Downstairs, her mother was clanking pots and pans in the kitchen. Rose couldn’t face bacon and eggs right now. She could still taste the vinegar from the late-night fish and chips, and she didn’t feel up to another volley of questions about last night.
When she let herself into the house at a quarter to midnight, she’d been dismayed to find her mother sitting up waiting for her. Andrea had put aside the book she was reading and said in a pointed tone, “I thought I told you not to stay out too late.” And then she’d noticed the state of Rose’s clothes, the mud and oil stains on her jeans and top. She jumped to her feet and said, “What on earth happened to you?”
“It was nothing Mum, I slipped and fell, that’s all.”
“Was it that boy? Was he rough with you?”
“No, Mum, not at all.”
“Don’t try to protect him. If he tried anything on…”
“Mum, I swear, it was nothing like that. I fell over and sprained my ankle.” That much at least was true. “He helped bring me home actually.” Andrea had looked sceptical but had let the matter drop. But one thing was sure. From now on her mother would be on high alert, looking out for any sign of trouble. Rose would have to take extra care not to land herself in any more sticky situations.
She sat up in bed. She didn’t want to go downstairs whilst her mother was still in the kitchen so she reached for the pile of letters, found the next one, and started to read.
Grand Hotel,
Scarborough,
9pm, 16th August, 1899
Dear Ma,
What an exhausting day! And here was I thinking we’d come to Scarborough for a holiday. We’d barely got over all the excitement of the fair when Mr Hartright (he says we’re to call him George, but I can’t quite bring myself to be so familiar) invited us to accompany him on a trip to Whitby which is about twenty miles further up the coast.
Alice was terribly excited to see the place where Dracula came ashore. She and Mr Hartright talked all the way about Mr Stoker’s novel and whether it was strictly necessary to chop off Lucy’s head. I never heard such a load of gory nonsense in all my life. I never thought I’d say this, but maybe Henry Blackwood has a point when he says ladies shouldn’t read fiction. I still don’t like him, mind!
The first thing that hit me in Whitby was the noise! Honestly, I thought Scarborough had more than enough seagulls but you should have heard them in Whitby! My ears are still ringing from their blooming screeching.
Now, to be fair, there were some very nice little tea shops along Church Street and if we could have just popped into one of those I’d have thought the trip more than worthwhile, but of course we had to go and climb the steps to the Abbey. You’re not going to believe how many steps there were. One hundred and ninety-nine! I know, because I counted them. And what did we see when we got to the top? Yet another ruin, in the same sad state of repair as Scarborough Castle.
Well, I was fair jiggered by the time we reached the Abbey so I sat down on a bench and let Alice and Mr Hartright wander off. He was telling her all about the geology of the place, a subject about which he seemed to know a ridiculous amount and I really wasn’t interested in hearing about a load of old rocks. I know you’re thinking I shouldn’t have left them on their own, it’s not proper and all that, but really Ma, I don’t see the harm in it. It’s almost the twentieth century after all.
As they say, what goes up must come down, so when they’d finished looking round the Abbey ruins, we had to walk back down all those steps, all one hundred and ninety-nine of them (I don’t think my legs are going to recover in a month of Sundays) and I thought surely now it’s time for a nice cup of tea and a cream scone, but Mr Hartright insisted on taking us to a jet workshop where they make jewellery from the jet stone that comes from this area. It all sounded a bit mournful to me because jet is what the Queen has been wearing ever since Prince Albert died, but anyway, we went to this workshop. Now, to give him his due, Mr Hartright is nothing if not generous and after we’d looked around and admired the skill of the craftsmen, he insisted on buying us both a small gift. Mine is a jet brooch in the shape of a rose and I thanked him kindly for it. For Alice he bought a jet necklace, and very fine it is too, with delicate black beads in a series of intricate loops.
Now I’m going to let you into a secret. I think Alice might break off her engagement with Henry Blackwood, and no bad thing that would be either. Keep that to yourself, mind, and don’t go spreading rumours. I don’t want to cause trouble.
Love to all,
Mary.
~~~
Dan stood under the hot shower, letting the water pelt him on the shoulders. He’d finished washing long ago, but was in no hurry to leave the comfort of the steamy cubicle. His mind was stuck on an infinite loop, going round in maddening circles, replaying the events of last night.
It had all been going so well until he’d had the crazy idea to go and follow those two crooks, for Dan had no doubt that that was what they were. And what must Rose have thought? Probably that his family had connections with Scarborough’s criminal underworld. He cringed with embarrassment. He’d wanted her to enjoy herself yesterday evening, had thought they were getting on great, that there was even some chemistry between them, and instead he’d dragged her into this dangerous situation where they could have been shot. Never mind his dad nearly running her over, he was doing a pretty good job of endangering her himself. That was why he’d suggested fish and chips when they got back into town, as a way of putting things right again but that gesture now seemed totally inadequate as a way of making amends. If she had any sense she’d steer well clear of him from now on.
Stop worrying, a small voice inside his head tried to argue back. She agreed to meet you again today. What’s the problem? But a louder voice argued that she only said that to be nice. If he was her, he’d be having second thoughts about meeting him again.
