The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child (24 page)

"To look round town?"

"Don't know."

Jennet thought it best to let her resume her bashful, mouse-like shopping. "I'll see if I can find her then," she said moving towards the entrance.

Furtively, the woman shambled over to the window as the girl disappeared down the street and a secretive, coy smile appeared on her freckle-covered face.

When she had scoured the whole of the East Cliff and satisfied herself that her new friend was nowhere to be found, Jennet crossed the swing bridge and searched along the quayside.

Midday approached relentlessly and having roamed the steep lanes from Baxtergate to Pannett Park without seeing any sign of Pear, the girl began to make her way home.

Meandering through the oddly-named Khyber Pass she emerged by the bandstand and rambled along the Pier Road. A colourful multitude of tourists were enjoying the sun, tucking into doughnuts and ice-creams and feeding the slot-machines in the buzzing amusement arcades. Idly, Jennet continued to peer around her as she headed homeward but it was no use.

And then, when she was wandering down Marine Parade, she saw a strikingly tall woman whose cream and golden hair blazed in the noonday sun as she sauntered through the countless, goggling men.

Pear's mother wore a scarlet kaftan embroidered with dandelion-yellow silks. She walked with an accomplished swing of the hips and her head tossed from side to side laughing at the silly faces that turned to feast their eyes on her.

"Hey, Jennet!" Meta hailed waving a hand and jangling her many bracelets.

The girl hurried towards her and as the crowds parted, she stopped and stared at the animal that padded by the woman's side.

Restrained upon the tightest of leads, Meta had by her a magnificent jet-black dog with a panting pink tongue and round brown eyes that rolled in their sockets as Jennet came forward. The beast's shaggy tail wagged immediately and it pulled on the leash, rearing on to its hind legs whilst pawing at the air with the others.

Jennet took a step back warily.

"Down Seff!" Meta commanded, yanking on the leash until the dog yelped and slammed its head against her leg. "Don't worry," she told the girl, "Seffy won't bite—just needs to be taught obedience."

"May I stroke her?" Jennet asked.

"Of course. Seffy's a soppy thing—a bit too much so, in my opinion."

Jennet knelt down and scratched the animal behind the ears. The tail thrashed madly and it pushed its snout forward to lick her face despite the collar which cut into the muscles of its throat.

"Poor thing," Jennet cried, "the collar's too tight!"

Meta gave a tug on the lead that dragged the dog from Jennet's hands and smacked it smartly across the glistening nose. "The brute needs to learn," she said. "It must be trained properly."

Jennet flinched at her treatment of the animal but she bit her tongue and groped for something else to say. "I didn't see it at the van yesterday," she eventually uttered.

"Oh, Seffy isn't ours," Meta grinned. "Oh no—she belongs to a friend here. Unfortunately he is unable to give her the exercise she really requires, so whenever possible I do what I can. But you're right, she is a fine specimen and with such an impressive pedigree that it would astonish you."

Jennet's eyebrows twitched uneasily as an uncomfortable doubt tingled and nagged at the back of her mind. No, whatever it was she could not recall it.

"Do you know where Pear is?" she asked.

Meta tossed back her head and stared across at the East Cliff. "Isn't she over there?" she declared. "I thought she went out with Liz and Caroline this morning to do some shopping."

"I've looked there, and Liz hasn't seen her—I haven't bumped into Caroline."

"Oh, she's probably in the library. Caroline loves a good book."

"But what about Pear?"

Meta shrugged. "If she's not with her then I don't know. I am certain that she will be back at the van by four o'clock this afternoon however. Is that a help?"

"Can I come round then?"

"Of course you can, honey, you'll always be welcome amongst our little group. Look, I'm just going down on to the beach to give Seffy her exercise. Do you want to join us?"

Jennet declined. She was not sure about this flamboyant woman, and though the prospect of throwing sticks for Seffy appealed to her she knew that a more pressing appointment was waiting.

"I can't," she said. "I've got a wedding to go to, but as soon as I've escaped from it I'll see you at the camper."

"'Escaped'?" Meta roared with laughter. "How very amusing! Oh yes, that's what marriage is all about—an institution to flee from. Ha ha ha! So droll!"

Jennet had no idea why the woman was laughing, but as usual the performance was too loud and too long.

I... I'll be off then," the girl muttered.

Meta calmed herself and with a flourish waved her farewell. "Till later, my pet!" she called and spun on her heel dragging the dog closely by her side.

Jennet watched them trail on to the sands but instead of letting the animal off the leash once they had left the road behind them, Meta kept it pulled on a tighter rein than ever.

"Some exercise!" Jennet observed and then her brow creased into a frown as she realised what had troubled her before.

"How come Meta knows Seffy's owner and takes her for walks? She said she'd never been to Whitby before!"

***

That afternoon the happiest woman in the entire world was Mrs Edith Adams. In the space of twenty minutes all her years of loneliness were finally dispelled and she emerged from the registry office flushed and excited—content and overjoyed for the first time in her life.

"Congratulations, the pair of you!" Miss Boston chuckled leaning on only the one walking stick.

With her arm linked in that of her husband, Edith waggled her hand and let the ring sparkle on her finger. "I can't believe it!" she squealed. "Oh Conway!"

The doctor gave his wife a gentle squeeze and kissed her on the cheek.

"Jubilation!" gushed Sister Frances as she stomped gawkily up to them. "Simply top class ceremony, who would have thought it? You two really are an inspiring lesson to us all."

The new Mrs Adams was not sure how to take this. "I beg your pardon?" she twittered.

"I mean to say," the nun gabbled on, "if people of your senior years can tie the knot then it gives hope to everyone—doesn't it, Miss B?"

Both Edith and Miss Boston looked away from the tactless and absurd nun.

