Secrets Of A Whitby Girl

by Jessica Blair

Genres: Sagas

Synopsis

Whitby 1901. Sarah Brook has kept diaries for most of her life. Now eighty-five and at the end of her own journey, she allows her favourite great-niece Esther to read them. But while full of Sarah's thoughts and dreams, and family stories, the diaries also hold dark family secrets about the past, which are about to be exposed. . .

Whitby 1832. When their mother tragically dies, life changes dramatically for Sarah and her siblings. Arabella is ordered by their father to assume the domestic role - something she fears will destroy her hoped-for relationship with John Sharp, captain of her father's whale ship, the Sea King. Little does she know that Harriet has an idea to ensure she doesn't end up with a hard life like Arabella: she will ensnare John and marry him. Charley too has his own escape plan: determined to forge a life at sea against his father's wishes, he stows away on the Sea King. But when tragedy strikes the Sea King in the Arctic the Brook family, and those near to them, are forced to make crucial assessments about their futures. . .

Release date: March 3, 2011

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 400

Sample

13 August 1901. I am going to write ‘Finis’ after this entry and close my diary for good. I started writing it when I was
sixteen. Now I am eighty-five I think there is no more for me to record. What has been the point of it? What has it achieved?
Only a measure of self-satisfaction. I soon realised I could not show it to anyone – it contains secrets which could bring
distress to others. I should perhaps have stopped when I realised that, but it had become a habit for me to record the major
events within my family. It is not a daily account, which is why there are only three volumes.

What should I do with it now? Give it to Esther, my great-niece, who always wants to know about her ancestors? I’ve told her
some things, but should she know everything that is written in these pages? Maybe I’ll get Jenny, my maid, to burn the three
volumes in the grate in my room, then I’ll know they can do no harm. But even as I watch them burn, will I start to regret
that I have not left behind a true record of the family story?

Sarah Brook laid down her pen, closed the notebook and let her gaze rest on it for a moment before drawing herself stiffly
to her feet. Once she was upright she carefully smoothed her pink silk dress, cut to draw attention to her small waist. Throughout her long life she had always taken pride
in her appearance and was not going to let standards slip now, not even at this age. And she wanted to look her best for her
favourite great-niece, Esther, whom she knew would be calling later in the day.


Sarah was delighted that Esther’s dress sense turned out to have matched hers. They enjoyed discussing the latest fashions
and Esther had promised that today she would wear the outfit her great-aunt favoured most: a waist-length jacket of dark blue,
with high collar and gigot sleeves, contrasting with the pale blue of the skirt fitting snugly at her hips and gently flaring
to the top of her black button shoes.


Sarah picked up the diary. With the aid of her walking-stick, she moved slowly to the armchair placed at one side of the window.
From her house on Whitby’s West Cliff she could gaze across the River Esk to the town’s East Side. Still holding the diary,
she sat down and allowed her gaze to roam freely across the river and slide upwards from red roof to red roof until it rested
on the ruined Norman abbey set on the clifftop, its commanding position making it a reference point for Whitby’s sailors returning
home over the sea. From the abbey her gaze drifted down to the river mouth and settled on the bustling quays with their ships
and stevedores and sailors. She sighed, a regretful sound; the port in 1901 was not as she had once known it. Whaling, fishing,
alum, ironstone and all manner of everyday commodities had brought wealth to this port. Its ship-building industry was renowned
– hadn’t Captain Cook used Whitby-built ships to sail the world? Its ships had once plied a lucrative coastal trade around
Britain as well as sailing to far horizons. But fashions in trade shifted, and whaling had moved away from the Yorkshire ports. New processes
introduced into the manufacturing world made shipping alum from the town no longer a profitable proposition, and ironstone
was mined closer to the furnaces of Teesside. Whitby’s fortunes had altered along with these changes but Sarah’s family had
always managed to survive the hard times and prosper in the good, thanks to the acumen of her father.


The great days of the town seemed very close again as she gazed out of the window, eyes unseeing now. A tear trickled down
her cheek as she remembered the anniversary of Jim Barbour’s death. With it came a vision of two whirling figures, she in
his arms, laughter and love on both faces. Unaware of the rest of the world, they danced for the joy of the love they had
just declared for one another.


She glanced down at the book. Her arthritic fingers stroked it lovingly. The passing years were clear enough in their gnarled
and twisted appearance. Yes, those fingers had written enough – the important things; not the frivolous ones. It had been
a labour of love, conducted largely for her own satisfaction, a faithful record. No one else knew about it. What should she
do with it now?


She started, hearing a noise downstairs. Voices … Esther! Sarah glanced at her fob watch. Goodness, she was early! The diary!
Must put it out of sight …


Sarah struggled to get to her feet. Her walking-stick slipped and rattled to the floor. She reached out for it. The book slithered
from her grasp and fell with a thud that, in her panic, she was sure would be heard throughout the house. She pushed hard
on the arms of her chair but her right hand slipped and she fell sideways, jarring her spine. She gasped for breath, face screwed up against the pain.


