The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches (19 page)

Pulling herself up smartly, she said, 'Come on, Alice, apply yourself! Don't give in because everyone else tells you to.' She threw on her hat and cloak once more and strode determinedly out of the front door.

The office of the Mother Superior was rather like that of a headmistress. It was a small room, painted an antiseptic green, containing a wide desk with neat piles of paper arranged on one half and a black wartime telephone dominating the other. An old Bakelite radio nestled in one corner beside a large potted plant and on the sill of the tiny window stood a plaster figure of Our Lady.

'Please sit down,' the Mother Superior said kindly. She was a small woman, in her late sixties, with button-like eyes that peered through her spectacles with the keenest interest at whomever or whatever she was addressing. The strength of her faith was indomitable. To her, the cares of the world were there to be conquered; her chief weapon for this was often humour. She was one of those rare people with an intense zest for life and she inspired the same in those around her.

Sitting behind the desk, she studied the old lady opposite with benign interest. 'What can I do for you. Miss Boston?' her warm voice asked. 'Is it something spiritual or do you want to offer your services for the jumble sale tomorrow afternoon?'

Aunt Alice settled herself into the seat provided. 'Er, no, not exactly,' she said.

The little black buttons peeked through the lenses curiously. For a moment she seemed confused but then her expression changed and she smiled with glee. 'Marvellous!' she cried. 'At long last. I always knew you would take the veil one day. What a glorious nun you will make!' she clapped her hands together, then said soberly, 'You have left it rather late, though.'

Miss Boston was never sure when the Mother Superior was joking; she really had a most disconcerting sense of humour sometimes. 'That isn't what I came for either,' she stammered with embarrassment.

The Mother Superior waved an apologetic hand at her. 'Forgive me,' she chuckled, 'Couldn't resist it. Now, tell me what I can do for you.'

'I was wondering if I might have a word with one of the novices here,' Miss Boston asked.

'But of course,' the Mother Superior replied. 'That is, if I can find her. Which one is it? If it was Sister Clare or Sister Agnes you were after I'm afraid you will be disappointed, they are visiting the sick in hospital this afternoon.'

Miss Boston gave an awkward cough. This was the difficult part—she had no idea who Jennet had seen on the cliff. 'No, I don't think it was either of those two,' she said slowly.

The Mother Superior smiled at her patiently. 'Then who? Surely not Sister Frances—nobody ever wants to talk to her, not even me.'

But Miss Boston was in no mood for this whimsey today. 'I believe you have a novice staying with you who is not of your order,' she said. 'Would I be right in assuming she has not been here very long?'

'I find time a very difficult thing at my age,' the Mother Superior breathed wistfully. 'Before I know where I am the year seems to get pulled from under me. I had no idea it was nearly September—it seems only last week we were—celebrating Easter.' She laughed and thumped her hands on the desk. 'Are you sure you don't want to help with the jumble sale? The white-elephant stall still has no one to organise it and Sister Frances refuses point-blank to abandon her tombola in favour of the dreadful thing.'

Miss Boston watched her in surprise. Why was she avoiding the question? She asked it again.

The Mother Superior could not ignore it this time. 'Not been here very long?' she repeated. 'I don't think there is...'

'You must be mistaken,' snapped Aunt Alice, with force. What was the woman hiding? Did she know something of this business?

All the merriment left the nun's face; it was useless to pretend any longer. She pushed herself away from the desk and looked at the old lady warily. 'Yes... there is one newly come amongst us,' she answered in a cautious voice. 'Sister Bridget.'

'May I speak with her?' Miss Boston asked.

There was a pause and the small woman frowned as she solemnly considered the matter. She had not expected this. She had hoped her guest would have gone undetected. What if it all reached the ears of the bishop? The Mother Superior looked up to the window as if for inspiration, then, with her hands laced together, she stared at Aunt Alice and said softly, 'Of course, I cannot forbid you to see Sister Bridget if that is what you wish, but may I know what the matter concerns?'

