Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1)

by Margarita Morris

  “Hi,” he said, pushing a strand of blond hair out of his eyes. “I thought it was you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Yesterday. The girl with the phone.”

  Rose frowned at him. “Look, I don’t know who you think I am but…”

  “My dad nearly killed you,” he blurted out.

  A hush fell on the café as people stopped talking and looked up from their cappuccinos. Rose felt herself colouring. “Well, as you can see, I’m alive and well,” she said, shutting her laptop and standing up. Who was this guy?

  He took a step towards her. The other customers, obviously deciding that he wasn’t a threat, went back to their phones and tablets. “I’m sorry,” he said, “you obviously don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly making yourself clear.”

  “It was my dad driving the red Ferrari yesterday, the one that nearly got you killed.”

  Ah, so that was it. “You mean that idiot who was burning rubber like he thought he was on Top Gear or something?” She had a vague recollection of seeing someone in the passenger seat but registering his features hadn’t been paramount in her priorities.

  “Yeah, that would be him,” said the boy. “He can get a bit crazy behind the wheel.”

  “Well, tell him from me that he’s a bloody menace and shouldn’t be allowed on the road.”

  He looked like she’d slapped him, and Rose immediately regretted her harsh words. After all, this boy hadn’t been the one driving and here she was taking out all her frustration on him. At least he’d had the decency to apologise.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap. It wasn’t your fault your dad drives like an idiot. Thank you for apologising.” She put her laptop into her backpack and headed towards the door.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, following her outside. “I’m Dan by the way. And you are?”

  “Rose.”

  He hesitated for a moment then said, “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you on holiday?”

  She nodded. If you could call it a holiday.

  “Well,” he said, biting his lower lip, “I don’t know if you’d like to, I mean you’ve probably got other plans or something, but if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, there’s a fair coming to town. We could go together. If you want to, that is?”

  Rose looked at him and considered his offer. He was really nice looking, with dark brown eyes and a serious, intelligent expression. And more than that, she appreciated the way he’d come into the café to apologise to her about something that wasn’t even his fault. She decided there and then that Joe was a lost cause and she wasn’t going to waste any more time on him.

