by Simon Clark
Mrs Brady appeared at the foot of the steps, the lady they’d encountered on the bridge with that silent sentinel of a daughter. She glared up at the three of them. Beth decided there must be an ongoing feud between Mrs Brady and Eleanor Charnwood. Then again, Beth had noticed the way people had moved out of Eleanor’s way, even in the narrow confines of Church Street, as if she carried a nasty germ. In fact, not a single person had offered Eleanor a courteous ‘good morning’. Outcast. That’s the word that had sprung immediately to Beth’s mind.
‘All those seagulls,’ Sally exclaimed. ‘There’s thousands of them, and, gosh, aren’t they raucous?’
‘They follow fishing boats into the estuary. They know that once the gutting starts they’re in for a feast. Come on, nearly there.’
Eleanor ushered them up the remaining steps to the cliff top. The squat church dominated the immediate area, yet beyond it were the tall, mysterious ruins of Whitby Abbey, which cast an other-worldly spell over the place. The graveyard itself bristled with dark, weathered gravestones. Ocean gales had not only erased inscriptions on the older stones, but had worn away their once precise geometric shapes, leaving them with a weird, undulating appearance, as if a magic spell had solidified wraiths of smoke and left them here, standing in the grass.
Beth drank in the beautiful view. Whitby was truly extraordinary. Beneath her, the higgledy-piggledy cluster of cottages by the dozen. The doors were painted bright reds, greens and yellows. To her right, the vast expanse of the ocean. A pair of long harbour walls extended out to sea. Each one ended with a tall stone tower. Between the walls seawater flowed into the harbour to mingle with the fresh waters of the River Esk. The river itself cut the town into two distinct halves. Far away upstream, hills formed vast, smooth mounds against a bright blue sky.
‘This side is considered to be the old town,’ Eleanor told them. ‘Over the river, the newer, more orderly part. See the big, posh buildings on the cliff top? They’re the hotels for the smart set, though most are now occupied by soldiers stationed here to deal with any attacks from the sea.’
Beth jotted notes. ‘If we can get permission, it would be ideal to film up here, for establishing views of Whitby, and there’re bound to be some great scenes that can be shot in the graveyard.’
Sally beamed. ‘Later in the film, my husband is killed rescuing me from a burning house. This would be an ideal spot to bury him.’ She pretended to dab away a widow’s tear. ‘Alec will shoot me in this huge, great close-up, so my face fills the screen, and you will be able to hear the gulls crying, and it will seem like they’re crying for poor Nathan.’
Eleanor said, ‘I’ll give you the telephone number of the verger. He looks after St Mary’s Church. If possible try and get permission to film inside. Ships’ carpenters produced the interior woodwork, so parts resemble a boat. Now, if you’ll follow the cliff-top path, I’ll show you the abbey ruin. The monks built the first phase almost fifteen hundred years ago, but it was burnt down by the Vikings in AD 867. Earlier, in 664, the Abbess Hilda held what is known as the Great Synod of Whitby. That’s when she merged the Celtic Church and the Roman Catholic Church.’ She smiled. ‘See, my dears, we women have played a bigger role in humanity than many think. The Abbess Hilda, in that building on the cliff top, changed the course of the Western world. If she hadn’t united the two rival Churches, Europe couldn’t have resisted invasions by pagan armies. Without Hilda, the Vikings might have destroyed Christianity. Instead of celebrating Christmas you’d have been offering sacrifices up to Odin and Thor.’ She touched Sally’s arm. ‘You, my dear, might have been that offering.’
‘Don’t! You’re making me go all goosey!’ Sally squealed with laughter.
‘Well, thanks to Abbess Hilda, you’re safe from that at least, and snakes.’
‘Snakes?’
‘According to legend, the Abbess Hilda confronted a plague of snakes here. She beheaded them all with a whip. That’s why there are no snakes in Whitby.’ She gave a knowing smile. ‘Try putting a nun with a whip in your film, especially one chopping up serpents.’
