in. That's the van over there."

  She pointed to where the corner of the churchyard wall met the cliff edge. A cream and orange camper van took up a generous amount o
f space, and sitting outside it upon the hummocky grass were Pear's mother and the other two members of the folk band.

  They waved in acknowledgement as the two girls approached and Jennet saw that the woman who had played the flute was busily cutting up vegetables and throwing them into a huge pan which bubbled above a Primus stove.

  "Hi!" Pear called when they were close enough to be heard. "I've brought Jennet back to try some of your grub, Liz."

  The freckle-faced woman gave a self-conscious smile and mumbled inaudibly.

  "Liz never has much to say for herself," Pear told Jennet, "but she says all she has to in her music; she plays the guitar as well as the flute. Real talent she has."

  The girl's mother rose to greet them. "Hello, you two! How lovely to have company. I'm glad it wasn't my turn to cook tonight."

  "I wouldn't have brought Jennet if it was," Pear uttered bluntly.

  "Sit down," Meta told them, making room on the blanket which was spread over the grass. "You don't mind eating vegetarian do you, Jennet? None of us are carnivores, are we? No dead flesh for us; slabs of fear pumped full of poison, that's all it is—revolting."

  "All right, Meta," Pear interrupted, "get off the soapbox, not enough people are watching."

  At first Jennet felt uncomfortable amongst the other women and looked cautiously about her. She had never met anyone like this strange group before and could not begin to guess how they had met and decided to travel together. A more unlikely collection of people was difficult to imagine.

  The one called Liz was painfully shy and hovered about the Primus, not once lifting her eyes in their direction. Nearby, sitting cross-legged, with her nose buried in a book, was Caroline. Politely yet making it obvious she did not want to join in any conversation, she said hello to the girls then returned her attention to the pages of her novel.

  Jennet found Pear's mother to be the most unsettling of the lot. Her beauty was so radiant and intense that she felt horribly plain beside her, like a candle flame held against the harsh brilliance of the sun. She could understand why Liz was so quiet and timid—no one could ever be noticed in that luminous company, except perhaps Meta's own daughter.

  Beside her mother's lambent beauty, Pear's jet black hair was a welcome balance to the eye and her irreverent backchat held Meta's overwhelming personality in check.

  The handsome woman loved the sound of her own voice. It was obvious she adored the limelight and being the centre of attention. Her laugh was always the loudest and lasted just that little bit too long. She was undoubtedly the driving force behind the group, and Jennet slowly discovered that she didn't really like this lovely yet domineering beauty. Meta was queen of them all and she knew it. Her constant and tenacious control of any conversation swiftly became tiresome, yet in Pear's mocking company her glamour was just bearable.

  From the simmering pan a tantalising scent floated, and Jennet's mouth watered as she realised how hungry she was.

  "Will it be much longer, Liz?" Pear begged.

  The woman gave a meek shake of the head and went to fetch some plates from a cupboard in the van.

  Presently the dishes were passed around, heaped with a rich smelling mixture of nuts, rice and chick-peas. It was delicious and Jennet ate it quickly.

  Caroline laid her book down and chewed thoughtfully whilst Liz went to sit by herself in the camper—as if to be seen eating by a stranger was a most horrendous prospect. Assuming elegant poses with a fork in one hand and the plate in the other, Meta managed to look ravishing even with her mouth full. At her side, Pear chattered in garbled bursts, telling Jennet more of their lifestyle, and soon it was as if the girl had known them all her life and though she still found the blonde woman tiresome she was perfectly willing to remain in their company for as long as she was welcome.

  The group's lifestyle sounded extremely attractive; they had no cares and the only money they needed was for petrol and food as they made most of their own clothes. Not once did Jennet think of Aunt Alice or Ben, and found herself wishing that she could stay with the band forever.

  "So," Meta said, "tell us about yourself and this place. In all our years together we've never been to Whitby, have we? It looks a fascinating little spot and there's a good health food shop. I had to drag Liz out of it, didn't I Caroline? Do you like it here, Jennet? Is it really as full of mystery and legend as it seems?"

  She raised a shapely hand to the abbey ruins and assumed a dramatic and fearful pose. "I am trying to imagine how it will look when the night comes," she said in hushed tones, "how spooky it will be for us all in the camper van. Have you ever been here at midnight, Jennet, when the moonlight shines upon those ancient, broken stones and weird noises carry upon the wind?"

  The girl made no reply; there were certain memories she would rather not recall.

  "I see you have," the woman persisted. "What adventures were yours? Were you terrified or did a lover's arms embrace you?"

  "Shut up, Meta," Pear rapped, coming to Jennet's rescue. "You're talking garbage again. You only do it to hear yourself—shame you don't realise how boring it is."

