

A Captain Scarlet Story for Halloween
By
Marion Woods
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Georgina Kidd put the phone down with a discouraged sigh and glanced
at the tall, dark and undoubtedly handsome man watching her over the
counter. Sometimes, she really liked
her job and this was one of those times – being face to face with a looker like
this made up for a lot – even if she wasn’t having much joy trying to provide
him with the result he wanted.
“I am sorry, they’re booked up too. You’ve chosen one of the busiest times to visit Whitby, Mr.
Metcalfe, and I know for certain, the place is almost full to capacity.”
“Isn’t there anywhere?
Just for one night? It’s too
late for us to be moving on today.”
Paul Metcalfe gave her his most winning smile.
Georgina blushed. “The only options left are the Youth Hostel by
the Abbey, if they have room…”
Metcalfe shook his head and gave a theatrical shudder. “I thought we had agreed that my friend and
I are both too old for youth hostels, Miss Kidd,” he reminded her. “But there is another option? You said there were ‘options’ – plural.”
Georgina demurred. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Metcalfe; we
rarely recommend this accommodation – especially to gentlemen travelling
alone. Not for any sinister reason, but
it is run by two elderly spinster sisters, who can be rather prickly towards
guests they disapprove of. The house
isn’t exactly up to Twenty-first Century standards either – in fact it can
appear downright Nineteenth Century – although the sisters are not
intentionally catering for the Gothic crowd.
Miss Eglan and her sister are very pleasant - in their way - but….”
“Shall we say ‘a little eccentric’?”
Metcalfe’s hand hovered in a delicate balancing act as he made his suggestion
with a smile. He glanced across the
open-plan tourist information office, to where he could see Adam Svenson
engrossed in a display about Whitby’s long and varied history. Turning to the woman across the counter, he
leaned down towards her, lowering his voice, conspiratorially. She stretched
forward to listen. “Let me let you into a secret, Miss Kidd. My friend, over there, is an American, and
right now he can’t get enough of English eccentricity. You should have seen him in York…” he
grimaced. It wasn’t often that the
cultured Bostonian acted like the typical ‘American tourist’ was expected to
act – but the beautiful, ancient capital city of northern England had flipped
his ‘over-awed switch’ into overdrive.
It had been amusing to watch.
Georgina smiled. “They do tend to get rather impressed by it all,
don’t they?” she agreed. “Have you
taken him to the Abbey yet?”
Metcalfe shook his head.
“We wanted to get our accommodation sorted out first. This trip was rather on the spur of the
moment and we are having to trust our luck on finding places to stay. So far, we’ve been very fortunate.”
“Well,” she excused herself and her home town, “it is the
Halloween celebrations this weekend – a big event in Whitby. You’ll know all
about part of the novel ‘Dracula’
being set in the town, of course?”
Metcalfe nodded.
“Actually, my friend has been re-reading the book – it’s one of the
reasons he was so keen to visit.” He
rolled his eyes and sighed. “I am sure
he’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t spot at least one vampire whilst we’re
here.”
She laughed. “Well, maybe the Eglans’ place will suit after
all. It’s atmospheric enough. If you are prepared to accept that it may
not be up to the standards you expect, Mr. Metcalfe, I’ll give them a call and
see if I can persuade them to take you in.”
He nodded and turned back to glance at his friend. He had finished his study of the display
board and, catching Metcalfe’s eye, he made his way through the crowds to the
accommodation bureau counter.
“You should check that out, Paul,” he advised. “It is fascinating stuff. We could stay on a couple of days and really
explore the place.”
“Right now, we’ll be lucky to find a place to stay for one night. This is our last option,” Paul explained.
Adam Svenson frowned; it gave his conventionally handsome face an
expression of considerable petulance.
“Gee, I never thought the place would be this crowded so late in the
year.”
“It’s Halloween, idiot.”
“I know – but you’ve always said it’s not that popular a festival
in the UK, that’s all.”
“It’s a big event here though, the last fling of the tourist
season. The place is probably full of
American tourists - all dressed like Buffy, the Vampire Slayer,” Metcalfe
teased.
“Hey, don’t knock it – there is nothing wrong with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You’re not above
ogling the TV screen – I’ve seen you - so don’t pretend to be so high-brow.”
“I said dressed like,
not looking like, there is a subtle
difference,” Paul pointed out with heavy irony.
Adam nodded his agreement with a grimace. He was well aware of the foibles of his
fellow countrymen and, if he hadn’t been, his English friend would have taken
delight in pointing them out. “Well,
maybe we had better stock up with some garlic before the supermarket closes,
just in case.” He placated his friend
with a weak grin.
Paul laughed and hearing the phone call click off, he turned back
to Georgina.
“Any luck?” he asked hopefully.
“Well, Miss Eglan does have vacancies, not surprisingly. There is one double room and one twin and
she’s prepared to accept you – both - for one night.” Georgina’s eyes twinkled.
“I had to promise her that you were well-behaved, sober and respectable
gentlemen. The Eglans are very much of
the ‘old school’.”
“Oh, we are,” Paul reassured her.
“Even Adam has nice manners – for an American…” he qualified with a
smirk at his friend.
Svenson gave a tolerant shake of his head. “Take no notice of him, ma’am - I have very nice manners. I’m far more domesticated than he is, for a
start!”
Georgina smiled at them both. “Well, be sure you don’t let me down
then! Here’s the address. You can’t get there by car, but there is a
designated parking space allocated to the house, further up the hill. Miss Eglan should be able to provide you
with an overnight parking permit. The
house is in one of the old streets, you go along here and up the hill.” She drew their route on a street map. “You should have a wonderful view of the
Abbey by moonlight from the bedrooms… if this rain ever stops. I hope you both enjoy your stay in Whitby.”
“Oh, I intend to, ma’am.
Thank you for your help. Have a
nice day…”
Metcalfe guffawed with laughter.
“You see, Miss Kidd, I told you he’s determined to be the perfect
American tourist. He’s going to enjoy
every eccentric minute…”
She watched them leave with a friendly smile before turning her
attention to a family in need of directions to a particular attraction.
