The Whitby Witches. Robin Jarvis

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      Jennet was the first one down from the bathroom and she took her coat from the peg in the hall. ‘When should we come back, Aunt Alice?’

      ‘Oh, whenever you like, dear. I have to go out myself.’

      ‘But how shall we get in if you’re not here?’

      Aunt Alice came into the hall, dangling a key to the front door between her fingers. ‘A spare,’ she said.

      Jennet thanked the old woman. It had been a long time since anybody had trusted her like this and she appreciated it.

      ‘Just come back when you get hungry,’ beamed Aunt Alice. ‘I should be here by lunchtime.’

      Ben struggled into his coat while Jennet wiped the toothpaste from his mouth, then all three left the house. The weather looked promising. Aunt Alice waved goodbye to them and set off purposefully towards the West Cliff.

      It was still early and Jennet and Ben wandered through the narrow streets, gazing into shop windows which were filled with pieces of Whitby jet. It had been fashioned into all sorts of jewellery – rings, pendants, bracelets and tie-pins. Jennet looked longingly at a pair of jet earrings and stroked the glass dreamily. Ben tutted in disgust and walked away, muttering about the dullness of shops.

      Then he spied a joke shop. He pressed his face against its windows and uttered little yelps of delight. It had everything, from black-face soap to horrific rubbery masks. There were sugar cubes that turned to worms when placed in tea and ghastly sets of false teeth. He wondered what he could afford – maybe Aunt Alice would buy him something. He drooled over the possibilities until his sister came to look for him.

      Eventually the children came to the harbour and watched some late fishing boats return. A fresh, salty tang was in the air and they ran across the bridge to see the fish auction. It was being held in a large covered area on the West Cliff. Wooden crates filled with silvery fish were stacked into high piles, whilst an official in a white coat gabbled away, faster than they believed possible.

      Jennet wrinkled her nose at the strong fishy smell. Ben peered into one of the crates and tried, unsuccessfully, to outstare the dead fish, until a gruff man in a black coat shooed them away.

      They walked along the Pier Road, but as it was only half past eight they could not go into the lifeboat museum. Instead, they chased each other along the sandy beach. The morning wore on, shops opened and the holiday-makers strolled out of hotels and bed-and-breakfasts.

      Jennet ran up to the green door and searched in her pockets for the key. Outside Aunt Alice’s cottage was an old barrel which overflowed with geraniums and above the door itself hung a curiously shaped stone with a hole worn into it.

      ‘Mornin’,’ said a voice suddenly. Jennet dropped the key in surprise.

      Leaning against one of the other doors in the yard was a thick-set, dark-haired, surly-looking woman. A cigarette was balancing on her bottom lip, and when she spoke it stayed in place as though it were glued on. Her face showed disdain as she looked Jennet up and down. She folded her bare, fleshy arms and said, ‘You one of them what’s come to stay wi’ her?’

      Jennet nodded, mesmerised at the acrobatic skill of the cigarette.

      ‘Given you a key as well, ‘as she? Me an’ my Norman know what she gets up to, her an’ them friends of hers. Oh, she thinks she’s so clever, bossing everyone about.’ The woman blew through the curling blue cigarette smoke. ‘Anyway, you make sure you keep your hands to yourself, you hear me? I know your sort, lass – don’t you come thievin’ round here. She might be daft as a brush, but I’m not.’

      Jennet was so taken aback by the woman’s outburst that before she could think of anything to say the dreadful creature had gone back into her house and slammed the door. Jennet stuck her tongue out and turned the key in the lock.

      Inside there was no sign of Aunt Alice. Jennet took off her coat, wondering whether she was in the parlour, having a nap. She knocked but there was no answer, so she turned the brass handle and peeped in.

      The parlour was papered a rich burgundy and lined with shelves full of dusty volumes. A large round table dominated the centre of the room and in the corner, a tall grandfather clock monotonously ticked the time away.

      Jennet went into the kitchen and decided to make a cup of tea to await the old lady’s return. Just as the kettle began to whistle, there came a furtive knock on the front door.

      ‘You took your time, Ben,’ she began. ‘What happened to –’

      But when the door opened she saw that the new arrival was not her brother after all. Another old lady blinked in surprise at her.

      ‘Oh dear,’ said the stranger. ‘I suppose you must be Janet.’

      ‘Jennet,’ the girl corrected.

      ‘Of course. I’m Miss Droon – a friend of Alice’s. Is she in?’

      ‘No, but she should be back soon.’

      ‘Shall I come in, then, and wait? Thank you.’ And she barged through to the kitchen, where the kettle was whistling for all it was worth and steaming up the windows.

      Miss Droon was an odd-looking woman. Her hair was dark grey and very wiry, like a pan scrub. She wore thick black-rimmed spectacles and a chunky blue sweater which was covered in short, white hairs. As she passed by, Jennet noticed a strong whiff of cats. This was rather appropriate, because Miss Droon had whiskers; they stuck out above her top lip and bristled along her chin. It was quite a struggle to keep from staring.

      Miss Droon made a pot of tea and helped herself to the Gypsy Creams. She planted her bottom on a stool and tapped the table distractedly; evidently there was something on her mind.

      ‘I’m sure Aunt Alice won’t be long,’ said Jennet, noticing the hairs that had fallen to the floor from Miss Droon’s sweater.

      ‘I hope you’re right, girl,’ she returned, ‘for Eurydice’s sake.’ She looked out of the window desperately.

      ‘Eurydice?’

      ‘Yes. She’s wandered off again and she could go into labour any minute.’ Miss Droon wrung her hands together anxiously.

      Jennet had visions of some woman roaming round Whitby, ready to give birth. ‘Maybe she’s gone to the hospital,’ she suggested hopefully.

      Miss Droon looked at her as if she were mad and opened her mouth. But at that moment, the front door opened and in came Aunt Alice with Ben. They had met in Church Street and Ben was giving her a detailed account of the morning’s activities. ‘Then we saw a statue of that Captain Cook and two huge whale bones made into an arch and I found a fossil thing on the beach – see?’

      ‘That’s an ammonite, Benjamin; there are lots of them round here.’

      Miss Boston removed her hat before the mirror in the hall. ‘Sounds like you two have been busy,’ she said. ‘You and Jennet must be ravenous. Oh,’ and she paused in the kitchen doorway, ‘hello, Tilly. What can I do for you? I’ve just been over to Pru’s, looking for that wretched book she cannot find – said she’d seen you yesterday. Everything well?’

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