  Meta smiled and sat once more. "My daughter is always chiding me," she confided. "I pity her having me for a parent—it must be awful to have such a dreary mother who's always seeking attention."

  "You're doing it again!" Pear gasped, throwing a cushion at her. "Hey, Jennet, do you want your palm read? Caroline's really good at it. Caroline, come and do the old clairvoyant bit for her."

  "I don't know about that," Jennet muttered, shoving her hands beneath her knees. "I don't believe in that kind of nonsense; there's enough of it at home."

  "Oh, it's just a laugh," Pear cried. "Go on, don't be dull."

  Dutifully, Jennet raised her upturned palm and the woman called Caroline came over to peer at it.

  Taking the girl's hand in hers, she stared and frowned, following certain lines with her fingernails.

  "This curve here is your Head Line. It shows that you're sensitive but not very creative—you probably get depressed quite easily too."

  Jennet squirmed. Did she have to be quite so blunt?

  "Mmm, your mount of Saturn says that you're an extremely practical person, a good organiser, like me, with no time for fantasy or ludicrous notions. The Heart Line here isn't very pronounced—that's not very common."

  At this, Meta gave a lusty sigh. "Perhaps Jennet's suppressing a secret passion—maybe you did come up here with a lover after all. Is he an uncouth yob or a dreary artisan who'll end up an accountant?"

  "Don't be vile," Pear scolded her mother. "Go on, Caroline."

  "There are a lot of broken paths here," she breathed. "You've been through many upheavals, haven't you? It's levelled out recently but it still isn't steady. And look, that is interesting—hmm." She gave the hand a dismissive pat then twisted her mouth to one side.

  "Radical change," she summed up. "No doubt about it, very soon your whole life will alter. More upheaval, I'm afraid, but it might be for the best."

  "What... what sort of change?" Jennet stammered.

  "Oh, your life will take an entirely new direction," Caroline said, returning to her place and retrieving the novel.

  Jennet stared blankly at her palm, then became steadily encouraged and much happier. "I was hoping for a change to happen," she said. "Maybe it will after all."

  "Oh it will," Pear affirmed. "Caroline's never been wrong yet."

  "If only it'll happen soon. You are lucky. I wish I could go wherever I wanted to and not be told what to do all the time."

  "What's stopping you?"

  "Well, school for a start and then my brother and Aunt Alice—oh, lots of things."

  Lounging on the grass like a contented cat, Meta let out a sympathetic groan. "Excuses," she murmured. "If you really wanted to change you'd do it. There'll always be something to blame for your inertia."

  "We can't all be carried away from our humdrum lives by a dashing stranger," Pear interrupted. "Stop measuring others by
your own shameful youth. Do you know, Jennet, my mother was just out of college and had only been in her first teaching job three weeks when she was whisked off by my father. She just upped and left everything behind—friends, family, everything. Completely mad, don't you think?"

  Jennet shrugged. "I don't know," she breathed. "Depends on who the man is, I suppose, and how much he loves you."

  "There you are," Meta declared, wagging a finger at her daughter, "Jennet understands, don't you, honey?" She reached over and stroked the girl's hair then added, "Would you like a drink? I've got a bottle of wine in the van—I can think of nothing better than to sit with friends and enjoy a glass or two."

  Before Jennet could answer, Pear's mother was already ferreting in the van for the bottle.

  "I'm not really allowed to drink alcohol," she murmured. "I don't know if I should."

  Pear sniggered. "Why not? I was brought up on beer and wine, wasn't I, Meta?"

  "Only way to keep you quiet, Lambkin. Does wonders, some stout in the baby's milk—I would've gone quite berserk otherwise. Here we are."

  She passed the glasses around and uncorked a large bottle of dry white wine.

  Jennet held the glass nervously as Meta filled it and gingerly sniffed the clear fruity liquid.

  "Here's to your radical change," Meta announced, raising her own glass, "whatever that proves to be. Hoi, Liz—what about some music?"

  From the camper the timid woman emerged and in her arms she carried a guitar covered in fading stickers. Very softly she began to strum the strings and a babbling tune drifted around them. As Jennet sipped the wine, the music mingled with the taste, and it was so lovely that she closed her eyes to fix this moment forever in her memory.

  ***

  As the light failed and the sky gradually turned a hazy deep blue, Sister Frances swayed uncertainly and rubbed her eyes.

  Disorientated, she looked around and found that she was standing in the abbey grounds.

  The venerable remains of the holy building were dark, and high above her—silhouetted against the louring sky—the skeletal frames of the east windows cast violet shadows over the confused nun as she tried to remember what had brought her to this place.