Paul was studying the street map and speculating on the best way
to get their hire-car up to the parking bay, when he realised his friend had
disappeared again. He scanned the busy
building for the distinctive blond head… and pushed his way to where Svenson
was occupied examining a shelf of local merchandise.
“Come on, Adam… if we
hurry, we might have time to find you a ‘kiss-me-quick’ hat to replace that
Stetson you insist on wearing.”
“It isn’t a Stetson, it’s a fedora – can’t you tell the
difference?”
“A hat is a hat is a hat….” Metcalfe asserted as he dragged his
friend away from the extensive display of gifts with ‘Dracula’ motifs. They pushed their way through the
exit. “Besides, it makes you look like
an off-duty cowboy and we don’t want to frighten the landlady into refusing to
let us in.”
Adam slipped the hat back on again as they walked out into the
rain and headed towards the old town. “I’ll take it off when we get there,” he
assured his friend, “but I’m not going bare-headed in the rain.”
“Then you will never be mistaken for an Englishman,” Metcalfe
warned jovially.
“I can live with that…”
They walked briskly through the bustling streets, dodging the
ghoulish, vampire-look-alikes that thronged the town, despite the murky
drizzle. Following their instructions
to the letter, they found themselves in a narrow passageway, standing before a
dark, wooden front door, about half way up a steep street. The house appeared to be half the width of a
normal building and set sideways onto the street.
Grinning, Paul rang the doorbell.
“At the first sign of a deformed servant called Igor, I am leaving…” he
warned, only half-joking.
Adam grinned back.
“Coward,” he said conversationally.
The door was partially opened and they saw a dark-haired woman
peering out through the gap.
“May I help you?” she asked coldly.
“Miss Eglan? Miss Kidd
from the Tourist Accommodation Bureau made a booking for us.” Metcalfe
responded to her unfriendly attitude with a bright smile and proffered the
booking chitty.
“Didn’t you get the message?
I called back almost at once, to say it was not at all convenient for us
to accept guests today. I am
responsible for making the bookings and I’m afraid my sister made a mistake,
sir. Besides, I have always specified
that we can only take family parties, or female visitors. I am afraid we cannot accommodate you…
gentlemen.”
“But, Miss Eglan…”
“Miss Rowena Eglan. My
sister is Miss Eglan,” she said curtly.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Rowena.
Surely you could make an exception to your rule, just for once? You’re no doubt aware that the town is very
crowded this weekend and we would be really grateful if you could accommodate
us – just for the one night. Miss Kidd
must have explained that we’d had no luck any where else, otherwise I am sure
she wouldn’t have disregarded your preferences. You really are our last hope…”
he added, with what he prayed was a reassuring and appealing smile.
It had little or no effect on the woman. “We are two women alone here and we do not choose to take male
guests unless accompanied by their families. I am sorry, but I am sure you
understand.” She began to close the door.
Anxiously, Paul stepped forward.
“Please, Miss Rowena, we would gladly pay for both rooms – at a premium
- for tonight.”
“Young man, you would only ever be offered both rooms…”
Adam sniggered but managed to turn it into a credible cough. Miss Rowena Eglan peered into the gloomy
street, staring at him as if she hadn’t noticed him before this. Aware of her scrutiny, and mindful of his
friend’s caveat about his hat, the American politely removed it. “Ma’am,” he said.
“Rowena!” a voice called petulantly from inside the house. “Rowena, what are you doing? There is a terrible draft… Rowena?”
Along the dark hallway a door opened and another woman appeared,
silhouetted against the dim light of the room beyond the door. She saw the two men on the step and
exclaimed joyously, “Rowena, these must be the visitors Miss Kidd spoke to me
about. Do not keep them waiting in the
cold! Come in, gentlemen – please come
through to the parlour. I am sure you
would wish for a refreshing cup of tea before you settle into your rooms. Rowena, open the door properly and then
fetch a tea-tray for our guests – and hurry!”
Reluctantly, the unsmiling woman moved aside and gratefully the
men stepped past her into the hall. She was thin, almost to the point of
emaciation, dressed in a shapeless, navy-blue dress, which fell from her
shoulders to ankles. Her long brown
hair was swept into a single heavy plait and the only animation in her dour
face came from her large, brown eyes.
As Adam sidled past her into the pale glimmer of the low wattage
bulb, Rowena Eglan gave a muted gasp and her frown deepened. Surprised, and rather unsettled by her
reaction, he hurriedly followed his friend into the surprisingly spacious
parlour at the end of the hallway, as the front door slammed shut behind them
with a dull echo.
“You must forgive my sister, gentlemen, we so rarely receive
visitors these days and Rowena is very careful about who is admitted to the
house.”
“That is quite all right, Miss Eglan,” Paul said evenly. He handed her the booking slip Georgina Kidd
had given him.
She dropped it, unexamined, onto a heavy wooden table and studied
him intently with obvious interest. She seemed particularly taken with him,
hardly glancing at the taller, fair-haired American just coming into the
room. Metcalfe examined her in return,
although rather less obviously.
She was shorter than her sister, plumper and her face was softer
in its contours, with a small, rounded chin.
Her dark hair was streaked with a liberal handful of grey, and clipped
back from her face in a jumble of loose curls, which gave her the appearance of
an aging, faded Shirley Temple. She
wore a fussy, be-ribboned dress in a pastel mauve, which did not suit her and -
with her simpering smile and flirting glances - she gave the unfortunate
impression of mutton, unconvincingly dressed as lamb.
Despite that, he thought, she must have
been one of those pretty, doll-like women in her youth – the type that do not
age well.
“I am Miss Clarissa Eglan,” she said primly. “Welcome to our home,
gentlemen.”
Courteously he extended his hand and introduced himself – some
instinct leading him to deduce that she would be reassured by rank - “I am Colonel
Paul Metcalfe, formerly of the World Army Air force, I am pleased to meet you,
Miss Eglan.”
“A colonel, and so young!” she simpered and lingeringly held on to
his strong hand. Metcalfe felt the
colour start in his face. He withdrew
his hand and turned to his companion.
