Miss Alice Lovelady's First Omnibus of her Inexplicable Adventures Read online

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  Five

  Closing the guesthouse door behind me I saw the bright flowery-papered hallway had a small white reception desk with a curtained doorway leading off it. To the other side was a closed glass-paned door leading into the dining room where several tables had been laid with napkins and cutlery, ahead of me was a flight of stairs leading up to the guest rooms.

  Next to the guest register was a domed press bell. As I heard no one coming to see me I pressed the bell. A bright Ting! rang out.

  “Just a second, dearie!” came a strangely familiar voice from the curtained-off doorway.

  I stood rooted to the spot as a veritable doppelganger of Mrs Miggins walked through, drying her hands on a tea-towel. The same tightly curled hair, the same brown eyes. Had she followed me somehow?

  Peering behind me she said, “Just you, luvvie?”

  Even the accent was hers.

  “Um, yes. Er, Mrs?”

  “Morris, dear. Lovely hair you’ve got.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How long for?”

  I’d not thought that far. She must have seen the indecision in my face as she said, “We’ll take it as it comes, then?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She named a price which, in my limited experience, seemed reasonable per night and I agreed to it. Then, expertly spinning the register round to me said, “Name and address please.”

  I filled the requisite information in, and as I just had to know I asked, “Do you have a sister?”

  The welcoming smile left her face and the temperature immediately dropped below freezing and I wished I’d not opened my mouth.

  “No pets or members of the opposite sex in your room. Breakfast between seven and nine. Dinner at eight sharp. No exceptions. Here’s your key, up the stairs, third on the left. Thank you for your custom.” She bustled her way without a backwards glance through the doorway she’d entered from.

  I was quite taken aback at her response. Perhaps there were memories she had no wish to relive? Picking up the key which had a ‘3’ on it, and my belongings I headed up the stairs and smiled to myself – there was no chance of anyone of the opposite sex in my room.

  On the way up I passed several small seascape paintings hanging on the walls. At the top of the landing a large window with a whale motif let light in.

  Room number three was small and pleasant, with nautical knick-knacks scattered around the place and a flowery coverlet on the bed.

  I hung my umbrella on the hook behind the door and placed my case on the bed. Before beginning my search I needed to freshen up. Undoing the clasp and opening my bag revealed a folded piece of paper.

  I certainly didn’t put it there, and the only other person to handle my bag was the brown-suited man on the train.

  Sitting on the bed I carefully I unfolded it and read the words ‘Forget her’ written inside.

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  Six

  I don’t know for how long I sat on the bed looking at the words. I knew something strange was going on with Katherine. I mean why would a stranger be wearing her clothes? But this? This was far more than just a missing person situation. She must really be in danger if I was being warned off from finding her. But who else knew about me coming to Southend? I only knew myself yesterday afternoon. Maybe Mistress Velda had looked into the future and saw me on the train?

  There was no chance I’d meekly back down. I’d seen the results of that in the dark, dangerous alleys of London. My only thought at that time was to get out and get away from the hunger and desperation and get a better life for myself.

  Anger grew in me - whoever it was had never threatened anyone like me. I’d make them regret ever making that mistake.

  The longer I sat the more my resolve grew, until it forced me to my feet and out of the room to find her.

  Mrs Morris was nowhere in sight and I thought she’d not appreciate me ringing her bell to ask directions.

  Even though it was approaching noon the sky outside the front door was still strangely very dark. Thankfully I’d remembered to bring my umbrella with me and opened it as a precaution on my way to the gift shop next door.

  A bell rang as I opened the door and made my way along the racks of trinkets and postcards (with unfortunate examples of the aforementioned mother-in-law jokes on them), but the warning I’d received from the man on the train made me dismiss the exhortations to ‘have a lovely time in Southend-on-Sea.’

  Arriving at the serving counter I smiled (though I didn’t feel like doing so) at the short, silver-haired lady, who, in turn, looked wistfully at my hair.

  “Hello, would you be able to direct me to 8a Honiton road?”

  “Oh, second left and just round…”

  She stopped as a thought came to her. Frowning she said, “Did you say 8a?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  “Just a moment, dear. George!” she called through an open door behind her.

  A broad Scottish accent called out, “Yes, woman!”

  “Honiton Road. Was that where the fire was?”

  The sound of boot steps grew in volume and a tall, heavily bearded man appeared through the open doorway.

  “Aye, Honiton road. It was in the paper a while back. Why d’ye ask?”

  The lady nodded towards me, “She’s asking about it.”

  His dark eyes examined me, especially my hair.

  What was going on now?

  “Terrrible thing,” he said, dramatically rolling his r’s.

  “What was?”

  Silver-hair took up the story, “A few years ago gas lines were being put in and some mistake was made–”

  “Council cock-up!” he interjected darkly.

  Ignoring him she continued, “And several houses were blown to bits!”

  “Smitherrreens!”

  “Yes, smithereens!”

