The Whitby Witches Trilogy Read online

  ‘That’s an ammonite, Benjamin; there are lots of them round here.’

  Miss Boston removed her hat before the mirror in the hall. ‘Sounds like you two have been busy,’ she said. ‘You and Jennet must be ravenous. Oh,’ and she paused in the kitchen doorway, ‘hello, Tilly. What can I do for you? I’ve just been over to Pru’s, looking for that wretched book she cannot find—said she’d seen you yesterday. Everything well?’

  ‘It’s Eurydice!’ Miss Droon burst out.

  ‘Again!’ whistled Aunt Alice. ‘How many this time?’

  ‘No, she’s gone off and they’re due any minute.’

  ‘How tiresome,’ tutted Miss Boston, winking at Jennet. ‘And you would like me to find her for you, is that it?’

  ‘Please, Alice—I’ve brought Binky along.’ Miss Droon pulled a well chewed woollen mouse from her pocket. ‘I just can’t bear to think of her coping alone.’

  ‘She probably wanted to get away from your ham-fisted interference, Tilly dear. Do help yourself to biscuits, by the way.’

  Miss Droon guiltily licked the crumbs from her moustache. ‘Oh, Alice,’ she pleaded, ‘there may be very little time.’

  Miss Boston sighed and filled a jug with cold water. ‘Very well. Come into the parlour, Tilly—and don’t forget Binky. Oh, Jennet, could you and Benjamin stay here for a while and be very quiet?’ The children nodded, greatly puzzled. ‘Excellent. Now, in you go, Matilda.’

  Ben looked at Jennet. ‘Who’s that, then?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘A friend of Aunt Alice’s, I think,’ she replied.

  ‘What have they gone in there for?’

  Jennet brushed hairs off the stool lately occupied by Miss Droon and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I think she’s a bit loopy.’

  ‘What did Aunt Alice want with the water, Jen? There’s no plants in the parlour.’

  ‘Maybe she’s going to pour it over Miss Droon’s head,’ she answered sarcastically. ‘How do you expect me to know?’

  The sound of voices filtered through the parlour door, so the children kept quiet and listened.

  ‘Do shut up, Tilly,’ boomed Aunt Alice. ‘I need to concentrate.’

  ‘What can they be doing?’ breathed Jennet.

  After a short while the door was opened and Miss Droon bustled out. Aunt Alice called after her, pulling back the curtains, ‘It’s either the old barn again or that empty house on Hawkser Lane—sorry, Abbey Lane. Yes, I’m certain she’ll be there.’

  ‘I must go to her! Poor little Eurydice,’ cried Miss Droon, fumbling with the front door latch.

  Aunt Alice emerged from the parlour and remarked wryly, ‘I’d hardly call her “little” in her condition.’ But Miss Droon had fled from the house.

  ‘Oh, confound the woman,’ said Miss Boston. ‘It’s no good. I shall have to go with her. Do you children want to come? It isn’t far, but perhaps you need your lunches right away?’

  Ben began to say that he did but Jennet elbowed him into silence and said of course they would go.

  ‘Good,’ said Aunt Alice, putting her hat back on. Jennet watched her and Ben leave the house whilst she put her coat on again. Then, on a sudden impulse, she ran into the parlour.

  A sweet, heavy scent laced the air; on the table was the jug of water and an empty black lacquered bowl. Jennet went up to it and ran her fingers around the rim. It was wet.

  ‘So, Aunt Alice filled the bowl with water, drew the curtains, then poured the water back into the jug,’ she said slowly to herself. ‘But why? And what is that sickly smell?’ Jennet was mystified; how could all these things, not forgetting Binky, lead to Aunt Alice’s conclusion that Eurydice was in some empty house?

  She left the parlour and ran outside, closing the front door behind her. Ben and Miss Boston were in Church Street before she caught up with them.

  ‘The Blakelocks used to live in the house but they moved out two years ago and went to live in Wakefield, I believe,’ Aunt Alice was telling Ben. ‘The house has been empty since then. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to buy it now, too run-down and probably overrun with fieldmice. Perfect for Eurydice, though.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Jennet.

  ‘Oh, didn’t she tell you? Eurydice’s a cat.’

  Jennet laughed. ‘No wonder she gave me an odd look when I mentioned the hospital.’

