Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1)

by Margarita Morris

  “I have a pretty good video camera on my phone,” said Dan, pulling his mobile from his pocket. “Come on, let’s see if we can get inside.”

  The main door was locked with heavy rusting chains and a padlock. They explored the far side of the building, finding a smaller door that looked like a tradesman’s entrance. Dan tried the handle. The door rattled in its frame but refused to open. The house doesn’t want us to enter, thought Rose, secretly relieved.

  They continued round the back of the building. They were barely a couple of metres from the edge of the cliff now. Below them the waves crashed against the cliff-face, eroding it particle by particle. How soon before it collapses completely? Rose wondered. She stayed close to the house, wanting to feel its solidity.

  “This looks more like it,” said Dan. He was standing in front of a window boarded up with a rain-damaged piece of old hardboard. There were no iron bars. Rose’s heart sank. Dan thumped the edges of the board and it fell away from the window frame in a cloud of dust.

  “That wasn’t secured very well,” he laughed. “You go first. I’ll give you a leg up.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Nope. We came here to check this place out and that’s what we’re going to do.” He interlaced his fingers and held out his hands. Not quite believing she was doing this, Rose stepped onto his hands and hoisted herself up onto the window ledge.

  “Watch out for broken glass,” said Dan.

  There was no glass in the window frame but broken shards on the floor inside glinted amongst bits of plaster and a scattering of dried leaves. Rose crouched on the sill, judging the distance to the floor below. No more than a metre. The board had fallen a little way to her right. If she landed on that she’d avoid the broken glass. She took a deep breath and jumped, managing to land on the corner of the board. Underneath she heard the crunch of breaking glass. She stood up and dusted herself off, wishing she’d worn trainers and not open-toed sandals. Next time she went on a date with Dan she’d wear something suitable for running and climbing, since that was what they always ended up doing.

  “You coming then?” she called. For one brief moment she wondered whether Dan was actually going to join her, or if she’d fallen into a trap. Then his lean figure appeared in the window frame and he sprung lightly onto the floor beside her.

  “Wow,” he said. “Just look at this place.”

  ~~~

  Mary gave Jackson another sharp whack just for good measure. The parasol buckled but she didn’t think Alice would mind, given the circumstances.

  “Please stop,” he cried, bringing his hands up to protect his head. He took a step back, lowered his arms and stared at her in disbelief.

  “I thought you were Miss Hawthorne,” he spluttered.

  “Yes, well, you thought wrong!” said Mary. “How dare you try to accost a lady in public!”

  “Are you all right there, Miss?” One of the fishermen from the boat that had just docked came running over and stood beside her, glowering at Jackson.

  “This brute just tried to kidnap me,” said Mary, turning to the young man. He was still wearing his oilskin trousers and had his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, tanned arms. She looked up into his face and saw a resolute, square jaw and sun-bleached blond hair.

  “How dare you assault a lady,” said the fisherman, turning on Jackson. He raised his right arm and in one well-aimed strike, landed a punch on Jackson’s nose. Jackson reeled backwards with a grunt of pain, a stream of blood spurting from his nostrils.

  “She’s no lady,” croaked Jackson. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, balled it into a fist and rammed it against his nose. “She tricked me into thinking she was one.”

  “She looks like a lady to me,” countered the fisherman. “And a very fine one too!” Mary blushed at the compliment. “Now get your ugly face out of here,” continued the fisherman, “before I put you in a boat, sail out to sea and toss you overboard!”

  Jackson didn’t need telling twice. With one last scowl at Mary he turned on his heels and fled. Mary watched his retreating back, savouring her moment of triumph.

  “Now, Miss.” The handsome young fisherman turned to Mary and inclined his head. “If you’ll permit me to take you back to my cottage, my sister will make you a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Mary. “That would be most agreeable.” She took the proffered arm and let the young man guide her across the street. As they walked she looked into the smiling face of her rescuer and remembered the words of the fortune teller. You are going to meet the man of your dreams when you are least expecting it. Maybe the fortune teller had spoken the truth after all.

  ~~~

  The room could have been a comfortable doctor’s consulting room with its alcoves, high ceiling and large fireplace. But now a dead bird lay in the grate, the plaster was peeling off the walls and a damp patch under the window was stained green with mould.

  “Careful where you walk,” said Rose, pointing to the broken glass on the floor. There was no furniture in the room to give a clue to its former use, but a wooden cabinet, like a large bathroom cabinet, hung on one wall. Curious, Rose pulled open the doors and peered inside. Rows of bare shelves stared back at her and an enormous spider darted out from the corner of the top shelf. Rose shut the cabinet doors quickly and turned around. Dan had taken his mobile out of his pocket and switched on the video camera. He was already filming her. She gave a smile and a wave. He panned slowly around the room, then beckoned Rose to follow him through the door.

  A corridor with a high, vaulted ceiling ran the length of the house. It made Rose think of a monastery. She almost expected to see the ghosts of black-clad monks, heads bowed, emerging from the walls. Like the room they had just left, the corridor was a mess of peeling paintwork and falling plaster, as if the building was gradually shedding its soul. Given enough time it would just crumble to dust. Their footsteps echoed on the tiled floor and Rose found herself walking on tiptoe to avoid making too much noise, even though there was no one to hear them.

