Ghostly Images (23 page)

David placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Frank would have been the last person anyone would have suspected. But was he mad or bad?”

“Grief over the death of his son poisoned his mind. He lost his grip on reality.”

“At least Laura is making a good recovery and gave the police details of Frank’s attack on her when she regained consciousness.”

“People in Whitby are going to miss Frank a great deal,” said Lucy softly.

“But he committed evil crimes.”

“The children really loved Frank. His Punch and Judy performances will be missed.”

David placed his fingers lightly around his throat and yanked them up to his chin in an expression of a mock hanging. “Tanner admitted he was going to arrest me for being The Whitby Ripper. I should have followed my instinct and trusted the police despite Mr and Mrs Jenkins contempt of them and of Tanner, in particular.”

Lucy stroked David’s arm. “You are safe now. Ben Updike came to see me an hour ago. He’s given up drinking and has made a pledge with the Whitby Temperance Society.”

“Did he say anything about his family?”

“He said he hoped he could rebuild their trust in time.”

They resumed walking and only stopped when they reached the outside of Mrs Jenkin’s home. Lucy frowned and nervously ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you sure she will accept me? I’m not wearing a hat.”

David gave Lucy’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry.”

“She might not like me, David.”

The front door opened, and Mrs Jenkins beckoned them inside. Soon, they were sipping tea.

“Thank goodness Whitby can get back to normal,” said Mrs Jenkins. She smiled faintly. “And I’ve heard a rumour that Mr Tanner will be leaving. Excuse me, I’m sorry. I should have my mind on Laura.”

“Laura will be well enough to leave the house on Tuesday,” reassured David. “Laura and John will see you in a day or two.”

“I look forward to meeting Laura.”

David couldn’t put off what needed saying any longer. “I won’t be taking any further photographs with the Tate camera, Mrs Jenkins. There are persistent demands for it. I lost patience with a Spiritualist today. Instead of keeping it quiet, I said on Wednesday afternoon I would be taking the camera to the abbey with Toby…where I would…set fire to it.”

Mrs Jenkins jolted back so sharply that it made the springs in her chair squeak. “You...plan to destroy your birthday present?”

“I was slow to realise it, but I now freely admit there are psychic forces at work in the world too powerful to be tampered with by man. The Tate camera has these powers.”

Mrs Jenkins placed her hand on his arm and fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Don’t destroy this unique gateway to the other world, David. It has the power to bring great comfort.”

“It also has the power to bring death and misery to people like Sean O’Brien and Thomas Loach. Silas also came close to losing his life. I don’t want to be a party to any witch hunts or mob rule.”

She removed her hand from his arm and picked up her teacup in her still trembling hand. Her arthritis seemed to get worse each day. Some of the tea spilt over the rim and fell on the carpet. “I sincerely hope you reconsider. Don’t destroy the camera, David.”

“Let us talk of something else,” he said softly.

Mrs Jenkins now brought out a handkerchief as if to wipe over her eyes but stopped and softly smiled. “I’m not going to worry. I know you could never bring yourself to destroy the camera that Gareth and I gave you.” David didn’t reply, and Mrs Jenkins refilled their cups. “I was sorry to learn of Hood’s death. Whitby has lost an extraordinary man.”

“He left his journals to me,” said Lucy. “My obituary of Hood gave him credit for all his many acts of generosity and kindness.”

“It was a very brief obituary!” said Mrs Jenkins sharply.

“Yes, it was, I’m afraid,” said Lucy nervously. “My editor omitted most of my draft, but over the next few weeks, I will be talking to as many people in East Whitby as I can to write a detailed article about his life and times.”

Mrs Jenkins reached over and patted Lucy’s arm. “I’m pleased to hear this. If your editor causes you anymore problems, let me know, and I’ll have a few sharp words with him.”

Lucy smiled.

“I’m sure even in a hundred years, Hood will be remembered as a champion of the poor and dispossessed.” Mrs Jenkins offered cake to Lucy and David, which they accepted.

“I start work in Sheffield at
The
Yorkshire Crusader
on the first day of October,” said David.

Mrs Jenkins wagged her finger at David. “I will miss you a great deal when you leave Whitby, David Taylor.”

“My photographic duties will take me all over Yorkshire. I expect that I’ll be able to visit you at least two or three times a year when undertaking assignments in or near town.”

She smiled. “That’s reassuring. What about you, Lucy?”

“I will join David, working as a reporter, at the end of October. This should give me enough time to do an article about Hood and a few other stories…” Her voice trailed.

“Will you be writing more about Frank Hawk?”

“Yes, if the editor agrees.”

Mrs Jenkins shook her head. “It must be very distressing having to write about such wicked things.”

“The job of a reporter is to look at the terrible things in life as well as the good. While I’m still in Whitby, I hope to get
The
Whitby Herald
to mount a campaign to have the Sandsend Road renamed in honour of a great, but neglected man, the Maharajah Duleep Singh.”

They continued to drink tea and eat cake until David noticed the time.

“We have to go now, Mrs Jenkins. Lucy has to get back to the newspaper office.”

“So soon? Isn’t there something you wish to tell me?” Mrs Jenkins gave them each a pointed look.

David and Lucy looked at each other sheepishly.

“We are getting married next May,” he said.

Mrs Jenkins beamed with a broad smile.

“You do realise that I’ve only known Lucy a matter of weeks. I thought you might have disapproved of us making plans when we’ve known each other such a short time.”

Mrs Jenkins laughed. “I’d only known Gareth for one day. We both had no doubt it was true love. No, David. You can tell me your plans without any fear. Come for tea on Sunday with John and Laura. We can talk more about your future together.”

Author’s Note

“While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see.”

—Dorothea Lange

Strange anomalies on photographs generate popular interest, even in the digital age. Most of the odd effects on photographs have a simple, scientific explanation and create little controversy.

In contrast, a small number of “ghost photographs” create a stir. Are these fakes? Or, are they genuine evidence of the paranormal?

There is nothing new about this debate. In Victorian times and the early part of the twentieth century, there were a number of spirit photographers on both sides of the Atlantic who claimed to have photographic proof of ghosts of dead family members and friends appearing on photographs. Sceptics made accusations of fraud. Famous figures such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Harry Houdini sat at opposite ends of the debate and had a great deal to say on the practice of spirit photography.

For further details on this and the history of spirit photography, additional sources of information, and more, visit the author’s blog:

http://ghostlyimages.wordpress.com

About the Author

Peter Townsend
was born in Sheffield and has a variety of interests, including history, music, and art. One of his current fascinations is the history of Victorian England. He now lives by the coast in the northeast of England and regularly walks on the beach or the cliff-top path towards Whitby—the place where his fourth novel,
Ghostly Images
, is set.

Visit the author’s blog: http://ghostlyimages.wordpress.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/PTownsendauthor

About the Publisher

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