Bloody hell, thought Rose, this is getting serious. She looked at Dan and saw that he was thinking the same thing too.
“What are you doing?”
Rose jumped out of her skin at the accusing, high-pitched voice behind her. She spun around, lost her balance and fell off the crate with a thud. She landed awkwardly on her hands and knees, her right knee hitting a stone.
“Ow!” she cried.
The two children they’d seen earlier were standing there, the little girl tossing the ball into the air and the boy staring at them with his fists clenched as if he might duff them up. It was the girl who had asked them the question.
The camper van door flew open and a Geordie voice shouted, “Who’s there?”
“Run,” hissed Dan, pulling Rose to her feet as the sound of footsteps thudded round the side of the vehicle.
~~~
Mary stepped outside the tent, fanning herself with a programme. It had got rather heated inside the tent with all those bodies pressed together in such a confined space. But what a show! That would be something to write and tell her Ma about.
Even though she had been so engrossed in the performances, it had not escaped Mary’s notice that Alice and George were becoming ever more friendly. Well, good for her, thought Mary. Mr Hartright is a much nicer chap than that bloated, old windbag, Henry Blackwood. Mary was a great believer in true love, and not simply marrying according to the dictates of social convention or the whims of one’s parents. Mary judged that it wouldn’t do any harm to leave Alice and George alone together for a little while whilst she went off in search of some hot gingerbread.
She picked her way through the crowds, trying to remember where they had seen the gingerbread stall.
“You look lost, dearie,” said an old woman, standing outside a small, circular tent. She wore a scarf, wrapped turban-style, around her hair and large, hooped earrings dangled from fleshy lobes.
“I’m looking for the gingerbread stall,” said Mary.
“Is that all you’re looking for?” asked the old woman.
“I’m sorry?” Mary took a step towards her. The woman’s bird-like face was deeply lined but her eyes were bright and alert.
“Would you like me to read your fortune?” she asked, laying a bony hand on Mary’s arm.
Mary paused to regard the old woman more closely, the gingerbread temporarily forgotten. She’d joked in her last letter to her Ma that she might have her fortune told; see if there were any handsome fishermen out there. Well, why not? It would be a bit of a laugh if nothing else.
The old woman led Mary inside the tent. Persian rugs covered the floor and swathes of red and gold silk were draped around the walls. A single lantern hung from a wooden pole, casting a warm, flickering light. There was a circular wooden table with two chairs facing each other and in the centre of the table was a crystal ball. They sat down and Mary waited for the old woman to speak.
The old woman cradled the crystal ball in her bony hands and started to hum gently to herself as she gazed into its depths. Mary tried to peer into the ball but all she could see was the reflection of the light from the lantern.
“Ah,” intoned the old woman in a faraway voice.
“What is it?” asked Mary.
“I think you are visiting Scarborough, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Mary.
“And you are here…alone? Or maybe with a friend?”
“Well, with a lady I work for actually.”
“Yes, of course, a lady. So you are a…”
“Lady’s maid,” supplied Mary.
“Yes, a lady’s maid. I thought so. And the lady is kind to you, but you do not have anyone special in your life, no gentleman friend.”
“That’s right,” admitted Mary.
“Oh, but wait, I see…I see a handsome stranger.”
Mary giggled. A handsome stranger? The old woman had to be making this up. Still, it was nice to imagine a handsome stranger. A girl could but hope!
“My dear,” said the old woman, looking up from the crystal ball. “You are soon going to meet the man of your dreams.”
“When will that be?” asked Mary. If there was any truth in this she wanted to know whether she should look out for him in Scarborough or wait until they had returned to London.
“When you are least expecting it,” said the old woman enigmatically.
Mary thanked her and paid her a penny. No doubt it was all nonsense, but it was fun all the same.
The old woman escorted her back outside. “The gingerbread stall is just over there,” she said, pointing with a finger. And so it was! How could she have missed it? Mary pressed the old woman’s hand and thanked her once again. Then she hurried over to the stall and bought three hot slices of the most aromatic gingerbread she had ever smelt in her life.
