The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child (21 page)

The freckle-faced woman gave a self-conscious smile and mumbled inaudibly.

"Liz never has much to say for herself," Pear told Jennet, "but she says all she has to in her music; she plays the guitar as well as the flute. Real talent she has."

The girl's mother rose to greet them. "Hello, you two! How lovely to have company. I'm glad it wasn't my turn to cook tonight."

"I wouldn't have brought Jennet if it was," Pear uttered bluntly.

"Sit down," Meta told them, making room on the blanket which was spread over the grass. "You don't mind eating vegetarian do you, Jennet? None of us are carnivores, are we? No dead flesh for us; slabs of fear pumped full of poison, that's all it is—revolting."

"All right, Meta," Pear interrupted, "get off the soapbox, not enough people are watching."

At first Jennet felt uncomfortable amongst the other women and looked cautiously about her. She had never met anyone like this strange group before and could not begin to guess how they had met and decided to travel together. A more unlikely collection of people was difficult to imagine.

The one called Liz was painfully shy and hovered about the Primus, not once lifting her eyes in their direction. Nearby, sitting cross-legged, with her nose buried in a book, was Caroline. Politely yet making it obvious she did not want to join in any conversation, she said hello to the girls then returned her attention to the pages of her novel.

Jennet found Pear's mother to be the most unsettling of the lot. Her beauty was so radiant and intense that she felt horribly plain beside her, like a candle flame held against the harsh brilliance of the sun. She could understand why Liz was so quiet and timid—no one could ever be noticed in that luminous company, except perhaps Meta's own daughter.

Beside her mother's lambent beauty, Pear's jet black hair was a welcome balance to the eye and her irreverent backchat held Meta's overwhelming personality in check.

The handsome woman loved the sound of her own voice. It was obvious she adored the limelight and being the centre of attention. Her laugh was always the loudest and lasted just that little bit too long. She was undoubtedly the driving force behind the group, and Jennet slowly discovered that she didn't really like this lovely yet domineering beauty. Meta was queen of them all and she knew it. Her constant and tenacious control of any conversation swiftly became tiresome, yet in Pear's mocking company her glamour was just bearable.

From the simmering pan a tantalising scent floated, and Jennet's mouth watered as she realised how hungry she was.

"Will it be much longer, Liz?" Pear begged.

The woman gave a meek shake of the head and went to fetch some plates from a cupboard in the van.

Presently the dishes were passed around, heaped with a rich smelling mixture of nuts, rice and chick-peas. It was delicious and Jennet ate it quickly.

Caroline laid her book down and chewed thoughtfully whilst Liz went to sit by herself in the camper—as if to be seen eating by a stranger was a most horrendous prospect. Assuming elegant poses with a fork in one hand and the plate in the other, Meta managed to look ravishing even with her mouth full. At her side, Pear chattered in garbled bursts, telling Jennet more of their lifestyle, and soon it was as if the girl had known them all her life and though she still found the blonde woman tiresome she was perfectly willing to remain in their company for as long as she was welcome.

The group's lifestyle sounded extremely attractive; they had no cares and the only money they needed was for petrol and food as they made most of their own clothes. Not once did Jennet think of Aunt Alice or Ben, and found herself wishing that she could stay with the band forever.

"So," Meta said, "tell us about yourself and this place. In all our years together we've never been to Whitby, have we? It looks a fascinating little spot and there's a good health food shop. I had to drag Liz out of it, didn't I Caroline? Do you like it here, Jennet? Is it really as full of mystery and legend as it seems?"

She raised a shapely hand to the abbey ruins and assumed a dramatic and fearful pose. "I am trying to imagine how it will look when the night comes," she said in hushed tones, "how spooky it will be for us all in the camper van. Have you ever been here at midnight, Jennet, when the moonlight shines upon those ancient, broken stones and weird noises carry upon the wind?"

The girl made no reply; there were certain memories she would rather not recall.

"I see you have," the woman persisted. "What adventures were yours? Were you terrified or did a lover's arms embrace you?"

"Shut up, Meta," Pear rapped, coming to Jennet's rescue. "You're talking garbage again. You only do it to hear yourself—shame you don't realise how boring it is."

