The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  He must have gone out when I was asleep, she told herself. Just wait till I catch him! But she was more afraid than angry. Somewhere, Ben was alone in the dark.

  Jennet charged down the stairs, plucked her coat off the hanger and dashed out of the front door. She had no idea where Ben could be, but she ran on to the beach and called his name. Only the rush of the incoming tide answered her. The shore was empty of people, so Jennet ran over the bridge to the West Cliff and searched in all the amusement arcades. It was no good—Ben was nowhere to be found.

  The girl left the deafening roar of the amusements and sat on one of the benches at the quayside. The fishing boats bobbed on the black, calm water below and a group of gulls rode the gentle waves. Jennet watched them in despair. What if her brother had met that evil aufwader again? She raised her head to look at the floodlit ruin of the abbey and the squat shape of the church. Then she blinked and looked again; in the cemetery stood a shining white figure whose robes blazed like flames.

  Jennet rose. For a moment the legend of St Hilda flitted through her mind. Aunt Alice had told her that sometimes the bright outline of the abbess could be seen in one of the abbey windows, but this figure was in the churchyard.

  Suddenly Jennet realised that she was looking at the novice up there. Sister Bridget was deliberately standing in front of the arc lights. It did not make any sense; Jennet could not imagine why that timid, frightened woman should draw attention to herself like that.

  The distant, radiant figure stretched out her arms. The glare of the arc lights bounced off her robes and dazzled the girl far below on the quayside.

  ‘She’s beckoning to me,’ Jennet murmured in astonishment. ‘She wants me to go up there. Perhaps she knows what’s happened to Ben.’

  Jennet ran to the bridge and sped over it. She was excited yet afraid, knowing that the novice had left the safety of the convent that night, not to weep at the sea but to speak to her. Maybe it was a warning; perhaps Rowena had threatened her again and let slip something about Ben. Jennet tried to forget the terror she had felt the last time she had gone to that churchyard in the dark. But the image of the hound as it pounced on her was ingrained in her mind and the nearer she drew to the hundred and ninety-nine steps, the clearer that memory became.

  She hurried down Church Street where the usual well-fed tourists were wandering happily before the darkened shop windows—a last stroll to aid their digestion and tire the children. What a pleasant time they were having, blissfully unaware of the evil that haunted this picturesque town by night. Their smiling faces annoyed Jennet. They saw only what they came to see; the sinister side of Whitby did not interest them. Even if they had been disturbed by the chilling cries of the Barguest as it howled into the night, they chose to ignore it and rolled over in their cosy guesthouse beds dreaming of kippers for breakfast.

  Jennet became impatient as she squeezed between the chatting families who idly gabbed and blocked the road. If only they knew, if only they had seen those hellish eyes.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, pushing through the crowd. ‘Excuse me.’

  It seemed that everyone had decided to pop out that evening and dawdle about in Church Street. Jennet grew anxious. What if the novice could not wait for her?

  A particularly tight knot of people barred her way to the steps. She tried to dodge in between but it was very difficult and she was forced to push quite roughly to get by.

  ‘Do you mind!’ snapped a woman whose heel she had just stepped on.

  Jennet ploughed on oblivious. She wormed and elbowed her way to the steps and just as she began to climb the steps, a hand caught her arm.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ demanded a voice.

  The girl turned round, and there was Aunt Alice. The old lady looked tired, for it had been a long and dismal day for her. Those bird-like eyes were red and swollen, a testament to her grief over Tilly’s death. She had spent most of the afternoon with Edith Wethers, then had gone to feed Miss Droon’s ravenous cats, and had had an argument with a policeman on the way. Nobody wanted to investigate poor Tilly’s death—to the police and Doctor Adams she was just another old woman who had missed her footing. Miss Boston had grown very angry and retorted in the doctor’s face, ‘That’s three old women in as many weeks. Doesn’t that arouse the slightest suspicion in you, for heaven’s sake, you dithering old quack?’ Needless to say, she was guided to the door.

  To cool her head and sort out her thoughts she had decided to walk to the cliff before returning home, and that was when she saw Jennet rampaging through the crowd like a bull elephant.

