by Robin Jarvis
Jennet had no idea why the woman was laughing, but as usual the performance was too loud and too long.
I... I'll be off then," the girl muttered.
Meta calmed herself and with a flourish waved her farewell. "Till later, my pet!" she called and spun on her heel dragging the dog closely by her side.
Jennet watched them trail on to the sands but instead of letting the animal off the leash once they had left the road behind them, Meta kept it pulled on a tighter rein than ever.
"Some exercise!" Jennet observed and then her brow creased into a frown as she realised what had troubled her before.
"How come Meta knows Seffy's owner and takes her for walks? She said she'd never been to Whitby before!"
***
That afternoon the happiest woman in the entire world was Mrs Edith Adams. In the space of twenty minutes all her years of loneliness were finally dispelled and she emerged from the registry office flushed and excited—content and overjoyed for the first time in her life.
"Congratulations, the pair of you!" Miss Boston chuckled leaning on only the one walking stick.
With her arm linked in that of her husband, Edith waggled her hand and let the ring sparkle on her finger. "I can't believe it!" she squealed. "Oh Conway!"
The doctor gave his wife a gentle squeeze and kissed her on the cheek.
"Jubilation!" gushed Sister Frances as she stomped gawkily up to them. "Simply top class ceremony, who would have thought it? You two really are an inspiring lesson to us all."
The new Mrs Adams was not sure how to take this. "I beg your pardon?" she twittered.
"I mean to say," the nun gabbled on, "if people of your senior years can tie the knot then it gives hope to everyone—doesn't it, Miss B?"
Both Edith and Miss Boston looked away from the tactless and absurd nun.
"Come now, Frances," a small woman with tiny black button eyes broke in with an apologetic cough. Peeking over the rims of her spectacles she gave her charge a belligerent look and led her out of harm's way.
"Oh Mother Superior," Frances suggested, "can we pop in to the bunfight? I do so love a party!"
"You most certainly cannot!" was the indignant reply. "Have you forgotten the last party you gatecrashed? I refuse to let you anywhere near the place!"
Sister Frances grumbled under her breath and buried her chin into her chest sulkily. "Rotten old killjoy," she murmured.
Clutching her bouquet, Edith peered round for the children and squeaked for them to stop hiding and have their photograph taken.
Without saying a word, Ben left his hiding place behind a plump woman in a navy blue dress and stepped forward.
The boy had said nothing of his horrific experience the night before. It had all been so eerie and bizarre that he had difficulty believing it himself and tried not to bring the memory of Miriam Gower's drowning screams to the forefront of his mind.
At that moment, however, his cheeks were rosy and pink, having been pinched and tweaked by all the cotton-gloved and behatted ladies who had flocked to the wedding. Cooing and pecking at him they shrilly pronounced that he was "as cute as can be" and ruffled his hair after planting their dry, beaky lips upon his shrinking forehead.
The lamentable outfit which elicited these unwanted attentions consisted of a frilly white shirt, silver-buckled shoes and, worst of all, a kilt that was too short. Glassy-eyed and not daring to look too closely at the amused crowd which had gathered before the steps of the registry office, he assumed a fixed expression for the photographer and wished the ground would open up.
Jennet was having similar difficulties. Not only had Edith made her wear the most hideous dress ever to be rejected from a doll factory, the ghastly woman had also compelled her to tie a massive pink ribbon in her hair.
Aunt Alice looked at them both and shook her woolly head at what her friend had done to them. "Perhaps I should have interceded," she chortled. "Oh well, it's too late now."
The confetti rained down like pastel-coloured snow and with a mad impulse to conform to old traditions, Mrs Adams swung her arms and flung the bouquet over her shoulder.
"Great heavens!" a startled and delighted voice cried. "How simply spiffing! Look, everyone!"
Blushing a deep crimson, the Mother Superior gazed to heaven for divine strength as Sister Frances twirled the bouquet above her head in gleeful triumph.
When the hired car departed to take the newlyweds to the reception, Jennet unravelled the ribbon from her hair and walked over to Aunt Alice.
