Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1)

by Margarita Morris

  “Where are we going?” asked Rose. “Anywhere in particular?” When he suggested a walk, Rose hoped it would be a gentle stroll along the beach but Dan set off at a brisk pace towards the headland and Rose had to work hard to keep up with his longer stride.

  “There’s this place I want to check out,” said Dan. “It’s an abandoned Victorian lunatic asylum.”

  “A lunatic asylum? You sure know how to give a girl a good time.”

  He stopped. “Sorry. We don’t have to go there if you don’t want to.”

  She could see the disappointment in his face. “No, I don’t mind, really. But why there of all places?” They started walking again.

  Dan hesitated for a moment then said, “I cycled there this morning because Dad had gone there for a meeting with Max. But by the time I got up the hill, they’d already left. I saw Dad’s Ferrari coming back down and Max’s Jaguar was shooting off in the opposite direction.”

  “Max? As in gangster-boss-have-a-gun Max?”

  “Yeah, him.”

  Rose stopped and took hold of Dan’s arm. “And he hangs out in an abandoned asylum when he’s not in his luxury camper van or on his yacht? What kind of madman are we dealing with here?”

  “I don’t know why he would want to use the asylum,” admitted Dan. “The place is falling down actually. The council have condemned the building. They’re going to demolish it.”

  “And what about his two cronies? The ones with the guns, remember?”

  Dan shuffled his feet. “I promise you we’ll turn around immediately if there’s any sign of anyone at the asylum.”

  Rose looked into his face. Could she rely on him? She barely knew him, and yet she felt so comfortable with him. She didn’t want to become like her mother, always worrying about things. “OK,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  They crossed over the headland and followed the road that ran along the North Bay, Scarborough’s quieter, less commercial beach. The road descended towards Peasholm, an Edwardian park with a lake that Rose had vague memories of having visited as a child, and then climbed steeply as it headed north out of the town. They passed a sign for the Sea Life Sanctuary, then the houses thinned and petered out, giving way to open fields. The footpath narrowed to a single track beside the road on which cars shot past at increasingly hazardous speeds. Rose fell into step behind Dan, not wishing to risk life and limb a second time. Or should that be a third time?

  “It’s down here,” said Dan suddenly, turning off the main road onto a lane that led towards the coast. The lane was little more than a dirt track, rough and stony. Stinging nettles growing along the edge had been recently flattened by car wheels. They turned a corner and Rose saw a large Victorian house, more of a mansion, built out of age-blackened stone. The land around the house was cordoned off with a chain-link fence. A sign attached to the fence read, Danger! Demolition in progress. Do not enter.

  Lonely and unloved, the house still retained something of its former architectural splendour. With a gabled roof and circular turrets on each of the four corners, it could have been turned into a luxury hotel if it hadn’t been left to decay. A flight of stone steps led up to an arched doorway above which hung a clock with the hands stopped at twenty to nine. A number of slates were missing from the steeply sloping roof. Most of the windows were broken and ivy was climbing up the walls as if trying to reclaim the house for nature.

  “Welcome to Highcliff House,” said Dan.

  “I know it’s a bit dilapidated,” said Rose, “but couldn’t it be restored? Why does it have to be demolished?”

  “The house itself is OK I guess. But the land on the side facing the sea has been eroding for years. Eventually the whole place will fall into the water. That’s why they’re going to knock it down.”

  Hard to imagine such a solid building tumbling into the sea, thought Rose. But then it was even harder to imagine the land under one’s feet just falling away.

  “Why would your dad come here to meet Max?” Rose avoided asking the bigger question which was, why is your dad mixed up with a guy like Max in the first place?

  “I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping to find out.”

  “So why don’t you just ask him? Your dad I mean.”

  Dan grunted. “Last time I mentioned the name of Max to him he went into a rage and nearly ran you over, remember?” He started to walk around the perimeter of the fence.

