Ghostly Images

by Peter Townsend

  David signalled that he was ready, and Milner’s sour demeanour remained during the four-second exposure and the flash from the magnesium.

  Milner got up from his chair and removed the plate from the camera. He handed the plate to Roper for safekeeping. In the darkroom, Milner grabbed the brown bottles of chemicals, the label on one saying DEVELOPING SOLUTION and on the other label FIXING SOLUTION. He carefully poured the contents into the two dishes and processed the plate.

  Mrs Milner squeezed between her husband and Roper to witness the developing process.

  David couldn’t see the white of the glass plate darken and suspected that there had been a problem with the exposure. It never took this long for darker patterns to emerge. David had given up hope when, little by little, details of Milner’s profile appeared.

  Milner softly chuckled. “Mr Taylor failed to fake any ghostly presence.”

  “What’s that?” asked Roper, pointing at the image and leaning over the dish. “There’s something else there.”

  Milner grunted. “You are leaning over the tray and causing a shadow, Mr Roper. Anyway, since you are not a photographer, the negative image on the plate will be meaningless to you.”

  Roper stepped back. “I’m telling you there’s something there, Mr Milner.”

  David’s scalp tingled when he could see the faint image of an old women leaning over Milner’s shoulder in the photograph.

  Mrs Milner grabbed her husband’s arm. “That’s your mother Bridget. There’s no doubt about it.”

  “Don’t be silly, Anna!”

  “Daniel Milner don’t you dare tell me that I can’t understand a negative image after all these years!” she said. “Mr Taylor can do a print for us.”

  “He will not!” Milner shouted and swept his hand against the dish, sending it, the chemicals, and the plate crashing to the floor. He collapsed to his knees and picked up a broken piece of the glass plate only to toss it aside. “Bring the camera to me!” he shouted.

  Markus removed it from the tripod and brought it to Milner who ripped off the rear case of the camera and tossed it and the camera aside.

  David darted forward and grabbed his camera inches before it struck the floor. He then reached down to pick up the rear case.

  “We need a closer scientific test! It is a clever trick, but I am sure we can get to the bottom of this deception!” Milner raged.

  David held his damaged camera protectively. “I won’t be doing any more spirit photography. I told Hood I would do this for a maximum of three weeks. That time is up in exactly one and an half hours.”

  Milner’s knees buckled, and he fell on his side against the floor. His wife knelt beside him. “Fetch a doctor!” she screamed and the men began to rush to do her bidding.

  “No...stop...I do not need one,” whispered Milner feebly. “The chemical fumes...made me dizzy. I’m seeing bouncing...red balloons.”

  “It will go away soon,” said David softly. “It’s probably due to looking too closely at the darkroom lights.”

  Milner glared at David. “I don’t need any advice from you. Leave my studio immediately.”

  David rushed out as Mrs Milner and the two men helped the sick photographer to his feet.

  DAVID PLACED HIS BROKEN CAMERA on the table where he and John examined it. “The back’s badly damaged,” he groaned.

  “I’ve fixed worse damage than that for Mr Jenkins. I’ll fix this for you,” said John breezily.

  “Don’t you want to see Laura instead?”

  “I’ll see Laura later. You know how much I love fixing things.”

  “I can see why Mr Pugin wants you as his assistant manager. I wish I had your practical skills.”

  “I’ll get to work on it right away.”

  “Thanks, John.”

  David checked his pocket watch. It was a few minutes after five. “Our working for Hood and doing spirit photography is now officially over. I’ll write a note to that effect and leave it on the table.”

  David soon completed the task and looked up to see John’s contented expression as he handled the camera. He never looked that relaxed when he was taking photographs and processing plates.

  “Let’s leave now.”

  “I’ll fix your camera first. I have what I need here.” John used a small screwdriver at the back of the camera to remove a hinge.

  “You seem a lot happier when you’re fixing things with your hands. I’m sure in the future, you’ll set up in business either making or repairing cameras.”