  ‘Yes,’ continued Aunt Alice, ‘Tilly already has twelve of the perishing things, most of them Eurydice’s offspring. Too popular with the local toms she is—Eurydice, not Tilly. But will she get her seen to? Not on your life. There’s hardly a stick of furniture in her house that hasn’t been used either as a claw sharpener or—well, a convenience. The place positively reeks.’

  The empty house they were heading for was just off the lane that ran behind the abbey, so up the hundred and ninety-nine steps they had to go. Halfway up they encountered a breathless Miss Droon. She was finding the climb rather too strenuous.

  ‘Oh my,’ she wheezed, ‘I hope you’re right, Alice—I don’t want to have staggered up these ruddy steps for nothing.’

  Finally they reached the summit and walked through the graveyard to get on to Abbey Lane. The stately ruin of the abbey towered up on their right as they followed the small road which circled round it.

  ‘There it is,’ said Miss Boston, pointing to a long, two-storied building. It was an ugly house with mean little windows, quite secluded. Jennet shuddered at the thought of living there; at night it would be pitch dark, for there were no streetlamps. It was a dismal, lonely place.

  ‘Goodness me!’ exclaimed Aunt Alice. ‘Look at that sign. Somebody’s actually bought it.’

  The ‘For Sale’ notice which had stood outside the house for two years now bore a garish red stripe proclaiming ‘SOLD’, for all the world to see.

  ‘They haven’t moved in yet, though,’ Miss Droon observed. ‘Let’s slip in and get Eurydice.’

  Miss Boston opened the garden gate, which creaked and groaned in protest. ‘Dear me,’ said the old lady, ‘what a state this is in.’

  Ben was the last through the gate, and studied a grimy nameplate nailed on to the wood as he went through. ‘The Hawes,’ he read aloud.

  The garden round the house was wild: grass and weeds had choked the flower-beds and only the taller roses had survived. The house itself was shabby and dark, with several of the downstairs windows boarded up.

  ‘Such neglect,’ commented Miss Boston sadly. ‘And look at the path, completely overgrown. We shall have to wade through—mind the nettles, children.’

  Miss Droon tottered behind, calling out, ‘Eurydice, Eurydice—come on darling, there’s a love, now. Oh, no, maybe she’s had them already. What shall I do?’

  Jennet looked back at the overgrown path thoughtfully. ‘Aunt Alice,’ she began, ‘if no one’s been here for ages—how come someone’s bought the house? I mean they can’t have been to see it, can they?’

  ‘Good heavens, child,’ said Miss Boston, ‘you are sharp today. How curious; I wonder who can be moving in?’

  ‘Might be council, Alice,’ suggested Miss Droon. ‘Perhaps they’re going to knock it down and rebuild.’

  ‘I shall go round to Olive and Parks the estate agent this afternoon and solve this mystery,’ Miss Boston decided. ‘I’ll see if they’re going to rebuild or not.’

  Ben’s voice called to them from around the back. He had found the kitchen door and the wood was rotten. There was a large hole at the bottom.

  ‘Deeps damn her!’ bellowed the aufwader suddenly. His blow went astray and he turned his head towards the cliff, apparently having heard something that Ben had not. His concentration was broken and the hypnotic snare destroyed.

  Ben seized his chance. He kicked the aufwader in the stomach and his knife spun through the air as the creature doubled up in agony. Grabbing a handful of sand, the boy flung it into his opponent’s gasping face. Then he scrambled back over the beach for dear life and did not stop until he was safely indoors an
d in a startled Aunt Alice’s arms.

  ‘Eurydice,’ cried Miss Droon, going down on her knees and calling through the gap. ‘Puss, puss.’

  ‘It’s no use calling,’ Aunt Alice told her, ‘she won’t come. I certainly wouldn’t. The poor thing doesn’t want to have you fussing about and being a nuisance. You always annoy her when she’s expecting, Tilly.’

  ‘But I can’t leave her here,’ wailed the crouching Miss Droon.

  ‘Shall I go in?’ asked Ben. ‘I could easily squeeze through there if we made the hole a bit bigger.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Miss Boston sternly, ‘that’s breaking and entering.’

  ‘Oh, let him go in, Alice. You never liked Renie Blakelock anyway.’

  ‘That’s hardly the point, Matilda. The property no longer belongs to her.’

  Miss Droon clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘But as it’s going to be knocked down anyway, I can’t see what’s the harm.’