This was difficult. Miss Boston could hardly tell her what she suspected—and yet maybe the Mother Superior knew more about it than she did. 'Shall I just say that it is of the gravest importance,' she said. 'I hope I shall not have to go to a higher authority.'

A look of understanding passed between them and the other sighed. 'How much do you know of this?'

'A little,' answered Miss Boston, 'but I have also guessed a great deal.'

The nun laid her hands on the table. 'Let me explain before you confront her,' she said. 'Sister Bridget is a timid, frightened creature. I took her in because she needed my help—she has always needed our help.'

'Always? Has she been here before?'

'Sister Bridget once lived in this convent, though long before I came here.'

'But you've been here for forty years!' Miss Boston exclaimed.

'Yes,' smiled the small woman, 'but our records mention her.' She gazed up at the window again and the soft light fell on her face. 'I recall that the previous Mother Superior warned me—very insistent she was—and sat me down in this same office to tell me. What an earful I had that day; she was a tough old bird but she had the heart of a saint and I have never forgotten what she said to me.'

She closed her eyes and repeated, word for word, what she had been told all those years ago. 'There are many wonders in this world, glories and miracles abound, yet there are also the unfortunate ones: the sick, the poor and those who need our help. Surely these souls deserve our greatest love and care. It is your sworn duty to give mercy and protection to any creature, however strange the circumstance.'

The button eyes opened again and the smile returned. 'I don't think I really understood what she was trying to tell me back then, but it was as if she were preparing me. Only now do I understand fully. I told you of the records, Miss Boston. Our files date back to 1738 and in the earliest of them—a tattered old thing it is, too—a Sister Bridget is mentioned.'

'But surely it cannot be the same woman?'

'I am certain that it is,' the nun said firmly. 'I now know the whole of her tragic story.' She shook herself and rose from her seat. 'Come, then,' she said, 'let us see if we can find her.'

She led Miss Boston out of her office and through the refectory hall, then into a corridor which smelled of floor polish. There were many doors on either side of the passage and these led to the small bare cells of the sisters.

When they reached one of the doors, the Mother Superior halted and raised her hand to knock. This is the cell of Sister Bridget,' she explained.

Miss Boston put her hands behind her back and waited for her to tap on the door. But instead the nun said, 'Perhaps I have erred in taking her in again, but I did what I thought was best.' She looked steadily at Aunt Alice. 'Are we not all creatures of God?' she asked.

'Indeed we are,' said Miss Boston gently, 'and I'm sure it was the only Christian thing to do.'

The Mother Superior gave a weak laugh. 'So now I am her guardian, like all those before me.'

Miss Boston rubbed her chin thoughtfully. 'Do you know why she has returned?'

The small woman seemed about to speak but she checked herself. 'That you must ask her,' she said and raised her hand once more. She knocked and entered the room beyond.

'It's all right. Sister,' she said reassuringly to the figure in white who backed away, startled. 'There's someone here who would like a word with you, that's all.'

The novice looked fearfully over the Mother Superior's shoulder to see who the visitor was. When she saw that it was only an old lady, she relaxed and the hunted look left her face.

Miss Boston entered the room. It was so small that three of them were quite squashed inside it. It contained the absolute minimum of comforts: a bed, a wooden chair and a table. There was a Bible open on the table and Aunt Alice cast her eyes over the passage Sister Bridget had been reading.

And God created the great whales and every living and moving creature which the waters brought forth, according to their kinds, and every winged fowl according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.

'Shall I leave you two alone?' asked the Mother Superior.

The novice glanced at Miss Boston curiously and then nodded.

'Very well then, I'll be just outside.'

The door closed.

Miss Boston smiled. 'I'm afraid we haven't been introduced,' she said. 'I know that you are called Sister Bridget. My name is Alice Boston—delighted to meet you.'

The novice did not respond. She eyed the stranger doubtfully then sat down, motioning for the old lady to do the same.

