Ghostly Images

by Peter Townsend

  “You’ll have to pay me,” said the boy, nervously pulling out the crumpled bill from his pocket and lifting it up. Jack swept it away.

  “Don’t need to read it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t read.” Jack looked around. “They’ll be plenty of angry elephants about soon.”

  “Elephants?” asked the boy nervously.

  “Scared, are you?” Now, it was his turn to do the humiliating rather than be on the receiving end. He threw the last pieces of his food at the boy. The boy said nothing and wiped the flecks of tripe and crumbs away.

  “Elephants trampled last few errand lads to death. There’s nothing left of ’em. Just like squashed hedgehogs after they’d finished. You’ll finish up same way.”

  “I won’t,” said the boy meekly.

  “You’re weak and skinny and can’t outrun them elephants.” Jack rubbed his chin and looked at the boy. “Turn out yer pockets.”

  The boy obeyed. There was nothing of value, merely a snotty handkerchief.

  “The other poor errand boys were big and tough like me,” said Jack.

  “The ones killed by elephants?” asked the boy hesitantly.

  “Don’t let anyone kid you there aren’t elephants. They’re sworn to say that.”

  “Why do they say that there are no elephants?”

  “They might have to get rid of them if there’s more trouble.”

  “Aren’t you terrified of them?”

  “Not me. One night, not far from here, an elephant charged at me. I put up me hand, and it stopped there and then, just like a tame dog. It could see it in me eyes.”

  “What could it see?”

  “That I had no fear. That I was its master.” He looked the boy up and down. “It would have smelt fear on yer and then trampled you to pulp.”

  The boy trembled and looked around for signs of elephants.

  “But there’s much more to worry about than elephants,” Jack growled, leaning forward.

  “W-What else is there to worry about?”

  “Me!” Jack grinned, widening his toothless mouth and revealing his tobacco-stained gums. He pushed the lad to the ground and placed his boot on top of the boy’s chest. “Don’t say anything about seeing me here to anyone.”

  Jack removed his foot and the boy rose to his feet gingerly, gasping for air, and then Jack swung round and grabbed the boy by the collar, lifting him high. “I’ll kill you if you open yer bloody mouth. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy wheezed and Jack brought him down. Never had he put such fear inside a person. It was exhilarating.

  “Remember that well, lad.” He took a knife from his pocket and held it to the boy’s throat. “If you dare go to the police, you’ll have to answer to me. Is that clear?”

  “Y-y-yes, sir!”

  Jack smiled and replaced the knife in his pocket. “I’m glad we’ve got this understanding between us,” he said, slapping the boy playfully on his back and knocking him to the ground.

  Jack took a handful of diced tripe and wiped it over the boy’s nose and mouth. He saw a long, fat, earthworm, picked it up, and placed it on the boy’s nose.

  The boy shrieked in terror as the worm crawled on his lips. He got up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Jack laughed so hard, it hurt his ribs, but seeing the worm on the boy’s face gave him an idea.

  If it worked, Jack would see Hood squirm at his feet and begging for mercy.

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  Chapter 23

  Tuesday 4th September 1894

  BEFORE ENTERING THE STUDIO THAT MORNING, David went for a stroll along the pier. He glanced at the sea. Normally, his mind would be on swimming. Today, his mind focused on Lucy.

  He saw Frank Hawk setting up his Punch and Judy stand on the pier for his performance later. David thought it early for him to be setting up when the first performance wouldn’t be until late morning. When Frank looked up, David waved and caught his attention.

  “Did your clock stop working? It’s only 7.15. You’re early setting up today.”

  Frank put down his carpetbag and joined David on the bench. “It’s a pleasant morning, and it’s good to be in the fresh air. I need to practice a new routine for my show.”

  “I could stay and listen. Give you my opinion.”

  “That’s good of you, but I’d prefer to do this in private. At this time of the day, there is usually no one here.” Frank pointed to a bird hovering near the surface of the sea. “My son would have known what that bird is. Do you?”

  “A cormorant?”

  “If it had more tail feathers and was larger, I’d agree with you, but it’s a shag. It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

  David, who didn’t like being wrong, found it difficult to hide his disappointment at being incorrect. “Yes, I suppose.”

  Frank laughed. “Don’t sulk. My son was an expert on birds and tried to teach me, but I don’t think I was a very good pupil. At least I am an expert on card tricks.” He produced a pack of cards from his pocket and began to shuffle. With an eager smile he said, “Take the deck and choose a card, but don’t show it to me.”

  David took the cards and glanced through them briefly. He selected the Ace of Clubs. “What next?”

  “Place the card you have chosen anywhere in the pack, then return it to me.”

  David replaced the card, shuffled the deck, and returned them to Frank. The man flicked through the pack and, seconds later, produced the Ace of Clubs.

  David smiled weakly. “You never get a trick wrong, Frank.”

  The puppeteer put his hand in his inside pocket, took out a glove puppet of Mr Punch and placed it over his hand. Frank, or rather the shrill, little hunchback Mr Punch, said, “Hood has taken up an interest in the construction of ancient buildings.” Frank put the puppet back in his pocket.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not a good sleeper, so I often take a walk late at night or early in the morning. I saw Hood attempting to examine every stone in the abbey.”

