Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2)

by Margarita Morris

  “How old would you say he was?”

  “About forty-five.” I really had no idea.

  “And how did he behave?”

  “Oh, he was really angry,” I said. “He seemed quite the violent sort. He was rude to a lady.” I wanted to keep talking about this man for as long as possible. Anything to deflect questions away from me.

  The inspector nodded as if this information was not new to him. “And did he find Mr Franklin?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Mr Franklin wasn’t in the ballroom at that precise time.”

  “And when did you next see Mr Franklin?”

  Mother bustled into the room carrying a tray laden with a teapot, two cups and saucers, a jug of milk and a plate of freshly baked scones. She set the tray down on the table and proceeded to pour the tea. I waited whilst she busied herself with the refreshments, my heart thudding in my chest. How was I going to answer the inspector’s last question? I tried to remember what Ruby and I had agreed to say. Mother passed a cup to the inspector and put the sergeant’s cup and saucer on a side table for him. I wished she’d hurry up. The inspector seemed unperturbed, sipping his tea and selecting a scone. He thanked Mother, who picked up her knitting and sat down in her usual chair. Then he turned back to me and repeated his question.

  “When did you next see Mr Franklin?”

  “Much later on,” I said slowly. “I don’t know the exact time. I think it was after eleven o’clock.” The Sergeant noted down the time I had given him. Ruby and I hadn’t agreed on times and I hoped this detail wouldn’t trip us up.

  “And what happened when you saw him at eleven o’clock?”

  “He...he said he would like to audition us for a part in his new film.” For a moment Mother’s knitting needles paused in their rhythm of knit one, purl one. This was the first she’d heard about any audition.

  “And where did Mr Franklin propose to carry out this audition?” asked the inspector.

  This was it. This was the moment when he would guess the truth. I felt like a woman about to hang herself, but I ploughed on anyway. “He invited us back to his room. We did our auditions. I played Portia from The Merchant of Venice and Ruby acted the part of Ophelia from Hamlet.” If only that were true, I thought. My part was more like Lady Macbeth. “But I didn’t want to be in a film,” I added hurriedly. “I only went along because Ruby was so keen to audition.”

  “I see. And what happened after you had done your auditions?”

  “Then we...we left. It was late and I wanted to get home.”

  “And Mr Franklin, how was he when you left?”

  I pictured the body of Theodore Franklin lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Not breathing. “He was fine,” I lied. “He wished us a goodnight and said he’d be in touch.” My head was spinning.

  Then the conversation took an unexpected turn. Glancing at the engagement ring on my left hand, the inspector said, “I see you are engaged to be married.”

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask who is the lucky chap?”

  “Mr Billy Drinkwater,” I said. Naively, I thought the inspector had finished questioning me and was just making polite conversation whilst he finished his tea.

  “And would that be the Mr Drinkwater who is employed as a projectionist at the Futurist cinema?”

  I was surprised that the inspector knew that, but I acknowledged that it was the same Mr Drinkwater.

  “Miss Fairbright, how would you describe the relationship between your fiancé and the deceased?”

  “Well...” I was lost for words. I didn’t understand why he was asking the question. What would be an appropriate response? This wasn’t an eventuality that Ruby and I had prepared for.

  The Inspector tried to help me out. “Would you say that Mr Drinkwater and Mr Franklin got along well? They must have seen plenty of each other at the cinema. Did your fiancé like the American?”

  He didn’t trust him, I thought, and with good reason too it had turned out. But I couldn’t tell the inspector that, so instead I said, “They had a professional working relationship.”

  “Professional?”

  “Billy, I mean Mr Drinkwater, got on with his job and Mr Franklin got on with his. We didn’t socialise with Mr Franklin.”

  The inspector showed no reaction to my answer. Instead he asked, “Where was Mr Drinkwater on the night of the party?”

  This was much safer ground. “He was in Whitby with his mother,” I said smiling. “They were visiting his aunt.”