  ‘Whatever is the matter, Jennet dear?’ she asked. ‘What’s the hurry and where is Benjamin?’

  Jennet was so relieved to see her that she threw her arms about the old lady’s neck. ‘Ben’s missing,’ she said quickly. ‘I fell asleep and when I woke up, he had gone. I looked everywhere for him—on the beach, in the arcades—and then I saw the novice.’

  ‘Sister Bridget?’

  ‘Yes, she’s up there now. She was standing right in front of the lights and I’d swear she was beckoning to me.’

  Miss Boston frowned and looked up the steps. ‘Most peculiar,’ she said. ‘I wonder if she has changed her mind? Come, let us see if she can throw any light on Benjamin’s whereabouts.’

  Together they began the long, upward climb. The full moon appeared from behind the scudding night clouds and bathed the graveyard in silver. The headstones were edged with the pale, milky light and Jennet wavered on the edge of the cemetery—it looked more ghostly there than ever before. What if the hound appeared again? She gulped and held back; to cross the path and enter that place needed more courage than she thought she possessed. But the plump figure of Aunt Alice trotted on ahead and the sight of her spurred Jennet forward.

  The church of St Mary’s seemed to fill the night. The arc lights gave to its solid, square walls a warm, golden glow which made it look like a magical, gilded fortress.

  Miss Boston shielded her eyes from the bright lights and glanced round. Sister Bridget was nowhere to be seen. ‘Are you sure she was here?’ she asked Jennet.

  ‘Yes, I’m positive.’

  The old lady chewed her lip. ‘Maybe she was afraid to remain in the light for too long,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Unless, of course, she was seen by someone other than yourself.’

  ‘You mean Rowena?’

  Aunt Alice merely raised her eyebrows. ‘Who can tell?’ she said. ‘Perhaps a group of visitors walked past and startled her.’ She rubbed her eyes and wandered down the path. ‘Come out of those blinding lamps, child,’ she said. ‘I do not wish to be seen either.’

  They walked around the church and left the arc lights behind. For a while coloured swirls danced before their eyes until they became accustomed to the dark once more. Jennet halted and stared out to sea. There by the cemetery wall stood the novice. She nudged Miss Boston and the old lady squinted keenly.

  Sister Bridget was looking straight at them. Her hands were clasped tightly before her and the look of worry on her face lifted only momentarily with the relief of seeing them. She took a few hesitant steps forward, then stopped to look around nervously.

  Aunt Alice and Jennet approached slowly, careful not to frighten her. The novice looked warily at the shadows beyond and put her hands to her mouth. ‘Hurry!’ she called. ‘There is little time!’

  Jennet and Miss Boston were surprised by her uncharacteristic outburst and wondered what she had to say.

  ‘I must talk with you,’ Sister Bridget told them urgently.

  ‘Do I take it that you have changed your mind?’ asked Miss Boston.

  She nodded. ‘You were right—forgive me. When I heard about the death of your friend this morning I knew that I could keep silent no longer. I do not want the blood of innocents on my hands. Too many have already died and the toll will rise if she finds what she seeks.’

  ‘I presume you refer to Mrs Cooper?’ said Aunt Alice.

  Sister Bridg
et shuddered and turned her head to be sure they were alone. ‘Listen to me,’ she whispered in a rush. ‘That woman is dangerous. Beware of her, shun her in the street, have nothing to do with her. I have looked into her heart and found it black and rotten, while pure evil courses in her veins.’

  Jennet did not like this sort of talk. She felt uncomfortable when the novice’s eyes fell upon her; the urgency and dread in them was alarming. Silently she took hold of Aunt Alice’s hand.

  Miss Boston listened to Sister Bridget’s words but rejected her warnings. ‘I have no intention of skulking about,’ she declared. ‘The time has come to confront Mrs Cooper. If the police refuse to listen to me I shall have to do it myself. She must be stopped!’

  The novice took hold of the old lady’s shoulders. ‘You must not cross her!’ she cried. ‘It is perilous to allow even so much as her shadow to touch you. She is too powerful an adversary for one such as you.’