The door burst open.

‘Aunt!’Alarm heightened Esther’s greeting as she hurried across the room. She dropped to her knees beside Sarah.

‘I’m all right, don’t fuss,’ insisted Sarah, trying her best to sound unconcerned.

‘Just sit quietly,’ said Esther, knowing that her great-aunt abhorred being a nuisance to anyone. Seeing that her aunt was
settling, she called over her shoulder to the maid who had followed her into the room and waited to be of help. ‘A good cup
of strong sweet tea, please, Jenny.’


‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Now, Aunt, what were you trying to do?’ queried Esther as she retrieved the walking-stick and placed it next to her aunt’s
hand.


‘I was trying to get up and the stick slipped.’

‘Seems something else fell,’ said Esther, picking up the book. Automatically she glanced at the page that had opened when
it fell. She stared at the hand-written entry where she had expected to see a printed page.


Looking back, I realise now what sacrifices Arabella made. If I had only known at the time maybe I could have helped her more …


‘Give that to me!’ Sarah’s voice was firm and commanding. Esther looked up at her aunt in surprise.

‘I’ll take that.’ Sarah’s voice had grown quieter but it was still authoritative, her tone the one Esther had known throughout
her forty-three years and had rarely disobeyed. But now, favourite niece or not, she felt an urge to be disobedient.


She flicked to another page and briefly scanned the familiar writing. It was long enough for her to realise what it was she
was holding. ‘This is a diary. You’ve been keeping a record of …’


‘It is not for other people’s eyes!’

Esther ignored this and went on, ‘… the family. This entry mentions your sister Harriet; the other one my grandmother Arabella.’
Excitement came to Esther’s voice. ‘Will this tell me all about the family?’


‘I’ve told you all you need to know.’ Sarah’s tone was forbidding. She wanted to discourage Esther’s questions.

‘But I think there is a lot more. Aunt, I want to know it all.’

‘I’ve told you, it’s not for other people’s eyes.’

‘Then why have you kept it?’ Sarah read something of herself in Esther’s defiant tone then. She knew she would have posed
exactly the same question if she had been in Esther’s shoes. And she knew how she would have followed up that question, so
it came as no surprise when her niece did exactly the same thing. ‘You’ve got to let me read it, Aunt. You know how much I
want to learn about my ancestors. Mother is not interested in the slightest, and from the little she has told me knows nothing
of any consequence. So you are the only one who can tell me. I think you have not been truly forthcoming. This diary proves
that there must be more to be learned, or why keep a record?’ She flicked through the pages again so that she could read the
date of the first entry. She looked up at her great-aunt with such an intent gaze then that Sarah could not evade it. ‘Judging
by this date, I believe there must be other diaries. Aunt, please, you’ve got to let me read them.’


Sarah set her mouth in a grim line.

‘Please, Aunt. Why keep the diaries if no one else is allowed to read them? What were you going to do with them?’

‘Burn them.’

‘What? Aunt, you can’t!’ Esther protested. ‘Please don’t destroy them when there’s so much inside them I need to know.’

‘Esther, don’t pursue this,’ Sarah told her in a warning tone.

‘Why not? If you burn them without letting me read them, I’ll only be left wondering what was so important or terrible it
couldn’t be told.’


Sarah looked perplexed. ‘If you hadn’t arrived early today, you would never have known about my diaries and would have accepted
my explanation that there was nothing to be told.’


‘Then fate played its part,’ replied Esther. ‘I am meant to know what you have written. Don’t you see, it’s the only way for me to find out the full story of our family? Mother certainly
won’t tell me it.’


‘She knows nothing,’ Sarah said sharply.

‘Then there’s something in the past … A scandal? Wrongdoing? What is it, Aunt?’ The earnest desire in Esther’s voice was not
lost on Sarah.


She eyed her niece thoughtfully. If she allowed Esther to see the diaries she could lay down conditions, but would her favourite
relative abide by them when she knew what the diaries contained? Could Sarah trust her? She was shocked by the doubt in her
own mind. It seemed to her it would be better that Esther should never be put to the test. Better to burn the diaries than
that …


She gave a little shake of her head, an automatic reaction as she tried to reach her decision but one that Esther misinterpreted as her final answer.


‘Very well, Aunt, if that is your decision then I am bound to say I will not visit you again.’ Her expression was so resolute
that Sarah knew Esther meant it.


She reeled from the shock of it: her favourite niece taking this stand against her; questioning her judgement. Esther, who
had been her faithful visitor throughout the years. The girl she had watched grow up with pride, understanding and love; the
person whose welfare was of the utmost concern to her, though she never interfered in her family’s affairs, and was therefore
loved all the more by Esther’s mother and father. Would all these treasured memories be marred or even lost to her forever
if she refused Esther’s request now?