  “He’s a tour guide. He needs to explain to people all the features of the abbey.”

  “You could be right. But he’s had more than enough time to count all the stones at least a thousand times by now.” He eyed David closely. “Keep your wits about you if you’re working with that man.”

  “I will, and anyway, it’s just a temporary measure,” insisted David.

  Frank shook his head. “When Hood gets his claws on someone, he doesn’t like letting them go. For some strange reason, he simply cannot allow it to happen.”

  Out of curiosity, David asked, “Does Hood have influence outside Whitby?”

  Frank took out a small case from his top waistcoat pocket and opened it. Inside were several self-rolled cigarettes. He took one out and lit it. “Remember that shag hovering over the sea? It’s not pelagic and prefers to keep near its little spot in the sea. If it went inland, it would perish. It has a limited territory...much like Hood.”

  David considered this good news but wanted to be certain. “Does Hood have contacts in London or any other big town in Britain?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  “Why?”

  “I was once his friend some years ago. Only for a few months, mind—but I learnt a lot about him.”

  “Such as?”

  “Oh...things like how Hood can suffer from melancholia late at night. At these times, Percy secretly sprays a rose-violet perfume throughout Hood’s bedroom.”

  “But why should he do that?” David scratched his chin.

  “His late wife used that type of perfume. Hood thinks his wife is visiting him from beyond the grave when he smells the fragrance.”

  David shook his head. “I would have thought that’s the last thing a cynical rogue like Hood would believe.”

  “He’s a complex character, David, and very difficult to fathom. But he’s convinced that is wife v
isits him from beyond the grave. He’s also insistent that he has a genuine psychic ability that reveals itself from time to time.”

  “Does he?”

  Frank gave a deep-throated chuckle. “Not with cards, at any rate. I had to teach him all the card tricks, which he later exploited to cheat people...to my shame.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “I was never comfortable cheating people and wanted something pure and innocent. That’s why I began my Punch and Judy act for the children. Perhaps, in a strange way, I’ve got Hood to thank for that. I now have a job I love.”

  “You said that when Hood gets his claws on someone, he doesn’t like letting them go. So why did he let you go?”

  Frank gave a crooked smile. “Let’s just say that I know a thing or two about Hood that Tanner would give his right arm to obtain. If anything unexpectedly should happen to me, I’ve made sure that Tanner would get this information. Hood knows this, so he leaves me alone.”

  “What else do you know about Hood?”

  Frank shook his head dismissively. “I don’t want to waste any more time on discussing that charlatan.” He took a long pull off his cigarette. “Has Tanner interviewed you, by any chance, about those murders?”

  David was going to be evasive but then decided to be candid. “Yes,” he mumbled.

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. He’s interviewed a lot of men, including me.”

  David was dumbfounded. “I don’t believe it! Why should he do that?”

  “I didn’t want to mention this in The Queen’s Head, but Elizabeth Betts made fun of my son’s stammer. A few days after his funeral, I went to the dress shop and told her that she should be ashamed. I didn’t shout or scream, but others in the shop overheard what I said.”

  “Tanner shouldn’t have interviewed you for doing that.”

  “I publicly confront a woman, and several months later, she’s dead. Tanner was simply doing his job. He was very pleasant to me and said that if he’d been in my place, he’d have done the same thing.”

  David checked the time on his pocket watch. “I’d better go to the studio and get ready. We’ve got several appointments today.”

  Frank dropped his cigarette and stamped it out. “And I’d better practice my new routine.”

  Chapter 24

  Tuesday 4rd September 1894

  JOHN PACED UP AND DOWN THE STUDIO, studying two photographs in his hands, and when David arrived, he rushed over. “I think you should have a look at this.”

  David stepped forward to look at the prints and blinked just in case his eyes were deceiving him. The print of the two girls sat on the steps in Argument’s Yard playing with their tatty dolls had a semi-transparent image of a young girl standing behind them. She appeared to be looking on enviously at the girls playing. “Did you use any darkroom tricks?”

  “No,” snapped John. “But we’re getting remarkable results of psychic phenomena using the collodion process.” John lifted the other print close to show David. “What do you think of this one?”

  It revealed ghostly white shadows of several people ascending and descending the 199 Steps. David saw John’s smug grin of satisfaction. “It will have a scientific explanation. The sun was bright and could have produced a lens flare.”

  “That’s not all,” said John as if he expected that reply. He went into the darkroom and brought out another print. “What scientific explanation do you have for this one?” John pointed to the middle of the photograph. “Can you see those dark marks over Rachel Varley’s neck, chest, and stomach?”

  David took a cursory glance at the image, but a chill ran down his spine. “You know that using collodion frequently produces dark residues.”

  “But they’re normally at the extreme edges of the print, not anywhere else.”

  “I thought you frequently said chemistry baffled you. Are you suddenly an expert now?”

  “No, I’m not an expert, but there are ghostly images on five out of the six other photographs from Monday,” He brought these prints over. “I took five of the portraits with a four-second exposure. The one that didn’t reveal anything unusual was about two or three seconds.”

