by Robin Jarvis
A hideous face was peeping up at her. It was only a carving beneath the seat of the main throne but above that crouched a figure that Nelda truly feared. He was more loathsome than any sculpted gargoyle, for he was the oldest of all the fisherfolk and leader of the Triad.
Esau had lived for eight centuries and each and every one of those years was etched on his face. He was a wizened, shrivelled creature, whose hands were more like claws. His matted forked beard was adorned with small shells and the long, unkempt hair which flowed down his humped back was tangled with seaweed and threaded with painted stones.
The talons of his fingers tapped the stone serpents that twisted around the arm of the throne. He was impatient and, as Nelda approached, leaned forward with undisguised anticipation. Though he was ancient his eyes were as sharp as ever they had been. They twinkled under the dancing light of the silver lamp and darted slyly round the chamber. He could see the expressions on all their faces—he knew what they were thinking. Well, let them, there was nothing they could do to stop him. He had waited a long time for this. Toying with the pearl that hung about his neck, he squinted at his fellow elders on either side—they too were powerless to stop him and he could not prevent a gleeful cackle issuing from his cracked lips.
Tarr let go of Nelda's hand, it was the law that she must face this on her own. She stepped forward and stared defiantly at the hunched figure.
"I have been summoned," she said, managing a bold, fearless tone. "What is it the Triad want of me? I stand here guiltless and await your judgement." So ran the words of the trial and she waited for the response.
The elders who flanked Esau swallowed nervously. Neither of them could look at the young aufwader and they mumbled into their beards. Both hated what they must do and they struggled to pronounce what they had been instructed to say.
"Daughter of Abe," muttered one of them, "thou hast been brought to this chamber to answer." He stole a glance at Esau and shuddered. His name was Johab and he was only a little older than Nelda's grandfather. His sea-grey eyes closed and his pity went out to her—he could not continue.
Esau jabbed at the other elder to complete the condemnation, who reluctantly cleared his throat. He fidgeted for a time then said, "Dost thou remember what occurred two moons since? And dost thou recall the words thou didst speak?"
Nelda did not look at him but continued to glare at Esau. He was the one behind all this. It was time to draw him out, the charade had gone on long enough.
"I remember calling you an old fool!" she snapped.
A murmur ran round the rest of the tribe, but this time they were not angry with her, they agreed.
"Be silent!" Esau gripped the arms of the great stone chair and barked at everyone, his eyes gleaming with malice. Then he swung round and pointed an accusing, gnarled finger at Nelda. "'Abide by my decision', I did tell thee!" he raged. "And didst thou not answer?"
"I did."
Esau hugged his knees, panting eagerly. "And thine own words were?"
"So be it."
"So be it!" he screamed triumphantly. "So be it!" He crawled from the throne and put out his bony hands to the surrounding crowd. "From her own mouth she doth freely admit the bargain!" he cried. "If she did fail to return with the moonkelp, then unto me she would surrender her fate. And without that treasure came she back to these caves!"
He took a pace closer to her and lowered his ugly, withered head. "Now have I decided," he breathed into her face, "and thou must obey."
Here it came, the final pronouncement of doom, the jaws of her dreaded fate were closing and she could do nothing to save herself.
Esau raised an emaciated arm and all held their breath.
"Hear me!" he commanded. "Witness this—my judgement. For years beyond the span of many have I sat in council upon this throne and long and lonely have those years proven to be. My heart shrieks out at me! How often have I felt it bleed? I have hungered, I have craved—but no more! The gnawing solitude is come to an end at last. Nelda Shrimp, thou shalt be my bride!"
There, it had been said aloud. The fears of the whole tribe had been brought into the light and the truth of his lust reviled them all.
Nelda did not move; throughout all this she had been in the possession of an icy dignity but now hot tears streaked down her face.
Esau hobbled closer and reached out one of his filthy claws. She flinched as he stroked her hair. "Fear not, my beloved," he feverishly cooed, "I shall never harm thee. For many years I have watched thee, many empty years—a soul cannot last alone. Be a companion to me in my dotage, that is all I ask of thee—nought else."