  “Seems a rather dull thing for a young man to do on New Year’s Eve. Didn’t he mind you going to the ball without him?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “He wanted me to enjoy myself. He trusts me.” Even as I said those words I felt the colour rising in my face.

  “And where is Mr Drinkwater now?”

  “He’s in London. He has an interview with British Pathé.”

  The inspector turned to his sergeant. “We’ll need to check his alibi.” The sergeant nodded and made a note. I didn’t think too much of those words at the time, but I should have known there would be trouble down the line.

  “One last thing,” said the Inspector, putting a hand into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulling out a small object. “Miss Fairbright, have you seen this before?” He held out his hand and my world turned upside down. Lying in the centre of his palm was the key to Mr Franklin’s room.

  I tried to speak but no sound came out of my mouth. I cleared my throat and tried again. Both policemen were watching me closely and the room suddenly felt overheated and stuffy. “It’s a key,” I croaked, stating the obvious.

  “Indeed,” said the Inspector as if I’d just passed the first part of a tricky test. “Do you know whose key it is?”

  “Is it the key to Mr Franklin’s room?” I tried to sound as if I was making an intelligent guess.

  “It most certainly is. And do you know where it was found?”

  I shook my head and tried to maintain a look of wide-eyed innocence.

  “In an Egyptian plant pot of all places.”

  “Well I never!” exclaimed Mother. I had forgotten she was still there.

  “Is that so?” I asked. Then I found myself asking the burning question that had formed in my mind as soon as I had set eyes on the damn thing. “Have you been able to dust it for fingerprints?”

  “Alas,” said the Inspector, pocketing the incriminating object. The chambermaid who found it cleaned the soil off thoroughly before she realised it was the missing key to Mr Franklin’s room. In the process she removed all evidence of who had hidden the key in the plant pot.”

  “What a shame,” I said calmly. I was so giddy with relief I thought I might fall off the chair.

  “Did you see anyone loitering by the Egyptian vases?” pursued the inspector. He was like a dog with a bone.

  “No, sorry.”

  The inspector nodded. “Thank you for your time, Miss Fairbright. You’ve been most helpful.” He stood and I rose too. I swayed slightly on my feet, the strain of the interview having left me rather light-headed. I was sure the inspector would see straight through my pathetic performance and arrest me there and then. But he did no such thing. He thanked Mother for the tea, shook my hand once more and then he was stepping into the hallway. The sergeant followed him, pocketing his notebook. Mother showed the two men out and then came back into the parlour.

  “Well, fancy that,” she said. “I never expected to have a detective inspector in my house.”