  “Yeah, I remember.” Every time she saw a red car now it reminded her of the Ferrari zooming towards her.

  She followed Dan around the side of the fence. Now she could see just how close the building was to the edge of the cliff, only a couple of metres, less in some places. The drop down to the sea was a sheer one. No one would have built such a large house this close to the edge, so the cliff must be disappearing at quite a rate.

  “Look.” Dan pointed to a gap in the fence big enough for a vehicle to drive through. “Security’s not up to much is it? We can go in this way.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Well…” Falling masonry, aggressive squatters, those guys with guns, thought Rose, but Dan was already walking through the gap in the fence towards the house. Rose pushed her fears to the back of her mind and followed him.

  ~~~

  Jackson had long dreamed of setting up his own business. He fancied a shop in London, selling luxury items such as imported tea or silks to wealthy customers. Two years working for Henry Blackwood had taught him that rich people were often fools when it came to money, spending it like it was going out of fashion. Jackson reckoned he could make a tidy profit by catering to the Henry Blackwoods of this world.

  He’d been putting aside money for years and almost had enough to buy a small corner property in one of London’s better streets. With the money Henry had promised him for fulfilling this assignment in Scarborough, Jackson would have enough to resign his position as Henry’s valet and general dogsbody and go it alone. Well, not entirely alone. He hadn’t known Kitty for long but he’d known her long enough to know that she was the woman for him. Smart, funny and a looker to boot, she’d make a perfect wife and mistress of a boutique. She’d confided in him that she was tired of performing on the Scarborough stage; said she was getting too old to be singing about boys in the gallery. Jackson had taken the hint. She’d told him that she’d never been to London. Well, he would change all that for her. It wasn’t so much that he would make an honest woman of her, more that she would make an honest man of him. It was time to put his dark ways behind him before he ended up in prison or worse.

  But there was still this business with Alice to see to. He needed the money from this job if his plans with Kitty were going to come to fruition. He leaned over the railing of the promenade and watched the bathing machines making their way down to the sea. He was alone this afternoon whilst Kitty rehearsed for tonight’s show. That was just as well given what he was about to do. At breakfast he had received a letter from Henry. Henry was angry about how much time Alice was spending in the company of the painter. Jackson knew from experience that when Henry was really cross about something, he often took matters into his own hands. And if that happened, the consequences for Jackson would be much worse than not just being paid. Henry had the power to ruin any man he chose. His last valet had been reduced to begging in the streets. Jackson feared that he knew too much about Henry’s debauched lifestyle for Henry to let him walk away on bad terms. The only way to escape from Henry’s employment without dire consequences was for Jackson to apprehend Alice and deliver her back to her future husband without delay.

  By now the bathing machines had reached the water’s edge. Alice and Mary were in the third machine on the right. Jackson was keeping a close eye on that one, determined not to muddle it up with any of the others. He wished he could have nabbed Alice before they’d gone to bathe, but he’d missed them by seconds and now there was nothing to do but wait for them to retur
n. He couldn’t very well fish her out of the sea - it was too public. He’d let them have one last dip and then he’d grab hold of Alice when she returned to the promenade. Mary would follow wherever her mistress went so he had no concerns about her.

  Half an hour later the bathing machine was on its way back up the beach. Jackson sauntered towards the hire place, doing his best to maintain a low profile. No point drawing attention to himself. He didn’t want there to be any trouble, but at the same time he reached into his inside pocket and felt for the handle of his knife. It was reassuringly solid. He’d never used it on a woman and didn’t intend to hurt Alice, but he had to make her see that he meant business. He needed her to fear him.

  He hung back a short distance because there were too many people milling around for him to grab hold of Alice right here. He’d have to wait until she was away from the crowds. The boy leading the horse opened the door of the bathing machine and Alice and Mary stepped down.

  They had changed out of their bathing costumes, back into their normal clothes, Alice in her white dress and Mary in black. They had their backs to him, but he knew it was them. From days of following them around, he recognised their clothes instantly. Alice wore a wide-brimmed hat and a white lace parasol hung from her right forearm. Mary wore a black bonnet over her hair that shielded the side of her face.

  Jackson kept his distance as the two women made their way along the promenade. There were still too many people around and also that damn photographer was photographing people willing to pose long enough. Jackson didn’t want his actions captured on film for all to see. Alice and Mary walked close together, their heads bowed in conversation. Then suddenly they stopped, clasped hands, exchanged a few words, and went their separate ways. Mary headed up the hill towards St Mary’s church and Alice set off in the direction of the harbour.

  All the better if Mary’s out of the way, thought Jackson. Alice will be easier to handle on her own. She’s probably going to meet that painter.

  With his prey in sight, Jackson set off in pursuit of Alice.

