Whitby Vampyrrhic by Simon Clark Page B

suffered much in the way of bombing raids?’ Beth asked.
    â€˜Bombing raids? They’re the least of our worries. Now get out of here. I won’t tell you again.’ The woman turned aggressively on the pair now. ‘Why are you wandering around here at night, anyway? Menfolk here wouldn’t give you a penny for whatever you’re offering.’
    â€˜We’re not prostitutes.’
    â€˜Could have fooled me. Decent women don’t put that red muck on their lips, like you two.’
    â€˜We’re actresses,’ Sally told her.
    â€˜Actresses, tarts – one and the same.’
    During this exchange, the gaunt woman didn’t react. She remained in that trance-like state.
    â€˜We’re trying to find the Leviathan Hotel.’
    â€˜Best of bloody luck to you. It’s been shut these last two years.’ The woman spat on the ground. ‘You won’t find space in a man’s bed round here, even if you give it away for nothing. Now get back to the station, or I’ll black your eyes!’ The woman bunched her fist.
    â€˜You’ll do no such thing, Mrs Brady. These are my guests.’ Yet another figure emerged from the mist.
    â€˜Oh, Miss Charnwood. I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re in thick with these two hussies. You’re the cause of this town’s woes as it is.’
    The new stranger murmured smoothly, ‘Mrs Brady. You’re letting your tongue run away with you. Of all people you should know better than to antagonize me.’
    â€˜I speak my mind. If the truth’s got to be said then—’
    â€˜Goodnight, Mrs Brady. You get yourself and Victoria back home.’
    Grumbling, shaking her head, while shooting the three venomous glances, Mrs Brady led Victoria over the bridge, where they soon vanished into the mist.
    The tall woman, aged around forty, with a swathe of long, dark hair, held out her hand. ‘Welcome to Whitby, Miss Layne. Miss Wainwright. My name is Eleanor Charnwood.’
    They shook hands.
    â€˜You’re expecting us?’ Beth asked in surprise.
    â€˜Whitby hasn’t fallen off the end of the world yet, ladies. Your director, Mr Reed, sent me a telegram to say you’d be arriving on the 11.30 train. And as I saw it pull into the station I decided to do the civilized thing and come meet you.’
    Sally frowned. ‘Why did the thin woman try to stop us crossing the bridge to you? And just what on earth’s happened to her teeth? They were like—’
    Beth interrupted, ‘Standing on a fog-shrouded bridge at midnight isn’t the place to discuss a stranger’s dental condition.’
    Smiling, Eleanor said, ‘Absolutely. Now, can I help you with those cases? The hotel’s just along Church Street there.’
    â€˜The Leviathan?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜But everyone here insisted it was closed for the war.’
    â€˜Not closed, only sleeping.’ Eleanor’s smile broadened (and Beth decided she liked the woman). ‘Your film company asked me to reopen it so we could accommodate the artistes.’
    â€˜We’re artistes,’ Sally added quickly.
    â€˜I know. Last month I saw Miss Layne here on the silver screen at the Whitby Picture House. She served the delicious Mr Cary Grant a Martini in a tall glass, with lots of ice.’ The smile became a grin. ‘In these parts we get precious little Martini.’
    â€˜Or Cary Grant,’ Sally exclaimed.
    â€˜Absolutely. Now come along, my dears, you must be frozen.’
    â€˜And call us Beth and Sally.’
    â€˜And I’m Eleanor, to friends, which I sincerely hope you will become. Others round here have different names for me: Wicked Witch of the East, Devil Woman, “that bloody hag”.’ She helped them with their baggage. ‘Now, we turn left here on to Church Street.’
    Beth shivered as they walked along it. The street was just as she remembered