“This is Mr. Adam Svenson…”
“Commander Adam
Svenson,” the American amended, determined not to be outdone in this sudden
display of status, although he was not as attuned to the factors that had led
his friend to decide to play social one-upmanship.
“Are you in the Canadian forces, Commander?”
“I am an American, ma’am; my commission is with the World
Aeronautical Society,” he explained.
“So, both of you are airmen – so romantic, I always think!”
Clarissa gushed. “Do sit down, Colonel… here by the fire, and you, Commander,
perhaps you would care to sit on the sofa, over there. The tea will not be long in arriving.”
Svenson grinned at his companion and moved across the room to the
sofa, willingly leaving Paul the honour of his hostess’s close attention.
The house was undeniably gloomy; the hallway was decorated with
muted colours and dark carpets and the parlour was hardly less sombre, although
a cheerful fire burned in the huge fireplace and a variety of art-nouveau
style, glass-shaded table-lamps stood on heavy, old-fashioned furniture. The place was a Victorian time-warp, looking
like a particularly convincing set from a period drama.
“That is very kind of you, Miss Eglan, but we still have to move our
car up to the parking space and fetch our luggage in, before it gets too dark…”
Paul said with a displeased glare at his fair-weather friend.
“There is plenty of time, Colonel, plenty of time. You must forgive us, Commander, I am sure
you know that everything stops for tea in England.”
“Yes, ma’am, I had noticed.”
Sharing wary glances, the young men perched uncomfortably on the
high-backed upright furniture. When
Clarissa Eglan went to switch on more of the numerous table lamps, which
covered the surfaces like a crop of mushrooms, Svenson leaned across and
whispered,
“How do you do it, Paul?
I’d say you’ve pulled…”
“For Heaven’s sake, Adam - she’s older than my mother…”
Clarissa came back and switched on one final lamp on the table
next to Paul.
“You must excuse the gloom, gentlemen. I suffer from a rare disorder, which makes me sensitive to
excessive light. Rowena and I live very
retired lives, and we have grown quite used to the muted conditions. You don’t object, I hope?” she asked Paul.
“Not at all,” he replied.
“It must make life very difficult for you, Miss Eglan.”
“We manage well, enough, Rowena goes out at times, and we have a
handyman to help around the place. The
rest we manage ourselves, and, apart from my disorder, we have our health.” She sat opposite him, staring at him as she
continued. “Sometimes, I hear the
little children playing outside and I remember how pleasant it was to be in the
sun…”
Rowena Eglan came in with the tea-tray and slammed it down
forcibly between her sister and Paul.
Obviously, she was not as taken with their visitors as her sister
appeared to be.
Clarissa handed Paul a small plate and pressed him to sample the
small triangular sandwiches and cakes on the generously laden tray.
“Please help yourself, Colonel; I know gentlemen are always
hungry. May I offer you some tea?”
“Thank you, Miss Eglan,” he accepted the delicate bone china cup,
noting its quality. However dotty the
women seemed, he surmised that they were not short of a bob or two. Even the
ghastly lamps all around the place would be worth a small fortune to the right
collector.
That they chose to live at the pace of an earlier, politer age was
not that alarming. His father’s two
formidable maiden aunts had been inclined to behave the same way, filling what
he imagined were dull and empty days with needless formality and austere
etiquette.
As a child he had loathed visits to their chocolate-box, thatched
cottage, when his mother had dressed him in his Sunday best and given him
strict instructions to ‘behave’. He
could still remember the unease with which he had sat, nervously silent, at the
tea table, eating home-made seedy cake, until his father had given him the ‘all
clear’ and he’d escaped to their extensive and well-tended garden to romp amongst
the rose bushes and climb the trees.
As a young man, he had dutifully made time to visit them, and
discovered - much to his surprise, in wide-ranging, lively conversations - that
they had lived far more interesting lives than he had ever imagined, having
both served abroad in the Balkans and the Gulf, during the troubled years at
the end of the Twentieth Century. He
had grown quite fond of them, and it had come as a surprise to him how deeply
he was affected when they had died within a twelvemonth of each other, and he
had heard the proud and loving messages they had left for him in their wills –
along with their not inconsiderable property.
“Tea, Commander Svenson?” Miss
Eglan dragged her gaze away from Paul to quiz her other guest.
“Thank you, ma’am. No
milk in mine, if you please.”
“Goodness me! How very
remarkable” She sounded almost shocked.
“Still, I expect we are a little behind the times. Do have a sandwich, Commander.”
Rowena thrust the plate under his nose and Adam took one of the
tiny sandwiches. He was not as
comfortable as Paul with the social niceties of such archaic behaviour – not
that Paul was looking all that much at ease.
He hid his amusement. Neither of
them was that unfamiliar with the phenomenon of ‘over-attentive’ females… but
this was something else! He wanted to
remember it all, to tell the guys back on base. He glanced up at Rowena, still hovering beside him waiting to
offer him another sandwich, and caught the expression in her dark eyes in the
second before she looked away.
Oh, help… he thought, not her as well…
Disconcerted by his glance, Rowena moved away and sat beside her
sister. Side by side, the physical
resemblance between them was far more obvious and he reckoned that they could
not be much under sixty years of age.
“I understand that you are here on holiday, Colonel?” Miss Eglan
enquired politely.
“Yes, we had planned a trip to Australia earlier this year, but it
fell through for reasons beyond our control –“
“Ah, business. Gentlemen
are always so pre-occupied with business,” Miss Eglan said archly. “Our dear father was the same.”
“Indeed, was he a military man, Miss Eglan?”
“Oh no, Colonel Metcalfe.
He was a lawyer, a very well-respected man in the community. But we had a
brother who was in the army... Jonathan.
He rose to be a Major. We were
so proud of him – he always looked so handsome in his uniform.” She sighed. “But I interrupted your story, I
am sorry. What made you come to our
beautiful town, Colonel?”