Beth smiled back. ‘I doubt if such a scene would escape the censor’s scissors.’ Eleanor has such a wicked sense of humour. I bet she has lots of naughty stories to tell. She found herself liking this charismatic woman more and more.
‘Oh, flick my ear.’ Their guide stopped at the edge of the cemetery. ‘Something’s happened. I’m sure they won’t let us go further.’
A soldier, armed with a rifle, stood by the gate. In a meadow, some way beyond the abbey ruin, the barrel of an anti-aircraft gun pointed at the sky. However, not far from the weapon was a military ambulance, its rear doors open wide. On a scorched area of grass, a number of men searched the earth; they had large, brown paper bags in their hands. Every so often, one of the searchers bent down to gingerly pick up a scrap of something, which he then deposited in the bag. Invariably, the man would wipe his hand on a rag afterwards.
The soldier advanced in a leisurely way towards them.
‘You can’t go any further, ladies.’
Sally asked, ‘What happened?’
‘You know I can’t reveal military affairs, miss.’ In order to avoid appearing officious, he added with a grin, ‘For all we know, Hitler himself might be hiding behind that headstone.’
‘Of course,’ Eleanor agreed. ‘We’ll go back the way we came. Good day.’ When they reached the top of the steps, Eleanor said, ‘It’s like that all the time. The army have turned the town into a fortress, which is the right thing to do, of course, considering the Nazis might invade at any time. But we always have to pretend we don’t see anything, if, say, they cordon off streets for no obvious reason. Sandgate has been closed for over a week, and nobody knows why. And that’s the quickest route to the hotel from the swing bridge. Naturally, the shopkeepers complain to the mayor, as they have to stay closed, and they’re losing trade. But, all in all, the soldiers are welcome. Not only as protectors; they’ve brought a lot of money into the town. Hundreds are billeted in the boarding houses. And those smart young men in uniform are very popular with the local girls as well. That church back there is busier than ever with weddings.’ She shrugged. ‘All we have to do is pretend we don’t see any soldiers or the big artillery guns that are popping up along the cliffs.’
A plane swept through the sky above their heads. Beth saw its grey underbelly and the black Swastika on each wing.
Anxious, Sally backed towards the cemetery wall. ‘Shouldn’t we take cover?’
‘A lone German aircraft usually means reconnaissance. He’s just taking a peek to see what naval ships we’ve got in the harbour or if there are any more artillery guns in the fields.’ Then in a darker tone Eleanor called up at the enemy pilot, ‘Just you come and invade us. You might defeat the soldiers . . . You might capture the town. But you’ll soon wish you’d never foot set in Whitby.’
Sally gave a nervous laugh. ‘He can’t hear you, silly.’
Before the anti-aircraft crews could even fire a shot at the trespasser, the plane banked over the abbey ruins, then screamed away over the sea, eastwards, back home to the Fatherland. Without speaking, they descended the one hundred and ninety-nine steps into the bustling town. When they reached Church Street, Beth put her hand on Eleanor’s wrist to gently attract her attention. The woman quickly drew her arm away, as if that light touch had stung her.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
‘It’s nothing, Beth. I injured it a few years ago. Sometimes it plays up.’
Sally went to admire jet necklaces in a shop window.
Quietly, Beth said, ‘You made a very strange comment up there, Eleanor.’
‘Strange comment? I’m famous for them.’ She smiled.
Eleanor’s wearing the mask again. The one that claims: ‘Look I’m just a carefree woman, with a risqué sense of humour and nothing to hide from the world.’ Really, Eleanor? You’ve no secrets?
Slowly, they strolled side-by-sid
e.
Beth murmured, ‘You might defeat the soldiers . . . You might capture the town. But you’ll soon wish you’d never foot set in Whitby. Those were your words, Eleanor. If the enemy succeeded in capturing Whitby, why would they then regret it?’
Once more, local people stepped aside from Eleanor without looking into her face. Unclean . . . Unclean . . . Is that what they’re thinking? One middle-aged lady even inadvertently bumped into Eleanor. When she recognized her, she flinched back, shocked to have made contact. You have a secret, Eleanor, dear. A deep, dark secret. What is it? And, what’s more, Eleanor didn’t appear to have any intention of answering Beth’s question.