  “No,” I said. “There are lots of things we don’t expect.”

  ~~~

  I spent the rest of that day convinced that the Inspector was going to come back to the cottage and arrest me. He would have interviewed Ruby and discovered a discrepancy in our stories which would arouse his suspicions. In the early afternoon there was a knock at the door. I jumped so much that I dropped a cup on the kitchen floor and it shattered into pieces. On her way to answer the door, Mother gave me a lo
ok as if to say, What on earth is the matter with you? I listened with a thudding heart as I swept up the broken pieces with the dustpan and brush. But it wasn’t the inspector, just a neighbour calling about a jumble sale in the church hall.

  “Sorry about the cup,” I said as Mother returned to the kitchen.

  “Well, never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “No use crying over spilt milk.”

  But what about spilt blood? I thought gloomily.

  I did my shift at the cinema but afterwards felt too fidgety to stay in the cottage so I made up some excuse about needing a bit of fresh air, donned my hat and coat and took off up the headland towards the castle. As children, Frank and I had loved to run up and down the paths that crisscrossed the headland from the North Bay to the South Bay. He had been my constant companion throughout childhood and my heart ached for him now. Billy was still in London and was not due back for another couple of days. The only person I could speak to was Ruby. I set off for Queen’s Terrace but halfway there I realised the foolishness of my errand. I couldn’t afford to bump into the inspector in case he became suspicious from seeing Ruby and me together. I had to trust Ruby not to give me away, after all she was implicated too. I couldn’t go to see her. There was no one I could speak to.

  I turned around and followed one of the paths down to the North Bay and walked along the sand. The beach was deserted at this time of the year. As I gazed out at the slate grey sea under a darkening sky, an idea took shape in the back of my mind. A way out of this intolerable mess. I could simply walk into the water and let the waves carry me away. I wouldn’t last five minutes in that perishingly cold water. I was so tired and I’d be able to sleep forever. Before I knew what I was doing I was walking towards the breaking waves, picking up speed. All I needed to do was throw myself into the water. The weight of my clothes would soon drag me under. Billy should never have rescued me that day from the waves. It would have been better for everyone if I’d been swept out to sea back in the summer, then none of this would ever have happened.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The thumping music had been making Max’s head throb with a dull repetitive beat but that was nothing compared to the wail of the fire alarm. It felt like someone driving a stake into his skull. What pissed kid had set the bloody alarm off? He clutched his temples in his hands and groaned out loud. Blinding headaches had plagued him ever since his precious yacht had capsized. He must have sustained a head injury but he hadn’t gone to the hospital to have it checked out because he could have been arrested. He knew he was a wanted man. Instead he’d spent the last couple of months holed up in that ridiculous round room at the top of the Grand Hotel, taking ever stronger painkillers. He reached into his pocket for a packet of codeine tablets and swigged them back with a mouthful of water.

  Tonight, under the cover of darkness, he had dared venture out of his self-imposed exile because he had seen an opportunity. A chance to get his hands on that bracelet by making Dan fetch it for him. Scarlett had confirmed that both Rose and Dan would be at the party and she’d been only too willing to play along with his little scheme.

  Outside the office door teenagers were running and screaming. Maybe there really was a fire, but Max didn’t want to go anywhere. At least not yet. He had to sit tight and wait for Chris and Dan to return. Where the hell were they? They should be back by now. He just needed them to bring him the damn bracelet and then he was leaving, travelling incognito on the first flight to Malaga. If the pair of them didn’t hurry up then the fire brigade and the police would be crawling all over the building and that was the last thing he needed. He’d evaded capture all this time and he wasn’t about to get caught now.

  The wail of a fire engine siren reached him above the din of the fire alarm. Max punched the desk in front of him. The trouble with Britain was that the emergency services were too damn efficient. Couldn’t they have waited another five minutes? The first thing they would do would be to make sure the building was evacuated, even if the fire was just a few sparks that could be extinguished in seconds. And when they did that they would discover Rose.

  He opened the door a crack and peered out. Teenagers streamed past, many of them looking shit-scared. Maybe the fire was worse than he’d thought. He considered his options. Rose was still upstairs in the projection room, but if he went up there then he might not get out of the building unseen before the police arrived. If he was going to slip out unnoticed then now would be the best time whilst there were so many people running around like headless chickens.

  He paused for a fraction of a second. He didn’t want her to fry to a crisp, but he didn’t want to be arrested either.

  If only Dan and Chris had brought him the bracelet sooner. It was their fault for taking too long. He just needed to go back to the Grand Hotel, pick up his things and then he was disappearing. Forever.

  Max slipped out of the office and joined the throng of panicked teenagers heading towards the exit.

  ~~~

  The motorbike turned onto Foreshore Road and Chris swung over to the left as a fire engine shot past them, lights flashing and siren wailing. Dan clenched his jaw and clung to the back of the pillion seat. No way was he going to put his arms around Chris. He just wanted to get to the Futurist as quickly as possible, hand over the bracelet and rescue Rose. He’d worry about what to tell his mum later. But as they rode along the sea-front, Chris slowed down. With mounting impatience, Dan leaned to the right to see past Chris’s shoulder. What he saw made his stomach contract in fear and he almost fell off the bike. The fire engine had stopped right outside the Futurist and people were flooding out of the building onto the road. A plume of smoke was rising from the roof of the building into the night sky. His nostrils twitched with the acrid smell of burning. Chris pulled over a second time to let an ambulance and a police car overtake them, then he gunned the engine and seconds later they were screeching to a halt outside the Futurist.