He turned off the shower and grabbed the towel from the heated towel rail. Pushing thoughts of Rose to one side for the moment, he turned his attention to the problem of his dad. Despite what he’d agreed with Rose, now in the cold light of day he was in two minds whether or not to say anything to his dad about the events of last night. Ryan would probably try to dismiss the whole thing and just tell him he shouldn’t have followed the men in the first place. And besides, it was highly unlikely that his dad would willingly admit to any business dealings with a man like Max. But did his dad really know what sort of man Max was? That he employed armed thugs? If he kept quiet and something terrible happened to his father, he’d never forgive himself. He went downstairs resolved to speak up, but found only his mum in the kitchen.
“Is Dad around?”
“What?” Fiona glanced up from her mobile phone.
“There’s something I wanted to speak to him about.”
She clicked her phone off and dropped it into her handbag. She was wearing a bright pink Lycra sports top and cropped leggings.
“He left early,” she said. “Said he had business to see to. Can it wait till later?”
For a moment Dan was tempted to blurt everything out to his mum. She might not be the overly maternal type, but she wasn’t bad in a crisis. She could be surprisingly level-headed if the situation demanded it.
She fished her car keys out of her bag and said, “There’s some leftover curry in the fridge. You can warm it up in the microwave whenever you want it.” And the moment for speaking evaporated. She was on her way out and wouldn’t want to be held up. She probably had a class to get to, yoga or Pilates.
“Cheers,” said Dan. He really didn’t feel like eating leftover curry in the house on his own. He’d get some chips in town later on.
“Right, must dash.” She picked up her sports bag and headed for the front door. “Have a nice day.” The door banged shut behind her.
Dan sighed. Some teenagers would think him lucky that his parents weren’t breathing down his neck all the time and that he was free to come and go as he pleased,
but sometimes he just wished they would act a bit more like they cared.
He ate some cornflakes and put the bowl and spoon into the dishwasher. What now? He wandered back out into the hallway. The house suddenly felt very large and very empty. It was absurdly big for just the three of them and most of the rooms were never used on a daily basis. All the doors that led off the hallway, to the lounge and dining room and morning room (whatever that was supposed to be) were closed, except for one: the door to his father’s study. It stood ajar, casting a beam of sunlight onto the parquet floor from the room’s south facing window. Like an invitation, thought Dan, as he walked towards it.
He had no plan of action as he stepped into his dad’s study, certainly no intention of prying. But something was going on and if his dad was involved with an armed gang, then that could land them all in serious trouble. There had to be something that would give him a clue to what was wrong.
~~~
Grand Hotel,
Scarborough,
5pm, 17th August, 1899
Dear Ma,
When I woke up this morning my legs had seized up. I blame those steps in Whitby! At breakfast, Alice said that the best thing would be to take a gentle stroll along the prom. I noticed straight away she was wearing her new necklace, the one Mr Hartright had bought for her in Whitby. It looked very fine against her white dress.
So after breakfast we took the funicular railway down to the sea-front (for once I was glad of this little train) and started walking towards the spa buildings. We hadn’t gone far when we encountered a photographer, a young fellow who was doing his best to attract the attention of the ladies and gentlemen walking past and, from the looks of it, not having much luck. He tried to persuade us to have our photograph taken. I wasn’t at all sure I liked the sound of that, but Alice agreed at once and we had to stand there, side-by-side, squinting into the bright sunlight whilst this photographer fiddled around with his big black box and hid himself under a black curtain. I felt such a fool what with everyone staring at us! He said the photograph would be ready to collect tomorrow from his studio in Queen Street, so I suppose that means I’ll have to walk over there and pick it up. I shall need a holiday after all this!
Take care,
Love,
Mary.
~~~
Dan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in his dad’s study, possibly not for years. The room smelt of his dad’s aftershave and extra-strong coffee. A vase of roses on the windowsill had dropped half its petals onto the floor. Next to the vase stood a framed photograph of himself aged eight riding a donkey on the beach. That must have been about the time his dad took over the amusement arcade, buying it with the money he’d inherited after the death of his own father. The arcade had been in a state of gradual decay for years and Ryan had put a lot of money into doing it up, buying new slot machines and replacing all the neon lighting on the front. It wasn’t exactly Las Vegas but it was the nearest thing Scarborough had.
Dan turned his attention to the rest of the room. It was sparsely furnished with a mahogany desk, a high-backed leather swivel chair and a bookcase stacked with non-fiction hardbacks which Dan didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad reading. Dan walked over to the desk and sat down in the chair. The centre of the desk was occupied by a state-of-the-art Apple Mac. Dan tried switching it on but it was password protected. He switched it off again. Pushed to one side of the desk was a pile of letters. He picked them up and flicked through them. They looked to be invoices from the companies his dad did business with. Dan recognised the names of some of the companies who made slot machines, the company that supplied the teddy bear prizes and the cleaning company. He put the letters back. The desk had a set of three drawers down one side. He hadn’t intended to go rifling through drawers or anything like that, but now that he was here he found it hard to resist. Just get on with it, he told himself. Yes, you’re being nosy and no, it’s not right. Get over it. He tried the top drawer. It was locked. Was he relieved or frustrated? He wasn’t sure. He tried the next drawer and it slid open on smooth runners. Inside was a Smythson diary and a Montblanc fountain pen. Dan picked up the diary and opened it to today’s date. 9 am meet Max at Highcliff House.