Miss Boston perched on the hard bed. The woman was obviously still very unsure of her, but then the feeling was mutual. Now that they were alone she looked at the novice with undisguised interest and realised just how strange she actually was. Those almond-shaped eyes glittered like nothing she had ever seen before and the curiously wide mouth was hardly human. But that was not all. Aunt Alice blinked and took a second look. A faint green light surrounded the woman, so pale that at first she thought it was her imagination. No, it was definitely there—for those who could see.

'May I ask you some questions?' she inquired politely.

There was no reply; the novice merely stared dumbly at her.

It would take more than that, however, to put Miss Boston off. She cleared her throat. 'I think I know who you are,' she said.

The woman made no answer.

'I should like to know why you have come back to Whitby after all this time,' continued the old lady, 'and I should also like to know what Rowena Cooper has said to you.'

Again there was nothing, but the novice had tensed on hearing that name.

'You see,' Miss Boston carried on, 'I believe you know who she really is and what she is looking for—she has come to Whitby to find something, hasn't she? Would that be the same thing you are seeking? I hope you are not planning to help her.' She leaned forward and the loose flesh under her chin quivered with passion. 'Rowena is a dangerous woman,' she said. 'Two of my friends are already dead. If there is anything you can tell me which will prove her guilt, you cannot withhold it. Rowena must be stopped before anyone else perishes!'

The novice lowered her eyes. 'I cannot help you,' she said quietly.

'There is no such word as "cannot",' Aunt Alice retorted. 'Say what you mean, tell me that you will not! Let me hear you condemn another poor soul to Rowena's cruelty.'

The novice shrank back from the force of the old lady's outburst. Her whole frame shook with fear and she hid her face. 'I cannot help you,' she wailed.

Miss Boston regained her self-control and puffed out her cheeks. 'I'm sorry, my dear,' she apologised. 'I did not mean to frighten you,' She realised that further conversation was useless; the woman was too afraid to talk. Wearily she crossed to the door. 'I hope you can live with yourself when all is done,' she said.

In the corridor, the Mother Superior asked nervously, 'Did she tell you what you wanted?'

'No, she told me nothing.'

'I am sorry,' she said earnestly. 'Perhaps it has all got out of hand. Things are not as simple as once they were. I'm terribly afraid for Sister Bridget—the danger she faces increases every day. The good Lord alone knows how she managed to return here without being discovered, the poor creature.'

Miss Boston slung her scarf around her neck. 'I fear that there are many in danger because of her refusal to speak. I don't know what I am to do now. There is evil at work in this town and it is steadily growing in strength.'

The Mother Superior clasped her hands together. 'God go with you,' she said.

Aunt Alice received the blessing gravely. 'I believe I may need all the guidance He can give,' she said.

She was not under the chair, nor hiding on top of the wardrobe as she sometimes did. She was not even in the airing cupboard. Miss Droon was exasperated with the bothersome animal and threw Binky down in disgust. It had happened again. Eurydice was missing.

Tilly had only nipped to the post office to have a word with Edith, but unfortunately one of the windows in the kitchen had been left open. Miss Droon knew at once that Eurydice had made a dash for it, but that did not stop her turning the house upside down just in case.

Her little sitting room was a hopeless wreck, the threadbare cushions had been yanked off the chairs, the contents of the cupboards were strewn over the carpet and the tall pile of wildlife magazines which had once towered in the corner now resembled a colourful volcano.

The rest of Miss Droon's menagerie knew enough to get out of her way when this frenzied panic seized her. Under the table cowered a dozen felines, their squabbles momentarily forgotten. Their green and golden eyes watched the whiskered woman dart in and out until, finally, she threw herself at the cushionless couch.

From the upstairs bedroom, pathetic little mews wailed.

'Oh, the poor darlings,' cried Tilly. 'How could she leave them again?'

The truth of the matter was that Eurydice would have needed the nose of a tracker dog to find out where her newest offspring were. Tilly was continually moving them. Either it was too cold in the kitchen at night or she was afraid of jealous attacks from the others if they were left unsupervised in the sitting room. The poor, bewildered kittens had seen every inch of her poky house by now and Eurydice had given up trying to discover where they had been deposited. Every time she got out of the basket to have a drink or something to eat. Miss Droon came along and whisked it away.