  Dan didn’t wait for Chris to turn the engine off, but jumped off the motorbike and pushed his way through the crowds towards the building.

  “Hey, you there,” a male voice shouted at him. “Stay back!”

  Dan turned to see a burly fire officer marching towards him.

  “My girlfriend’s in there,” said Dan. “She’s trapped.”

  “Just stay calm,” said the officer. “Firefighters are searching the building now. You need to leave this to the professionals, mate.”

  “But she’s locked in...”

  The fire officer got a call on his walkie-talkie and turned away to answer it.

  Dan searched for Rose amongst the crowds of shocked teenagers who were standing around. Some of them were videoing the fire and the chaos on their mobile phones, others were crying. Surely Rose had to be here somewhere. He didn’t want to believe that Max would just let her burn to death, but who knew what that bastard would do? He was probably already on his way to the airport by now. Dan spotted Sophie and James standing on the edge of the crowd and ran over to them. “Have you seen Rose?”

  Sophie shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since she left the dance floor an hour ago to go and look for you.”

  “Damn!”

  “Didn’t she find you?” asked Sophie. “Where have you been?”

  “Tell you later. And no, she didn’t find me.” Sophie’s words had confirmed the worst of Dan’s fears. “I think she’s still trapped inside.” He pointed towards the burning building.

  “What do you mean, she’s trapped?” Sophie grabbed hold of his arm. “What’s going on Dan? Tell me!”

  Dan saw Chris standing a few feet away, a look of horror on his face. Dan marched up to him. “She’s still in there, isn’t she?”

  “We don’t know for sure.”

  “Do you think Max will have gone all soft and let her out? He’ll be saving his own skin first. We have to rescue her.”

  Chris nodded. “Follow me.”

  They darted around the edge of the crowd and managed to slip
inside whilst the chief fire officer’s back was turned. The fire was blazing furiously in the dance area but hadn’t yet spread to the lobby.

  “We need the key to the projection room,” said Dan. “Do you know where it is?”

  “I think so.”

  Dan followed Chris into the office. He wasn’t surprised to see that Max had scarpered. Chris searched the desk drawers and pulled out a key. “Here you go.” He passed the key to Dan.

  “Thanks. Which way is it?”

  “Up there.” Chris pointed to a narrow staircase in the corner of the lobby.

  Dan started to run up the stairs. It was only after a few seconds when he looked back that he realised Chris had vanished. Dan was on his own.

  ~~~

  Scarlett raged with a fury that threatened to tear her apart. Not only had her birthday party turned into a complete disaster that would be talked about for years to come, but the man who had brought her expensive gifts and promised her a holiday in the South of Spain, the man she had known and trusted for years, had turned out to be a lying, cheating bastard.

  Just bring her upstairs for a little chat, Max had told her. Scarlett had been only too happy to comply. There was no love lost between her and Rose. Rose had been easy to fool with Scarlett’s nice-girl impression. But Scarlett hadn’t expected Max to lock her up. That was going way too far. What was he, some kind of psycho or something?

  Of course, Dan had agreed to do whatever Max asked in order to get Rose freed. She’d seen that look in his eyes when he’d learned that Rose was being held prisoner. He’d do anything for her. Painful as it was, Scarlett had to admit to herself that Dan loved Rose and he was never going to come back to her. Her flirtation with Chris had been a last-ditch attempt to make Dan jealous but look where that had led. And now Rose was still in the burning building and if she died Scarlett would never forgive herself. Or Max.

  She looked for him in the office on her way out of the burning building but he had already done a runner. Well he wasn’t going to get away with this. There was only one place he could go. Scarlett pushed her way through the crowds of teenagers and ran up the hill to the Grand Hotel, determined to have it out with him.