“How can I do this when it was a birthday present given to me by Mr and Mrs Jenkins?” pleaded David. “Photography is my livelihood.”
“A police officer told me about the tragedy concerning Thomas Loach. He was hoping to see his girlfriend on his photograph, but the devil’s hand was at work. He saw the image of his abusive father.”
“But I didn’t fake the image. The Tate camera has genuine psychic ability.”
“Whether it is the actions of mediums, the Ouija board, or the Tate camera—it is all Satan’s work. We should not meddle in these affairs—”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” interrupted Lucy, startling both men. She linked her arm with David’s and he could feel her trembling. “An informer has told me a mob plans to attack Melvin Shank, Gordon Deakin, Ben Updike, and Silas this afternoon for being murder suspects.”
“We need to alert the police,” said David
“That would only increase the anger of the mob even further.”
“Lucy’s right,” said Toby. “In any event, there are insufficient police numbers to deal with a lynch mob.”
“Does your editor know what you’re doing?” asked David.
“No. I wanted this to be a scoop for me over the male crime reporters.” Lucy turned to Toby. “Shank and Deakin are more than able to fend for themselves. Could you go and warn Ben while we go over and warn Silas?”
“You could be putting yourself in danger,” said David before Toby had a chance to reply.
“I have to do it, David.” Lucy removed her arm from his, sharply. “You don’t have to come along.”
“I wouldn’t dream of letting you go alone.” David reached for her hand, brought it up to his mouth, and lightly kissed it, proud of her courage and bravery. She looked at David and gave him a smile.
“The three of us will be united, and not divided,” said Toby forcefully. “The amusement arcade is closer. We shall warn Ben first then go to the House of Wonders and warn Silas.”
The trio quickly made their way to the amusement arcade. When they entered, Ben was sweeping the floor with a large brush that had nearly half the bristles missing. No customers were around. Ben looked up and saw them.
“Business is slack. Manager says he’ll have to let me go if trade doesn’t pick up.”
Toby tossed a bunch of keys to Ben, which he caught. “Listen, Ben. Go immediately to my house and hide there. A mob is on its way.”
Ben dropped the brush and threw the keys back to Toby. “They may find me there. I’ll hide on the moors. I just need to get my coat from the storeroom. ”
David, Lucy, and Toby waited while Ben went to get his coat when a loud crash made them turn around.
“Where’s Updike?”
A young man with an iron bar in his hands had burst into the amusement arcade. At least a dozen men waving sticks and knives followed in behind him.
“Come out, Ben!” one man carrying a stick shouted.
Toby lifted his hands for calm. “You need to go back to your wives and families!”
“We will, when we have Updike,” said an elegantly dressed man with a well-trimmed beard and moustache.
Lucy folded her arms defiantly. “He is not here. You’re Mr Joshua Betts, aren’t you?”
Joshua ignored the question. “He is not at home, and someone spotted him coming here less than an hour ago.”
Gilbert, the butcher, pushed his way through the men to speak on their behalf. “The police are useless! We have to do their job instead! Where is he?”
Toby shook his head slowly. “You cannot take the law into your own hands. You have to put your trust in the police.”
“You’re not our vicar now,” said Gilbert, his nostrils flaring in anger. “You once told us to put our trust in the Lord. Look at you—an insurance salesman. Where’s your faith in the Lord now?”
“I have struggled and lost my faith for a while. But, I urge you. Please return to your homes.”
“He’s stalling!” a man shouted. “Updike’s probably getting a head start on us!”
Joshua ran forward and raised a fist to Toby. From his lofty height, Toby looked down and effortlessly pushed the hand away. “Ben has fled. He will be long gone by now.”
“That proves he’s guilty,” shouted Gilbert.
“It proves he is a sensible fellow getting away from the insanity of the mob.”
“He will not escape,” said Joshua. “We will get a search party and some hounds to track him down after we have dealt with Silas.”
“Everyone! Go home!” Toby urged the mob.
“Silas would not harm anyone,” pleaded Lucy.