~~~
Right now, Rose would have given anything to be back on the Kamikaze ride, hanging upside down, stomach clenched, screaming with fear, instead of running from two men with guns. This is what real fear feels like, she thought, as she willed her legs to move faster. Her heart thumped against her ribcage and her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She skirted around the corner of a lorry, trying to keep up with Dan who was already way ahead of her.
“Hang on,” she cried, forgetting about the tethered dog until she almost ran into it. It leapt into the air, barking and snarling at her. She swerved to the side and felt her feet slip from under her as she skidded on a patch of oily ground. Her ankle twisted painfully and she landed with a thump on her side.
The dog went berserk. It was only a foot away from her now, barking like a demented thing, pulling at the rope. The animal lunged at her, every muscle in its body straining to break free, saliva drooling from its mouth. And those teeth. Rose couldn’t take her eyes off its yellow, pointed teeth which snapped together like a vice every time the dog closed its jaw.
There was a creak, the sound of splitting wood. The hook to which the rope was tied was going to break loose any second. Then the animal would be on her, sinking its teeth into her flesh. She had to get to her feet but she didn’t know if her ankle would bear her weight. And what about the men with the guns? And where was Dan? She put a hand out onto the muddy ground, pushed herself onto her knees and started to crawl away as fast as she could.
“Where did they go?” shouted a Geordie voice from somewhere behind a lorry. Shit! It was them. In desperation, Rose crawled behind a nearby trailer, wedging herself into the space between the trailer’s rear bumper and the caravan parked behind. The dog strained to follow her. She crouched low, hoping to hide herself in the shadows, but she worried that even if the dog couldn’t reach her, it would give away her hiding place. Then the men appeared and, to Rose’s relief, the dog turned its attention to the newcomers. They stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of the animal barking its head off. If it had been angry before, now it really went bonkers, pulling and jerking at the rope. For a split second it sat back on its haunches, hackles bristling, then it leapt forward with such force that there was a cracking sound. The wooden pole splintered and the hook broke loose. Free at last, the animal went for the nearest target, the short man. In one swift movement it sprung into the air and knocked him to the ground.
“Arrgh! Gerroff me!” The man’s shouts were drowned out by the incessant barking and the sound of the dog’s jaws snapping shut every few seconds. He kicked at the animal with his legs whilst trying to protect his face and throat with his arms. Oh my God, thought Rose, it’s actually going to kill him!
A gun shot split the air. And then there was silence.
Rose, cowering behind the trailer, hardly dared look.
For a while the man lay on the ground with the collapsed body of the dog on top of him. Rose couldn’t tell if both of them were dead or just the dog. Then with a grunt of disgust, the man threw the lifeless body of the dog off him, jumped to his feet and turned on his companion. “What the hell man? You shot the fooki
n’ dog man!”
“It was gonna kill yer, man!”
“What’s the owner gonna say? He’ll fookin’ murder yer.”
“Not if yer keep yer gob shut.” He gave the dead dog a kick in the ribs. “Stupid mutt!”
The men had their backs to her now as they argued over the dead dog and what to do about it. Rose pushed herself to her feet, holding onto the side of the trailer for support. She needed to get away before they noticed her. And then Dan reappeared.
“Oh thank God,” he said. “I heard the gun shot and I thought… I thought…”
“It’s all right, they didn’t shoot me,” said Rose. “Just Fluffy over there.” She nodded towards the men who had started to drag the canine corpse away from the scene of the crime and had apparently forgotten about pursuing Rose and Dan.
“Thank goodness you’re safe,” said Dan. “I’m sorry I got so far ahead of you. I didn’t realise.”
Rose gingerly put some weight on her ankle and winced.
“Here, let me help you.” Dan put an arm around her waist. She put her arm over his shoulder and, with Dan’s support, hobbled back into the crowded hustle and bustle of the fairground.
