hours till it was time to meet Nelda again. The afternoon dragged on and he was so out of sorts that he totally forgot about visiting the lifeboat museum.
To celebrate their truce, Aunt Alice and Jennet went into a small café for a cream tea. There they met another of the old lady's friends. Mr Roper was a soft-spoken old man, smelling of Brilliantine and mothballs. He pulled his chair over to their table and proceeded to tell them the morning's gossip. Jennet listened to him politely but felt sorry for the old man; he was obviously lonely and had nothing better to do than take part in the scandal-mongering of the Whitby busybodies. Among the useless titbits he divulged was one interesting fact, however—a Mrs Rowena Cooper had just moved into the empty house on Abbey Lane.
Aunt Alice frowned at the news. Surely the house was far too damp and dilapidated to live in. She stirred her tea vigorously and pondered on the character of Mrs Cooper, who was quickly becoming a mysterious figure. She sipped her brew in silence and stared over the rim of her cup out of the window at the passers-by, in case the focus of her thoughts was among them.
At last the evening came. With his heart in his mouth, Ben ran up the hundred and ninety-nine steps and stared about the graves.
There she was, the youngest of the fisher folk, sitting on the same tombstone and staring at the white-crested waves far below. She turned as she heard Ben running towards her and the face he saw was marked with worry and pain.
'I cannot stay,' she told him at once. 'I should not be here at all, but I did promise. Now I must go.'
'Wait a minute,' gasped Ben. 'What's happened?'
She looked away and shrugged. 'My uncle has been found,' she muttered.
'Oh,' he said, 'what does that mean? Was he hiding? Had he done something horrible to your father?'
She pulled the woollen hat from her head and let the wind seize her hair. 'Silas was dead when we found him,' she answered simply. 'It was he who had been killed.'
For a moment Ben struggled to understand what she was saying and then it dawned on him. 'You mean your father did it?'
Nelda squeezed her large grey eyes tight shut and spoke with anguish. 'Never!' she cried. 'He is kind and gentle—my father would not harm anything.' Then she sobbed bitterly into her sleeve. Ben waited till the emotion subsided and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. Nelda took it and wiped her face. 'Already the tribe shuns me and my grandfather. In their eyes the blood which stains the hands of my father touches us also. I do not know what will befall us. The kin of a murderer must take some of the blame—that is the law and we must suffer it.'
'Sounds like a stupid law to me,' Ben remarked.
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Nelda's mouth; she liked this human child and found his company comforting. 'I think you are right,' she answered, 'for the old laws have never brought anything but pain. What use are they now to us wanderers of the shore? The number of our years grows ever shorter. One day we shall leave both sea and sand forever and none shall remember us.'
A gull screeched overhead and its voice reminded Nelda that she did not have time to talk at length. 'I must go now,' she told Ben. 'There is much to do, for we send Silas on his way tonight. The black boat has been prepared all day for this, his final journey. I slipped away to see you but I shall soon be missed. I am out of favour already, I do not wish for any more—'
She was suddenly interrupted by a shocked voice. 'NELDA!' it shrieked.
The aufwader jumped off the tombstone as though stung and stared round in terror. Coming up the grassy slope was her aunt.
Ben was overjoyed to see yet another of the strange creatures. This one looked quite comical, and delightedly he drank the sight in: the oilskin hat, the cork lifebelt, the satchels, the fishing net on the pole... Then he remembered Nelda's words. If any of her tribe were to discover that she was
To celebrate their truce, Aunt Alice and Jennet went into a small café for a cream tea. There they met another of the old lady's friends. Mr Roper was a soft-spoken old man, smelling of Brilliantine and mothballs. He pulled his chair over to their table and proceeded to tell them the morning's gossip. Jennet listened to him politely but felt sorry for the old man; he was obviously lonely and had nothing better to do than take part in the scandal-mongering of the Whitby busybodies. Among the useless titbits he divulged was one interesting fact, however—a Mrs Rowena Cooper had just moved into the empty house on Abbey Lane.
Aunt Alice frowned at the news. Surely the house was far too damp and dilapidated to live in. She stirred her tea vigorously and pondered on the character of Mrs Cooper, who was quickly becoming a mysterious figure. She sipped her brew in silence and stared over the rim of her cup out of the window at the passers-by, in case the focus of her thoughts was among them.
At last the evening came. With his heart in his mouth, Ben ran up the hundred and ninety-nine steps and stared about the graves.
There she was, the youngest of the fisher folk, sitting on the same tombstone and staring at the white-crested waves far below. She turned as she heard Ben running towards her and the face he saw was marked with worry and pain.
'I cannot stay,' she told him at once. 'I should not be here at all, but I did promise. Now I must go.'
'Wait a minute,' gasped Ben. 'What's happened?'
She looked away and shrugged. 'My uncle has been found,' she muttered.
'Oh,' he said, 'what does that mean? Was he hiding? Had he done something horrible to your father?'
She pulled the woollen hat from her head and let the wind seize her hair. 'Silas was dead when we found him,' she answered simply. 'It was he who had been killed.'
For a moment Ben struggled to understand what she was saying and then it dawned on him. 'You mean your father did it?'
Nelda squeezed her large grey eyes tight shut and spoke with anguish. 'Never!' she cried. 'He is kind and gentle—my father would not harm anything.' Then she sobbed bitterly into her sleeve. Ben waited till the emotion subsided and produced a handkerchief from his pocket. Nelda took it and wiped her face. 'Already the tribe shuns me and my grandfather. In their eyes the blood which stains the hands of my father touches us also. I do not know what will befall us. The kin of a murderer must take some of the blame—that is the law and we must suffer it.'
'Sounds like a stupid law to me,' Ben remarked.
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Nelda's mouth; she liked this human child and found his company comforting. 'I think you are right,' she answered, 'for the old laws have never brought anything but pain. What use are they now to us wanderers of the shore? The number of our years grows ever shorter. One day we shall leave both sea and sand forever and none shall remember us.'
A gull screeched overhead and its voice reminded Nelda that she did not have time to talk at length. 'I must go now,' she told Ben. 'There is much to do, for we send Silas on his way tonight. The black boat has been prepared all day for this, his final journey. I slipped away to see you but I shall soon be missed. I am out of favour already, I do not wish for any more—'
She was suddenly interrupted by a shocked voice. 'NELDA!' it shrieked.
The aufwader jumped off the tombstone as though stung and stared round in terror. Coming up the grassy slope was her aunt.
Ben was overjoyed to see yet another of the strange creatures. This one looked quite comical, and delightedly he drank the sight in: the oilskin hat, the cork lifebelt, the satchels, the fishing net on the pole... Then he remembered Nelda's words. If any of her tribe were to discover that she was
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