“Well, we discovered that we both had some leave owing and as our
respective fiancées couldn’t get the
time away, we decided to go alone and just tour around an area. Adam – Commander Svenson - is an avid
reader, and, as my family come from Winchester, we’ve already spent time
exploring ‘Hardy country’ and the thought occurred to do a similar literary
tour elsewhere in the country. He’s
read the Brontës’ novels – as have I, of course - so we thought we’d explore
Yorkshire this time. We drove up the
coast from Scarborough this afternoon, because Adam’s been re-reading ‘Dracula’…”
“Oh, that dreadful book!” Miss Eglan exclaimed. “My dear father would not have it in the
house. It has besmirched this town
with its insidious suggestions of such wicked and unnatural associations! I do hope you do not have a copy with you
now, Commander?”
Startled, Adam swallowed his sandwich and replied, “No, ma’am…
it’s in the car with my luggage.”
“Then, please do us the courtesy of leaving it there – in respect
of my dear father’s stricture - you understand? It sickens me to think of our beloved Abbey being forever
associated with the Godless undead in the minds of the hoi-polloi! For centuries the Abbey was a beacon of
Christianity in a pagan world – pivotal in the conversion of the kings of this
region. Why, its reputation rivalled
York itself in those years – with people coming from all over the known world
to worship at the shrine of the blessed Saint Hild. But all the devout glory of the original Abbey was destroyed in
the dark years, when the heathen Vikings ravaged along this coast. No man,
woman, beast or building was safe from them - their very presence was a
sacrilegious pollution of this noble town!
Such a vile race of men… may they be cursed even unto the final generation!”
Rowena spoke sharply into the uncomfortable silence that followed
this outburst. “Sister, remember your
manners…”
Clarissa Eglan glanced at the disapproval on the face of Colonel
Metcalfe and then at the uncomfortable flush on Commander Svenson’s face…. Svenson…? She glared at the American
with a ferocity that made him draw back on his seat. Then she seemed to regain her poise. “I am sure the Commander doesn’t believe I meant to include
him in that, Rowena. He told me himself
he was an American,” she said petulantly.
“Even so, Clarissa, you are beyond the pale,” her sister said
harshly. She turned to the men with a grimly apologetic smile. “Please, you
must realise that my sister is a noted local historian and that, in our retired
lives, the past is very much alive. We
forget that not everyone feels so strongly about past events.”
“I will ensure the book stays in the car,” Adam reassured
her. “I have finished reading it,
anyway,” he added half to himself.
“Well, if you are stopping, you had better fetch your luggage in…
it’s getting dark and the rain’s heavier than it was,” Rowena said
briskly. She collected the plates and
cups from the men and added, as she picked up the tray, “I’ll get you the parking
permit. You should find a space up the
hill. I’ll show you the way on a street
map. Will you want to eat with us,
tonight, only I’ll have to see if the butcher can get more meat delivered…?”
“Rowena, of course they will eat with us… I wouldn’t hear
otherwise!” Miss Eglan trilled, reaching out to place her pudgy hand on Paul’s
arm.
“Please, don’t put yourself to any bother, Miss Rowena,” Metcalfe
said quickly. He was in no doubt that
she did not want them around any more than was essential. “We made a reservation to eat in a restaurant
that the Tourist Information Bureau recommended, Miss Eglan. It has excellent sea-food and the Commander
is something of a connoisseur, coming as he does from Boston, so I want to
prove to him that America does not have the monopoly,” he explained conversationally.
She simpered at him. “I am
sure you will enjoy it, Colonel. The
town is noted for its excellent sea-food - you are in for a treat, Commander.”
As they followed Rowena out, Adam hissed to Paul, “I’m in for
food-poisoning – you know I’m allergic to sea-food…”
“But they don’t, Adam. Use
your loaf, unless you want to eat with Morticia and her sister…”
Svenson nodded with sudden understanding and edged out of the
front door, past the unsmiling Rowena, thinking it odd that such a severe woman
should actually be less un-nerving than her sister. He had not liked the gleam of fanaticism he’d seen in Clarissa
Eglan’s dark eyes.
It was getting late when they made their leisurely way back to the
house through the wet and largely deserted streets. They had eaten well, before going on to sample the local ales in a
number of lively pubs in the town. In the last one they tried, a couple of
young women, wearing ghoulish make-up and very tight dresses, had come over and
asked them to dance. They had spent
some time there - until the place closed – when they had said prolonged and
affectionate farewells to their young companions before seeing the surprised -
not to mention disappointed – girls safely on their way home.
Paul slowed down again to wait for Adam, who was having some
difficulty keeping up with his friend – even though the pace was not a
strenuous one. He tried not to smile
as the American negotiated the final kerb with intense concentration and came to
stand beside him on the step, leaning against the wall with a sigh.
Miss Rowena had given them a key before they left, asking them to
lock up on their return, should the sisters have retired for the night. The house was dark, so they let themselves
in as quietly as they could and Paul steered Adam up the stairs to their rooms,
which were adjacent to each other on a poorly lit landing on the side of the
narrow house that faced the town. They
did, indeed, have spectacular views across the River Esk to the cliff top where
the ruins of the Abbey dominated the dark skyline. The rain had stopped some hours ago, but the clouds were starting
to build up again, and the fitful light from the full moon was just strong
enough to reveal the outline of the roofless arches of the nave.
They went into the twin bedroom, in which Adam’s minimal luggage
had been left. Nodding towards the
ruins, Adam said, “You could imagine vampires hanging about up there.” His voice was slightly slurred. He wasn’t a great beer drinker, but Paul
hated to drink alone and so - just to be sociable - he had allowed himself to
be persuaded into trying a few, to see what variety there was in the
taste.
Paul bounced on one of the beds.
“Huh, I reckon you got the best deal here. The bed in my room is like a hammock, it collapses in on itself
when you lie down on it.”
Adam grinned. “Well, it
was all down to Miss Rowena where the luggage went and I reckon she fancies me
more than you…” He sniggered and then asked soberly, “Can we leave here
tomorrow – nice and early?” He poured a
drink from the water bottle the sisters had thoughtfully provided on the chest
of drawers. The water tasted slightly
stale, but he was thirsty after the beer.