  David inspected them. He could see the semi-transparent images behind the sitters. This presented an enormous challenge to him, ethically and philosophically. The evidence was mounting in support of the camera having supernatural powers, but David still had his suspicions. “Are you sure you’ve not done anything sneaky to support your view that the camera can predict the future?”

  John’s cheeks bulged and reddened in anger. “Why are you accusing me of lying? Open your eyes for once in your life and admit the existence of psychic powers!”

  David steadied himself and resisted getting into a shouting match. “I’ll need to study the negative plates.”

  John brought all the plates over and David studied them with a magnifying glass. Several minutes of silence followed before he spoke. “I was trying to follow Tate’s formula, but I might have made an error in coating the plates.”

  “Be honest, David. Is that likely to have caused the marks on Varley’s image and the spirits to appear so convincingly on the other five? Would it have produced an image of a girl looking at the children with their dolls, or the images on the steps?”

  David shook his head and sighed. “I’m sorry, John. I shouldn’t have doubted your word.”

  “Have you got some other scientific theory up your sleeve to neatly explain all of this away?”

  David drummed his fingers on the counter. In truth, he couldn’t think of anything science might offer to explain these images, but he wasn’t ready to admit this to John. “I’ll keep an open mind about this for the time being.” He expected John to press him further, but instead, John reached in his pocket to bring out his watch.

  “We need to hurry. It’s time for our appointment at Tin Ghaut. Hood will be waiting for us there.”

  WHEN THEY REACHED TIN GHAUT, David quickly recognised the old woman with the bare scalp he’d seen on the steps outside her home on the same day he and John made a deal with the Devil. And speaking of, Hood was talking to her. He told the woman to go inside when David and John arrived.

  “Something is bothering me, David,” he said when she had entered her home. “Percy saw you talking to Frank Hawk this morning.”

  David shrugged. “Is this a crime?” When Hood put his arm about David’s shoulders in what he suspected to be a paternal gesture, he tried not to cringe.

  “I had Prudence Hood’s love when I was a child and Claire’s love before she died. Frank has had none of this. He had no happy childhood and no grasp of friendship or loyalty. Take my advice and be very wary of that puppeteer.”

  “Why?” asked David, trying hard not to sound defiant.

  “Despite his outward appearance and charm...I have never encountered anyone with such a violent streak as Frank Hawk.” He gave a bark of a laugh. “I wish Frank had been present and not Jack Sheldon when I fought those navvies a decade ago. Do you know why?”

  David shook his head.

  “I would still have the top part of my thumb if Frank had been with me...and the navvies would have been missing more than that, believe me!”

  Hood ushered the lads inside the house. Upon entering, David saw a fire of sticks and a pan above making a hissing sound. An onion-smelling broth was inside.

  The woman took them upstairs, struggling with her walking stick. The sickly smell of disinfectant was overpowering as they entered the bedroom. Her husband’s skin was stretched tightly over his bones. Blood oozed from sores on his pearly, translucent skin. He was thin, more like a starving child than a man of advanced age.

  The combination of the disinfectant and the pitiable image of the old man were too much for David to take. He looked down at the badly frayed carpet, but Hood prodded him in the arm.

  “Take Rufus’ photograph now. Is that alright with you, Betty?”

  “I’ll just comb Rufus’ hair so he’s good and ready.” She loving
ly combed his long, silver-grey hair. When she finished, she kissed him on the forehead and went to stand beside Hood, clutching her husband’s hair comb in her hand.

  David set up the camera and tripod while John powdered the lighting tray. He opened the shutter and John ignited the magnesium powder. A flash of white light bathed the bedroom. David closed the shutter five seconds later.

  “Please take these coins.” She thrust six shillings into Hood’s hand.

  “I will not take payment from you.” He placed the coins down on the bedside table.

  “You must.”

  “No, Betty.”

  David was surprised at Hood’s refusal.

  “You’re a good man,” she said gratefully. “I hope the sign of heaven appears on picture.”

  “I am confident that it will,” soothed Hood.

  “I’m sorry I nearly got you in big trouble in July. But I desperately had to get medicine for Rufus.”

  Hood explained for John and David’s benefit, “I stole a wallet from a rich man on one of my tours to pay for the medicine. Normally, I am an expert at pickpocketing, but a dose of influenza must have dulled my abilities that day.”

  Betty grimaced. “I’m very sorry he went to coppers, Hood.”

  Hood gave Betty a reassuring smile. “Percy and I had a friendly word with him. He went back to the police and withdrew his complaint saying his money had fallen down a hole in his pocket into his lining—as we suggested to him.” Hood sighed theatrically. “And still...most people in West Whitby portray me as a villain.”

  “You’re anything but a villain to me and the rest of East Whitby. Prudence would have been proud of you for what you’ve done.”

  “I think about her daily, the marvellous lady who took me in as an abandoned child and gave me so much love and care.”

  Betty nodded. “She was my closest friend…” She wiped away a tear with an old, tatty handkerchief. “Take care, Hood. Tanner got your best mate hung and won’t rest until he gets a rope around your neck too.”