  ~~~

  Ryan waited until half past four, when he was sure that Dan would have left the amusement arcade, then he pulled up on the pavement, leapt out of the Ferrari and went inside. Dave, who did the evening shift, was in the booth, busy handing out prizes to a family who had got lucky on the machines. The little girl couldn’t make up her mind between the beaded bracelets and a fluffy rabbit which meant that Dave was distracted and barely noticed Ryan. That’s good, thought Ryan. The less attention I get the better.

  Ryan let himself into the booth and retrieved the cardboard box from under the counter. The little girl decided at that point to go for one of the fluffy rabbits and Dave turned to fetch the one she wanted from the shelf at the back. Ryan slipped out of the booth, making sure the door shut locked behind him, and carried the box outside to the waiting Ferrari.

  As usual, an appreciative crowd of holiday-makers had gathered to admire the sleek lines of the bodywork, the enormous tyres and the plush interior. If there was one day he could have done without an audience it was today and for the first time in his life Ryan wished he didn’t own such a conspicuous car.

  It had always been a dream of his to own a real sports car and he’d bought this beauty a few years back, when times had been good, from a dealership in York. Years ago the arcade had been making a ton of money, but things had taken a turn for the worse in the global economic downturn and now look where he’d ended up: clandestine meetings with a self-styled mafia boss and boxes to smuggle around the country in return for what? A pittance of a loan with exorbitant interest rates just to prop up his failing business and pay for his wife’s expensive taste in home design. He should really sell the car but in Ryan’s eyes that would be admitting defeat. The car reminded him of better times and gave him hope that one day he’d hit life’s jackpot again.

  Ryan dumped the box on the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s side, vowing to himself this was the last time he would do a job for Max. When Max lent money he expected more than just interest payments in return. He demanded favours, like delivering these boxes to his “clients” as he called them and if you refused to do the jobs he asked of you, things could get very ugly very quickly. One arcade owner on the sea-front had had his premises burnt down in an arson attack the previous year. Ryan had no doubt that Max was behind it.

  Well, Max could threaten him all he liked, but Ryan wanted out. Sooner or later they were going to get into serious trouble and Ryan needed to think about Dan and Fiona. He didn’t like it when Dan asked questions about Max because he didn’t want to drag Dan into this bloody mess. He glanced at the box, but the packaging gave nothing away. He started the engine and the car responded with a satisfying, deep-throated roar. Ryan smiled in spite of himself and pulled away from the curb. A little boy with ice cream plastered all over his face waved him off.

  He drove carefully along the sea-front, heading north. He was anxious to get going, but today of all days he couldn’t risk an accident or being pulled over for speeding. It had never happened before but there was always a first time. He cursed under his breath at tourists who stepped off the pavement without looking where they were going and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel at every red light. He was rounding the headland when the sound of a siren and the flash of blue lights in his rear-view mirror caused him to break out into a cold sweat. The police. Ryan gripped the steering wheel tighter, his mind in a whirl of panic. Behind him, cars were pulling over to let the police car through. It bore down on him and his heart rate went through the roof. This was it. He was done for. Might as well get out of the car with his hands in the air. He slowed and pulled over to the side, waiting for the police car to swerve in front of him. His luck had finally run out.