“Now who’s a coward?” Paul teased, but he didn’t feel that
comfortable in the house himself. It
was unnerving to be sized up by a woman older than your mother. “Yeah, we’ll go inland tomorrow. Maybe visit Castle Howard? You know – of Brideshead Revisited
fame? “
“How could anyone call a man Evelyn?”
Adam asked tangentially.
“I don’t know, but I’ll sleep on it and see if I have a flash of
inspiration before morning. I suggest
you do the same… you look ready to drop. ‘Night, Adam.”
“G’night Paul… pleasant dreams….”
Back in his own room, Paul gazed through his bedroom window at the
dramatic view before following his friend’s example and sipping a glass of
water from the jug provided. He’d
stayed in some weird places in his time, but this one took the biscuit. Miss Kidd had been right; the Eglans were
‘eccentric’. He stripped off his
jacket and sweatshirt, kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed, hands
behind his head, staring up at the patterns on the ceiling.
I don’t feel tired, which
isn’t unusual, but I feel like having a bit of a lie-down. I’ve got a book in my case... I’ll fish it
out later and read for a bit… Adam is
funny when he gets tipsy… and it
didn’t take much of that local ale to
have an effect on him… he’d never
have agreed to dance with that girl otherwise… he’ll have one hell of a hangover
tomorrow, poor chump… I’m glad it
never has that effect on me… luckily.
Do we really want to go to Castle Howard or shall we head for the
Dales? There’s a steam railway near
here… we could go for a ride on the trains….it will help clear Adam’s head….
Besides, I like steam trains… much better than fancy houses… but before we go,
I’ll see if I can find Dianne a nice present made of Whitby jet… but not one
decorated with Dracula motifs…Oh, no!
Karen would’ve gone ballistic if he’d turned up with something like that
for her… I wonder if he was having me
on. Honestly… Americans!
He closed his eyes and dozed off.
Feeling strangely exhausted, Adam stripped off and rolled into the
bed farthest from the window. He wasn’t
sure how long he slept, but he was woken by a cold hand on his exposed
shoulder. Blearily struggling to wake,
he opened his eyes to see Rowena Eglan standing by his bed, dressed in a
dull-brown knitted cardigan, over a pastel-pink flannelette nightdress and incongruous
green ‘wellies’.
“Miss Rowena,” he gasped.
Embarrassed by his state of undress, he buried himself under the duvet.
She hardly seemed to notice.
“Commander, your friend, the colonel, he is not with you?”
Thinking that it was patently obvious Paul was not in the room, he
replied, “No, he is in his own room.”
“No, Commander, he is not.
I fell asleep – Heaven forgive me! – He has gone – they have taken him,
I’m sure of it. We must make haste…”
“Gone? Miss Rowena, you
are not making much sense. Why would
Paul have gone anywhere – and who would have taken him?” He struggled to sit
upright, screwing his eyes against the protesting stab of pain that scored the
inside of his head. Eyes barely
half-open, he tried to reach across to the other bed for his shirt, without
revealing too much bare flesh.
Distractedly, she gathered up his discarded clothing and dumped it
on his bed. “My sister – she has him.”
“I am almost loath to ask this, but why would she want to take him
anywhere at this time of night?” He struggled into his clothes beneath the duvet.
“And even if she did, how could Paul be in danger? He’s twice her size and we are both capable of effective
self-defence, believe me, Miss Rowena.”
“Commander – I beg you – before it is too late!” She tugged at his arm.
Sighing, he slid from the bed and zipped up his jeans, sliding his
bare feet into his trainers and buttoning his shirt.
“I want to see for myself,” he insisted, striding to Paul’s
door. He snapped on the dim light.
The room was empty. A
cursory glance showed that the bed bore signs that it had been lain on and
Paul’s sweater lay on a chair by the dresser. There were some slight signs of
disorder and, unlike virtually every other flat surface in the place; the
bedside table was bare – without even one of the seemingly obligatory lamps on
it. Of the occupant there was no sign.
“All right, Miss Rowena – I’ll buy it. Where has your sister taken him?”
“To the Abbey of course…”
“A midnight ramble? Very
unorthodox, but hardly life-threatening, Miss Rowena,” he said wearily.
“Commander Svenson, believe me - your friend is in danger. I doubt he
went willingly.”
He smiled. “As I said, Miss Rowena, Paul’s more than capable of
looking after himself. Your sister
couldn’t get him to go anywhere he didn’t want to.”
“You don’t know - you don’t understand…this isn’t the first
time. Oh God, why did you come
here…? We must go there if we are to
save your friend… it may already be too late, we can only hope he is unharmed. Please believe me, Commander.”
“All right,” he sighed.
Sensing he would get no rest unless he agreed to her demands, Adam
capitulated. “While we drive there in
the car, you can tell me what all this is about. And it had better be good….”
“Let’s go… hurry!”
They hurried through the wet street to where the car was
parked. Rowena was agitated and urged
as much haste as possible, as he fumbled with his seat-belt. He pointed out that he didn’t know the way
and she began to give directions through the tortuous one-way system, back to
the main road and towards the Abbey complex.
As they drove, the sky clouded over again and the wind rose. Huge, heavy drops of rain splattered
against the windscreen. The windscreen
wipers squeaked as they dragged across the glass.
“Now,” Svenson insisted, “tell me what all this is about.”
Rowena Eglan drew a deep breath and began her story.

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“You’ll be too young to remember the European war – but no doubt
you have heard about what happened here?
There are still plenty of people in this country, Commander, who have
every reason to remember those awful days and for whom the consequences of it
all are still a part of their everyday lives.”
“My sister was a young woman in those dangerous days and I was a
teenage schoolgirl. We were both pretty
enough, although Clarissa was always prettier than me – she was lively and
attractive to men with her trim figure, dark hair and bright eyes - attractive
to and attracted by, I should have said.”
“Understand that our father was a lawyer – a well-respected man in
the town - but a very religious man, strait-laced and ultra-conservative. He thought every form of pleasure was
sinful. I wonder sometimes how he ever
managed to convince my high-spirited mother to marry him – never mind having
three children. After my mother died,
when I was still very small, Clarissa – who is several years older than me -
assumed the role of ‘lady of the house’ when it was necessary. She was very like mother to look at, and
always so self-assured, she thought she could twist father around her finger,
whenever she was in trouble.”
