Cricklethorpe pushed himself up against the pillows. ‘I never imagined Brendan Webb would be so foolish as to think himself capable of sailing the Doram without a more experienced hand beside him.’
‘Of course he’s foolish. He’s eighteen years old. Weren’t you foolish at eighteen?’
‘I suppose so.’ Cricklethorpe looked uncomfortable and cast about for an explanation, looking at the ceiling for help. ‘It was the words of the old song you know, when I thought about Felicity and her longing to see Walter.’
‘What old song?’
He gave a tuneful rendition of the wartime number ‘I don’t want to lose you, but I think you ought to go’.
Alma sighed. ‘Lean forward.’ She plumped up his pillows. ‘Well as it happens, it’s turned out for the best. We have a date for the wedding.’
‘What wedding?’
‘Felicity and Brendan in Hopeman Kirk.’
‘What kind of church is that?’
‘The United Free Church of Scotland.’
‘They won’t accept Felicity and Brendan.’
‘It’s arranged. The father will give away the bride, even if he has to be carried to the church and propped up.’
For the first time since his recovery, Cricklethorpe could find no words.
Alma helped him out by continuing. ‘Of course it will be after Jack’s funeral. People will understand that the wedding was already arranged.’
‘And was it?’
‘Of course not, but don’t you dare say otherwise.’
Cricklethorpe frowned. ‘Felicity is marrying Brendan Webb, after he nearly got her killed?’
‘The nearly getting her killed, that was you.’
‘I thought he was just the brother, Hilda’s brother. Felicity can do better than that. He’s a long streak of whitewash. Sails up and down the coast on a pleasure boat, looking for tips.’
‘He’s a long streak of whitewash who may be in line for a legacy. Mrs Webb and I have discussed it. At the very least we believe we might see Felicity and Brendan running the newsagents on Skinner Street.’
‘With Miss Dowzell?’
‘She will be moving into the bungalow at Sandsend, with her cat and a small dog she found in Mulgrave Woods.’ Alma allowed herself a sigh. Being carried over the threshold of that bungalow would have been an entry into dreamland.
Cricklethorpe stared at his glass of water. Alma did not help him. He leaned over, but couldn’t quite reach it. ‘Can’t they marry here, in Whitby?’
‘After they’ve been up to Scotland and back unaccompanied? Don’t be silly.’
‘But you’ll want to see Felicity married.’
Alma smiled serenely. ‘And so I shall, with Kate, Mrs Webb and Miss Dowzell. We intend to make sure of this business. There’s been more than enough scandal, speculation and tittletattle in this town. We’ll take the train from York. First class. We’re booked into a highly superior hotel in Elgin, recommended by the management at the Royal.’
Cricklethorpe made a small choking sound. ‘Miss Dowzell and Mrs Webb, and you?’
Alma passed him the glass of water. ‘Miss Dowzell and Mrs Webb have a lot in common.’
‘Since when, and what?’
‘They’re both great supporters of the Mission.’
The afternoon was hot. Alma was sitting in the courtyard, with a jug of lemonade. She had brought out an extra glass. When Sergeant Garvin put in an appearance, she was able to pour him a drink. He was out of uniform and therefore off duty.
‘I thought I’d call on my way home, and return your property.’ He produced the bag in which he had taken away her marriage lines and the record of her fortune-telling earnings.
‘Thank you. Do you need the bag now?’ She did not wish to put everything on the small table and be reminded of that awful day. Nor did she wish to risk spilling lemonade on her papers.
‘No. Keep the bag for now.’ He was cheerful, and she saw what he must be thinking. Once emptied, the hessian bag would give them a reason to see each other again.
She smiled.
He sipped his lemonade. ‘I’m very happy to hear the news of the wedding, Mrs Turner. An excellent match, your Felicity and young Brendan.’
‘A summer wedding is always a treat, though it is distressing that it should be so close to poor Jack Philips’s funeral.’
They maintained a respectful silence. A butterfly landed on the camellias.
As the scent of camellias and lavender drifted across the courtyard, she knew that it must be time to speak, to give him some little encouragement.