"Quite unnecessary!" the old lady commented, watching the car turn the corner. "The place is only two hundred yards from here!"
Jennet nibbled her lip nervously. "I don't feel very well," she lied, holding her stomach.
"You poor dear," Aunt Alice cried, putting her arm about her. "Probably nerves, added to the fact you haven't eaten much today. No doubt you'll feel much better with a bridge roll and some tinned salmon inside you."
"I couldn't," the girl refused. "I really would like to just go home and lie down."
"But the reception!"
"I know. I'm sorry, apologise for me."
Miss Boston gazed intently at her and the girl averted her eyes. "Would you like me to accompany you?" she asked kindly. "I never did care for fruit-cake, and cheap champagne always gives me wind."
"No you must go!" Jennet cried. "I mean, she's one of your oldest friends—how would it look?"
"Yes!" Ben piped up behind them. "I don't want to miss the food!"
"Very well," Aunt Alice consented, "if you're sure you'll be all right, Jennet dear?"
"'Course I will."
"Come then, Benjamin, would you care to escort this old spinster to the function that awaits us?"
Jennet lingered until they had departed, the old lady barely leaning on the walking stick and her brother holding her free hand—his silver buckles winking as he walked.
When they were out of sight, Jennet checked her watch and hurried off in the opposite direction.
Straight up the one hundred and ninety-nine steps she hurried, the voluminous folds of her pink satin dress tangling around her knees and tripping her up many times before she reached the summit.
Pear was sitting on a stool outside the camper van when the girl came rushing from the cemetery. The spectacle of this bright, fluttering apparition brought her leaping to her feet and doubling in two with laughter.
"Which Christmas tree did you fall off?" she wept. "Have you seen yourself?"
"Don't be horrible," Jennet blurted, leaning against the van. "I'm supposed to be a bridesmaid."
"Who got married, Mr and Mrs Candyfloss?"
The girls giggled and Jennet threw herself upon the grass. "With any luck the foul frock’ll turn green," she sighed. "I looked for you this morning."
Pear tore a clump of weeds from the soil. "I know," she muttered, "Meta told me."
"Where did you get to?"
"Oh... just around."
"Well, I couldn't find you."
"Hey!" Pear cried. "I bought you a present."
"A present? For me? What is it?"
The girl foraged inside the van and brought out a small brown paper parcel.
Jennet took it and gave her a puzzled look. "Smells like old Hot Cross Buns," she said, "and it's all crumbly."
"It's Henna."
"What's that for?"
Pear flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm going to colour your hair."
Jennet put the packet on the ground. "Oh, I don't know..." she demurred.
"Don't be boring," the other insisted. "You were only saying yesterday how you wanted to change your life—this is a beginning. The power of change is within us all but only the truly free know how and dare to use it."
"Yes, but to dye my hair..."
"Don't worry, it'll wash out."
And so the two spent a hilariously messy afternoon. First they mixed the henna powder into a thick paste and daubed it over Jennet's hair, massaging it well into her sca
lp. But much of the gritty stuff went astray as they larked about and flicked it at one another and it was not long before the pink satin dress was speckled and stained a ruddy brown.
When the other members of the folk band returned, they found Jennet with her clogged hair plastered flat against her scalp and hanging in dripping hanks about her shoulders like seaweed.
All of the women were pleased to see her and Meta teasingly remarked that Jennet was like a caterpillar in a cocoon and she was impatient to see the butterfly that would emerge.
When it was time, Pear poured a pan of water over her friend's head to rinse out the henna and Jennet dried her hair with a towel, then borrowed a brush from Meta.
The women sat down around her and looked on the transformed girl with sincere admiration.
"You look a hundred times better," Meta told her. "What a difference—quite like 'The Ugly Duckling'."
"Don't listen to her," Pear said. "You were never ugly. Meta's just scared you'll be prettier than she is."
"Mm," Liz nodded, "very nice."
Jennet drew her fingers through her hair and longed to see how she appeared. "Have you a mirror?" she asked.