‘We’ll go down by the quays,’ Eleanor said. ‘If you need to film close to the boats that’s the place to be.’
‘Eleanor?’
The mask of frivolous normality stayed firmly in place. Eleanor made a joke of the answer. ‘Because if the Nazis occupy the town, I’ll personally make their lives a misery. Hitler daren’t take me on.’
‘Ah, you’re good at evasion, Eleanor.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Perhaps this strange dream of a town is sending me crazy. But I wonder if what you called up at the plane is tied in with me finding a lock of hair caught in the passageway to Arguments Yard, even though I’ve never been here before.’
‘That could be anyone’s hair. You’re not blonde exclusively, you know. Come on, I’ll treat you to coffee and cake.’
‘And is it connected to the fact that everyone in the street shies away when they see you? It’s like they know you’re carrying a time bomb or something. You scare them.’
‘I can’t control what they think about me, Beth.’ She attracted Sally’s attention. ‘Come on, we’re going for coffee and cake.’
Sally rushed after them. ‘Did you see that lovely jet brooch? It’s like a big black diamond.’ She cast longing glances back over her shoulder at the jeweller’s. ‘When I get my first pay cheque that brooch is mine.’
‘You’re a girl after my own heart, Sally. Keep up, Beth. We don’t want you getting lost in Whitby’s dark labyrinths. Sometimes, if you take a wrong turning, it’s hard to find your way back to the real world again.’
Four
Eleanor Charnwood happily offered Alec her own office. A door beside the reception desk led to the room, which she’d comfortably furnished with thick rugs, an antique desk, and shelves of books. A tall window opened out over the estuary. In fact, if a boat moored here at the harbour wall, freshly caught fish could be handed through the window.
Beth spent the afternoon in the office with Alec. Together they went through the locations that Beth had found on her walk that morning with the enigmatic Eleanor. Alec didn’t hide his admiration that she’d completed the list so quickly.
‘Whitby’s a beautiful place, even in war,’ he said as he rolled paper into the typewriter. ‘It’s a remarkable setting for the film. Thank goodness I persuaded the bosses to allow me to shoot on location, not in a studio in some London suburb.’
Beth found herself warming to the man again. He’d told her about the problem with his ‘blasted crab-claw’ of a hand, and she knew he’d also shared the story with both Eleanor and Sally. Even though it didn’t look any way out of the ordinary, she appreciated that it didn’t work as a hand should. He could operate the return lever on the typewriter with it, but could only type with his left hand. She sensed his growing trust of her. Because, after they’d finished compiling the schedule of locations, which now matched scenes in the script, he then started to discuss the extra plot strand that the Ministry required to be woven into the story.
‘What do we do with our hero lifeboat man?’ he asked. ‘Is he a character separate from the rest? Do we dip into his life every now and again?’
‘If he stands outside the lives of everyone else in the film, it wouldn’t be as satisfying for the audience. After all, if none of the other characters care for him, why should the cinema-goer?’
‘Good point. A cousin of our family, then?’
‘Cousins are neutral.’
‘Oh?’
‘A cousin is there by default. Nobody has to like their cousin; they just show up at weddings and whatever.’
‘I see.’ He adjusted the black eyepatch. It looked itchy. ‘Then you’re talking about that magical thing, then?’
‘You mean the magic of love?’
‘Absolutely.’
She sat down on the chair opposite him. ‘Make your lifeboat man a former boyfriend of Sally’s character. He returns from active service.’
‘Then he’s on leave?’
‘No – wounded in a sea battle. But he’s determined to do his bit in the war, so he volunteers to skipper the lifeboat.’
Beth realized that Alec had quietly accepted her role as co-author of this additional segment of script. The hours flew, and by the time they’d finished typing the outline she noticed the sun had, at last, set.
Five
At seven that evening, the three sat down to dinner. Eleanor Charnwood, dressed in a smart dark jacket and matching skirt, served them freshly caught Whitby cod with boiled potatoes. They asked her to join them in the otherwise deserted hotel dining room. However, she politely excused herself and left. Beth, Sally and Alec chatted about what they’d seen of Whitby town. They all agreed on how much they liked the place. Alec revealed that he planned to shoot general panoramic views in the morning, weather permitting.