The leathery skin of his repulsive hand brushed against her cheek and Nelda drew quickly away. "Cease your pawing!" she demanded. "It's true you have the right to claim me, but I curse the day I uttered those foolish, ill-counselled words. Would that I could call them back!"
"I am fortunate thou canst not," he broke in. "Thou shalt be mine at the next full moon."
A horrified uproar erupted in the chamber. "The moon—she waxes even now!" the fisherfolk cried. "In only two days she will be at her zenith. Whither are your wits?"
"Tha canna intend to wed wi' me granddaughter two nights hence!" bellowed Tarr in outrage.
"I do indeed!" declared Esau clenching his crippled fists. "And there is nought you can do, Tarr. The law is with me on this. I have waited too long already—I shall not be kept from her another moon."
The clamouring continued and many vented their opinions on the lecherous elder. What he was doing was obscene. The only one who said nothing was Nelda herself. Through the turmoil her eyes met those of Esau and held them. In that brief instant, when the oldest of the fisherfolk stared at the youngest, their spirits strove for dominance. Each battled with the other and attempted to cast their snares, Nelda with the pure vigour of youth and Esau with the desperate tenacity of age. The air between their brows shimmered and once the elder took a step backwards, but he swiftly rallied and countered with such violence in his eyes that Nelda staggered and broke free.
"Enough," she gasped, "I submit. In two days I shall be yours."
The breath rattled in Esau's throat and he grasped the throne for support. She would be an excellent match for him and he gave a greedy, wheezing laugh.
Nelda, however, had not finished. "Yes, I shall marry you," she said, "but the ceremony must be attended by my human friend—the man child, Ben."
Esau snarled and he spun round like a whipped dog. "A human!" he cried. "Wouldst thou invite the entire accursed race into our halls?"
"I ask for one only," she replied. "If Ben is not here then there will be no wedding."
The elder licked his gums in annoyance, then he sneered and told her, "Verily thy friend shall attend. He is most welcome to witness our marriage—yet at that time say unto him all that thou wouldst, for in after days thou shalt never again see the human child. When thou art bound to me the upper world will be forbidden and thy friend shall be withered to death and rotting in his grave before the ban is lifted!" He turned his back on them all and returned to sit on the throne. The meeting was over.
The tribe glanced at Nelda uncertainly. One by one they gradually left the chamber and began the long trudge back to their homes, troubled in heart and mind.
Nelda shook her head sorrowfully. What she had feared was indeed coming to pass. Esau would keep her a prisoner down here, she would never see the daylight again and, after her wedding, Ben too would be a memory to be forgotten.
"Come, lass," Tarr softly spoke in her ear, "theer's plenty to see to."
With a final look at her future husband, Nelda followed her grandfather from the chamber.
Hunched on the throne, Esau fingered the pearl at his throat and wetted his dry lips at the thought of the forthcoming wedding.
4 - The Charming Man
"Where is that confounded thing!" cried an exasperated Miss Boston. She heaved the large suitcase from her bed and peered underneath. "Well, what are you doing th
ere?" she demanded of her nightdress. Wearily she dragged it out and stuffed it into the already bulging case.
Her friend, Edith Wethers, peered in through the bedroom door. "Hurry, Alice," she fussed. "The train to Darlington leaves in an hour. If you don't catch it then you won't make your connection."
Miss Boston puckered her lips and tried to control herself. Miss Wethers had been making useful comments like that all morning. "Haven't you got a post office to run, Edith dear?" she muttered through gritted teeth.
"I told you, Alice, I asked Mrs Simpson to open today. I knew you'd need all the help you could get."
So far as Miss Boston could see, Edith had been no help whatsoever. Still she could not criticise, for her friend had agreed to look after the children while she was away.
"There!" the old lady sat on the suitcase and fastened it before it could spring apart again. "I do believe I have everything."
Miss Wethers examined her watch and tutted. "Fifty minutes," she observed.
Alice took a firm hold of her luggage and hauled it from the bed. "Oh my word!" she exclaimed, staggering under the weight. "It feels as though I'm off to climb Everest."
