Scarborough Fair (Scarborough Fair series Book 1)

by Margarita Morris

  ~~~

  Walter stopped the cart behind a large laurel bush, out of sight of the asylum. Then Mary, Ellie and George made their way on foot to the edge of the garden and waited for the crocodile line of patients to appear.

  After an anxious few minutes the front door opened wide and a rag-tag line of forlorn individuals, some stooped and shuffling, some walking as if in a daze, exited the building. They were accompanied by male and female nurses who watched their every step. Mary counted the patients off one by one, desperately hoping that Alice would be the next to appear. But the last patient came out, an old man with skeletal features and a pronounced limp, and the door closed. Mary examined the line of patients once more as they made their way along the path, circling the rose beds and lavender bushes. Had she missed Alice? Surely not. She would have known her immediately if she had been there, but she wasn’t in the group.

  “She’s not there,” said Mary. “We’re going to have to go inside.” The walkers were now at the far end of the garden. Mary, George and Ellie moved quickly towards the door and George pulled the bell rope with his good arm. After what felt like an interminable wait, the door opened and Mary was dismayed to see Nurse Cooper standing there. She had hoped for a more docile nurse, not this dragon of a woman. However, if she had to deal with Nurse Cooper, then deal with her she would.

  “What is it?” asked Nurse Cooper. She stood in the doorway like a Titan, arms crossed in front of her. The sleeves of her dress were rolled up to the elbows and the muscles in her forearms bulged unattractively.

  “We have come to see Miss Alice Hawthorne,” said Mary in her best voice, the one she normally reserved for vicars and upper-crust ladies who were apt to look down on people with a working class accent. “This is her brother, Mr Geoffrey Hawthorne.” She indicated George, who inclined his head to Nurse Cooper.

  “She ain’t in ’ere no more,” said Nurse Cooper.

  “Do you mean to say she has left the asylum?” asked Mary. She was becoming proud of her ability to decipher the local tongue.

  “Aye.”

  Mary blinked at Nurse Cooper in disbelief. “But how did she leave? Was she on her own?”

  Nurse Cooper snorted in derision. “Course she weren’t. I wouldn’t’ve let ’er go missen, but this man came for ’er ’alf an ’our ago. The one what brought ’er ’ere. Now, I ain’t got time ter stand round gossipin’.” And with that she closed the door in their faces.

  Mary couldn’t believe their bad luck. If Alice really had left the asylum, and there was no reason to doubt Nurse Cooper, then there was only one person who could have removed her and that was Henry Blackwood. How she would dearly love to see that man disappear. Nurse Cooper had said that Alice had left half an hour ago which meant they couldn’t have gone far. But the question was where? Mary’s guess was that Alice and Henry would be headed for the railway station. He’d want to take her back to London.

  “Come on,” said Mary to George and Ellie. “If we hurry we might catch them yet.”

  ~~~

  Rose deposited the bicycle round the back of some public toilets. She didn’t have the key to the security lock that was attached to the crossbar so she’d have to hope the bike didn’t get nicked.

  The Jaguar was parked right at the far end of the jetty, by the lighthouse, well away from the tourists who were milling around looking at the boats. She’d seen the two Geordies escorting Dan, no doubt at gun point, onto the yacht. It was a big vessel with a long, pointed prow, like the sort of boat you’d see cruising round the Mediterranean, a luxury floating home on which to host cocktail parties for the rich and famous. Rose didn’t have to wonder how Max could afford such a boat, given what she’d seen stored in the basement at the asylum.

  Rose had just enough change in her pocket to buy herself a bottle of Coke from a booth. She gulped the liquid down and tossed the bottle into a nearby bin. Then she walked towards the lighthouse, and hid behind a pile of empty crates that reeked of fish. Max was standing on the jetty, talking to a fisherman. The fisherman, a big, ruddy-faced chap dressed in oilskins and wellington boots, had a deep, resounding voice and Rose overheard him saying something about high tides and a full moon. It sounded as if Max was planning to set sail and was getting advice from one of the locals.