"Come now, Frances," a small woman with tiny black button eyes broke in with an apologetic cough. Peeking over the rims of her spectacles she gave her charge a belligerent look and led her out of harm's way.

"Oh Mother Superior," Frances suggested, "can we pop in to the bunfight? I do so love a party!"

"You most certainly cannot!" was the indignant reply. "Have you forgotten the last party you gatecrashed? I refuse to let you anywhere near the place!"

Sister Frances grumbled under her breath and buried her chin into her chest sulkily. "Rotten old killjoy," she murmured.

Clutching her bouquet, Edith peered round for the children and squeaked for them to stop hiding and have their photograph taken.

Without saying a word, Ben left his hiding place behind a plump woman in a navy blue dress and stepped forward.

The boy had said nothing of his horrific experience the night before. It had all been so eerie and bizarre that he had difficulty believing it himself and tried not to bring the memory of Miriam Gower's drowning screams to the forefront of his mind.

At that moment, however, his cheeks were rosy and pink, having been pinched and tweaked by all the cotton-gloved and behatted ladies who had flocked to the wedding. Cooing and pecking at him they shrilly pronounced that he was "as cute as can be" and ruffled his hair after planting their dry, beaky lips upon his shrinking forehead.

The lamentable outfit which elicited these unwanted attentions consisted of a frilly white shirt, silver-buckled shoes and, worst of all, a kilt that was too short. Glassy-eyed and not daring to look too closely at the amused crowd which had gathered before the steps of the registry office, he assumed a fixed expression for the photographer and wished the ground would open up.

Jennet was having similar difficulties. Not only had Edith made her wear the most hideous dress ever to be rejected from a doll factory, the ghastly woman had also compelled her to tie a massive pink ribbon in her hair.

Aunt Alice looked at them both and shook her woolly head at what her friend had done to them. "Perhaps I should have interceded," she chortled. "Oh well, it's too late now."

The confetti rained down like pastel-coloured snow and with a mad impulse to conform to old traditions, Mrs Adams swung her arms and flung the bouquet over her shoulder.

"Great heavens!" a startled and delighted voice cried. "How simply spiffing! Look, everyone!"

Blushing a deep crimson, the Mother Superior gazed to heaven for divine strength as Sister Frances twirled the bouquet above her head in gleeful triumph.

When the hired car departed to take the newlyweds to the reception, Jennet unravelled the ribbon from her hair and walked over to Aunt Alice.

"Quite unnecessary!" the old lady commented, watching the car turn the corner. "The place is only two hundred yards from here!"

Jennet nibbled her lip nervously. "I don't feel very well," she lied, holding her stomach.

"You poor dear," Aunt Alice cried, putting her arm about her. "Probably nerves, added to the fact you haven't eaten much today. No doubt you'll feel much better with a bridge roll and some tinned salmon inside you."

"I couldn't," the girl refused. "I really would like to just go home and lie down."

"But the reception!"

"I know. I'm sorry, apologise for me."

Miss Boston gazed intently at her and the girl averted her eyes. "Would you like me to accompany you?" she asked kindly. "I never did care for fruit-cake, and cheap champagne always gives me wind."

"No you must go!" Jennet cried. "I mean, she's one of your oldest friends—how would it look?"

"Yes!" Ben piped up behind them. "I don't want to miss the food!"

"Very well," Aunt Alice consented, "if you're sure you'll be all right, Jennet dear?"

"'Course I will."

"Come then, Benjamin, would you care to escort this old spinster to the function that awaits us?"

Jennet lingered until they had departed, the old lady barely leaning on the walking stick and her brother holding her free hand—his silver buckles winking as he walked.

When they were out of sight, Jennet checked her watch and hurried off in the opposite direction.

Straight up the one hundred and ninety-nine steps she hurried, the voluminous folds of her pink satin dress tangling around her knees and tripping her up many times before she reached the summit.

Pear was sitting on a stool outside the camper van when the girl came rushing from the cemetery. The spectacle of this bright, fluttering apparition brought her leaping to her feet and doubling in two with laughter.

"Which Christmas tree did you fall off?" she wept. "Have you seen yourself?"

"Don't be horrible," Jennet blurted, leaning against the van. "I'm supposed to be a bridesmaid."

"Who got married, Mr and Mrs Candyfloss?"

The girls giggled and Jennet threw herself upon the grass. "With any luck the foul frock’ll turn green," she sighed. "I looked for you this morning."

Pear tore a clump of weeds from the soil. "I know," she muttered, "Meta told me."

"Where did you get to?"

"Oh... just around."

"Well, I couldn't find you."

"Hey!" Pear cried. "I bought you a present."

"A present? For me? What is it?"

The girl foraged inside the van and brought out a small brown paper parcel.

Jennet took it and gave her a puzzled look. "Smells like old Hot Cross Buns," she said, "and it's all crumbly."

"It's Henna."

"What's that for?"

Pear flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm going to colour your hair."

Jennet put the packet on the ground. "Oh, I don't know..." she demurred.

"Don't be boring," the other insisted. "You were only saying yesterday how you wanted to change your life—this is a beginning. The power of change is within us all but only the truly free know how and dare to use it."

"Yes, but to dye my hair..."

"Don't worry, it'll wash out."

And so the two spent a hilariously messy afternoon. First they mixed the henna powder into a thick paste and daubed it over Jennet's hair, massaging it well into her scalp. But much of the gritty stuff went astray as they larked about and flicked it at one another and it was not long before the pink satin dress was speckled and stained a ruddy brown.

When the other members of the folk band returned, they found Jennet with her clogged hair plastered flat against her scalp and hanging in dripping hanks about her shoulders like seaweed.

All of the women were pleased to see her and Meta teasingly remarked that Jennet was like a caterpillar in a cocoon and she was impatient to see the butterfly that would emerge.