“I’ve been to the House of Wonders and know about his evil ways,” Joshua said. “The photograph showing the noose around his neck is solid proof for me that he’s a murderer.”
“The image of the noose is a fake,” said David.
“Liar! Everyone knows the Patrick Tate camera has special powers to tell who’s a murderer.”
“I’m telling you the truth. The photograph is a fake,” persisted David.
Joshua stamped his foot. “Enough of this! To the House of Wonders!” And with that, Joshua led the mob away.
“Stop this madness!” shouted Toby to no avail. He ran to the storeroom followed by David and Lucy. Inside, broken slot machines lay on the floor with two buckets and two mops. But there was no sign of Ben.
DAVID, LUCY, AND TOBY RAN TO THE HOUSE OF WONDERS. They feared they were too late to save Silas now the mob had a head start on them. But when they reached the House of Wonders, it was calm.
“Where is Silas, Sally?” asked Lucy of a woman dressed to look like a mermaid.
“Some men asked me same question a minute ago. He’s gone for a paddle in the sea at the side of Tate Hill Pier.”
The trio dashed out and made their way to the sands. Shouts were heard from the tinkers and flower sellers on the pier. When they reached the sands, they could see the towering figure of Silas swimming to shore. When he took a few steps towards the sands, the mob advanced in a line as a barrier to prevent him getting out. There were more men in the mob than a few minutes earlier at the amusement arcade. David counted twenty-seven.
Then some of the mob started throwing stones. One stone hit Silas on the arm, and another grazed the left side of his head. He stumbled backwards in the sea. Soon, he was up to his waist and then nearly up to his shoulders. He stumbled again and went under the waves, resurfacing, spitting out seawater.
David looked on in amazement as Lucy walked into the sea, fully clothed, deeper and deeper until she reached Silas. She took Silas’s arm and gently pulled him to the shallower water.
“He’ll crush you in his evil hands!” someone shouted. “Let us deal with him!”
“Silas is a kind and gentle man!” she shouted back. “Do not believe any of that vicious and stupid business! Samuel West invented all of those lies!”
David and Toby had waded in the sea next to Lucy and Silas.
The men would not retreat and threw more stones. One hit Toby on the shoulder. He plunged backwards in the sea. David helped him to his feet.
“Let us give praise to the Lord!” shouted Toby and the crowd instinctively became quiet. “Open our hearts and feel his strength to help us through these troubled times!” Toby raised both of his hands high in the air and held his head high. “Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw! Let us pray for the souls of the three dead women, Elizabeth, Eleanor, and Rachel! And let us also pray that Whitby will return to sanity and peace once more!”
At the sight of Toby in prayer, several men dropped their sticks and stones and bowed their heads, either out of reflex or genuine respect for their former vicar, David wasn’t sure. But others fled, either back to where they came from or in search of Ben, Shank, or Deakin. Toby, David, Lucy and Silas inched their way to the sands.
David looked at Toby. He had a serene expression that David had never seen in The Queen’s Head. More and more people were lining t
he sands and listening to his sermon. It was akin to a miracle.
To David’s amazement, Toby’s waterside sermon lasted for nearly an hour, and when the crowd had dispersed, David realised that Toby was right—the Tate camera must be destroyed. He wiped sand off his damp jacket and smiled at Lucy. She brushed her hand through her damp hair and smiled back at him. Gazing at the beautiful creature in front of him, David almost forgot Toby and Silas were there.
Toby placed his hand on David’s shoulder. “What do you think should happen to the Tate camera now?”
David didn’t have to think about it. “I will destroy the camera.”
“I am pleased to hear you say that, David. We can burn it at a holy site.” Toby turned around and pointed to Whitby Abbey. “The sacred abbey ruins would be the perfect setting to send that box to hell.”
Lucy approached Toby. “Will Silas be safe now?”
“I will take him back to my house. He will be safe there.”
“Look!” Silas pointed his enormous hand at the sea. The light of the sky was muffled in a hazy mist that seemed to merge with the waters. Strangely, the seagulls squawking sounds ceased. Even more strangely, people still gathered fell silent, with no buzz of noise from the people above on Tate Hill Pier. David looked up at the crowd lining the pier and saw that the gentlemen had all removed their hats.