  Then the two Geordies appeared on the deck of the yacht. They walked down the gangplank, jumped onto the jetty and went to join Max and the fisherman. Dan wasn’t with them so he must still be on the boat and she didn’t think they’d invited him to the captain’s cabin and served him a plate of caviar. The garrulous old fisherman was still holding forth about strong currents and powerful tides. This was her chance. She darted across the jetty, ran up the gangplank and jumped on board. There was no one to stop her. All she had to do now was find Dan, and do it quickly before the men came back.

  The top deck was deserted. She pulled open a door and headed down below, calling his name as she went.

  She found herself in a long, narrow corridor with cabin doors on either side. Her heart hammering in her chest, she tried the first door to her left. It opened onto a luxurious cabin with sofas, a flat-screen television, abstract works of art on the walls and a well-stocked wine rack in one corner. Not surprisingly, Dan wasn’t there. The next door led to the kitchen; another to a Swedish-style sauna; then a bedroom. There was still no sign of Dan and Rose was starting to feel desperate. The men would be back soon. Time was running out.

  “Dan!” she called. “Are you down here? Can you hear me?”

  There was a thump from behind the door at the far end. Rose ran over and hammered on the door. “Dan, is that you?” There was a muffled groan from inside, as if he was gagged or something. Rose tried the door handle but the door was locked. She examined the lock. It was a Yale and the catch only just reached across. Her mother always said Yale locks were not sufficient on their own, that you needed a dead lock too. Well, she was going to find out if her mother was right after all.

  “Stay back,” cried Rose. She flung herself at the door. It flew open and she fell into the room. It was a tiny, windowless cabin with bunk beds against one wall. Dan was sitting on the floor, his mouth gagged with a dirty cloth and his hands tied behind his back with the sort of thick rope sailors used to moor their boats to the pillars on the jetty. Rose untied the gag and then started work on the rope. The knot was expertly tied and her fingers fumbled with the rope until she worked out how to undo it.

  “How did you find me?” spluttered Dan.

  “Long story. Tell you later. We have to get out of here.”

  She pulled him into the corridor. At that moment there was a loud rumbling from the engine and the boat vibrated into life.

  “We’re too late,” said Dan. “The boat’s sailing.”

  ~~~

  Kitty paid the driver handsomely.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The coachman doffed his cap to her and lifted her case down. “I ’ope you ’ave a pleasant crossing and that the seas aren’t too rough.”

  “I hope so too,” said Kitty.

  She climbed down from the carriage and looked around at the passengers and sailors thronging the quayside.

  Then she saw him.

  He was standing apart from the other people, his bowler hat pulled down low over his brow as if he didn’t want anyone to recognise him. She picked up her case and walked briskly towards him.

  At the sound of her footsteps he looked up and his face broke into a smile.

  “Kitty,” he said. “You came.”

  “Of course, Jackson.”

  “Shall we?” He held out his arm to her and looked towards the boat.

  Kitty looked up at the tall mast. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. The theatre manager had said he was sorry to see her go. If she went back now she was sure he’d let her have her old job back. And what did she really know of Jackson? But he’d kept his word, hadn’t he? He’d come back for her when most men she’d known would have just fled. She looked across th
e harbour at the town of Scarborough. It was picture-postcard perfect, with the ruined castle on the headland, St Mary’s Church up on the hill, the sweep of golden sand, the windows of the Grand Hotel glinting in the afternoon sun. She would miss it, but it was time to move on.

  She slipped her arm through Jackson’s and together they made their way up the gangplank. Fortune favours the brave, thought Kitty as she took the first steps towards her new life.

  ~~~

  It took Zoe and Lucky a good hour to walk from the asylum to Tollergate in the centre of town. They would have made faster progress if Zoe hadn’t been carrying her rucksack, but there was nowhere safe to leave it and she didn’t want to have to go back to the asylum for it. Rose was right. It wasn’t safe there anymore. She wished now she’d let Rose call the police when they’d had the chance, but there was no point dwelling on past mistakes. All that mattered now was that she find Rose, make sure she was all right and give her back the necklace. She’d worry about herself later.