“Come here,” said Dan, once they were back in the light. “You’ve got mud on your face.” Very gently, he wiped her cheek with his thumb.
“Do I look a right sight?” she asked.
“You look lovely,” he said.
She looked down at her mud-stained clothes. “Mum’ll go nuts when she sees these jeans.”
“That’s mothers for you. How’s the ankle?”
“It’s easing up a bit.” But she didn’t take her arm away from his shoulder and he didn’t let go of her waist.
“Want to see anything else?” asked Dan.
Rose shook her head. “Maybe we should head back.”
“Yeah. That was probably enough excitement for one night.”
“What do you think those guys are up to?” she asked, as they walked towards the bus stop.
“I don’t know, but it’s got to be some kind of criminal activity. You don’t carry guns around just for the fun of it.”
“And did you see the inside of that camper van? It was palatial. It must have cost a fortune. Where does a fairground traveller get that sort of money from?”
“And it’s not just the caravan,” said Dan. “Yesterday I saw those two guys on the deck of a luxury yacht down in the harbour.”
“So what are we going to do?” asked Rose. “Should we go to the police?”
“And tell them what? That we were snooping around the private caravans at the fair and a couple of men chased us?”
“But they had guns. They could have killed us.”
Dan thought for a moment. “Let me talk to my dad first. If he’s got some business with Max and we go to the police, then he could get into serious trouble too. I’ll try and warn him to stay away from Max, make him understand what sort of man he’s dealing with.”
Rose was still in favour of going to the police, but then the bus arrived and they were not the only people on board so they had to drop the discussion about armed criminals. By the time they got off the bus on the sea-front it no longer felt like an appropriate topic of conversation.
“Do you want some fish and chips?” asked Dan.
Rose suddenly realised that she was starving. The adrenalin rush of the ride and the terror of being chased by two armed men had left her with a raging appetite.
“Sounds like a great idea.”
They went to a takeaway and ordered two portions of battered haddock and chips, served with a generous sprinkling of salt and vinegar and wrapped in sheets of paper, the traditional way. They took the food down to the sea-front and sat on the prom to eat their supper. The chips were big and fat and utterly delicious. The fish was succulent and fresh and covered in a light golden batter that was gently crisped on the outside and soft inside.
“That was amazing.” Rose licked her fingers, savouring the tangy salt and vinegar.
“Best fish and chips in the world here,” said Dan without a hint of irony. Rose believed him.
A bright moon had risen over the sea. On the horizon a ship’s light blinked. Rose would have liked to sit there for longer but she was aware it was getting late. She had to admit the evening had not gone exactly as planned. There was little hope now of a moonlit walk along the beach. Her ankle still throbbed and she was going to have to make up some story about why her clothes were covered in mud. Staying out any later would only confirm her mother’s worst fears and make her more likely to put her foot down over future dates, assuming that Dan wanted to see her again.
“I better be getting back,” said Rose tentatively, hoping Dan would catch the bait and ask her what she was doing tomorrow. “Mum’ll throw a wobbly if I’m late.”
“I’ll walk you home,” said Dan, then added, “got any plans for tomorrow?”
“No. But you can show me more of Scarborough’s fun-filled attractions, if you like.” Just no more armed gangs, please, she thought.
He laughed. “That won’t take long, but OK. I finish work tomorrow at four o’clock. Why don’t you come and find me at the amusement arcade?”
“OK.”
They climbed the steep road to her gran’s house and then paused outside the front door. A light was still on in the living room and Rose suspected her mother had waited up for her. There was going to be one hell of a row when she saw the state of Rose’s clothes.
“Well, thanks for an… exciting evening,” she said brightly.
“Sorry about how it ended.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It was all part of the fun.”
“See you tomorrow then.”
“Sure. Four o’clock. I’ll be there.”