  John put the screwdriver down and looked up. “Yes. I’ll certainly give that some thought.” He picked up the screwdriver again. “I need to concentrate on fixing this, David, if you don’t mind?”

  “I’d better leave you to it, then.”

  “I’ll bring it to your lodgings when it’s repaired.”

  David smiled, relieved the end had finally arrived, and as he left, he noticed another thing.

  He didn’t have a headache.

  AFTER DAVID HAD LEFT, John went to the cabinet and took out a few screws, a bracket, and a hinge. He estimated it would only take about an hour to do the repairs. But as he progressed, he discovered that factory-made cameras with standard hinges and brackets were much easier to fix. Tate’s handmade camera presented a greater challenge.

  John slowly and patiently fixed the camera. It had taken much longer than expected and it was now eight in the evening, but he was proud of his success. In his opinion, it was as good as new. He lifted it to make a close inspection. The camera was worth more than its weight in gold. Indeed, it was a moneymaking machine. He bet that if he could buy a photographic studio outright in York, Laura would be mighty proud of him.

  A knock on the studio door had John open it to a boy delivering a message from Mrs Milner. John read the note. She wanted a photograph taken of her dying husband with the Tate camera and was willing to pay eight pounds.

  John hesitated, but consoled himself by thinking that he’d share the eight pounds with David. After taking the photograph, he would return to the studio and develop the plate immediately. When the print was ready, he would place it in an envelope and push it through Mrs Milner’s door.

  He would take a long exposure with the Tate camera, confident that the photograph would reveal the spectral light of heaven.

  Chapter 31

  Thursday 13th September 1894

  “WHERE DO WE DIG?” asked Percy.

  Hood took a piece of paper out from his pocket. He’d inspected nearly every inch of the abbey until he found the second part of the treasure map wedged in the corner of a stone near the main arch. He raised it up to read. “It is in the row of graves beginning with John Atkinson, Master Mariner. Dig in the one marked…Blast! The paper has a hole in it! And is badly faded after that! It does not specify the grave.”

  Percy scratched his beard. He placed his hand on Atkinson’s tombstone and walked to the end of the line and back. “Five graves are in this row. Where do we start?”

  “I will take the first, and you can take the second.”

  Percy gazed over at the far corner of the church. “I’m glad we’re digging well away from my son’s grave, Hood.”

  Hood nodded in reply and placed one lit lantern close the first grave and another close to the second. The two men started digging, their shovel strokes making a rhythmic sound.

  As the minutes passed, Hood could feel the sweat streaming down his back from his exertions. He removed his coat, draped it over the headstone, and rolled up his sleeves. He rested on his shovel in grim determination and saw the flickering lights from the lighthouses on the pier. Only a few lights were visible from the windows of West Whitby. Above lay the blackness of the sky with a scattering of distant stars.

  Hood turned his head and looked up at St Mary’s church clock. 12.30 and still no sign of David and John. He leant on his shovel. “Are you sure the lads were given my instructions?”

  Percy gasped for breath. “I told them…to be her
e…at a quarter to midnight…They’ll arrive any minute now.”

  Hood angrily thrust his shovel in the ground and nearly hit his cane. With only him and Percy, this would take all night, and they had only removed a couple of feet of the tightly compacted soil. Percy wasn’t much help because Hood spied his friend leaning on the shovel more than removing soil with it.

  “Fetch the lads. If they resist, you know what to do.”

  Percy removed his knife out of his pocket. “Don’t worry, Hood. I’ll soon have them here.”

  Hood continued removing the soil from the grave and guessed he had removed another foot of soil when his shovel struck a hard object. He prized the object out and with his hand brushed off the soil. Another damn stone!

  He calmed himself. One of these five graves held treasures beyond comparison. But which one? He climbed out of the hole, bringing his cane and shovel with him, and decided to dig in the grave Percy had started. The aches and pains in his limbs increased with every thrust of his shovel.