‘You may be wondering why the wedding is to be held in Scotland.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure there is a good reason.’
‘My husband’ – these were two words she avoided saying whenever possible – ‘My husband Walter is in Scotland. He is not well enough to travel and that is the reason we go there.’
‘I see. I’m sorry to hear it.’
She hoped he was not really sorry. ‘Walter’s sojourns in warmer climes did not help in the long run. He has given up his search for health.’
‘Oh.’
‘He lived in foreign lands. He says he wishes to die in his own language.’ Walter had said no such thing but she was glad to have thought of it. ‘Warmer climes carry their own dangers. I’m afraid the doctors do not give him long.’
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
After a sorrowful moment, she spoke again. ‘There was something I hoped you might help me with, Sergeant Garvin.’
‘Anything at all, Mrs Turner.’
‘I need to be absent from my fortune-telling duties for at least a week, to attend Felicity’s wedding. I know the Urban District Council has more important matters in hand, what with a new election to replace the man whose name I won’t speak. You know everyone. Would you guide me towards finding a replacement who will take over the pepper pot?’
‘Of course.’ He put on his thoughtful look. ‘It would be a disappointment for visitors not to have a consultation in your pepper pot, but it would have to be just the right person to fill your shoes.’ He thought for a moment. ‘There are two competent ladies who might be willing to step in. One of them is a genuine Romany, but with no connection to Madam Rosa.’
‘A genuine Romany would be perfect.’ Alma was taking a chance. A genuine Romany might show her up as something of a fraud. Still, one door closes and another opens.
The sergeant finished his lemonade. It was now or never for Alma. She disliked the thought that one of these competent fortune-telling women could cast a spell on Sergeant Garvin.
‘You are not on duty today, Mr Garvin?’
He put down his glass. ‘No, not today.’
‘I know you sometimes take a walk on your free afternoons. Today I intend to take a walk myself.’
‘Then perhaps we might walk together, Mrs Turner?’
‘I’d like that, Mr Garvin.’
‘Do you think you might call me Rodney, when we’re alone?’
She fixed him with her most melting stare. ‘If you’ll call me Alma.’
They walked along the front, which Alma knew was quite a risk for the sergeant – for Rodney – to take. People might talk. No. People would certainly talk.
They made their way along the West Cliff and stood to admire the colourful row of bathing huts. Someone emerged from one of the huts. Alma stared. Rodney Garvin was looking in the other direction and did not recognise Kate Shackleton in her bathing costume. She raced towards the sea with Chief Inspector Marcus Charles, similarly clad, beside her.
Forty-One
We took a chance, Marcus and I, on not being noticed on the sands. It was not the done thing for a man who had just escorted a prisoner to York, and completed paperwork for a murder trial, to be seen bathing in the North Sea on a sunny afternoon.
The sea was so icy it made me screw up my eyes. We ran until the water reached my waist, and then began to swim. Marcus is a strong swimmer. He
ought to be, given that he lives near Hampstead Heath and goes swimming in the pond there almost every day summer and winter. I wished I had a pool so close.
It was wonderful to let the sea wash away the horror and uncertainty of the past days.
Marcus turned, swam underwater and came up beside me. ‘I wish we were here on holiday together, for another fortnight or a month.’
‘Well we’re not, so make the most of it.’
‘I intend to.’
‘And you wouldn’t wish it if the weather turned and we had another downpour.’
‘Oh yes I would.’
When we had swum, we sat by our hired bathing hut, drinking tea from a flask. I unwrapped the sandwiches made in the hotel kitchen.
‘I missed you when I was away in America.’ Marcus bit into an egg and cress.
‘Did you?’ This was not what I wanted to hear.
‘You know I did.’
If he had missed me during his shipboard romance, then no wonder it failed. But to say that would sound teasing, and only lovers tease.
I could not honestly say that I had missed him, though I might miss him, after today.
We both pulled a face at the same time. Sand had found its way into the sandwiches, as sand always does.
‘What time is your train, Marcus?’
‘Why?’
‘I was thinking you could do with a meal before you go back. If there’s time, we could go somewhere else – away from the hotel.’