  ‘We don’t know that for certain. That was just your idea.’

  Miss Droon countered with her master stroke. She looked squarely at Aunt Alice through those thick glasses and said, ‘What about that umbrella Renie borrowed and never returned to you—your mother’s, wasn’t it?’

  Miss Boston relented at once. ‘On the other hand,’ she said stiffly, ‘it is an emergency and if Benjamin really doesn’t mind…’

  Ben pulled away more of the crumbling door and wriggled through. A dingy, yellow-brown light filtered through the filthy kitchen windows. The room was bare and the noise of his movements echoed around as he searched for the troublesome cat. He looked in the low cupboards and out of curiosity inspected the drawers also, but they only contained a broken fish slice and quantities of brown paper bags. Eurydice was not in the sink either.

  In the hall, the exposed floorboards moved as he walked on them; they had warped and no longer fitted properly. He put his head round the door of the front room, but only a collection of empty tea-chests stood morosely in the middle of the gloom.

  The whole house smelt damp and musty. Ben shivered. What a horrid, dank place it was—he found it hard to believe that someone had actually lived there. The entire house reminded him of a large dungeon and that made him think of other things, Whitby’s most frightening visitor for one.

  ‘Eurydice, Eurydice,’ he called out feebly as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. Then he heard a noise. ‘You would have to be up there, wouldn’t you.’ He gritted his teeth and hoped it was the cat who had made the noise and not some vampire opening the lid of its coffin. He tried to control his rising panic, but it was some minutes before he was able to put his foot on the first step.

  The stairs still possessed their carpet—too worn to be worth removing, it was damp and spotted with black mould. Ben took hold of the banister and crept very slowly up the steps.

  It was dark on the first floor, for there was no landing window and all the bedroom doors were shut. There were five doors; he opened the nearest. Only a bathroom. The next led into an empty pink bedroom. As he went, Ben left the doors open behind him to illuminate the landing; in the growing light he noticed a square opening in the ceiling.

  ‘Must be the attic,’ he whispered to himself. He did not like the look of that deep black hole. It made him uneasy as he passed beneath it. ‘I hope you’re not up there, you daft moggy,’ he mumbled as he quickly opened the next door. Another bedroom, blue wallpaper this time. Then a toilet, and finally a room done out in lime stripes. This was full of cardboard boxes and old yellowing newspapers which the mice had chewed.

  Ben tiptoed over to the boxes. There was a sudden movement and he stepped back in alarm. A furry white head popped up.

  ‘Eurydice!’ sighed Ben, relieved. The cat miaowed crossly, staring at him with one green eye and one blue. ‘Come on, puss,’ he said soothingly. Eurydice let him stroke her and Ben slipped his hand down to her tummy. At least she hadn’t had the kittens yet. Then he frowned; something was wrong. As he tickled the cat’s stomach, she rolled over and he discovered that she only had three legs. What a peculiar animal.

  He picked up the box she was in and Eurydice glared at him. ‘It’s all right, puss,’ he said, carrying her out of the room. Only then did Ben begin to wonder: who had shut that door in the first place?

  On the landing, Eurydice grew agitated and her ears pressed flat against her skull. She began to hiss and spit, but not at Ben. The boy turned cold. As he passed under the dark loft opening, all the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and rose. He felt sure something was up there, watching him from the shadows—the same something that could close bedroom doors.

  He made for the stairs quickly but as he ran down them two at a time, he chanced to turn back and was horrified to see a small, dark figure drop silently to the landing and begin creeping after him.

  Ben bolted for the kitchen and thrust the box through the gap, scrabbling frantically after it.

  ‘Look at your clothes,’ sighed Aunt Alice, ‘all dusty and cobwebby.’

  ‘Eurydice, you naughty girl,’ scolded Miss Droon, ‘don’t do that again. I shall lock you in my room from now on.’

  In the sunlight Ben’s fear seemed irrational; he must have imagined the whole thing. Either that or the figure was one of his ‘visitors’, although he had never felt frightened in their presence before. He decided not to mention it to anyone.

  ‘What was it like in there?’ Jennet asked him.

  ‘Smelly and damp,’ he replied, shaking the dust out of his hair.

  ‘Must have been cold too,’ she added. ‘You’re covered in goose pimples.’