Meta smiled and sat once more. "My daughter is always chiding me," she confided. "I pity her having me for a parent—it must be awful to have such a dreary mother who's always seeking attention."

"You're doing it again!" Pear gasped, throwing a cushion at her. "Hey, Jennet, do you want your palm read? Caroline's really good at it. Caroline, come and do the old clairvoyant bit for her."

"I don't know about that," Jennet muttered, shoving her hands beneath her knees. "I don't believe in that kind of nonsense; there's enough of it at home."

"Oh, it's just a laugh," Pear cried. "Go on, don't be dull."

Dutifully, Jennet raised her upturned palm and the woman called Caroline came over to peer at it.

Taking the girl's hand in hers, she stared and frowned, following certain lines with her fingernails.

"This curve here is your Head Line. It shows that you're sensitive but not very creative—you probably get depressed quite easily too."

Jennet squirmed. Did she have to be quite so blunt?

"Mmm, your mount of Saturn says that you're an extremely practical person, a good organiser, like me, with no time for fantasy or ludicrous notions. The Heart Line here isn't very pronounced—that's not very common."

At this, Meta gave a lusty sigh. "Perhaps Jennet's suppressing a secret passion—maybe you did come up here with a lover after all. Is he an uncouth yob or a dreary artisan who'll end up an accountant?"

"Don't be vile," Pear scolded her mother. "Go on, Caroline."

"There are a lot of broken paths here," she breathed. "You've been through many upheavals, haven't you? It's levelled out recently but it still isn't steady. And look, that is interesting—hmm." She gave the hand a dismissive pat then twisted her mouth to one side.

"Radical change," she summed up. "No doubt about it, very soon your whole life will alter. More upheaval, I'm afraid, but it might be for the best."

"What... what sort of change?" Jennet stammered.

"Oh, your life will take an entirely new direction," Caroline said, returning to her place and retrieving the novel.

Jennet stared blankly at her palm, then became steadily encouraged and much happier. "I was hoping for a change to happen," she said. "Maybe it will after all."

"Oh it will," Pear affirmed. "Caroline's never been wrong yet."

"If only it'll happen soon. You are lucky. I wish I could go wherever I wanted to and not be told what to do all the time."

"What's stopping you?"

"Well, school for a start and then my brother and Aunt Alice—oh, lots of things."

Lounging on the grass like a contented cat, Meta let out a sympathetic groan. "Excuses," she murmured. "If you really wanted to change you'd do it. There'll always be something to blame for your inertia."

"We can't all be carried away from our humdrum lives by a dashing stranger," Pear interrupted. "Stop measuring others by your own shameful youth. Do you know, Jennet, my mother was just out of college and had only been in her first teaching job three weeks when she was whisked off by my father. She just upped and left everything behind—friends, family, everything. Completely mad, don't you think?"

Jennet shrugged. "I don't know," she breathed. "Depends on who the man is, I suppose, and how much he loves you."

"There you are," Meta declared, wagging a finger at her daughter, "Jennet understands, don't you, honey?" She reached over and stroked the girl's hair then added, "Would you like a drink? I've got a bottle of wine in the van—I can think of nothing better than to sit with friends and enjoy a glass or two."

Before Jennet could answer, Pear's mother was already ferreting in the van for the bottle.

"I'm not really allowed to drink alcohol," she murmured. "I don't know if I should."

Pear sniggered. "Why not? I was brought up on beer and wine, wasn't I, Meta?"

"Only way to keep you quiet, Lambkin. Does wonders, some stout in the baby's milk—I would've gone quite berserk otherwise. Here we are."

She passed the glasses around and uncorked a large bottle of dry white wine.

Jennet held the glass nervously as Meta filled it and gingerly sniffed the clear fruity liquid.

"Here's to your radical change," Meta announced, raising her own glass, "whatever that proves to be. Hoi, Liz—what about some music?"

From the camper the timid woman emerged and in her arms she carried a guitar covered in fading stickers. Very softly she began to strum the strings and a babbling tune drifted around them. As Jennet sipped the wine, the music mingled with the taste, and it was so lovely that she closed her eyes to fix this moment forever in her memory.