He squeezed her hand and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he was off down the hill, hands thrust into his jeans pockets. Rose watched his retreating figure until he disappeared out of sight. She touched the spot on her cheek where he’d kissed her and smiled to herself. Now she’d deal with her mother.
~~~
Mary ate most of her gingerbread on the way back to the tent where they’d watched the magic shows. The sweet, spicy smell was irresistible and the cake melted in her mouth.
She looked for Alice and Mr Hartright and found them still sitting inside the tent where she had left them, seemingly oblivious of the fact that the rest of the audience had departed. As she approached she heard them discussing the paintings of the Pre-Raphaelites. Alice was especially fond of the works of Edward Burne Jones and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Mary had once accompanied her to an exhibition in London but had been shocked at the brutality of the paintings by William Holman Hunt and had thought that The Lady of Shalott looked ill and needed someone to do her hair for her.
Mary coughed gently to announce her arrival, and Alice and George sprung apart as if caught in an illicit embrace. Mary pretended not to notice.
“I’ve brought you some gingerbread,” she said. “It’s delicious.”
They thanked her and took the hot slices from her. When they had finished their cake, they stepped outside. The crowds had thinned now and the entertainers were starting to pack away their barrel organs and violins. George offered Alice his arm and they started to make their way towards the exit. Mary followed behind, wanting to let Alice and Mr Hartright have the last few minutes to themselves.
As they approached the exit, Mary turned around for one last look at the fair. As she did so, something caught her attention. She could have sworn that a gentleman in a bowler hat, escorting a lady in a flouncy dress, had darted behind a stall the second she turned her head. She had the exact same feeling that she’d experienced up at St Mary’s Church, as if someone had just walked over her grave. Was someone following them? But why would someone do such a thing?
And then the answer came to her, as if she had just looked into a crystal ball and seen it there, plain as day. Henry Blackwood. Well, obviously not Henry himself, he was far
too grand to go tiptoeing around a fairground. But could he have sent someone to spy on them? The reasoning half of her brain argued that the idea was preposterous and she had no firm proof, but in her heart of hearts she knew it was precisely the sort of thing Henry would do.
She looked around for Alice and Mr Hartright and saw that they were already climbing into a waiting carriage. Mary pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and hurried after them. She’d keep her suspicions to herself for now, she didn’t want to spoil the lovely evening they’d had. But she’d keep her eyes peeled from now on. If Henry had sent a man to follow them, Mary would make sure she found him out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rose woke with a start from a nightmare in which she was being chased by a whole pack of vicious, snarling dogs and armed men. Her heart pounded at the memory of last night’s events. Never before in her whole life had she felt so scared. How close had she been to having her throat ripped out by that mad dog or being shot in the head by those lunatics? She was really regretting her and Dan’s decision not to go straight to the police. But Dan had said he didn’t want to get his dad into trouble and that he would speak to him about Max. She wanted to trust Dan, but was he making the right decision? Should she just go to the police on her own? But she didn’t want to go behind Dan’s back and, besides, her mother would go ballistic if she knew half of what had gone on last night. That thought alone made Rose hesitate about going to the authorities.
She decided to do nothing until she’d seen Dan later that day. Maybe by then he would have spoken to his dad and everything would be sorted out. Or he might change his mind about going to the police, in which case Rose would go along and support him.
She tried to push the frightening memories of last night from her mind and concentrate instead on the good ones. Like the way Dan had caught her in his arms when she’d felt dizzy after the ride. Rose smiled to herself. She’d practically swooned just like the Victorian ladies Mary described in her letters about the fair. Not that Rose could blame her dizzy spell on too-tight a corset or the terror of seeing a ghost appear on the stage. But Dan had been the perfect gentleman, holding her steady, making sure she was all right. And then afterwards, when he’d escorted her from the fair, his arm around her waist, she had leaned into him enjoying the smell of his skin. When she closed her eyes Rose could feel the pressure of his fingers, gentle but firm. She couldn’t wait till she saw him again.
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