"Do stop dawdling," urged Edith impatiently. "Why do you always have to leave everything to the last minute, Alice? It really is most irresponsible. What sort of an example are you setting for those children?" With her hands fluttering over the neck of her blouse she descended the stairs, blind to the rude faces Miss Boston was pulling behind her.
Jennet and Ben were waiting for them in the hall; they had said nothing to Aunt Alice about Danny and Mark for they didn't want to worry her.
"Here's your cloak," said Jennet, putting the tweed wrap around the old lady's shoulders.
"Thank you, my dear," smiled Miss Boston. "My my, I do believe I'm ready for the off."
"And not before time," remarked Edith.
Miss Boston ignored her and gave each of the children a hug. "I shan't bother to ask you to be good for Miss Wethers," she told them. "I know you're both sensible enough to behave when I'm away. Jennet, I'm relying on you—remember."
The girl nodded, she wanted to tell the old lady to have a good time, but as she was visiting someone on their deathbed it hardly seemed appropriate. Instead she said, "Have a safe journey—we'll miss you."
"Oh nonsense," chirped Aunt Alice. "It's only four days—why, I shall be back before you know it."
"Well, I hope so," said Miss Wethers.
"Now don't forget, Benjamin," Miss Boston continued, "it's your job to take care of Eurydice and her little ones. You know how much to feed them, don't you? And when Madam goes out, put her on a string. I'm not having you traipsing off to that horrible house after her when I'm not here."
Ben smiled, he was looking forward to having Miss Wethers staying with them. He knew she was allergic to cat fur and had been collecting some especially.
"Now, Edith," Miss Boston said turning to her friend. "I trust you'll be all right?"
Miss Wethers looked at her doubtfully. "Actually," she began, "there were one or two things." Her hand reached inside the sleeve of her cardigan and brought out a crumpled tissue with which she dabbed her nose. "I really don't feel at all prepared for this," she said, "you did rather spring it upon me. I'm just not qualified to look after two boisterous children. What will it do to my nerves? What am I to give them to eat?" She lowered her voice and in a delicate voice added, "And what about bathtime? What am I expected to do then? I tell you, Alice, I don't know if agreeing to this wasn't all a terrible mistake!" She buried her face in the tissue and blew hard.
Miss Boston rolled her eyes to the ceiling and spent the last of her dwindling patience. "Oh for heaven's sake, Edith!" she sighed. "Pull yourself together! It's too late now to back out of it. I'm depending on you—the letter from Patricia only arrived a few days ago and there just wasn't time to arrange anything else. As for bathtimes, Jennet can see to herself and so can Ben. So don't get yourself in a tiz, you won't have to acquaint yourself with the male anatomy at all."
Edith choked at that but Aunt Alice rattled on. "And what do you think they eat? They're not parakeets or a rare type of monkey—give them the same as you!"
Ben rather fancied being a monkey and he bared his teeth at Miss Wethers whilst scratching himself under the arms.
The postmistress stared at him in alarm and dragged Miss Boston into the parlour. "Did you see that?" she whined. "What sort of a boy is he? Alice, I've only ever lived with my mother, and she was bedridden for thirty of those years. What if something horrendous happens—what am I to do? Never was good in a crisis. I'm not Prudence, you know. I won't be able to cope, I just won't!"
Miss Boston patted her on the shoulder. "'Course you will, Edith. Besides, I shall ring you every day at the post office and if there is an emergency you have the telephone number of Patricia's house. But what could possibly happen in four days? Goodness me, look at the time, only twenty minutes to get to the station. Come along—do you want me to miss this train?"
At last Miss Boston managed to leave the cottage. The children and Miss Wethers were to accompany her to the train station and after five minutes of reassuring Edith about this and that, they were able to set off.
As they passed the Gregsons' house, the door opened and Nathaniel Crozier smiled at them. "Good morning," he greeted them amiably.
Miss Boston almost tripped over Edith in surprise. "Gracious me!" she exclaimed.