David turned to gaze at the sea where he could see a small boat. It was difficult to judge, but there seemed to be something—or someone—in it. Smoke billowed from the craft. He continued to gaze at the boat as a small fire emerged and soon spread to engulf the vessel in huge flames.
He stood transfixed, watching this spectacle for several minutes until the boat eventually slipped under the waves.
Chapter 36
Saturday 15th September 1894
LAURA SAT IN THE EMPTY LOUNGE at The Queens’s Head. She had arranged to meet Frank Hawk after her shift. Since Frank had been busy entertaining the regulars in the bar with his card tricks, she wasn’t able to tell him why she wanted to meet him.
She’d brought with her the book James had given her, Guide to Whitby, and was going to return it for Frank to have as a reminder of his son. But there was another reason for returning it. She didn’t think it would be fair for her to have it now that she was planning a new life with John.
Lottie, the barmaid, who usually served drinks in the bar, was late reporting for duty. Since custom had been quiet in the lounge, Drexel’s wife sent Laura to cover for Lottie.
There was still no sign of Drexel. She’d heard a whisper that he had joined a vigilante group seeking the men suspected of killing the three women. As she served beers and spirits in the bar, she couldn’t help overhearing the conversation about Hood.
“I didn’t like Hood, but I admired his exit from this world—that Viking funeral,” said Theo, a man with glasses perched precariously on his hooked nose.
“But he’s helped many people in East Whitby. He’s a hero to them,” added Reuben, his friend whose ink-stained fingers branded him and his trade as a printer.
Fergal, a silver-haired man with tiny, sharp, predatory teeth shook his head. “Anyone robbing graves is a villain—not a ruddy hero.”
Reuben shrugged. “He was on the trail of the Whitby Ripper. The murderer must have outfoxed him and bashed him on the head.”
“That didn’t kill him. The drunk fell over and smashed his head open.” Fergal argued.
“What about the story of a snake biting him? Isn’t that what killed him?” asked Theo.
“There’s nothing in The Whitby Herald about a snake,” said Fergal.
“I overheard it from a policeman,” interjected Willy, a man sitting further down the bar. “They had to do a search around the abbey to find a snake and destroy it.”
“That’s ridiculous!” snapped Fergal.
“It’s just common sense. Hood was on the trail of the murderer. That’s why the murderer used one of Hood’s own snakes to kill him,” insisted Willy.
“The police are too embarrassed to say any kind words about Hood. That’s why they say he was drunk and fell over,” added Reuben.
Fergal stroked his chin. “You always get some silly buggers coming up with nonsense about a snake.”
“The police can’t make it official without his body, but a snake killed Hood. He was a rascal, but in the end, Hood is a hero Whitby should salute,” said Willy defiantly.
“Good on you for saying that,” said Reuben, raising his glass in salute.
“What about Updike? Are the police close to arresting him?” asked Fergal. “Remember him telling us how he hated outsiders? Those three women were all from outside Whitby. He must be the number one suspect.”
“He’s innocent,” said Reuben, casually.
Fergal swiped his hand against his empty glass, knocking it over. The thick carpet of sawdust muffled the sound of it shattering on the floor. “You’d stick up for him, even if he’s done a hundred murders, wouldn’t you?”
Laura came with a brush and tray to collect the pieces of broken glass.
“He says things he doesn’t mean when he’s drunk. But he couldn’t hurt a fly,” Reuben insisted.
“The next thing you’ll tell us is how adorable Melvin Shank and Gordon Deakin are,” scoffed Fergal. “The coppers are bloody clueless. They can’t even stop a body being stolen from a mortuary! We should all join Betts, Drexel, and the others in the vigilante group.”
Reuben shook his head. “Don’t talk daft!”
“I didn’t think Drexel would have joined a group like that. I thought that his only interest was the ladies,” said Willy.
Laura had collected the glass and was now behind the bar serving a customer.