  “Yes, I’d love to go to the fair,” she said, “but on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your dad’s not driving us there.”

  ~~~

  Dan tossed a coin into the air and caught it deftly on the back of his left hand. Heads, he guessed. Yes, he was right again. His luck really had taken a turn for the better. If he hadn’t cycled into town today he wouldn’t have been walking past the café when Rose just happened to be sitting in the window. And he wouldn’t have cycled if his dad hadn’t driven like a maniac yesterday. It was funny how things turned out. Dan wouldn’t have said he believed in Fate, but it was almost as if he and Rose had been meant to meet. Fatalistic, he thought. But hopefully not fatal. That was something else entirely.

  He’d recognised her straight away, the dark brown hair tied up in a loose ponytail, her slightly upturned nose and those big brown eyes of hers that had stared at him through the window. He’d seen that face yesterday in a state of terror as its owner had almost been killed. He wasn’t going to forget it in a hurry.

  She’d looked a lot prettier today, although admittedly not exactly pleased to see him at first. Probably thought he was some kind of weirdo, staring at her through the window like that. Still, he was glad he’d had the nerve to go and speak to her and she’d agreed to go to the fair with him, so it didn’t look like she was the sort to hold grudges. He hadn’t initially intended to ask her out — had he asked her out on a date, or were they just going to the fair as friends? — but apologising for his dad’s driving hadn’t seemed like quite enough and there was something about her, something that really drew him to her, and the words had come out before he’d had time to think through the consequences.

  There weren’t many people in the amusement arcade yet. They’d get more customers this afternoon when the tide came in and forced people off the beach. A guy in an I Love Scarborough T-shirt came to the counter and exchanged a five pound note for a bag of twenty pence pieces.

  “Good luck,” said Dan because he was in a cheerful mood, even though he secretly thought the guy would be better off digging for buried treasure on the beach. But business was business as his dad always said. Ryan maintained that people didn’t mind losing a bit of money because they were on holiday and having fun was all that mattered. But last year they’d had to ban a local man from the arcade because he was so addicted to the slot machines he’d bankrupted himself and would then turn up drunk and cause a nuisance, frightening the ordinary punters, especially those with kids. After that Dan was always on the lookout for any signs of trouble whenever he was manning the fort.

  Oh God, not those two again. Dan swore under his breath as the two guys from yesterday, Bulldog and Tattoo-face, walked into the arcade. Bulldog was carrying a large cardboard box sealed with brown packing tape and Dan was reminded of the boxes on the yacht. He braced himself as they approached the counter.

  “Where’s Ryan?” asked Tattoo-face in his strident Newcastle accent. He was leaning so close that his breath misted the security glass.

  “He’s not here right now,” said Dan.

  “We’ve got a delivery for him.”

  Dan glanced at the box. It was about eighteen inches square and gave no clues as to its contents. They were due a delivery of skeleton key-rings, but somehow he didn’t think these guys worked for a bona fide parcel delivery company.

  The men glanced at each other and seemed to come to some sort of agreement.

  “We’ll leave this here for him,” said the bulldog.

  “OK then,” said Dan, not sure what else to suggest.

  He didn’t like opening the door to the booth with those two around. He had an image of them charging at him as soon as the door was open, knocking him over the head and running off with all the cash in the till. But the bulldog handed the box over without any fuss. Dan kicked the door shut with his foot and deposited the box under the counter, out of view of the customers.

  “I’ll tell him there’s a parcel for him,” said Dan.

  “Aye, you do that,” said the guy with the tattoo. “He’ll know what to do with it.”

  Dan watched them leave. They each lit a cigarette as soon as they were outside the arcade, then they headed off towards the harbour. Dan had no idea what was in the box and didn’t want to know. Whatever business his dad had with those two jerks was his own. He pulled his mobile phone out of his back pocket and sent his dad a text.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Grand Hotel,

  Scarborough,

  2pm, 13th August, 1899

  Dearest Susan,

  I passed a wonderfully comfortable night at the hotel. I really think the sea air must be conducive to a good night’s sleep. This morning when I rose, feeling more refreshed than I have done in a long time, a sea mist like a silver-grey veil had rolled in, shrouding the coastline so that the castle on the headland was barely visible but had a dreamlike quality to it that made it look even more romantic than it had the previous evening. The girl who brought me my breakfast assured me that the sun would break through by the afternoon.

  On account of the mist, I resolved that Mary and I would spend the morning taking tea in the hotel’s lounge. I thought it would be a splendid opportunity for us to meet some of the other guests and I
was not disappointed. We made the acquaintance of a charming old lady called Mrs Goodly who comes here every year and swears by the sea air for keeping her rheumatism at bay. She asked if we were planning to go to the fair which will arrive in the next day or so. I thought that would be a rather fun thing to do. She then invited us to join her for lunch and by the time we had finished our fish (they have the freshest fish here you could possibly imagine!) the sun had indeed broken through the veil of mist and I informed Mary that we would make the most of the afternoon by taking an invigorating walk up to the castle.

  I realise as I write these lines that I have not given one thought to Henry and our impending marriage. It is as if the ties that bind us grow weaker with every minute I spend away from his presence. Oh, what should I do Susan? We have been betrothed for such a long time now that I am unable to imagine any other future except as Henry’s wife. I know it is what Mother and Father wish for me and Henry is the type of man of which society approves, with his family connections and his promising political career. But I seriously doubt I could ever love him.

  Ah, that is Mary knocking at my door. It is time for our walk to the castle. I will write again this evening and tell you all about it.

  Your ever loving sister,

  Alice.