  Dan stopped in front of a pair of double doors, the camera still held aloft in his right hand.

  “This way?” he whispered.

  Rose nodded. She pushed at one of the doors. It swung open to reveal a large hall. At one end was a small stage framed by moth-eaten red velvet curtains. In the centre of the stage stood an old upright piano. The piano lid and half the keys were missing. Had they held entertainments here? It was hard to imagine.

  They returned to the corridor, peering into each room as they went. Most were empty but occasionally they came across a metal bed frame or an abandoned hospital trolley.

  Dan kicked open a door that was ajar and stopped in his tracks.

  “What is it?” asked Rose, trying to see over his shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” said Dan, walking over to the room’s single object. In the middle of the floor was a free-standing wooden cabinet about the size of a large chest-of-drawers. It had glass panels and inside was a metal wheel attached to a handle on the outside of the cabinet. Protruding from the front of the cabinet were two rods, about a foot apart, each with a brass sphere attached to the end.

  Dan tried turning the handle and the wheel inside started to rotate. “It looks like a machine for generating static electricity. But what’s it doing here?”

  “They used machines like that on patients,” said Rose, remembering the TV programme.

  Dan stopped turning the handle immediately and took a step back. “Let’s move on,” he said, leaving the room. “I’ve still got no idea why Dad would come here for a meeting with Max. There doesn’t seem to be anything here, except that torture chamber.” He indicated the room they had just left with a nod of his head.

  They were now at the foot of a staircase with an ornate metal balustrade. Rose peered up the stairwell, following the zigzag of the stairs up to the top floor. Dan was already starting to climb so with more and more misgivings
in her heart, Rose followed him.

  A room on the first floor that must have once been a dormitory contained dozens of metal beds minus their mattresses. Further along the corridor was a tiled bathroom with a line of chipped and stained sinks, a row of toilets separated from each other by low screens, and three claw-footed bath tubs. So much for privacy, thought Rose. But in the next room they got a surprise.

  The room, which looked out onto the front of the house, had been swept and in the corner was an old mattress and a pile of folded blankets. Empty baked bean cans were stacked on the floor in a little pile beside a small gas stove. There was a plastic bowl and a spoon, the sort of thing you might take on a picnic or camping trip. A dog’s rubber bone lay on the floor, beside a box of dog biscuits. “Looks like someone’s living here,” said Rose. She stopped in the doorway, reluctant to intrude on the person’s private space. Despite the humbleness of the objects, the blankets had been folded with care and for the first time she really felt that they were trespassing.

  “And I think they’re coming back,” said Dan. “Listen.” From somewhere in the bowels of the building a dog barked, the sharp sound reverberating around the empty house. “Come on,” said Dan, pulling Rose down the corridor. “Time to be going.”

  ~~~

  Jackson fumed with rage as he stumbled back to the Grand Hotel. The women had played a dirty trick on him, a mean sleight of hand worthy of the lowest of fairground charlatans. It was like one of those ridiculous operettas where two gentlemen changed hats and everyone mistook them one for the other. The women must have been onto him and had played him for a fool. How humiliating!

  In his defence, he had only glimpsed them from behind and they were remarkably similar in height and stature. No one could blame him for following the woman in white. Alice always wore white. Only a numbskull would have followed the woman in black. And yet, they had deceived him and he was now at risk of losing them and of incurring Henry’s wrath. If that happened then his plans to buy a shop and marry Kitty would all come to nothing. In fact, Henry was likely to make sure Jackson never worked again.

  As for Mary! Some lady indeed. The real Alice would never have hit him over the head with her parasol. And where was she anyway? Probably making plans to run away with that dandy fop of a painter. His only hope was to run as fast as he could back to the Grand Hotel and pray that he hadn’t missed her. Returning to London without her was unthinkable; Henry would have his guts for garters.

  Jackson arrived at the hotel red-faced and out of breath. Blood from his nose had sprayed across his white shirt and there was a dent in his hat from where Mary had hit him with the parasol. He tried to cover the blood stains with the lapels of his coat, and did his best to punch his hat back into shape. Then he entered the hotel, went straight to the front desk and demanded to be shown to the room of Miss Alice Hawthorne.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the clerk, barely bothering to look up, “but she checked out this morning.”

  “She can’t have!” shouted Jackson, leaning across the counter. The lapels on his coat fell open and the clerk recoiled at the sight of the blood on Jackson’s shirt. Reaching for the hand bell that hotel guests used to attract attention when there was nobody on the desk, the clerk rang it with all his might. At once two uniformed porters appeared. Jackson reached for the knife inside his breast pocket, but the men were too quick for him. They grabbed hold of his upper arms, and forcefully marched him outside, making it quite clear that riff-raff like him were not welcome in the genteel environs of the hotel.

  “You don’t understand,” called Jackson as the two men turned and walked back into the hotel. “I…Damn and blast!” He kicked at a passing pigeon with the toe of his boot, sending the bird into a flurry of flapping feathers. Jackson had had enough. He dusted himself off, straightened his hat and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, which wasn’t very much at all.

  From the window of the hotel lounge Mrs Goodly watched Jackson’s retreating figure, sipped her tea and smiled to herself. It was terribly thrilling to be part of a conspiracy. Alice’s luggage was safely stored in Mrs Goodly’s room and Mrs Goodly had promised to send it on in due course when Alice and Mr Hartright were safely out of Scarborough. It was all so romantic. Mrs Goodly had always fancied herself as a woman of letters and this, she thought, would make a terrific plot for a novel.