"Only the ones on the van," Meta answered. "Go, take a peep—see what you think."
Jennet rose and walked apprehensively to the side of the camper. Crouching, she gazed into the wing mirror and stared at the image within.
She hardly recognised the face that looked out at her. The henna had inflamed a lustrous, coppery fire in her drab dark hair and when it moved the rich colours rippled and gleamed. Jennet could not believe the change, she seemed older and more assured and after staring at the reflection for several minutes, she whirled around and gave Pear a delighted hug.
"It's better than I ever hoped!" she cried. "I even feel different. It's marvellous, thank you!"
Caroline took her fiddle from the van and as the others complimented the girl, began to play a gentle melody.
"I predict that our fledgeling is going to blossom into a great beauty quite soon," Meta crooned. "What a frightening woman she will be. Imagine all those hearts that will turn to her—will she spurn them and be a cold destroyer of men? Or will she have one great passion in her life and be dominated totally by it—forsaking all else and consumed utterly by its ravaging flames? Which would you prefer?"
Jennet sniggered. "I shall choose only millionaires," she told them gravely, "and make them buy me lots of expensive jewellery."
"Jewels for M'lady Jennet!" Pear announced and she removed from around her neck several long strings of glass beads. "There you are, your ladyship, your crown jewels."
Jennet swung them round in her fingers and looked haughtily from side to side. "Not forgetting lovely clothes," she added.
From the van Pear brought a sequin-covered shawl and wrapped it around her friend's neck. "There you are, Your Highness—cloth of gold from the far-off Indies."
"But what will you do if his wealth runs out?" Meta asked. "Will you stay by your bankrupt millionaire and sell all your finery?"
"No chance!" Jennet answered. "I shall leave him and find another."
"How deliriously wicked," Meta purred, "but what about love? Millionaires are always fat and bald and their breath stinks of cigars—you must have a paramour."
"A what?"
"A lover of course—the special one to whom you always return and who visits your dreams."
The smile faded from Jennet's face, and she pulled the shawl from her shoulders. "I don't think so," she muttered. "I did think that at one time perhaps—but I was stupid. It was only infatuation, a silly crush and besides, he was a horrid man."
Meta smiled disarmingly. "Why are we drawn to the wrong men?" she drawled. "It's never the reliable and faithful ones—always the beasts who treat us like dirt. Bewitched moths to brutal flames, that's what we are."
She stretched like a feline and took a deep breath. "It's another ravishing evening," she remarked, "and there just happens to be another bottle of wine waiting to be opened. Would you like a glass, Jennet?"
The girl hesitated.
Meta watched her and put her hand to her brow, peering around the van as if searching for something. "I may be wrong," she said, "but I don't think there are any stray nuns on the horizon. You're perfectly safe, child—or did that overgrown penguin make you sign the pledge? Do you think you have to be saved from our terrible influence?"
"No," Jennet rallied, "I'd love a drink."
It was not long before they all held a glass of wine in their hands and Meta led them in a toast.
"To the flowering of our new friend," she declared. "May her tinted tresses be but the first of many changes in her young and vital life."
To prove that she didn't care what Sister Frances or anyone else had to say, Jennet took a great gulp of the wine and pulled the shawl over her shoulders once more.
Gradually the rest of the women took up their instruments and joined Caroline in the wonderfully soothing tune. Jennet listened to them happily but the sound was so enchanting that it began to lull her senses and before long she was yawning and blinking.
"I'm sorry," she apologised, "it's been a long day—what with the wedding and every... oh dear, I am tired."
The women smiled at her and continued to make the melodious music until the battle to keep her eyes open grew more and more hopeless for the girl and, in the end, the incredible weariness overcame her.
Without warning, Jennet fell back on to the grass and lay as still as death.
Pear leaned over her and gently pushed one eye open. The pupil was large and stared unflinchingly upwards.
"Has it worked?" Meta asked, putting her concertina down.
Pear nodded, "Yes," she said sorrowfully, "she's out cold."