“If Clarissa was father’s favourite, my brother – Jonathan – was
the target of his ambitions for his children.
Johnny was to be a lawyer and take over the family firm, and rise to
even dizzier heights than his father had managed. It wasn’t what Johnny wanted – not by a long chalk,
Commander. Johnny didn’t have a great
mind, only a sort of mother–wit that enabled him to get by, but he wasn’t up to
the future father mapped out for him.
It caused conflict – you cannot imagine how much conflict…”
“I suspect I might be able to imagine it, rather better than you
think,” Svenson remarked with a jaundiced sigh.
Rowena glanced at him with a flash of unexpected perception, and
placed a hand on his arm, in a gesture of silent sympathy. Once more he was surprised by this dour
woman.
She removed her hand and continued her story. “Johnny wanted to be an artist. He wasn’t that good, but it is hard to know
what he might have been better at.
Father was adamant he would have to attend law school and make a go of
his profession, but I suspect he knew Johnny wasn’t really capable. He began to turn to Clarissa in the hope
that she might fulfil his social ambitions.
He wanted her to make a marriage to a man capable of managing the firm…
it was his company that held the dominant place in his heart, Commander. I dare say she was happy enough with that
prospect. All of us had been denied
chances to mix with people our own ages and we had very few friends in the
neighbourhood. I believe we were
thought of as ‘odd’ and even – eccentric
- by our peers. Father had very strict
ideas on what was ‘seemly’ and in denying us all an outlet for our emotions and
ambitions, he created three very inadequate human beings.”
“By now Clarissa was in her mid-twenties and I expect she would be
described as… highly-sexed, is that the right term, Commander?”
Svenson grunted a reply which might just have been an agreement.
Rowena continued. “She wanted a husband – or failing that, a lover
– and she wanted him soon. She was
ready to move on from lording it over her father’s household. The man she had in her sights was the son of
father’s partner – Timothy Jessup. Tim
Jessup was a fine-looking man, a good few years her senior, but that was not
allowed to cloud the issue. He was also
as dry as dust and not really the man to keep Clarissa happy, still, an
understanding was reached that the couple would marry and Tim would become the
next partner in the firm.”
“This new arrangement meant that Johnny lost out and he was going to
have to find another means of making his way in the World. My brother was a handsome man, tall, dark -
as we all are - and – so it seemed to me – sophisticated. I could not understand why a ‘suitable
marriage’ was out of the question for him – but then, I began to realise that
unlike Clarissa, where almost any
suitable member of the opposite sex would have done, Johnny was … not interested in women… do I make myself clear,
Commander?”
Svenson nodded and fought to keep the car on the steep road that
descended towards the river bridge. The
wind was getting stronger and the rain heavier with every passing minute.
“Even after the war ended, the government was keen to maintain a
strong military force in this country. There were many men due to come out of
the army and little or nothing to occupy them.
The government decided that, in order to keep these men off the streets,
they should stay in the forces… it was, of course, the start of what became the
military regime that ran the country, before the civil war in ’42 , but no-one
realised it at the time – or if they did, they did not oppose it. There was a group of Canadian pilots, who had come across to help fight the war
and were now based at the old RAF base at Fylingdale, on the moors between here
and York, and the military government
held on to them, too. These young men
had little grasp of the politics involved in the matter and were attracted
purely by the prospect of continuing adventure. They would come into Whitby on their days off, drinking and
whoring, as men do when so far away from home.
What is they say about such men - ‘over-paid,
over-sexed and over here’?”
“It was said about the GIs in World War Two,” he confirmed with a
wry tilt of his head.
“Well, it was true about the men at Fylingdale too. These men were a temptation to both Johnny
and Clarissa – because Tim Jessup was having serious doubts and seemed
strangely reluctant to fulfil his side of the bargain regarding their marriage
- and Clarissa was tired of waiting.
So, they both began to associate with the military personnel –in a very
clandestine manner - which probably made the whole exercise appeal even more to
Clarissa, as it had to be kept from father, whatever happened.”
“It was Johnny who introduced them to Clarissa and to me, the
summer when I left school and just before I went to college. I had managed to prevail upon father to
allow me to study domestic management and I had a dream of having my own hotel
someday – anything to get away from home.
For some time, Clarissa had been teasing me with stories about her
adventures with the Canadian airmen, but these two were different. One was an Englishman and the other a
Canadian. Both were good looking and –
it seemed - honourable men. The
Englishman was a handsome, dark-haired devil, from London. He was called Geoffrey Braithwaite and he
was a charmer all right – ‘birds off the trees’ was child’s play to
Geoffrey. His friend was younger, a
Canadian of Danish ancestry – called Harry Jensen. I think Harry was as much in thrall to Geoffrey as my family
became, but there was no malice in Harry – he was just easily led. Geoffrey was a different sort entirely – he
took his pleasure from tormenting people.
He could see that Clarissa had fallen head-over-heels in love with him
and – I don’t doubt for one moment – he was prepared to take advantage of the
fact. It may have added piquancy to the
situation that Johnny was in love with him too. I know he borrowed money from Johnny - a great deal of money,
which Johnny really did not have to lend.
Such was his devotion to Geoffrey that he began embezzling the company –
where father had given him a clerical job – to meet Geoffrey’s extortionate
demands.”
“Once Clarissa realised about Johnny, she became very possessive
and taunted him about her relationship with Geoffrey – for I hardly need tell
you that he had seduced her and – so Clarissa claims – promised to marry
her. I admit I was not paying too much
attention to all this, for I spent that summer in the arms of Harry
Jensen. We talked about getting married
and of my going away to Canada with him – away from my father’s repressive
regime. I went back to college full of
hope for my future.”
“Before long, my father became aware, both of Johnny’s sexuality
and his embezzlement. He agreed that
he would not inform the police, to save the family’s reputation. It might have been better if he had done
so, for he was neither tolerant nor merciful in his derision of his son,
Commander Svenson. I know Jonathan had committed a crime, but my father made no
attempt to understand why – he never understood any his children – if he had,
our lives might have been very different.