  ~~~

  Grand Hotel,

  Scarborough,

  2pm, 13th August, 1899

  Dear Ma,

  Hope you’re well. Those wretched gulls kept me awake half the night. I tell you, if I had to live here I’d take a gun and shoot the whole ruddy lot of them.

  A right pea-souper of a fog had come in this morning, so you couldn’t even see the sea. There could have been murdering bands of pirates out there for all we knew. Still, it meant we got to stay indoors and have a nice cup of tea in the hotel lounge which is ever so posh! We chatted to a lady called Mrs Goodly who was friendly enough, but she went on and on about her ailments. It was rheumatism this, and lumbago that… Honestly, I started to wonder if we were staying in a hotel or a hospital. Still, I mustn’t complain. She invited us to have lunch with her and it was the tastiest fish I’d ever eaten. If I find a handsome fisherman around here I might have to marry him. Only joking!

  Anyway, the fog has cleared now and Alice is determined that we are going to walk up the hill to the castle, although it looks like a bit of a ruin to me. But I’m pleased to see she’s looking more like her old self. The fresh sea air might help her get her thoughts straight. With any luck she’ll see sense and send that Henry Blackwood packing.

  I’ll tell you all about the castle in my next letter. Look after yourself.

  Love,

  Mary.

  ~~~

  Jackson loitered outside the Grand Hotel, doing his best to appear inconspicuous amongst the cab drivers, crossing sweepers and other riff-raff who made their living from tending to the needs of the wealthy. He kept his hat pulled down low and wore a scarf around his mouth and nose. The fog was chilly, but the scarf helped to conceal his appearance. If the ladies saw him they would recognise him at once and know that Henry had sent him to spy on them. He’d have to do his best to stay incognito.

  He found himself humming a tune from last night. The boy I love is up in the gallery. A silly little ditty, but with a catchy tune that was difficult to get out of your head. The girl who’d sung it was a bit of a stunner though. Lovely auburn hair falling over her shoulders and those lips! Perfect rosebuds. Kitty, the programme said her name was. She probably had men queueing up by the dozen. Still, he wasn’t bad looking himself and he had the advantage of being unattached. Most of the men in the audience had displayed the self-satisfied air of married men. He’d given a note to the odd-job boy and told him to take it to Kitty, hoping to rouse her interest by maintaining a sense of mystery, at least for the next twenty-four hours. He planned to go back to the theatre tonight and take his chances with the rest of them. He’d take some flowers and wait for her by the stage door. If he could persuade her to accompany him on his spying trips, he’d be less conspicuous, at least that was the plan.

  A dark-suited figure appeared in the doorway of the hotel, paused for a moment, then strode purposefully in Jackson’s direction. From the highly polished shoes to the impeccably trimmed moustache, Jackson recognised the type immediately. Hotel managers were the same the world over: obnoxious and obsequious in equal measure, fawning over their wealthier guests and disdaining the common man.

  The manager stopped in front of Jackson and dispensed with any formal greeting. “What is your business here?” he demanded. “You have been loitering outside the hotel for upwards of half an hour. You are creating a bad impression. If you have no business here then I must ask you to leave.”

  Officious little toad, thought Jackson, eyeing the man with instant dislike. He was a puny figure and Jackson could have floored him in an instant with a sharp right hook to the jaw. The man took a step closer, evidently over-confident in his position of authority. On the streets of Whitechapel, faced with a more formidable opponent, Jackson would have had no hesitation in reaching for the small but lethal knife he always carried in an inside breast pocket of his jacket, but here in the genteel environs of Scarborough, the need for a weapon seemed like overkill.

  “I asked you what business you had standing outside the hotel,” repeated the manager.

  Jackson considered his options. Whilst it was tempting to give this trumped-up official a bloody nose, it would achieve nothing and would most likely jeopardise his mission. The fog was showing no signs of lifting and it was unlikely that Alice and Mary would emerge in this miserable weather. There was no point hanging around.

