by Paul Magrs
I bite my lip and hope fervently that Jack really will be on our side. I couldn’t stand it if we were betrayed by him and we got put through further horrible rigmarole.
He answers the door in his pyjamas. They look a bit stained and wrinkled to me, but that doesn’t seem to bother Delilah, who wriggles in his grasp, barking at us early callers. She stops a bit when she sees it’s only me, whom she knows, and who fed her a bit of sausage last time we met. But then Delilah sees Panda and she’s off again.
‘I’m not very fond of dogs,’ Panda grumbles. ‘Hide me under your nightdress, Brenda!’
I don’t even time or energy to think how weird that is. I simply do it, and that’s how Panda spends the next little while, hidden away inside my sacrificial costume. And that’s how he doesn’t get to meet the visitor that old Jack already has in his parlour.
Yes, he has already had one caller this morning. At this very early hour he has answered the door already to a visitor who wanted a cup of tea and a little nap. When we are shown into that over-cluttered parlour it comes as quite a shock to see her there. She’s had a chance to clean up and refresh herself. She looks rather smart and unruffled, back in her tweedy two-piece, which has somehow been returned to her after the night’s confusing misadventures.
Effie looks up at me over her cup of tea, just as she’s raising it daintily from the saucer. And I must look like a lunatic to her. I’ve scrambled through tunnels, thorns and gorse. I’ve galloped over the Moors. I dread to think what I look like.
But that shouldn’t matter, of course, to friends like us. Friends and allies who have shared so many outrageous and dangerous adventures together. She should just be delighted that I am safe and alive, and that I have escaped the night’s difficulties. Just as I am over the moon to see her sitting there, so cool, so unharmed.
Old Jack is hovering awkwardly beside me. ‘The pot’s still warm,’ he says. ‘You’ll want tea, won’t you, Miss Brenda?’ I nod at him brusquely, finding that I’m still quite miffed at him for being part of Mrs Harris’ nasty ceremonials last night. He might indeed be on mine and Effie’s side in the end, but we could have done with him showing it a bit more last night. Off he goes to his kitchen and I’m left alone with Effie. Panda’s staying out of sight still, clinging to the coarse material of my plain gown. I imagined he’d have had a louder, more obvious reaction to being in the same room as Effie again. I thought he’d have leapt out for a surprise reunion.
But Panda stays put. And I don’t race across the room to hug Effie as I normally would. There is something about her. Something distant and strange. She doesn’t want gathering up and cuddling and congratulating. That much is obvious at one glance.
I stumble and stammer out questions. ‘Effie, what is it? Are you all right? How did you get out? Did you escape like we did, or did the Brontes let you go? Did they harm you? What did they tell you?’
She cuts through all of this with typical briskness. ‘Sssh. You can ask me all you like later, when we’re on the coach going back home. Mind, I don’t know if I’ll have all the answers. And yes, they simply let me go.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘That’s good. That’s just as well. We – I mean, I – had to batter my way out to escape. It’s been quite an arduous night.’ I sit down heavily on an overstuffed sofa and wonder briefly why I amended the plural to the singular just then. I did it instinctively. Knowing that Panda was keeping hidden for the moment, it’s obvious he wants Effie to know nothing about his part in all this just yet. So it’s easier simply to pretend I am alone in this adventure.
I look at Effie and there is definitely something wrong with her. She’s too calm. Too faraway. ‘What is it?’ I ask her gently.
‘I…’ she begins. And I realise, all of a sudden, that she won’t even look me in the eye. This makes me catch my breath. ‘I’m fine,’ she says, and starts fiddling with something in her shoulder bag. She’s fetching something out. A large papery book of some kind. Yellow, well-used. A scrapbook, very old. ‘They gave me this back,’ she says, flicking gently through the pages. Still not looking my way. ‘It’s the crucial pages from the Books of Mayhem.’ I catch a glimpse of handwritten spells in many-coloured inks, faded with the years. Strange drawings, fierce cross-hatching. Symbols and signs and all manner of arcane nonsense. ‘The… sisters insisted I carry this back to Whitby. There is a time of trial coming. A terrible time and we must be ready and armed. The Books of Mayhem must be whole and complete once more.’