  Her eyes widened and she seemed to be lost in happy memories. This was all very well but it still didn’t tell me much.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “Oh, sorry, dear.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial level, “No survivors were ever found.”

  Strangely it looked like she was taking great delight in the macabre story.

  “And 8a was one of those houses?”

  She looked at the man for confirmation.

  He nodded, “Oh, yes. Completely destrrroyed.”

  Remembering the postmark date I asked, “Two years ago? Three?”

  “Our Sandra pupped soon afterwards if I recall?” his eyebrows queried her.

  “Yes, yes you’re right. They’d be around three by now. Must remember to send cards.”

  A puzzle had just been added to my enigma. If the address no longer existed because it had been blown up by a gas explosion around the time the letter was sent, where could I go next? I thanked them and left, lost in my thoughts.

  “Don’t forget to visit the pier!” the lady called after me before I’d shut the door.

  I needed time to think and, as my stomach informed me, also something to eat.

  The sky outside was still strangely dark. Not wanting to be caught in whatever downpour was overdue I went back to the Whale’s Gizzard to see if Mrs Morris would consent to cooking me something. Hopefully she was as good a cook as her possible twin sister. It might also be a chance to repair my faux pas earlier.

  Thankfully this time I opened the door I found her in a white apron pottering around dusting the many pictures on the walls.

  “Hello. I’m sorry for earlier.”

  She turned and gave me a look, the sort that said I’d mortally wounded her.

  Strangely, her resemblance to Mrs Miggins made me want to trust her.

  “I’m looking for someone, and the only lead I had hasn’t come to anything.”

  I must have looked particularly forlorn as her face melted into a motherly smile and she took me by the arm. My stomach chose that moment to sound its own form of distress, and she smiled
even more.

  “Hungry, dear?”

  “Famished.”

  “I have just the thing.”

  She led me round the small reception desk and through the curtained doorway. Past a comfy chair with a newspaper next to it we headed down a short corridor and into the warm kitchen. Several saucepans had steam coming from them and the smell of something mouth-watering was emanating from the oven. She reminded me even more of Mrs Miggins; though I decided not to mention any form of relation to her ever again.

  A stool by a small corner table was my destination.

  “Back in a jiff, love.”

  With a well-worn oven glove she took a plate and filled it with various things from the oven and the saucepans came back and set it down next to me. Then she went and got a knife and fork and some red-coloured drink. I set-to with gusto as she pottered around stirring the saucepans and generally doing kitchen things. If she and Mrs Miggins weren’t related then I was a monkey’s uncle.

  I knew what she wanted – my story. But she was polite enough to wait and feed me first.

  With my plate empty and stomach full I nursed the strawberry drink in my hands and opened my mouth to begin.

  “It’s a man,” Mrs Morris quickly said, interrupting me.

  “Wha–?” I began, totally thrown.

  “Young girls always come alone to Southend because of a man.”

  “No.”

  But she nodded with absolute certainty, “Every single time.”

  Admittedly there was a man - the one that warned me off looking for Katherine. But apart from that, no. Just, no.

  “And they always end up the same way.” Her face fell at the memory and her small hand patted my arm in a motherly way.

  “Really?”

  “They walk along the pier and are never seen again.”

  I didn’t know what to say about that. Was there a police investigation into it? Did they jump off, or somehow catch a ship at the end?

  She looked into my face like a constipated chicken and gripped my arm as if trying to force her will into me, “Please go home and forget him.”

  I had a slight loop-hole in that it wasn’t a him she wanted me to forget. But was there a link between the place Katherine was last seen and the pier? With the only clue I had gone it sounded like the pier was a place worth investigating.

  “Thank you for a lovely meal. I’d best get on now.”

  “Please don’t go to the pier.”

  “Be assured I shall merely look at it from a distance.”

  Slightly mollified by my answer she let my arm go and took my plate as I turned to leave.

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  Seven

  The Thames looked like dark, rippling grey silk under the rain-heavy clouds. The pier stretched before me and merged into the far shore making it look like a thin, black bridge. Gas lights at far enough intervals to have shadows between them lit the boardwalk. A cold wind had sprung up and mournfully whistled between the wooden boards.

  A more inconducive place to visit I had yet to imagine.

  The few sightseers brave enough to visit it today were on their way back, probably deciding that their warm homes were a far pleasanter place to visit.

  I met the wrinkled face of the uniformed bewhiskered gent manning the ticket booth and felt warm air flowing under the glass from him. I noticed he had a small stove upon which he was warming a small teapot.

  “Just the one, Miss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nasty day.”

  “Certainly looks it.”

  Money and tickets were exchanged and I caught a sad look from him as I walked away raising my umbrella. He and Mrs Morris seemed to be of one mind concerning young, single girls and Southend pier.

  I hadn’t lied to Mrs Morris: I was going to look at the pier at a distance - the distance of less than six feet.

  The cold wind found its way under my dress and I set off at a brisk pace, my walking boots providing a percussion to my chanting thought – ‘I will find her, I will find her.’