***

As the light failed and the sky gradually turned a hazy deep blue, Sister Frances swayed uncertainly and rubbed her eyes.

Disorientated, she looked around and found that she was standing in the abbey grounds.

The venerable remains of the holy building were dark, and high above her—silhouetted against the louring sky—the skeletal frames of the east windows cast violet shadows over the confused nun as she tried to remember what had brought her to this place.

"Here I am again," she declared to the ancient columns before her. "Come on, Frances, get a grip on yourself. They'll come to take you away if you keep blacking out like this. Oh Lawks! What can the time be?"

Charging through the grounds with her head at a tilt and her great long legs marching in determined strides, she left the abbey behind and headed for the church.

When she was skirting the edge of the car park, Sister Frances brought herself up sharply and turned this way and that as though she had lost something.

"How divine," she gushed, listening to the strains of a slow, peaceful melody. "What a pretty tune. Wherever is it corning from?"

Following the delightful sound with child-like curiosity, she gravitated towards the cliff edge where, amongst other vehicles, a camper was parked.

Small glass jars containing night lights burned beside the van and the nun was charmed by the glimmering scene. Gathered in a semi-circle, five figures were talking in low voices and one of them played a guitar so well that it brought tears to Frances's eyes.

Silently, her large feet crept closer and an enraptured expression appeared over her face and she put her hands together as if in prayer.

The guitar player happened to glance up and the music faltered when she saw the tall figure peeking around the side of the van.

"Oh, please don't stop!" Frances implored. "I only wanted to listen for a teeny moment. It was all so heavenly, a perfect tranquil scene, with all you chums sitting around on a jolly evening..." Her voice trailed away. One of the figures had turned quickly and was trying to hide her face. Sister Frances recognised the girl immediately.

"Jennet!" she cried. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Miss B's? And what have you got in your hand? No, I don't believe it is lemonade! Oh, how beastly of you! It's white wine—I can see the bottle! Come here at once!"

Striding between Pear and Meta, she took hold of Jennet's arm and wrenched the girl to her feet.

Pear giggled at the sight of the outraged nun but Frances was indignant and she berated the other women for leading Jennet astray. "It isn't the slightest bit funny," she warned them. "I intend to tell a policeman!"

Meta drained her own glass and looked at her steadily. "You're right of course," she said in all seriousness. "I think you had better return home, Jennet."

"I don't want to!" the girl cried. "Oh, why don't you mind your own business?" she snapped at Frances.

"This is for your own good Jennet, dear," the nun declared, leading her away from these dangerous intoxicators. "Do stop struggling."

Jennet strained and tried to pull her arm free but the ridiculous woman was stronger than she seemed.

"Let her go!" Pear called.

"Be quiet!" Meta growled. "Don't interfere!"

But her daughter leaped up to bar the nun's path and Meta reached out to drag her backwards. "Did you not hear me?" she growled.

"Who does that freak think she is?"

Meta glared at the girl and hissed, "Must I say it a second time? Do you need a lesson in obedience? Let her take Jennet back."

Pear took one look at her mother and sat down again instantly.

"How did you get involved with those disreputable people?" Frances asked, dragging the miserable Jennet through the car park.

But the girl was not listening. Looking over her shoulder, she could see that Pear was as unhappy as she was. "I'll see you tomorrow!" she shouted.

Pear made no sign that she had heard, and before Jennet could call again Sister Frances had pulled her into the churchyard towards the one hundred and ninety-nine steps.

"You'll do no such thing!" the nun told her. "It's the wedding tomorrow and you'll bally well be there!"

Jennet trotted wretchedly behind her. Pear was the first friend she had had for as long as she could remember and the others had treated her as an equal. Now here she was being patronised like a child again. She hated Sister Frances and she hated Whitby.

Sitting before the camper van, Meta stared harshly at her daughter. "We must hope that the police are not informed," she said. "We dare not risk their involvement."

Pear lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I wasn't thinking."

"Perhaps I ought to train you a little more thoroughly."