She’s talking a bit funny. There is a flatness to her tone. As if the words were being spoken through her, somehow. As if they were speaking themselves. If old Jack is listening in, he’s keeping out of the way. He must have that tea ready by now, but it’s obvious he wants to leave us alone for a bit.
‘All right,’ I say. ‘So that’s why we had to go down there, is it? That was the whole reason for all this upheaval? Because those ghostly women wanted to return the book of spells to you?’
Effie nods. But I can see in her pale, drawn face that it can’t be the only reason. There’s something else, too. But she isn’t saying. She isn’t sharing it with me.
I carry on, as if I can force her to engage with me, to answer me and look at me, and click back into the Effie I know and love. ‘And this time of trial they were talking about… that we have to be ready for… is this what all the warnings have been about? Is this what the vampires in Paris and Whitby were going on about? And that bloody hunchback bloke and the phantom with the mouldy organ?’
She nods stiffly. ‘Yes. There are dark days coming, Brenda. And we must be prepared.’
I can feel Panda, hidden inside my nightie, squirming about in consternation. He isn’t very happy either, about the way Effie is carrying on. It’s not the Effie either of us know. He keeps his small self out of sight, and I sit there looking at her, feeling increasingly awkward.
I ask her, ‘Have I done something wrong? Is that it, Effie? Have I offended you, or your ghostly mentors? Have I? I know they didn’t think much of me…’
She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s not that, Brenda. It’s not like that. It’s… something else.’ And now she looks straight at me, for the first time this morning. There are tears standing in her eyes. ‘Please, don’t ask me what it is. Just don’t ask me to tell you. I can’t, Brenda. I simply can’t.’
We sit frozen like that for a moment or two. I don’t know what to say. But she’s my best friend and she’s asked me to ask no further questions. And so I will push her no further. I will concentrate on the moment and what we both must do next. In comes Jack with the tea tray and Delilah’s trotting after him. The old man tries to explain that he wanted to save us, he wanted to stop the mob from seizing us and tying us down last night, and how no one would listen to him. We listen to his shambling excuses now, but we don’t really care. That whole nightmare is behind us now and I feel sure that there is worse to come.
For now we are content to have this tea and then, quietly and calmly, to plan our return home. We need to fetch our things from the Guest House of Mrs Harris and find out the coach times. Surely the landlady of the ‘Villette’ won’t stand in our way? Those are our new suitcases and carry-on bags we bought fancy and new for our continental holiday. If she even tries to deny us access, or starts off with her high priestess nonsense again, we’ll deal with it. I’ll knock her silly, shrill block off.
We’re both keen to get out of this town, where everyone’s in thrall to the Brontes, and no one is going to stand in our way. Same goes for Panda, who makes a third on our expedition, though Effie isn’t to know that yet.
It’s time for us old girls to go home.
And to be ready to face this time of tribulation and terror.
Whatever the hell that means.
Four
MERMAID LINGUINI
Just a few days away from home, and there’s a great deal of post for me when I
get back. Most of it is people trying to book dates at my B&B, which is fine. It’s better than fine, it’s brilliant. I’m getting more queries than ever. I’m doing great business. But as I glance quickly through these letters, proposing dates and times, something about them makes me shiver.
There’s a phrase repeated through many of these missives.
‘Recommended to us by the Hoffmanns.’
So that’s Doctor and Doctor Hoffmann, my suspicious guests, who saw fit to ransack my home when my back was turned. Why are they recommending me to everyone? Why are all these people so keen to come to me? Checking through the post I notice lots of ‘Doctors’, lots of university addresses. But they aren’t medical doctors. It’s not my curious biology then, that’s attracting them. That would almost make sense, if they were interested in me as subject for medical scrutiny.
No, these are all philosophers and people from English Literature departments. Goodness knows what they’re wanting with me.