He threw Johnny out of his job and our house and left him destitute.”
“This did not suit Geoffrey at all – he was dependent on Johnny
for his spending cash – Clarissa had no money of her own. He seems to have decided to punish them both
– presumably for their failure to do as he wanted… who can tell? As far as I understand, he seduced Johnny…or
maybe he allowed Johnny to seduce him… but he made quite sure that Clarissa
caught them – in flagrante – as they
say.”
“My father was away on business, there were only the three of them
in the house. There was an almighty
argument; one which I am sure must have amused Geoffrey, seeing my brother and
sister fighting over him. As I said, he
was an arrogant bastard. But he was
also over-confident, because he did not take into account how fragile
Clarissa’s self-esteem was, nor how desperate she had become for him to marry
her. She fetched the pistol father had
bought to protect us from looters, and she waved it about, threatening both of
them, I think. She claims that is all
she meant to do, but the gun was fired and Geoffrey was shot. He was not killed, but he was seriously
wounded. With medical assistance he
might well have survived, but neither Clarissa nor Jonathan had the guts to
call for medical help – they feared the consequences. They moved Geoffrey to one of the attics and ‘nursed’ him
there. The wound went septic and he
died - in agony. I cannot pretend to
have much sympathy for him, Commander, after what he did to my family. I found out subsequently, that Johnny and
Clarissa buried him in the precincts of the Abbey - thirty-five years ago this
very night.”
“Harry searched for his friend.
I believe he suspected what might have happened, but in the general
confusion of civil unrest, men were deserting from their regiments every day,
and no-one could spare the manpower or time to track them down. He phoned me once, asking for my help, but I
couldn’t get away and, by the time I did get home, he was gone. Clarissa told me he had left for London, to
search for Geoffrey, but that he promised to come back for me. I waited – for years I waited – but I never
heard from him again. Perhaps, he was
as cavalier a man as his friend, although I had thought better of him.”
There was a heavy silence for a few moments that spoke volumes about
the woman’s emotions, but when she spoke again her voice was as brisk and
self-contained as always.
“Immediately after this, Johnny enlisted in the Army and moved
away from Whitby. Clarissa, knowing
she was pregnant, begged Tim Jessup to marry her, but, naturally enough, he
broke their engagement and told my father why. When father found out, he was furious. He told her she no better than a common whore and that no decent
man would look at her, so she had better resign herself to spinsterhood and a
life of charitable endeavours in an attempt to redeem herself. He called it a judgment on her innate
wickedness and, for the very first time in her life, she could not divert his
anger. He confined her to the house for
the duration of the pregnancy, no-one was told the real reason
why she was confined, and when anyone questioned him, my father put about the
story of her suffering from a rare disorder that made her react badly to
daylight… goodness knows where he dreamt that up from. He would not allow her to see the proper
doctors and he kept me at home to look after her. When the baby was delivered – it was a healthy boy, with dark
hair and blue eyes - father took the child away for adoption, despite Clarissa’s
desperate pleading. I think it broke her
heart – it certainly destroyed her mind, Commander.”
Svenson stirred uneasily, beginning to have an inkling where this
was leading.
“Then, we heard
that Johnny had been killed in a skirmish and father went to pieces – blaming
Clarissa for everything. He said she
had debauched Jonathan – rubbish, of course - but I suspect neither of them
were quite in their right minds by now.
He refused to let her leave the house and only allowed me to leave when
it was necessary. Life was becoming
intolerable and I prayed every night that Harry would come back for me. It was many years before that particular
hope died, Commander.”
“One winter’s night, Johnny turned up – hideously disfigured – and
begging for our help. He was so
terrified of father’s reaction that we hid him, in the same attic where
Geoffrey had died. Perhaps, none of us
was truly rational in those fearful times. We kept Johnny hidden for almost a
year, and then father discovered him.
He raged against us all – calling Johnny awful names – and including
Clarissa and me in his scorn. My father
had a heart condition – oddly enough for a man who had never seemed to have a
heart – and such was his rage that he suffered an attack… His pills were
downstairs – we were in the attic, remember?
He ordered Clarissa to fetch them and she refused to go – she prevented
Jonathan or me from going too. Father
fell down in a faint and hit his head on the chimney brickwork. It didn’t kill him – unfortunately for him -
but by the time we got him back to his room and called the doctor, he was
reduced to a helpless invalid. He lived
for another three years – with Clarissa’s ‘careful nursing’. I hate to imagine what revenge she took on
him during those years – for I have no doubt she did revenge herself on
him. I should have stopped her – I know
that - but like the others I was trapped in some sort of living hell, and I
couldn’t leave her alone with father and Johnny.”
“He was still with you?” Svenson asked in surprise.
“Where else could he go?
He has half a face, Commander, he’s afraid to be seen.”
“What has all this to do with Paul?” he asked, with a sinking
feeling that he knew the answer.
“Nothing – unless he was adopted?” Rowena said, raising quizzical
eyebrows at her companion.
“No, the General and Mrs. Metcalfe are most definitely his
biological parents; you only have to meet them to see that.” He shook his head. “You cannot be seriously trying to tell me that she imagines Paul
is her son?”
“I do not know what she imagines.
Clarissa has very little grasp of reality these days. She saw two young men – one as dark as
Geoffrey and the other as fair as Harry… her mind is disturbed, she may have
seen her dead lover, or her lost child, but your friend’s appearance undoubtedly
stirred something in her, Commander. I
haven’t seen her behave as she did for many years. That you should have arrived now – at the very time of year this
happened - is unfortunate. She is
always more unsettled now. Her memories
are that much more vivid. If the
colonel rejects her, Clarissa is quite capable of harming him. I fear very much
for your friend, Commander. “
So did Svenson as he urged their car up the rough track to the
entrance of the visitors’ complex car park.

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There was a vintage hatchback parked in the corner nearest the
entrance gate and Rowena confirmed that it was theirs. Before they went any further, Svenson
rummaged in the boot of their hire car and found his torch, and Paul’s, which
he gave to Rowena.