  She paused at the top of Tollergate and looked down the steep, cobbled street. The houses were all on one side, to her left, a row of quaint terraced cottages, some of them painted in pretty pastel shades. She looked with longing at the painted doors and Georgian windows and thought how wonderful it would be to live in one of those little houses, just her and Lucky, and her mum. But houses like this, small as they might be, were out of her league. The best she could hope for was a poky council flat on some rundown estate on the outskirts of town.

  “So which house do you think Rose lives in?” she asked the dog. Lucky looked up at her with his trusting brown eyes. “I guess we’ll just have to start knocking on doors, then.”

  There was no answer at the first two houses. The owners must be away or out at work. Half-way down the street a door opened and a man in a suit stepped out. He climbed into a small hatchback that was parked half on the pavement and half on the cobbled road and drove off. The car, a lurid shade of purple, was painted with the name, logo and telephone number of one of the local estate agents. Zoe remembered that Rose had said she was staying with her grandmother but that her grandmother had died, so it would make sense if they were trying to sell the house. Just then a woman stepped out onto the pavement and stood looking anxiously up and down the street.

  “That’s her,” said Zoe to Lucky. “That’s Rose’s mum.” The resemblance to Rose was unmistakable. Although this woman was so much older, she had Rose’s colouring and the same shaped face. It was like looking into the future, seeing how Rose herself would look in thirty years’ time. Zoe hurried down the street. “Excuse me,” she called.

  The woman stiffened, took one look at Zoe and turned to go back inside. Zoe recognised that look, she’d seen it so many times before. It was the look people gave her when she walked down a crowded street with Lucky at her heels. A small dose of pity mixed with a much larger dose of mistrust. Whenever she approached people they shrank away from her because they thought she was going to ask them for money. They judged her hair, her clothes, her dog. Some of them called her a scrounger.

  “No, wait please,” called Zoe. “I don’t want anything. But are you Rose’s mother?”

  “Yes,” said the woman, suspiciously. “What do you want?”

  “I have something to give back to Rose.”

  “How do you know Rose? And where is she?”

  “Isn’t she back yet?” asked Zoe. That wasn’t a good sign. She’d thought Rose would go straight to the police. Zoe hoped Rose hadn’t tried anything stupid.

  “She’s been gone all afternoon,” said Rose’s mother, her voice tight. “She only went out to take some sheets and a blanket to the charity shop.” Her eyes darted to the blue blanket that was poking out of the top of Zoe’s rucksack. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Zoe and Rose is a friend of mine.”

  Rose’s mother looked as if she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “I have something for you.” Zoe reached a hand into her trouser pocket and pulled out the jet necklace. “I believe this belonged to a woman who was a friend of Rose’s great-great-grandmother. Alice?”

  “I don’t understand,” said Rose’s mother, taking the necklace from Zoe’s fingers. “Where did you find this? And where is Rose?” There was a noticeable edge of panic in her voice now.

  “I don’t know where she is,” admitted Zoe. “I last saw her over an hour ago. It’s a long story, but I think she might be in danger. We need to call the police.”

  Rose’s mother paled in fright. “The police? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain everything,” said Zoe. “But right now I need to use your telephone.”

  “You’d better come inside then.” The woman looked doubtfully at Lucky.

  “He’s very friendly,” said Zoe. “And very well behaved.”