  He thought about what he’d do with the treasure. He wouldn’t move house. He was content at Wilson’s Yard. The rich people in West Whitby could keep their fancy houses; that wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to travel the world, not even to visit Scarborough a short journey down the coast. Whitby—or rather East Whitby—was his home. With the money, all adults and children of East Whitby would have fine clothes and would never go hungry. He pondered buying a plot of land in East Whitby and building homes for the poor. And he’d buy himself a few more snakes. That would be his only luxury.

  Continuing to mull over his plans, his shovel hit another hard object. Was it another wretched stone? He reached down and tugged something out.

  Hood beamed with delight when he saw a small ivory box. He opened it and gazed, open-mouthed, at the ten large diamonds inside. Saliva drooled from his mouth. He put the box on the ground above him and prepared to climb out of the grave.

  The light from his lantern suddenly dimmed. He looked up. A shadowy figure stood in front of the lantern.

  Jack.

  He carried a large object in his hands wrapped in a blanket that he placed on the ground. Hood could only watch as Jack picked up a shovel, swung it, and hit him on the side of the head.

  Hood fell back into the grave, screaming in pain. He reached to touch his head. Blood covered his hand. Blinking, he could see Jack gleefully holding the diamonds in his hands.

  “I’ll be living like a lord in Ireland soon!”

  With Jack preoccupied with the diamonds, Hood slowly reached for his cane. This could well be his only chance to escape with his life. Jack noticed him and set the box of diamonds on the ground. He picked up the shovel and waved it menacingly inches away from Hood.

  “You won’t make a fool out of me ever again, Hood.”

  Jack was in control, and this made Hood queasy. The omens did not look promising. He had to try to unsettle Jack.

  “The diamonds have a curse on them, you fool! You should never pick them up with your hand. You will burn in hell.”

  Jack sneered. “I thought you’d do better than that, you filthy bastard.”

  “I have contacts in Ireland, Jack. Percy will make sure you die.”

  Jack chuckled, dropped the shovel, but picked up the large object he’d laid down and brought it closer. He gave it a violent shake before removing the blanket from the top.

  Hood felt the blood drain from his body. It was one of his glass tanks. He tried to reassure himself by thinking it would be the Doom Viper or the Black Death Snake, his harmless snakes. Jack couldn’t read so would not understand the labels on the side of the tanks. But as Jack pushed the tank nearer to the hole, Hood froze in fright when he saw the label CHIEF CONSTABLE.

  “I can’t read...,” Jack said with an evil grin, “but I’m not colour blind.”

  Hood collapsed. His teeth clenched as Jack opened the panel on the side of the glass tank and let the Chief Constable free.

  JACK LOOKED ON IN FASCINATION as the brown snake sprung from the tank. He lifted the lantern in time to see the snake land on Hood who lay rigid like a statue as the snake slithered up his legs. Hood twitched and the snake reared its head. Jack thought it amazing how the snake flattened its neck as it raised itself. It swayed backwards and forwards, shooting out venom. Hood screamed as the venom hit one of his eyes, and the snake lunged and bit his arm.

  Clutching the box of diamonds, Jack gazed into the grave in pure ecstasy. Hood’s limbs twitched violently, as if he was having a fit...and then he was still. Jack grinned. He had finally gained his victory over his enemy.

  Hood was now on his journey to Hell.

  Jack then noticed another movement. The snake was wriggling itself around Hood’s cane, out of the grave, and towards Jack’s feet. Again, the snake stiffened and it spat its venom in his direction. Jack stumbled back, glad that the venom had missed his eyes. The cane would have made a handy souvenir, but he’d soon be enormously rich after cashing in the jewels. The first thing on his shopping list would be an expensive ivory cane.

  He threw the glass tank over the edge of the cliff and made his way to the top of the 199 Steps. After cautiously making sure there was no sign of anyone around, he began his descent.

  He would stowaway on a boat sailing to Cork, Ireland in a few days. Until then, he needed to find a place to hide the diamonds.