  Miss Boston put her arm round him and said, ‘This young man has earned his dinner—come on. Tilly, do stop messing with that wretched cat and make sure you do keep an eye on it until the kittens are born.’

  ‘Eurydice has only got three legs,’ Ben told his sister.

  ‘Really?’ asked Jennet, staring at the two ears which bobbed up and down above the box.

  ‘She lost one when she was a kitten herself,’ crooned Miss Droon dotingly. ‘A window sash broke and the frame crushed her leg beyond repair. The vet had to amputate to save her, poor darling. Now I can’t take her anywhere near the vet’s—simply goes berserk. Don’t you, Eurydice darling?’

  ‘And that’s why she’s always expecting,’ said Miss Boston, ‘and of course why she’s so popular with the toms.’

  ‘Because she has three legs?’ asked Jennet. ‘I don’t see the connection.’

  Aunt Alice laughed wickedly. ‘Well, she can’t run as fast as the other lady cats.’

  The children roared and Miss Droon looked away.

  3 - The Ladies’ Circle

  Ben turned the ammonite over in his fingers and stared intently at it. It was the same size as a fifty-pence piece and charcoal in colour. Miss Boston had told him that it was incredibly old, older than the human race, in fact. Ben held it tightly. It felt safe to touch something so ancient—there was very little permanence in his turbulent life and this small, time-polished fossil was like a magic talisman, a sign that perhaps things would be different from now on.

  It was late and the three of them were sitting in the parlour. The curtains were drawn and Aunt Alice had lit a fire as the night had grown chill. Now the children lounged on the wide sofa and sipped hot chocolate.

  Jennet looked across at the old lady, whose face glowed in the flickering firelight.

  ‘Shall I tell you the legend of the ammonites and St Hilda?’ Aunt Alice asked them.

  Ben pushed himself further into the cushions and nodded.

  The old lady gazed into the fire and began. ‘In the olden times, when Caedmon was alive, the Abbess of Whitby was the niece of a great northern king. They were dark, severe days and most of the people were still pagan, worshipping cruel gods on the moors and at the river mouth.’

  Her quiet voice lulled Jennet’s senses and she began to drift far away. The old lady’s words conjured up vivid pictures and she shivered,
imagining the horrible things that must have happened in those savage times.

  ‘Well,’ continued Aunt Alice, after she had drained her mug, ‘it is said that the cliff-top where the abbey now stands was alive with snakes. They were such a nuisance that the Lady Hilda took up a whip or staff and drove them all into the sea where, by her prayers, they were turned to stone. However, the three largest serpents had escaped her anger, and they rose out of the grass to strike her. Furiously, she hit out first and cut their heads clean off, while their bodies sailed through the air and were embedded in the wall of a house at the bottom of the hundred and ninety-nine steps. They are still there to this day, if you care to look.’

  Ben groaned—yet another soppy story. He liked the bit about the snakes, though. He examined his fossil once again and hissed softly to it.

  Jennet stirred a little but still gazed at the flames through narrowed eyes. ‘Is any of that true?’ she asked. ‘I mean was Hilda really the niece of a king?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Aunt Alice assured her earnestly. ‘Edwin of Northumbria was her uncle, though some say father. She was a princess, in any case. Word got around that one of royal blood was coming to Whitby and gossip confused the true facts—rather like Chinese whispers, I imagine. Eventually half the population believed Hilda was a great sorceress, but we actually know very little about the real woman. The story of the snakes is obviously allegorical, the serpents representing the pagan religion which Hilda overcame. Still, it is a quaint tale.

  ‘Now I think it is time for you both to go to bed. You’ve had a busy day and so have I, what with troublesome cats and barmy old Tilly.’

  Jennet dragged Ben from the cushion cave he had made for himself and his pet snake. Hissing like a puncture, the boy ran up the stairs. His sister followed behind him and turned to Aunt Alice, who was carrying the three empty mugs into the kitchen. ‘Did you go to the estate agent’s?’ she called down sleepily.

  ‘Indeed I did,’ answered the old lady, raising her voice above the sound of the running tap as she rinsed the cocoa dregs away. ‘The house is not going to be knocked down. A woman has bought it. They weren’t going to tell me but I know the mother of the young man behind the desk. He told me a Mrs Cooper had purchased the place. Has ideas of turning it into an antiques shop—ridiculous notion. We have far too many of those already and the house is too far off the beaten track to make it worthwhile.’