  Aunt Alice took a deep breath. ‘I might just surprise her if she tries to do away with me,’ she snorted. ‘I haven’t lived ninety-two years for nothing, you know.’

  ‘Hear me!’ shouted Sister Bridget. ‘I am aware that you are not like others, but whatever talent you may think you have, whatever source you draw from, know now that Rowena Cooper is beyond your strength. She has transcended her human flesh and surrendered humanity to the powers of the dark. Take my advice, old woman: leave her to those best suited for such a task.’

  Miss Boston stroked Jennet’s hair as the girl pressed closer to her. ‘Are you referring to yourself?’ she asked with a laugh in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, but so far you have not shown much aptitude in that direction. Besides, I have faith in my gifts.’

  The novice lowered her eyes. ‘I have found that faith is not enough,’ she murmured. ‘Not for me, at least.’

  Aunt Alice smiled and said gently, ‘Did your trust in God fail, I wonder, or was it faith in yourself that you lacked?’ She touched Sister Bridget’s downcast face and asked, ‘How long have you hidden yourself away, little one? How many years have you wept alone? A convent is no place for a child to grow up. What a wretched life you have led.’

  A tear sparkled on the novice’s cheek and she hastily wiped it away. ‘Then you do know my history,’ she said. ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Well, I confess that Benjamin told me some of it, but I guessed the rest.’

  ‘Benjamin?’ repeated Sister Bridget. ‘That is the boychild’s name? He searches with the aufwaders along the shore, does he not? Have the prime laws altered? Do humans consort freely with the fisher folk now? Was all my suffering in vain?’

  Jennet pulled herself away from the folds of Aunt Alice’s cloak. She did not understand. Did Sister Bridget have the sight too? ‘What do you know about my brother?’ she asked. ‘Have you seen him tonight—is he with those things again?’ Miss Boston tried to shush her, but Jennet would not be kept quiet. ‘One of those creatures tried to kill him. If you know where he is, you must tell me.’

  The corners of Sister Bridget’s mouth twitched into a slight smile. ‘I do not know where your brother is,’ she said.

  For some reason Aunt Alice began apologising to her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Jennet does not know. I’m sure she would not have—’

  The novice held up her hand and broke in. ‘It is nothing. I have heard worse descriptions and from those with wiser heads on their shoulders.’

  Jennet looked at Aunt Alice, confused by all this—had she offended the woman in some way?

  Sister Bridget smiled at her. ‘The time has come to cast aside all pretence,’ she said. ‘I shall hide no longer. If Rowena Cooper succeeds, then such secrets are useless. The world that remains if we fail will not care who I am.’

  Miss Boston put her arm round Jennet and drew her back a little. The novice raised her hands and methodically removed the pins which kept the white veil in place. She threw them to the ground and, with a great, glad sigh, she tore the veil from her head.

  Jennet gasped in amazement while Miss Boston clapped her hands gleefully. ‘Welcome back,’ she said.

  Sister Bridget stretched out her arms and let out a cry like nothing the girl had ever heard. Centuries of torment and fear roared into the night, released at last. The hair which she shook loose was a thick tangle of dark green that grew far back on the top of her head. She swept the heavy, seaweed-like hanks over her shoulders and, as she did so, Jennet saw the scales beneath her scalloped ears glisten in the moonlight.

  ‘You… you’re not human!’ she stammered.

  ‘Tut tut, Jennet,’ chided Aunt Alice. ‘Don’t be so rude.’

  ‘Do not be afraid, child,’ assured the novice. ‘I will not harm you.’

  ‘Of course she won’t,’ said Aunt Alice. ‘Remember that story Benjamin told us—the one about the aufwaders?’

  Jennet could not think clearly and shook her head.

  ‘I stand before you the first and last of my kind,’ Sister Bridget told her. ‘My father was a fisherman. A good soul, yet cursed with the sight. Cursed because it ruined his life. He saw and fell in love with an aufwader and together they defied the wishes of the Lords of the Deep.’ She turned and stared out to the calm black sea. ‘I was the result of their union,’ she said. ‘The sin of my parents was borne out in me. A freak of nature I am, a hideous crossbreed that should never have been allowed to draw breath.’