"We meet again," he said. "I told you we would. Off to London now, are you? I hope Mrs Gunning recovers."
"Er, thank you," murmured Aunt Alice, but she looked at the man strangely.
Nathaniel beamed more broadly and Miss Wethers blushed. "Mr Crozier, isn't it?" she twittered into her hand. "You met me in the post office yesterday. Are you settling in?"
"Most admirably," he replied, "and it's a great pleasure to see you again."
Edith turned bright pink, but she could find nothing else to say to the winning man and hung her head, feeling cross with herself.
Even Jennet found the man's smile pleasant and she too felt the colour rise in her cheeks. Quickly she looked away in embarrassment.
"Less than fifteen minutes!" declared Miss Boston. "Come along!" She bustled them out of the yard and through the narrow alley that led to Church Street.
Ben had been watching his sister with some amusement, he had never seen her be coy before. Hanging back from the others he turned to steal a final glance at the man who had caused Jennet to blush. Nathaniel was still standing on the Gregsons' doorstep but the expression on his face had changed. It was like a storm cloud passing over the sun and Ben grimaced at the ugliness of it. Shuddering, he fled back up the alley and joined the others.
"What did you say his name was?" Aunt Alice was asking the postmistress.
"Mr Crozier," Edith replied dreamily, "isn't it a lovely name?"
But Miss Boston was frowning at something and it was Jennet who answered, "Yes," she agreed, "it is lovely."
Aunt Alice was too lost in her own thoughts to notice—where had she heard that name before?
***
Young Mr Parks was the junior partner of Olive and Parks, the estate agents. Actually he was not that young but as he had succeeded his father it was easier for the locals to identify him as such in conversation. His nose was rather long and it ended sharply like a beak. The pale green eyes which sat on either side of this unfortunate protuberance were just that little bit too close together and they made him resemble a vulture. Sadly, from the first, his manner had also been against him, he was too flippant; when he showed prospective clients around desirable residences he had a habit of making jokes about the condition of the roof or the state of the floorboards. He thought he was putting them at their ease and jollying things along, but no one ever realised that he was trying to be funny and in his time had put off many an eager purchaser.
His lack of success over the years had taken its toll. Now the only jokes were sarcastic ones and
he had grown tired of the business and wished he had done something else with his life.
While he fumbled with the large bunch of keys, he took time to consider his latest potential client. The man was standing some distance away from the property, no doubt admiring its grandeur. His clothes left a lot to be desired but, from the few brief words they had exchanged he was obviously well-educated. He must have a lot of money too, to be so interested in this property, for only the very wealthy could possibly hope to afford it. Mr Parks ignored the sense of uneasiness that he felt—how he hated going into this house.
"Here we are," he grinned, flourishing the correct set of keys, "I'll have the door open in a jiffy, Mr Crozier."
Nathaniel was too busy surveying the grand building to answer. It was one of the oldest properties in Whitby, some parts of it dated back to the tenth century and perhaps further still. Over the ages it had been extended and embellished; the chimneys were Elizabethan, as were the latticed windows, but in other parts you could glimpse Georgian craftsmanship and Victorian heavy-handedness.
"Impressive, isn't it?" said the estate agent. "Yes, we're very pleased to have this one on our books. Been in the Banbury-Scott family for—ooh, many years this has. A real showpiece it was. Do you know, architects and historians came from all over the country just to have a look at it? Unusual for such a treasure to be in private hands really, you'd have thought the National Trust would have snapped it up but they don't seem interested." The large oak door opened and he waved Nathaniel from the lawn. "Now, you do understand about the damage?" he asked.
"Your partner told me the last owner made some structural alterations."
The smile froze on Mr Parks's face. He hated it when Christopher Olive dropped him in it. "Actually," he explained slowly, "there's a little more to it than that. Now, don't misunderstand me, the damage is only superficial. There's nothing in here that can't be repaired." He sailed indoors, hoping the worst areas were still covered by dust sheets. The hallway wasn't too bad, though of course the panelling still had horrendous rents in it—why hadn't they hung up a few pictures as he had suggested?