Anyway, I’m not one to turn away good business. But if anyone goes poking through my private things again, I’ll give them what for.
I fling down the post on the kitchen work surface and survey my attic home. My bags are dumped in the hall and everything in here is tidy at first glance. But that dust has been falling in my absence. Unholy amounts of dust. It’s as if there’s been a blizzard here while I’ve been away. This can’t be natural. I know it’s something else I will have to deal with, and not just with a cloth and a can of spray polish.
Time to get the kettle on and to flop down on the settee and to let the weariness from our recent adventure ease away.
I’m so relieved to be back in Whitby. We may be haunted, sinister and teeming with monsters here, but at least we’re upfront about it. There was something disturbingly clandestine about the way they all carried on in Haworth. The way they worshipped the spirits of those terrible girls…
I can see the Bronte sisters now. Even now as I take a moment to close my eyes and rest on the sofa. I can see them gliding about me and Effie, rolling about as if on castors. They had sharp, daggerlike teeth and they flashed them at us as they whooshed by. Emily was by far the fiercest, and she seemed to take a particular dislike to me. Her hair was falling out of its bun and was flying about crazily as the sisters went round and round.
We were lucky to get out of there alive. At least, I was. I don’t suppose Effie was in any particular danger. She was their darling and their chosen one. The Brontes wouldn’t have hurt a hair on her ancient head.
Effie’s at home now, too, of course. In her tall house of antiques and witchy memorabilia. I suppose her own ghostly aunties will be coming out of the woodwork to hear the tale of her trip to Haworth. She’ll be showing them the scrapbook of pages from the Books of Mayhem, and they’ll all be crowing in triumph at a job well done.
And I suppose it really was a job well done, in the end. We accomplished what we were meant to. If there really is a terrible time of trial and danger coming up, I gather this book of magical fragments will turn out to be helpful. The Chauffear and his Limbosine played their part in nudging Effie’s memory, and we went and did what we were supposed to do.
But I can’t help feeling a bit strange about it all. A bit nervous and worried, if I’m honest.
It doesn’t help that when I take Panda out of my overnight bag he starts kicking up a fuss about having had a dreadful journey and almost suffocating. Effie still doesn’t know that I have him with me. We’ve kept it secret just in case. So when I get him out, and while he’s looking with interest at my living room, I open my safe and attempt to put him in there for the time being. This causes a terrible scene.
‘What are you doing, woman? You can’t go locking me in there!’ He’s struggling and kicking in my arms.
‘I thought you’d be safe there. No one will go looking for you…’
‘I’m a living, sentient creature! How dare you!’
Perhaps he’s right. I’m not thinking properly at all. He deserves his liberty as much as anyone. I set him down on the bobbly green armchair and go off to unpack.
‘Quite a nice place you’ve got, anyway,’ he calls after me. ‘Bit dusty, though. Terribly dusty, in fact! I thought you’d be more house-proud, Brenda!’
I ignore this and find, when I return to the living room, he’s unearthed the dusting things and he’s set about tidying up for me.
‘Really, Panda, you don’t have to…’
He waves me away and that’s when the phone rings. It’s Effie, so I make a little gesture to tell Panda to be quiet, and not to give himself away.
‘Hello, ducky,’ says Effie. ‘Are you all settled back in?’
‘Not quite,’ I tell her. She sounds too bright and alert to me. It’s aggravating. I’m near pegging out after our bumpy, endless journey across the Moors and our sleepless night.
‘I was wondering about dinner tonight,’ says Effie. ‘I’ve got nothing in the cupboards. What about a fish supper?’
All of a sudden that sounds like an excellent idea. ‘Maybe we should ring round the others and tell them that we’re back,’ I suggest.
‘Whatever you like,’ says Effie. ‘You ring round and I’ll book a table for eight o’clock.’
She’s being much too helpful and obliging. Her tone is too sweet, as well. Maybe reconnecting with her past has done something irrevocable to her. I can’t tell yet whether the change is for the better or the worse.