  But then the white and blue car with the flashing light on its roof zoomed straight past and disappeared round the corner. For a moment Ryan expected to hear the screech of tyres and the smell of burning rubber as they executed a sharp U-turn, but, after a few seconds when the police car didn’t return, it slowly sunk in that they hadn’t been chasing him after all.

  Shit, he thought as he let his head fall forwards onto the steering wheel. The police car had really freaked him out. He was obviously more anxious than he’d realised. The sooner he reached his destination and delivered this box the better. Only then would he be able to relax.

  Ryan restarted the engine and drove off. As soon as he was out of the built-up area and on the country roads he hit the accelerator pedal and the car sprung forward like a caged tiger let loose.

  ~~~

  The reek of fish was overpowering. Jackson breathed through his mouth so as not to inhale the rotting stench that emanated from the stacked lobster baskets and piles of old nets. A boat had just docked in the harbour and burly fishermen were hauling crates of silvery fish onto the jetty, some of the creatures still twitching. The smell of a fresh catch had attracted every seagull for miles around and the air was swarming with screeching, pooping birds. The fish fixed him with their half-dead eyes, silent witnesses to the action he was about to commit.

  Jackson turned away in disgust and focused on Alice, who was only a short distance ahead of him now. He could see the white bow on the back of her dress and the lace that edged the bottom of her skirt; the brim of her hat fluttered in the breeze; her parasol hung from her right wrist, swinging by her side as she walked. She must be going to a rendez-vous with that painter and her brazenness surprised even him, who was no stranger to independently-minded women. It was strange too that her maid had left her and gone off elsewhere, but that would make what he was about to do only easier. For once it seemed that luck was on his side.

  Alice walked by the crates of fish and started making her way towards the lighthouse at the far end of the jetty. It was time to make his move.

  He sidled up to her and grabbed her firmly by the upper arm.

  “Miss Hawthorne,” he said. “Please don’t
make a scene…”

  The woman spun around and he saw her face. It was the maid. Mary screamed at the top of her voice, a sound so piercing it frightened even the noisiest of the seagulls, and hit him over the head with the parasol.

  ~~~

  The asylum may once have been surrounded by a beautiful garden. Rose could make out pathways and the occasional hardy clump of lavender or a rose bush gone wild. But now weeds were choking the paths, the grass had grown long, and brambles had invaded the flower beds. She stepped around a patch of scorched earth littered with broken beer bottles, cigarette stubs and a discarded syringe.

  They walked around to the front of the building. The blackened stone façade loomed over them, sucking the heat out of the day. Vertical iron bars covered the ground floor windows, presumably to keep patients from escaping rather than to keep intruders out. The upper storey windows were too high for any sane person to consider using them as a means of escape.

  A chill ran up Rose’s spine. Imagine being put away here. She’d seen a TV programme once about Victorian asylums, how they were regarded as a huge step forward in the treatment of mental illness, but also how regimented and institutional they were. Many of them survived well into the twentieth century. And how many people were put here under false pretences? What dark secrets were buried inside the walls of this building? How many lives had been blighted by its harsh regime and the experimentation of doctors who treated patients like human guinea-pigs?

  “Hey, this is like one of those YouTube videos about urban exploration.” Dan’s voice jolted Rose back to the present.

  “Except we didn’t bring a flashlight,” said Rose. “Those people always have backpacks with survival equipment in them and they carry professional-looking SLR cameras.” She’d seen videos of people exploring abandoned warehouses, factories and asylums. The explorers always crept around as quietly as possible as if expecting to encounter the former inhabitants. And the buildings themselves always exuded an air of sadness, as if the walls still held the memories of the lives of those who had lived and worked there. Buildings were never just bricks and mortar. They were repositories of human lives, hopes and dreams. “Are you going to record this?” she asked.