  ~~~

  Rose’s mind flashed back to the dog at the fair, the one that had almost savaged her; the one that had had its brains blown out by a bullet. The barking they could hear now was nothing like as aggressive, but Rose still had no desire to meet this new dog and its owner. Whoever was sleeping rough here, they might not take kindly to her and Dan snooping around.

  They ran back to the main staircase and peered over the banister.

  “There’s no one coming up yet,” said Dan. “We’ll be all right if we hurry.”

  “Maybe there’s another way down,” said Rose. But Dan was already leaping down the stairs two at a time. Rose was determined not to be left behind a second time, especially not with another dog on the loose. Holding onto the banister she ran down the stairs, jumping the last half dozen steps in an effort to keep up with Dan.

  The barking was coming from the side of the house that they had not yet explored. A door banged shut and the barking intensified. They hurried along the corridor, heedless of the sound of their footsteps, and back to the room where they had entered the building. Dan interlaced his fingers and held out his hands so Rose could hoist herself onto the window sill. Then she held out a hand and pulled him up beside her. They jumped down onto the ground and ran along the back of the house towards the gap in the fence.

  This is insane, thought Rose. Why does every date with Dan have to end with us running away from someone?

  Once they reached the lane they slowed their pace.

  “We’re on a public right of way here,” said Dan. “No one can challenge us now.”

  “So were we trespassing back there?” asked Rose. She hadn’t seen any Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted signs.

  Dan shrugged and Rose decided to let it go. What did it matter? They’d got out safely enough. At least they hadn’t encountered any armed men so Rose supposed they could count the evening a success. But had they learnt anything useful? Not that she could tell.

  ~~~

  When she was sure that she wasn’t being followed, Alice slowed her pace. She didn’t want to arrive at the church hot and out of breath. George had suggested they meet there since it was close to his lodgings and, as the site of their first meeting, it seemed like an appropriately romantic spot from which to embark on their new lives. He had warned her that she must not return to the hotel under any circumstances because as soon as Jackson realised he’d been tricked, he would go there first.

  Alice paused for a moment in the graveyard and looked out across the sea. George had said he would take her abroad. They would go to Italy and visit Venice and Florence and Rome. He wanted to show her the masterpieces of Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo. They would go to St Mark’s in Venice and the Coliseum in Rome. They would be free spirits, going where the wind chose to take them. Her heart swelled with joy at the prospect of so much freedom. And to live a life like that with a man she loved. It was more than she could ever have hoped for.

  She turned and walked towards the church. The oak door was heavy and creaked on its hinges, as if the building did not want to admit her to its sanctuary. She pushed it open just far enough to allow her to slip inside. The door banged shut behind her.

  The church smelled of old paper, tallow candles and dust. She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloominess of the interior after the bright light outside. Once her vision had settled, she took a few tentative steps down the aisle, resting her hand as she went on the backs of the oak pews, needing to feel their solidity. Stone pillars blocked her view of the side aisles, giving her an uneasy feeling in case someone should be hiding behind them. Don’t be s
illy, she told herself. But the echo of her own feet on the stone floor caused her to spin around, scared that Jackson had followed her after all. A starling flew out of the rafters, startling her, then disappeared again into the roof space.

  She sank down onto the nearest pew and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, telling herself that so far everything had gone according to plan. Swapping clothes had been Mary’s idea. Alice had protested at first, knowing that Jackson would follow Mary, and not wanting to put her maid - her friend - in danger. But Mary had been insistent, even viewing it as a game. Dear Mary. Alice wondered where she was now and hoped she had escaped Jackson’s clutches.

  Sitting there in Mary’s plain black dress, Alice couldn’t help but think how much simpler life was for girls like Mary. Not that it was an easy life, being a maid, but Mary was free to fall in love with and marry whoever she liked, whereas Alice’s proposed marriage to Henry had been a foregone conclusion ever since she was fifteen. The fact that he was twenty years her senior did not matter to her father who viewed the match as highly desirable and couldn’t understand why his daughter wouldn’t want to devote herself to a man who came from a family with a long, noble heritage. But she had come to Scarborough and fortune had smiled on her, had given her the courage to take her fate in her own hands for the first time in her life. It was a truly liberating experience.

  The church door opened and banged shut. Alice heard the rap of footsteps on the stone floor, a man’s step, sure and solid. Alice jumped to her feet and stepped out into the aisle. “George, is that you?” Her voice sounded small and childlike in the large stone building. A man appeared from behind a pillar, striding into the central aisle. Alice froze. It wasn’t George.