‘Take me with you!’ Panda demands. He’s been listening in. ‘You can pop me in your handbag.’
‘I’m not sure that’s wise. What’s Effie going to say if she realizes you came home with me?’
He frowns. ‘We’re both agreed that she’s a bit strange at the moment? We both want to know what’s going on, don’t we? Well, then, you need my help. Take your biggest handbag and pop me inside.’
I’m starting to wish that I hadn’t even brought this stuffed toy home with me. He’s very demanding.
I phone the others, starting with Robert, who is delighted that we are back in town.
‘Nothing terrible has happened while we’ve been away, has it?’ I ask, dreading the answer. Anything could have been going on. Mr Danby, the flesh-eating mermaids, Mrs Claus…
‘It’s all been relatively quiet,’ says Robert.
I know him well enough to know that there’s something funny in his tone. Which means there’s something he isn’t telling me.
‘Come on,’ I demand. ‘Out with it.’
He gives in. ‘Oh, it’s nothing supernatural or nasty. It’s just to do with me and Gila.’
‘You haven’t dumped him!’ This is the first thing I think of. It seems the most likely thing to me. I instantly feel bad and sorry for Gila.
‘No,’ Robert whispers. ‘But… don’t tell anyone, Brenda. I’m… I suppose I’m cheating on him. Kind of. I don’t know. But, there’s someone else who’s come back on the scene. I don’t know where I’m at with it all.’
‘All right,’ I tell him, mentally rolling up my sleeves. ‘We’ll talk about it all later! See you at eight at Cod Almighty.’
§
All through dinner in our favourite fish restaurant, I’m conscious of my handbag hanging on the back of my chair. I’m convinced that it’s moving, and that it’s obvious there’s something alive inside. One of my friends will notice and there’ll be a big palaver.
Apart from that constant nagging worry, supper is quite a convivial affair. It’s so good to be with the youngsters again, and they look relieved to see Effie and I in one piece. I’ve put on a new little outfit I splashed out on for holiday, a daringly clingy dress with a ruffly orange bolero jacket that Effie says looks more like a bed jacket. In fact, we’re all rather dressed up tonight, except for Gila, who wears a ‘I HEART YORKSHIRE’ T shirt and seems very down in the dumps as he toys with his chips. Robert isn
’t paying much attention to him and there’s a definite atmosphere between those two boys.
Penny is different. I can’t put my finger on it, quite. She’s in a much softer ensemble, a rather more hippyish look than she usually has. I suppose all that Goth gear must be quite hot on summer days like these.
So here I am with all my friends around me. They are looking expectant, and I know they’ll want to know what went on in Haworth. I keep glancing at Effie to see if she wants to divulge. She looks rather queenly and sedate in a chic little dress she bought in Paris (off the market, but you’d never know). There’s a little brooch she’s wearing which bears the likeness of one of her distant female relatives. She looks like she won’t talk about our strange adventure any time soon.
Robert is, as ever, mad keen for the details. ‘Go on, Brenda. Spill.’
‘Well, quite a bit went on,’ I say evasively, getting as many whitebait on the tines of my fork as I can. ‘And really, it’s Effie’s place to recount it all. It’s her prerogative, since it’s her past we were concerned with.’
At this everyone turns to Effie and she’s looking down at her plate, shredding the crispy batter off her haddock with more force than necessary. She doesn’t take her cue.
‘Anyway,’ I go on, ‘the most important thing, from our point of view, was that we received another warning. About what is coming up. The dark times approaching. I think that us lot are going to have to prepare ourselves for a time of… how did they put it? A time of trial and tribulation.’
Three young faces are staring back at me bravely. I know that they’re trying to look more brave than they actually are. All of a sudden none of this seems very fair. These poor kids should be told everything we have faced in Haworth. If we expect them to help us, then they should be armed with as much knowledge as possible. I could get up and shake Effie, I could.
Just as I think this, she gets up on her feet and excuses herself.