"Then let us go at once!" her mother hissed to the others.
Immediately, Liz and Caroline ceased playing and as one they rose to put their instruments into the camper van.
"Now pick up the girl," Meta told them, "and put her inside."
"Carefully!" Pear added.
"Just be quick!" snapped Meta, glancing warily around the car park.
Hastily, Jennet was bundled into the vehicle and when the two women had climbed in after, Meta pulled the large side door shut with a loud slam and hurried to the front where she jumped into the driver's seat.
"Pear!" she called. "Get in!"
Her daughter had wandered to the cliff edge and hardly heard her.
"What is it?" Meta barked. "Hurry! We must waste no time!"
Reluctantly Pear clambered in beside her. "Did you hear it?" she asked.
"Hear what?"
"The music. It was unlike any I have ever... you must have heard it. It was floating up from the shore far below—it was so sad."
Meta sneered. "Those loathsome wading creatures!" she spat. "They must have assembled and begun already. Now there is no time to be lost—your annoying little friend must be initiated tonight!"
Pear wriggled on her seat to look into the back of the van and gazed thoughtfully at Jennet.
"You won't hurt her, will you?"
Meta turned the key in the ignition and grappled with the gear stick. "Don't bother about her!" she shouted above the splutter of the engine. "Fill your mind with our great cause. What is she to you? Just some fool of a girl the High Priest hardly gave thought to!"
Pear stared glumly out of the window and with a lurch, the camper van lumbered from the car park and sped down Abbey Lane, leaving Whitby far behind.
9 - The Brides Of Crozier
With his fist wrapped tightly about his staff, Tarr stood stiffly upon the rocky shore, his wind-burned countenance grim and resolute. Gathered around him in a large semi-circle that faced the outgoing tide, the rest of the tribe were sitting upon boulders and gazing in subdued silence at the impassive leaden sea.
Every face was set and grave, for that night was a solemn and melancholy occasion and their hearts quailed within their breasts when they thought of what th
eir leader had taken upon himself to do.
The aufwaders were dressed in ceremonial finery and even the older members had washed and scrubbed themselves until their leathery and lined skin glowed ruddily. Beards had been brushed free of twig and shell and all heads were bare in honour of the expected guest.
At her grandfather's side, Nelda had clothed herself in the bridal dress she had worn when Esau had claimed her, but now the blue-green garment was tight about her middle and the stitches gaped at the seams of the richly-embroidered fabric.
With a heaviness of spirit, she looked around at the other fisherfolk but drew no comfort from their sombre faces.
"We waste our time, grandfather," she said hopelessly. "The Triad beneath the sea will not choose to hear us. Why should they after all this time and the cries of every mother who has gone before me?"
Tarr's bristly eyebrows knitted together and a fierce scowl creased over his face. "They'll hear me, reet enough!" he snarled, glancing up at the darkening sky. "The hour grows near—the moon is rising."
Low over the horizon, the round disc of the full moon appeared faint in the fading blue of the evening and at a signal from Tarr the aufwaders began to sing.
Very faintly at first, each of the fisherfolk commenced the chant. They were old words handed down from mother to son, a song that stretched back into the early days of the Earth when the many tribes crowded the shoreline and dealt freely with the three powers of the waking world. Not once in living memory had the remaining aufwaders assembled to perform the litany, but it was so deeply anchored within their being that no one faltered and the words of the ancient chorus rose before the cliffs, borne upon the twilight breeze.
Only Tarr and Nelda remained silent, and as the dirge-like music burgeoned about them they stared resolutely out to sea.
Early stars pricked through the cobalt sky which grew gradually dimmer until the shore beneath the cliffs became swamped in a dismal gloom. Yet still the funereal chant continued and as the moon climbed higher, Tarr beckoned to Eurgen Handibrass who was crouched at the front of the semi-circle and the elderly aufwader rose creakily to his feet. In his gnarled hands he carried a bulky object covered by a cloth of fine muslin decorated with intricate embroidery and, treading carefully, he took it over to the leader of the tribe.