He nodded. ‘I’d like that. We could take the train to Scarborough and find somewhere to eat there.’
I had a better idea. ‘I’ll bring my car round to the Crescent. I know somewhere we can go. Bring your case if you like. I’ll drop you off at the station after we’ve eaten.’
Forty-Two
Felicity’s wedding would be in three days. This seemed hard to believe. I would have to stop myself thinking of her as a child. My trunk had gone ahead to Elgin, containing the black and white dress I had bought for her, along with something she might borrow. Alma would bring something blue.
The plan was that we would meet in the ladies waiting room of York railway station: Alma, Mrs Webb, Hilda Webb, Miss Dowzell and me. Hilda was to be bridesmaid. Ian Webb, Brendan’s brother and best man, would follow the next day.
I stepped from the Leeds train into the noise, smoke and steam of York station, carrying the rather large bag of provisions Mrs Sugden had prepared. She does not trust railway food.
Alma was already in the waiting room, by the fire, looking beautiful in silk and velvet. She smiled a welcome. ‘The others won’t be long. Hilda is buying chocolate. Miss Dowzell and Mrs Webb are in search of something to read on the train.’
I put down my bag. ‘I’ve brought a couple of novels too, and a pack of cards.’
Alma gave a slightly tragic smile as if to indicate that novels and playing cards would not be required by her. ‘It will be strange to see Walter again after all this time. Felicity wrote to say I must prepare myself for a shock.’
‘Poor Walter.’
‘Yes, poor Walter. Only the thought of Felicity’s wedding keeps him going. He won’t last the winter, especially not up there on that coast.’
‘Then I’m glad for Felicity’s sake that she found him.’
Alma budged up to make room for me. ‘So am I.’
‘It’s brave of Miss Dowzell to come.’
Alma looked about, to make sure no one was listening. ‘Brendan doesn’t know his parentage but he might one of these days, and then he’ll be glad to have had his natural mother witness his marriage.’
‘How complicated it sounds when you say it, but here we are, and it doesn’t seem difficult at all.’
‘There is something I wanted to say, Kate, before the others come back.’
‘Oh?’
‘If I don’t say it now I may forget and then in a year or so, you might say, “Well, Alma never told me that”.’
‘What is it?’
She took out her powder compact, looked at herself in the mirror and was satisfied. ‘Say I were to marry in a year’s time. When that day comes, would you mind very much if I don’t ask you to be maid of honour?’
‘No of course not.’
‘Only you didn’t bring me much luck last time.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh it’s not entirely your fault, but I must be careful how I do things, and you did spend that night in custody.’
It was thoughtful of her to remind me of that, not that I would ever forget it.
She continued. ‘A police officer can’t marry just anyone. Rodney – Sergeant Garvin – believes I will have to be interviewed by the superintendent. We’ve already decided what to say regarding my fortune telling.’
‘What will you say?’
‘Why, just the truth of course. I only ever took on fortune telling to oblige the Urban District Council after Madam Rosa treacherously decamped to Scarborough for better pickings.’
‘And if you are asked about your Madam Alma prophecies?’
‘Oh, so few copies were sold that people will forget all about it. After all, my prophecies were for 1927. As soon as 1927 is history, who will care? We should all look forward, look to the future, even you, Kate.’
Acknowledgments
Thanks to the many people in Whitby who talked to me about their town.
I’m grateful to Geoff Wilson (Mr Whitby) for his guided tour; John Cattaneo of Bagdale Hall Hotel; Pat Welch; Yvonne Barlett; Joy Peach; Jo Botham; Libby Thompson; Jim and Mary Hebden; Lynn Brunskill; Fiona Duncan; Cheryl Killey; Deb Gill Anders; George and Susan Dawson; Noel Stokoe; staff at Whitby Library and the Whitby Literary and Philosophical Society; Kieran and Margaret for the lift from Sandsend, and John Jackson for calculating nautical miles.
Table of Contents
Praise for Frances Brody
About the Author
By Frances Brody
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Acknowledgments
Death at the Seaside Page 30