  One of the 199 Steps wobbled when he placed his foot on it, and he saw a gap at the side of the steps. He inserted the box of diamonds into this space. Jack counted on his fingers the steps from the top. It came to exactly all his fingers on his two hands.

  Reaching the bottom of the 199 Steps, a wave of jubilation swept through his body.

  His pent up rage had been unleashed in a torrent the moment he broke into Hood’s home earlier. He smashed up the room, and when he was finished, he took great pleasure in urinating on Hood’s carpet. Nobody would ever humiliate him again.

  He could barely contain his excitement when he took Hood’s beloved snake to achieve the ultimate revenge. It couldn’t have gone any better. Now, he could look forward to his future as one of the richest men in the world. He strode down Church Street, whistling merrily.

  Suddenly, he stopped whistling. Hood’s reference to the curse did not unsettle him...but the thought of Percy tracking him down in Ireland did.

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  Chapter 34

  Friday 14th September 1894

  NEWS OF HOOD’S DEATH spread quickly. His associates in crime were in a sombre mood as they talked inside The Frigate Arms that evening.

  “We’ve had some great times at Hood’s house,” said Percy. “It’s a pity we’ll never be able to have a drink in there again.”

  Jasper made a dismissive wave of his hand. “Rubbish. Let’s get some beer and whisky and go there now.”

  “We can’t turn the clock back,” insisted Percy.

  Jasper ran his hand over is badly scarred bald head. “Sod me! All I’m saying is that we can have a few drinks and a game of cards like old times.”

  Percy frowned. He didn’t want any of these light-fingered men getting their hands on Hood’s possessions, which rightfully belonged to him after his loyalty and faithful service over so many years. What was wrong with him? His best friend was dead, and all he could picture in his head was the money and spirits he could grab. He was being too hard on himself. In a matter of months, the enormity of the loss of his friend would begin to take hold, and as the years passed, the pain of his loss would grow stronger, not weaker.

  When he left Hood at the graveyard to fetch the lads, he’d stopped off at his home only for a few minutes to get a bite to eat, but had fallen asleep, exhausted from his toils. It was the only time he’d ever failed his friend.

  “It’s boarded up by coppers. They’re scared snakes will break loose,” said Percy.

  Jasper shrugged. “So bloody wh
at?”

  “I’ll come,” said Alan, who always had some stolen goods on him, and on a couple of occasions, stole from taverns and clubs they had frequented. Percy didn’t like this. At least Jasper was a good thief and didn’t stoop that low.

  “There’ll be nowt to pinch, Alan,” Jasper teased.

  “I’ll still be there.”

  “Good on you.” Jasper slapped him hard on the back with his fist. Alan winched.

  “You can count on me,” said Uriah.

  “To bring your mummy with you,” added Alan, chuckling.

  “I’ll give you a knuckle sandwich,” snapped Uriah.

  “A show of hands please,” Jasper called.

  The assembled group raised their hands, with the one-eyed Graham lifting his hand up last.

  “Buy some drinks from the bar to take with us,” said Percy. “Hood doesn’t have any beer or spirits left at his house.” This was a lie. Percy knew where Hood had hidden stolen bottles of fine Scottish whisky and other spirits, along with at least sixty pounds in the attic. He was Hood’s best friend, but these other men were merely acquaintances.

  The men left The Frigate Arms carrying the drinks they had bought. When they arrived at Hood’s home, crudely nailed planks covered the front door. On one of the planks it said KEEP OUT.

  They combined their strength to rip the boarding away from the door. Percy led the way as the others followed slowly behind. Inside, Percy lit the two gas lamps in the living room. He shuddered. Smashed objects lay everywhere. Strewn over the floor were books with their pages ripped out. Furniture had been slashed with a razor-sharp knife. Also ripped to pieces was Hood’s favourite print by John Everett Millais, Ophelia. Hood had said countless times that the woman in the painting uncannily resembled the image of his late wife.