The appointment was written in his dad’s hand and underlined three times. Dan broke into a cold sweat. His dad was meeting Max today. What about the armed men? Would they be there too? What kind of crazy trouble was his dad mixed up in? Dan checked his watch. It was ten to nine. His dad must be on his way there now. But where was Highcliff House? He was sure he’d seen the name recently but couldn’t think where. Then it came to him in a flash.
He dropped the diary back in the drawer and went to the kitchen, opening the cupboard where they kept the recycling box. Buried under pizza boxes and juice cartons he found what he was looking for: last week’s edition of the Scarborough News. The headline on the front cover was all about the Tour de Yorkshire, the new cycle race that had sprung up in the wake of the Tour de France. Dan was sure he’d seen something about Highcliff House on one of the inside pages. He flicked through the newspaper until he found what he was looking for. On page five was a picture of a derelict Victorian mansion and the headline Former Lunatic Asylum At Risk of Collapse. Highcliff House was an abandoned Victorian asylum about a mile and a half north of Scarborough, off the main road to Whitby. The article explained how coastal erosion was threatening the foundations of the Victorian building so the council had authorised its demolition. Work was due to start in the autumn. It didn’t sound like the sort of place you’d want to go to meet a man who employed armed thugs.
He dialled his dad’s mobile number. He had to warn him to stay away from Max. His dad’s phone went straight to voice mail.
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to cycle to Highcliff House as fast as he could. He ran out the front door, pulled his bike from the garage and started pedalling furiously down the hill.
~~~
Grand Hotel,
Scarborough,
4pm, 18th August, 1899
Dear Ma,
We are in the gravest danger! I went to the photographer’s studio this afternoon to collect the photograph of us on the promenade and when I saw it I nearly died of shock for it clearly shows Henry Blackwood’s man, Jackson, leaning against the railing, watching us! So I was right. We are being followed, and by that scoundrel no less.
I hurried back to the hotel and showed the picture to Alice and Mr Hartright, who were taking afternoon tea with Mrs Goodly. Alice nearly fainted when she saw the photograph and Mrs Goodly had to revive her with a bottle of smelling salts. Mr Hartright wanted to whisk us away there and then but I said that wouldn’t do because Jackson would be onto us. It was then that I came up with a plan to get Alice safely away from him. I can’t say any more about it now, but I will write again in a few days when all is well and we are far away from Scarborough. Wish us luck, Ma. We are going to need all the help we can get.
Love,
Mary.
Rose picked up the scrapbook and turned to the photograph of Alice and Mary, wanting to see if she could spot the man Mary called Jackson.
She looked once again at the two women. Alice’s jet necklace, the love token from George Hartright, was, as Mary had said, clearly visible against her white dress.
There were other people in the photograph, passers-by strolling along the prom, the women with parasols and the men absurdly over-dressed for the seaside in suits and bowler hats, but there was one figure who caught Rose’s attention. A man in the ubiquitous dark suit and bowler hat was standing about twenty feet behind Alice and Mary, off to their right. He was accompanied by a pretty young woman in a dress decorated with frills and bows, but he was ignoring her. Instead he was leaning against the railing of the promenade, arms crossed, staring directly at Alice and Mary. The other passers-by in the photograph were out of focus because they would have been moving when the picture was taken, but this man and his companion were almost as sharp as Al
ice and Mary themselves, and that was why they stood out so. Was that Jackson? A shiver ran up Rose’s spine. She wanted to shout at the women in the photograph, He’s behind you! But they were separated from her by more than a hundred years and besides, it was only a picture.
CHAPTER NINE
At four o’clock Rose turned onto the sea-front. She could see Dan waiting for her outside the amusement arcade. He stood slightly hunched, biting his lower lip, kicking the paving stone with the toe of his shoe, but when he caught sight of her approaching through the crowds of holiday-makers he straightened up and his face broke into a huge smile that lit up his eyes. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t show up after what happened last night, thought Rose. But we survived didn’t we? She had already started to think of the incident with the armed men as nothing more than a bit of a scrape.
“Hi there,” she said.
“Hi.” He leaned forwards and gave her a peck on the cheek. It was friendly, nothing more.
“So what’s happening?” asked Rose.
“How’s the ankle?”
“Much better thanks. It wasn’t a bad sprain.”
“Good.” He looked relieved. “In that case, can we go for a walk?”
“Sure.” She’d spent most of the day lying on her bed deciphering Victorian letters so she could do with some exercise. Andrea had received a call from work and had shut herself away in her bedroom to deal with it and her grandmother had gone for a lie down in the afternoon saying she felt tired. That wasn’t surprising: it must be exhausting having Andrea around all the time.
Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1) Page 9