  ‘Well, I think you look marvellous,’ piped up Aunt Alice, unable to conceal her enthusiasm any longer.

  The novice shrugged. ‘Then you are the only one,’ she said. ‘Even Oona, my mother, could not bear to see me once my father was taken to the deeps. It was she who entrusted me to the care of the nuns, leaving me outside the convent gates as an infant. Never had they seen such an ugly child. In those times they believed that inner evil was betrayed in the flesh. I must have seemed like the very devil to them. Still, they were as kind to me as their courage allowed. I was fortunate they did not burn me for a witch’s brat.’

  Jennet felt her eyes prick with tears; she felt so awful about calling the aufwaders ‘creatures’ and ‘things’. ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘It matters very little now,’ Sister Bridget replied. ‘The years have taught me much; there were many bitter lessons to learn and I survived them all. But the hatred of mankind was easier to bear than this yearning for the sea which binds my heart. Do you know what it is to ache for what you cannot have? All my life I have been mesmerised by its beauty. It plagues my dreams and torments my soul—if indeed I possess one,’ She closed her eyes and said softly, ‘How well I know the sights and smells of the sea. How many times have I watched it, that slumbering beast which waits for me? Yes, it is waiting—it knows that the day will come when I can resist no more and must give myself to the waves. Perhaps that moment is coming. For many long, weary years I have tried to suppress my desire and have prayed for redemption. Alas, my attempts to keep away have failed. I fear that one day soon I may walk into the water and not return.’

  ‘That would be a tragic waste,’ said Miss Boston.

  ‘No,’ murmured the sister, ‘it would merely mark the end of my life. No one would mourn my going and the Deep Ones will rise to drag me to their dark realm.’

  Aunt Alice touched her hand sympathetically. But it was not pity that Sister Bridget wanted. ‘I have dared all tonight to bring you here,’ she said. ‘Now that I have surrendered my secret the number of my days is short, but before I take the cold road I must be certain that Rowena Cooper is thwarted.’

  ‘May we know now what she said to you that night?’ asked Miss Boston. ‘What was she after?’

  ‘She is a desperate woman,’ the novice replied; ‘inside she is eaten away. The pain I feel for the sea is nothing compared with her lust for greater power—it is that which she seeks. That is why she attempted to enlist me in her service, first with promises she could not fulfil and then with threats. I would never have aided her—you did not
have to fear that. What she wanted was too much for any mortal.’

  Aunt Alice held Jennet tightly. ‘And what did she ask?’ she ventured.

  The sister fanned out her fingers and spread her hands before her, motioning to the invisible horizon of the sea. ‘She seeks the moonkelp,’ she answered simply.

  ‘But that’s what Ben’s looking for!’ exclaimed Jennet. ‘He said it was to save the aufwader tribe. What can she want it for?’

  ‘The moonkelp is a great treasure,’ returned Sister Bridget. ‘The Lords of the Deep would pay any reward that is in their power to get it back. Rowena undoubtedly has a deadlier prize in mind than the lifting of the Mothers’ Curse.’

  Miss Boston peered at the novice with twinkling eyes. Quietly, she said, ‘You know when and where it will bloom, don’t you?’

  The sister nodded. ‘There are many memories one carries from childhood—who knows, perhaps a halfchild can recall more than most. I remember when my father was alive, before the day he set sail to cast his nets and caught only death.’ She paused and a strange light glimmered in her eyes as she cut through the centuries of adulthood. ‘I can still hear the rain battering against the walls and hammering on the roof,’ she began. ‘The noise of the thunder was frightening and to allay my fears, Mother sang to me. Her face was lovely; I remember the softness of her cheeks and the scent of her hair as she held her face against mine to lull me to sleep. That memory of that precious afternoon when I was loved and cared for is the one thing that I have clung to down the years. The following day my father set out in his boat and was lost.’

  ‘What did Oona sing to you?’ asked Miss Boston.

  ‘Rhymes of lore, chants to raise the tide and stir the waves. Everything she knew she put into song to ease her child. You see, she must have loved me that day.’

  ‘And one of the songs was about the moonkelp,’ said Jennet.