Even by that relatively early time, Whitby was in the grip of utter darkness. Because no lights could be shown outdoors, nobody risked venturing out into the narrow streets. Eleanor had told them that to even reach the end of Church Street on a moonless night meant groping your way along, touching the walls as you went, to avoid bumping into obstacles. She also warned that men and women of a libertine disposition used the cloak of darkness to plot brief encounters. ‘If you leave your window open at night, you’re bound to hear sighs of rapture coming from the alleyway,’ she’d told them. ‘Of course, whether or not you want to listen is up to you.’
By the time they’d finished the meal, Alec had begun to explain to Sally that her character would be involved in a love triangle. He was describing the lifeboat man’s dramatic return when the hotel’s back door gave an almighty bang.
In alarm, Sally all but leapt out of her chair. Eleanor appeared in the hallway. Her mixture of panic and downright fear brought all three to their feet.
‘Eleanor, what’s wrong?’ Beth called.
Eleanor didn’t reply. Instead she rushed from room to room on the ground floor. Then she ran to the dining room doorway to rake the interior with a shockingly wide-eyed stare. After that, she bolted towards the kitchen. Beth hurried after her, Sally and Alec following. She found Eleanor anxiously searching the big walk-in pantry. The woman’s face had gone completely white. Her hands trembled as she unlocked a storeroom door.
‘What’s happened?’
Panting, Eleanor rushed to another room, fumbled with a bunch of keys, dropped them, then after snatching them from the floor tried to get the key into the door.
Alec stepped forward. ‘What’s the matter?’
All three were shaken by this normally composed woman’s collapse into panic.
‘Tell us, Eleanor,’ Beth urged. ‘Please.’
‘We don’t like to see you so upset,’ Sally cried. ‘Let us help.’
Eleanor opened the door to a laundry room. After scanning the interior, she slammed the door shut again. She seemed determined to rush out of the kitchen without even acknowledging they were there.
Beth caught her by the arm. ‘Eleanor. You must tell us what’s wrong.’
For a moment she struggled to make a decision. Then: ‘It’s my brother, Theo. He’s gone.’
‘Is he a child?’ Alec asked.
‘No, he’s a year younger than me.’ Eleanor’s words tumbled out. ‘But he’s not at all well.’
‘You’ve searched his cottage in the yard?’
Beth asked.
‘Of course! Every room!’ She pressed her hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, my God. I’m so worried for him.’
‘Is there anywhere in Whitby he’s likely to go?’
‘He never goes out. I’ve got to find him. He hasn’t had his treatment tonight. If he doesn’t . . . If he doesn’t . . .’ She couldn’t even bring herself to finish the sentence.
‘Then we’ll help you find him,’ Beth told her calmly. ‘Everything will be alright. You’ll see.’
‘My God, I hope so!’
‘It’s too dark for him to go far,’ Sally ventured. ‘He might be nearby.’
‘I can’t understand it. My brother dreads the idea of going out into the town. Something must have made him.’ She shuddered. ‘Or taken him against his will.’
‘We will find Theo,’ Beth assured the woman.
Alec eased the curtain aside a fraction. ‘It’s as dark as Hades outside. You wouldn’t see to the end of your own nose.’
Beth took charge. ‘So we’ll search the hotel first. Eleanor, where are the keys to the rooms?’
‘I’ll get them.’
‘Sit down here; catch your breath.’
‘No. He’ll need me.’
‘Alright. Sally, stay by the reception desk, just in case he comes in from the street.’
Eleanor grabbed the keys from the wall cabinet then all three rushed upstairs.
‘There are guest bedrooms over three upper floors,’ Eleanor told them. ‘My quarters are on the top floor. There are also linen stores, staff rooms – they’re disused now, oh . . . and a rear staircase.’
Alec paused. ‘Is your brother likely to do himself harm? Or try to harm anyone else?’