  Out over the dark water the wind had free rein and my dress blew about my legs. I held my umbrella tight mitigating the worst of its force against my head and torso.

  The buildings at the end couldn’t come soon enough.

  Glancing back I saw I was the only person on the pier.

  As I walked the clouds above grew so black it seemed like I was inside a monstrous creature’s mouth, the Thames below, its wet tongue.

  “I will find her. I will find her.”

  I realised I was now verbally chanting as if trying to ward off some dark evil.

  How far had I come? I looked back and saw the gas lights stretch into the distance behind me. Was I near to the buildings at the pier’s end? I turned back and cried out in surprise, finding myself face to face with the stranger on the train.

  He grabbed my arm and I kicked him in the shin. With a cry he dropped to the floor but didn’t let my arm go. Another kick found its way between his legs and this time he did let go.

  I turned and began running back to the shore, my boots loud on the wooden boards, my heart racing.

  Realising my umbrella was still open I closed it as best I could, if necessary ready to use it to fend him off and to save myself.

  Slowly I became aware of the sound of boots running behind me, and a dissonant vibration through my own feet. He was coming closer.

  The shore was far too far away. I’d never make it to it before he got to me. Anger grew in me at what he’d done – threatened me, grabbed me, and now he was chasing me!

  Purple flame flared in me and I stopped and turned with snarl, holding the umbrella up with both hands.

  His eyes widened with surprise as he ran into me, bowling us both over. In a flurry of arms and legs my head hit the wooden boards and everything went black.

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  Eight

  A strange smell tickled my nostrils and I sneezed, which set off a stab of pain on the right side of my head. I grit my teeth, hissing against the pain and slowly opened my eyes. It seemed that Sir Percival’s tonic was still working as I saw a mess of ghostly purple images in the blackness around me. Slowly my blurred double-vision resolved into something more useful and I saw a round table in front of me with a sphere and a dome next to each other in the middle. At the same time I realised my arms were tightly bound against my body and that I was tied to a chair. Although not a very nice thing to have done it did mean that I wasn’t floating lifeless in the Thames.

  To avoid making my head hurt too much I gingerly moved it to look around and jumped (as far as the ropes permitted) at seeing several skeletons hanging against the wall to my right. There also seemed to be an awful lot of candles, shrunken heads, and books piled on tables. A thought came to me – was I in Mistress Velda’s Arcane Emporium of the Arts? Or somesuch combination of words (my memory still being slightly addled).

  The faint sound of breathing came from my left and I slowly turned my head towards it, wondering if it was my jailer.

  A very tall domed birdcage contained a sleeping woman wearing a plain white dress sitting in a chair. Her head lolled forwards and her hair obscured her face. But with a thump of my heart I instantly knew it was Katherine! But looking like nothing I’d ever seen before - a strange purple glow seemed to emanate from within her.

  Just what on earth was going on?

  Continuing my survey of my surroundings I saw there were two doors, one either side of me. The one to my right looked like it had long strings of beads hanging down in front of it. The room reminded me of those where séances took place and fortune tellers fleeced the unsuspecting. I realised the sphere on the table was a crystal ball!

  Was Katherine being used as some sort of prop for Mistress Velda’s otherworldly shenanigans?

  The sound of movement came from behind the right-hand door and I quickly closed my eyes and shook my head to try and cover my face so I could maybe catch a glimpse of who it was. Regrettably this act
ion didn’t play well with my sore head and it set the pain pounding again.

  I heard the door opening, the beads clicking as someone walked through them, the scratch of a lucifer sparking to life, and the glass against metal scrape of a gas lamp as it was lit. Slowly I made out that the room was getting brighter. Carefully I opened my eyes to a slit and saw my entire torso was secured by a rope bound around me. The sound of steps came towards me and I heard the asymmetry of a limp. Was it the man on the train I’d recently kicked in the shin?

  The footsteps got closer and stopped. I heard breathing and felt they were observing me. My hair was grabbed making me cry out at the pain and open my eyes, then my head was forced back at an angle. The man on the train looked down at me. He still wore a brown suit but not his bowler hat, which unfortunately meant I saw his greasy hair.

  “Tricky little devil, aincha,” he said in the same strong cockney accent.

  “Let us go.”

  He barked a laugh at my presumption.

  “No chance of that, dearie.”

  He let go of my hair and my head fell forwards. Then he limped off to light a gas lamp to my left. After he’d performed that task he walked over to have a closer look at Katherine in the human-sized birdcage. I felt glad to have injured him, however slightly.

  He turned to look back at me. “What’s she to you?”

  There was no chance I’d tell him – I didn’t want to give him any hold over us, and possibly make life even more difficult for Katherine.

  Realising I’d not tell him he shrugged and turned back to look at her. Reaching through the bars he poked her arm as if trying to make a captured animal perform. A banked purple fire within me glowed with heat.

  Katherine didn’t react to his actions and he turned away to look around the room.

  “Like to know what’s going to happen to you?” he asked, off-handedly.