  Rose’s mother stood aside and let Zoe and Lucky into the house.

  ~~~

  Henry forced Alice into the waiting carriage and climbed in after her, slamming the door behind him. He rapped his cane on the carriage roof, the coachman cracked his whip and the pair of horses bolted forward. Alice cowered in the corner of the carriage, afraid of Henry’s temper. He sat opposite her, mopping his brow with a silk handkerchief. Neither of them spoke.

  Her time in the asylum had taught Alice to be resourceful and look after herself. She had spent many hours alone with her thoughts, thinking about her life and how she wanted to live it. She had come to the conclusion that if she couldn’t marry the man she loved, then she would rather not marry at all and now, as the carriage jolted down the hill, she vowed that she would certainly never marry Henry Blackwood, even if he marched her up the aisle himself. She would simply refuse. If asked the question, Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband? she would reply, “No, I do not.” Then she would throw herself on the mercy of the priest. She would make a fool of him in the house of God and that would serve him right.

  Alice peered out of the window to see where they were going. She had expected they would go directly to the railway station and would return to London by train that afternoon, so she was surprised to find the carriage drawing to a halt by the harbour. The screech of the seagulls, that she had come to love, pierced her heart.

  Henry flung open the carriage door and jumped down. Alice hesitated. “Come on, woman,” he growled, “or do I have to drag you out of there myself?”

  Alice climbed down from the carriage and Henry took her by the arm. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Henry motioned towards a sailing ship, a fine vessel with three tall masts, that was moored in the harbour. “I thought a little trip would do us both good. Help us get reacquainted with one another.” He started to lead her towards the waiting boat.

  ~~~

  “Get back,” said Dan. “They mustn’t see us.” He pushed Rose back inside the cabin and closed the door.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Rose. It felt as if they were already moving at a rate of knots. If they jumped off now they could almost certainly still swim to shore but they were below deck and there was little hope of going up top without being seen. Every second that passed was taking them further and further away from land.

  “I wish there was a porthole,” said Rose. “It’s so claustrophobic in here.”

  The boat lifted with the swell of a wave and then plunged downward. They must have left the relative safety of the harbour and were already out on the open sea.

  “Whoa!” Rose grabbed hold of the side of the bunk bed to stop herself falling over. The Coke she had drunk so hastily was swilling around in her stomach, threatening to make a reappearance. She didn’t know if she had sea legs or not, but she suspected she was going to find out.

  Dan thrust his head under the tap of the tiny basin in the corner of the room and gulped down mouthfuls of water as if he hadn’t drunk anything for days.

  “That’s better,” he said when he’d finished. His face and hair were wet and he towelled them dry o
n his T-shirt.

  Rose sank down onto the lower bunk. It was hot and airless in the cabin and the throb of the engine combined with the lurching movement of the boat was making her feel queasy. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and upper lip. She shut her eyes and moaned as the yacht plunged into another trough.

  Dan sat next to her, taking her hand in his. “Try and relax,” he said. “You have to let yourself go with the boat and not try to fight against it. Breathe deeply.”

  “I think I’m going to puke.”

  “Pretend you’re on a ride at the fair.”

  Rose closed her eyes and imagined herself at the fairground with its flashing lights and pumping music. She inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaled through her mouth and tried to relax. Gradually the queasiness subsided. It was choppy on the sea, but no worse than being on the Kamikaze swing at the fair.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  She nodded and opened her eyes. “Listen, we have to get out of here. Those men are drug smugglers. They’re storing the stuff at the asylum.”

  Dan nodded. “I know. And they were getting my dad to…” He didn’t finish his sentence. The cabin door banged open and the two Geordies walked in.

  ~~~

  Jackson had never felt more content in his life. Kitty slipped her arm through his and they strolled the deck, feeling the wind in their hair and the gentle rise and fall of the boat under their feet. They discussed their plans for the future, how they would set up a shop in London and earn a decent living selling ladies’ fashions. Kitty had a good eye for what women liked to wear and Jackson trusted she would make a smart business woman. Above all, there would be no more Henry Blackwood; no more running sordid errands for that man, procuring whores and opium for him; no more haranguing creditors. No more spying on innocent young females… Jackson stopped suddenly and drew in a sharp breath.

  “What is it?” asked Kitty. They had walked the length of the boat and just turned towards the stern.

  “Over there,” said Jackson, clenching his jaw.