Ghostly Images (21 page)

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 the 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 15
th
September 1894

L
AURA
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.

W
ITH
D
REXEL
OUT
AND
L
OTTIE
’
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 Hood 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.

“You heartless, selfish bitch. You deserve to die like the others,” he growled. “You failed my son. Have you any idea how upset he was when you cancelled the trip with him to Falling Foss waterfall?
After all I’ve done for you...After I rescued you from the clutches of Drexel and helped get you a job and accommodation.”

“I’m sorry…if you…think—”

Frank lunged forward, grabbing her and pulling her into the shadows of a doorway. She screamed and he slammed his fist into her jaw before banging her head repeatedly against the doorframe.

The last thing Laura heard was the sound of a policeman’s whistle as she drifted into unconsciousness.

Chapter 38

Saturday 15
th
September 1894

B
EN
U
PDIKE
HAD
MADE
A
HURRIED
EXIT
from the amusement arcade cloakroom when the mob arrived and immediately began his journey, following the River Esk inland to Ruswarp. He decided it was safer to stick to the footpath alongside the river rather than risking trudging on the road.

At Ruswarp’s coal merchants, he spotted an unattended horse and seized his chance. He clambered up and got the reins. The horse jolted forward the moment he sat in the saddle.

He clung on tightly as he made his way steadily up the bank and into the woods. A sign on a wooden post said it was four miles to Littlebeck. The horse was making brisk strides, giving rise to his hope that he would find sanctuary in the vast open spaces of the North Yorkshire moors.

The ground in the woods became uneven, and he struggled to remain in the saddle. The horse stumbled and fell. Ben hit the ground with a thud and rolled over several times. The horse cried out in pain as its body lay in the mud. Ben lifted his head and saw the horse slowly clamber to its feet. The animal looked at him, turned, and galloped away.

Dazed, Ben got to his feet. He’d received a cut nose and a few bruises from the impact. He rubbed his hands against his knee and his hip to ease the pain and groaned but was thankful to have no broken bones.