They battled against the strong wind and he helped her scramble
over the walls, striding across the springy, damp turf towards the monastic
fish-pond that fronted the abbey buildings.
“Where will they be?” he asked.
“Geoffrey was buried in the presbytery – near the High Altar. Clarissa insisted on what she called
‘consecrated ground’ for her lover.”
“Lead the way, Miss Rowena.” He stepped aside for her to precede
him, banking on the fact that her relationship with the kidnappers would offer
her some protection. He had a nagging
wish that he had his service pistol with him – but neither of them had expected
their holiday to descend into such jeopardy.
Rowena Eglan staggered through the dark night, her knitted jacket
billowing around her. Svenson followed,
his head bent against the off-shore gale, and so he bumped into her when she
suddenly stopped at the first archway of the building and pointed.
At the far side of the open ground, enclosed by the impressive,
three-tiered stone arcade that was all that remained of the Abbey’s former
glory, they saw a figure standing over an inert body stretched out on the wet
grass. Svenson held Rowena back and moved forward, dowsing the light from his
torch.
He could see that Paul was unconscious and wondered what the woman
had done to reduce her captive to this.
Under normal circumstances, Paul Metcalfe had no trouble defending
himself. Svenson guessed that in this
situation his inbred chivalry towards ‘ladies’ - of all descriptions – would
make him reluctant to hurt Clarissa and, quite unprepared for the pure madness
of her ideas, that might mean Clarissa may have been able to get the drop on
him. Yet, even so, Paul was not an easy
man to subdue.
He remembered that Rowena had mentioned a pistol and wondered if
the family still possessed it. A
gunshot wound would explain why Paul was so still. He sighed. There were factors concerning Paul Metcalfe
that were going to make the situation very awkward when he recovered
consciousness and there was likely to be one almighty security breach, if they
weren’t careful. Somehow he guessed it
would be him that got the rocket from their boss… how could anyone expect Paul
to watch his own back, if he was… incapacitated?
Beside him, Rowena was
weeping silently, drawing her breath in great, dry sobs. She murmured, “Oh Clarissa, not again –
dear God, when will this end?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder in mute support and she gave him
a grateful glance. However many
memories his superficial likeness to her long-gone lover evoked, she knew he
was not Harry Jensen. Her sister had no
such clarity of thought.
The fitful moonlight and the dim glare of a hurricane lamp showed
a third figure, knee-deep in a coffin-shaped hole, and determinedly digging
through the compacted earth. Svenson
suspected that this was the site of the previous burial and that the grave was
already occupied.
“She means to bury your friend with Geoffrey – father and son,”
Rowena whispered, confirming his thought.
“She is not going to bury Paul anywhere. He’s not dead…” Svenson grated, preparing to move forward.
“How can you be sure?” she
asked.
He didn’t answer, but moved out of the shelter of the arch in
preparation to crossing the open space to where the guilty pair were occupied
in their grisly rites.
He raised his voice and shouted against the gusting wind. “Hold it right, there, Miss Eglan, I’m
afraid you’ve gone too far this time and your little charade is over.”
The woman spun around and he could see the dark shape of a pistol
in her hand.
“You,” she gasped. “Just
as Harry Jensen before you, you are in the wrong place at the wrong time,
Commander.” She raised the gun and fired.
The bullet went wide and struck a stone pillar. Svenson dodged away, trying to draw Rowena
with him, but she broke free and advanced on her sister, her dark eyes blazing
with a fiery anger.
“What are you saying, Clarissa?
When was Harry in the wrong place?” She walked forward and peered down
at the freshly open grave. With Clarissa’s attention focussed on her sister,
Svenson edged forward, hoping to protect one woman and disarm the other before
a further tragedy occurred.
Clarissa began to speak.
“We never meant to harm him, Rowena, but he wanted to know what had
happened to Geoffrey – he was too persistent. He would not accept that Geoffrey
had left for London. He followed us
here – Johnny and I – when we came to bury Geoffrey in this holy ground. He accused me of killing him – me, who loved Geoffrey more than life
and who was carrying his child! Harry
called me many wicked names and he threatened to expose us. I couldn’t let that happen. I told him to go away – to go far away and
never return. He said he would come
back with the police and then take you away to Canada – so you might live with
him. But I needed you here – I was
going to have my baby and I would need you to help me care for him - I couldn’t
let Harry do as he threatened, you understand, don’t you, Rowena. I did what was best.”
“You killed him? You
killed Harry?”
“It was for all our sakes, Rowena, don’t take on so! It had to be done. He died a cleaner death than my darling Geoffrey. I shot him -
through the heart.”
“You killed Harry!” Rowena screeched. “All these years, you let me think he was still alive and all the
time you knew he was dead! I hate you,
Clarissa! For years I bore with your
delusions, took your orders and looked after you, believing – hoping against
all hope – that he would come back for me – as he swore he would! You knew if you told me he was dead, I
would leave… you knew I would not stay here - in the living hell you had
created! And you feared to be left
alone in the house, alone with the ghosts of your victims, alone with the
consequences of your madness! Well, I
have done with you. I am leaving,
Clarissa, see how well you manage without me!
You are stark, raving mad… you murdering bitch! You murdered my Harry….”
She turned from her sister and began to walk away. Svenson could see the tears running
unchecked down her face. He moved
towards her, unsure if she would even accept his help.
“You cannot leave, Rowena!
Where would you go? A dry,
worthless old woman! You have to stay
with us! Rowena…” Clarissa called imperiously after her
sister, but Rowena walked on. “I am
warning you … stay where you are!” She
raised the gun and fired. Rowena staggered under the impact, lost her forward
impetus, sank to her knees and toppled across Metcalfe’s body.
Impetuously, Svenson sprang forward. “Miss Rowena!”
He ignored Clarissa’s hysterical commands to keep away, and gently
turned the younger sister over. The
bullet was lodged in her upper arm and the wound was bleeding copiously. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and
applied a tourniquet.
“You are lucky, she’ll live,” he said over his