  “My business is no concern of yours,” he said. The manager shrank back under the intensity of Jackson’s gaze and Jackson experienced the satisfaction of winning a small, but significant, victory. Then he turned and started walking towards the inn he’d found last night - The Three Mariners. They did a very tasty steak and kidney pie. He’d return to the hotel this afternoon if the weather cleared and no jumped-up little manager was going to stand in his way.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Rose woke to a thick sea-mist that had rolled in overnight. Not beach weather, that was for sure. She didn’t suppose Kate was having this problem in sun-drenched Italy. It was just as well her mother had insisted on packing warm clothes. Still, it wasn’t all bad here she thought to herself, remembering her meeting with Dan yesterday at the café. She pictured his blond hair and the way it had flopped into his eyes, the way he had looked at her through the window. At first she’d taken his gaze the wrong way, thinking him impertinent, but it was just that there was an intensity to his eyes that was both attractive and slightly off-putting. She was really looking forward to going to the fair with him later on.

  Rose showered and dressed, choosing jeans and a sweater, then went downstairs to breakfast. Her mother and grandmother were sitting at the table, Gran reading the local paper and sipping a cup of coffee, her mother making a list of jobs. We’re supposed to be on holiday, thought Rose. Doesn’t she ever switch off?

  “I’ll pick up your prescription this morning,” said Andrea to her mother. “Then I’ll go shopping. We’re eating you out of house and home at the moment. Oh, morning Rose. I’ll do you some bacon.”

  Rose sat down at the table as her mother disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Morning Gran.”

  “Good morning, dear. Sleep well?”

  “Yes thanks. The gulls didn’t wake me up so early today.”

  Her grandmother laughed. “You get used to them. I don’t hear them anymore and it’s not because I’ve gone a bit deaf. Have you got any plans this morning?”

  Rose shook her head. She’d arranged to meet Dan at seven o’clock in the evening outside the amusement arcade. He’d assured her that they’d catch a bus to the fair, not be driven there in the Ferrari which was a two-seater anyway.

  “Well, in that case,” continued her grandmother, “would you be able to help me
do some clearing out? Your mother thinks I should sort out the cupboards.” She dropped her voice and leaned closer to Rose. “I think she wants me to sell up and move into a nursing home.”

  “You don’t need to go into a nursing home, Gran,” said Rose, quite shocked at the idea.

  Her grandmother pulled a face. “Well, at my age you have to be prepared.” She didn’t say for what.

  “Of course I’ll give you a hand Gran,” said Rose.

  “Wonderful. It’ll just be the two of us this morning.”

  “Even better,” whispered Rose.

  “What are you two plotting?” asked Andrea, carrying a plateful of bacon into the dining room.

  “Oh, nothing,” said her grandmother with a wave of her hand.

  An hour later the floor of the front room was covered in boxes that Rose had retrieved from the understairs cupboard. Rose knelt down, opened the flaps on the nearest box and pulled out a selection of books about fly fishing.

  “Those were your grandfather’s,” said her grandmother, wistfully. “We can give them to the charity shop, although goodness knows who’d want them.”

  Rose agreed. She replaced the books and put the box by the front door.

  The next two boxes contained an assortment of old children’s books, mostly Enid Blyton stories and girls’ annuals.

  “And these belonged to your mother.” Her grandmother thumbed through a dog-eared copy of Five Go To Smuggler’s Top. “She used to love these.”

  Rose picked up Five on a Treasure Island. The cover showed four children and a dog sailing a boat on the open sea. The next book, Five Get Into Trouble, depicted the foursome lurking in a moonlit clearing whilst a shady figure in the background went about some clandestine, and no doubt criminal, activity. Rose couldn’t imagine her mother letting her have as much freedom as The Famous Five had enjoyed.

  “The trouble with paperbacks,” said her grandmother, wrinkling her nose, “is that the paper dries out and ends up smelling so musty.” She put the book back in the box. “Charity shop?”