“He could be pretending to be in the vigilante group to his wife and seeing his lady friends.” Fergal chuckled. “It does seem odd that both Drexel and Lottie are missing.”
“Quiet!” snapped Reuben. “Drexel’s wife might overhear this upstairs. Don’t get us barred.”
“Can Mr Punch join the vigilante group?” Frank waggled the puppet in his hand. The movement caused the puppets left eye to fall out, and roll on the floor under the counter. It eventually settled at Laura’s feet. She picked it up and rolled it between her fingers. The oval glass bead had a light-blue tinge to it. She’d seen similar beads in dress shops, but there was a difference. In the centre of this bead, dark-blue pupils had been painted on it with masterly precision.
The puppeteer came over and leaned against the counter. Laura handed him the glass eye. He grinned. “The eyes are always coming out.”
Fergal laughed. “The barmaid hasn’t got her eyes on Mr Punch—she’s got her hand on his eye!”
The rest of the customers joined the laughter. Frank slotted the eye back on his puppet and he and his puppet did a mock bow. “I’ve been looking for a new routine for my puppet show, and I’ve found it. Mr Punch’s eye will fall out in my show, and I will take the liberty of using those exact words.”
“That will cost you a pint, Frank,” said Fergal.
“It will be my privilege.” Frank placed a florin on the counter. “A pint of bitter, please, for Fergal.”
As Laura poured the ale, Lottie scurried into the bar, flushed and muttering lame excuses why she was late. Laura took little heed of her and handed the change and the glass of beer to Frank, who then gave it to Fergal. Lottie slowly removed the thick shawl from around her neck and revealed her ample cleavage.
“More,” shouted an excited customer, a man old enough to be Lottie’s grandfather.
“I’ve dropped a shilling at my feet, Lottie, Could you come and pick it up?” Fergal asked.
Lottie smiled and then bent very low, turning her body in an arch slowly from left to right to exuberant banging and whistling from the men.
WITH DREXEL OUT AND LOTTIE’S ARRIVAL, Laura finished her shift early at half nine and left with Frank. No one noticed them leaving because there was another heated debate going on. Did Ho
od murder the three women? Was Hood the Whitby Ripper?
They dawdled along Hudson Street, lit only by a single gas lamp whose flame was at the point of extinguishing. “I thought John might be coming to walk you home after work this evening?”
“He usually does but not tonight.” Laura felt a tinge of guilt. She had told John a white lie and said that she was meeting Mrs Pugin after her church meeting and they would walk home together. Laura didn’t want John to know about her meeting with Frank or her friendship with his son.
“Do you think the children will like a routine with Mr Punch’s eye falling out?”
“They love everything you do, so I’m sure they’ll find it amusing.”
Frank shook his head. “On second thought, it might not be possible to do this routine. I’d have to find some way of getting the eye to pop out at exactly the right time in my act.”
They reached the more brightly lit Havelock Place, a few hundred yards from the Pugin’s store. Now was an opportune time to give Frank the book. Laura stopped under the gas lamp and reached inside her pocket to bring it out. She handed it to Frank.
“James gave me this book, but I think you should have it now. I’ll be leaving Whitby for good very soon with the Pugins...and John Evans...”
Laura didn’t know if it was sadness or disappointment on Frank’s face as he accepted the book, but it fell from his grip and hit the ground. They bent down simultaneously to pick it up, but she reached the book first and saw the dust jacket had been ruptured in the fall.
She was about to rise when she noticed that inside the split dust jacket was a Whitby library card. She pulled it out, and in so doing, dislodged a glass bead and a bit of paper.
A receipt from Trimble’s Tea Room.
Laura suddenly remembered where the three dead women worked: Eleanor at Trimble’s Tea Room; Rachel, at the library, and Elizabeth in her aunt’s dressmaking shop. She looked up to see Frank Hawk’s watery, brown eyes fixed on her in an icy stare. Laura felt as though her body had been suddenly drained of blood and her limbs had turned to jelly. This couldn’t be happening, but it was.
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