She looked hard at her niece but there was no condemnation in Esther’s eyes, only pleading. ‘That wasn’t a sign of my refusal.
I’m still deliberating. You were over-hasty,’ Sarah told her.


Guilt-stricken, Esther dropped to her knees beside her aunt’s chair and gently took hold of her frail, arthritic hands. Her
own eyes were damp as she said softly, ‘I’m sorry, Aunt. So sorry.’


Sarah met her tear-filled gaze. She reached out and stroked Esther’s cheek lovingly. ‘We all say things we don’t mean in the
heat of the moment.’ Her gentle tone matched the forgiveness in her eyes. She paused for a moment then asked, ‘Does it really
mean so much to you to know about your family’s past?’


‘It does, Aunt, it really does. I feel the lack of something … have always felt it. Perhaps reading the diaries will finally
settle my restless urge to know myself.’


Sarah gave a nod, but silently wondered if it would. ‘Let me have a little time to think. Come back tomorrow. I will give you my decision then.’


Esther stood up and kissed her. ‘Thank you, Aunt. I do love you.’

As the door closed behind her, Sarah opened the diary and gazed at the first words she had written so long ago.

3 April 1832. We buried Mama today. This is a strange way for a sixteen-year-old to start a diary but I feel compelled to do so; not to record the everyday events but the truly memorable things that
happen to our family. Each one of us, Arabella, Harriet, myself and Charley, will miss her terribly. She was kind and gentle but would stand up to Father if she
thought he was being too strict. Life will change for us now, as it does for anyone who loses a person they love.

P.S. I didn’t approve of the way Harriet flounced around, trying to be noticed even in her mourning dress.

P.P.S. I was pleased to see Jim among those who had come to pay their respects.

The final sympathisers having left the family home in New Buildings on the West Cliff, Benjamin Brook had ensconced himself
in his study with the Reverend Arthur Bosworth, Vicar of the ancient Parish Church of Whitby which was situated close to the
ruined abbey. Sarah had gone to her room. When Harriet saw Arabella and John Sharp step out into the garden, she felt obliged
to stay with Charley.


‘Thank you for staying behind, John,’ said Arabella, casting a sideways glance at him as they strolled down the path together.


‘I did it for you, Arabella,’ he replied, squeezing her hand in his.

‘You gave me such encouragement and strength.’

‘I wish I could have done more. After all, your family is like my own since I have no siblings, and your house became a second
home to me after Mother and Father were killed. It doesn’t seem like four years ago …’


‘I feared you might leave us then.’

‘Where would I have gone? The house two doors away became mine, a place to return to from the sea, though it was always your
house I pictured in my mind while I was shipboard. I could never have ceased coming here. But I fear I must sail tomorrow.
I wish I could stay longer …’


‘Will you be able to make up time?’

‘I hope so. It will depend on the weather, where the whales are and the conditions of the ice.’

She stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘Mother was proud to see you become a captain at twenty-four. She had such faith
in your ability.’


‘I hope I can always live up to that.’

‘I’m sure you will. Take care. You sail dangerous waters.’

‘I will. I’ve a lot to come back to.’

He pulled her to him then and kissed her, feeling pleased that she responded in a way he would remember when he was far away.
He held the kiss, sending Arabella’s pulse racing and making her yearn for him to stay beside her instead of courting danger
in the waters of the cold, lonely North.


‘I must go,’ he said regretfully. ‘I’ve some business to see to before we sail tomorrow.’

‘I hope, in spite of the rules of mourning, we can still persuade Father to allow us to watch you set sail. If so, I’ll be
on the cliffs as usual.’


‘With Harriet, no doubt?’

‘No doubt. And I couldn’t stop Sarah and Charley from coming either. He hero-worships you. Talks to me of nothing else but
joining the whale-ships like you.’


John smiled and looked earnestly down at her. ‘When I leave, you are always in the picture I carry in my mind. It comforts
me through all the days in the Arctic.’ He kissed her tenderly on the cheek and turned away, heading for the gate.


Arabella’s heart ached. She touched her cheek in the place where he had kissed her as she recalled his words. ‘You are always
in the picture I carry in my mind …’ How she hoped that picture was of her and her alone.


She watched him walk away down the path. John Sharp was a handsome man who held himself upright, an air of natural authority
about him that elicited respect rather than hostility. She knew his crew held him in high regard, even the older members who
could chalk up many more whaling voyages than he. They admired the way John had not relied on his privileged upbringing to
win him preferment, but instead at the age of twelve had taken on the lowliest crewman’s position from which he had worked
his way up, always willing to learn from the more experienced hands until he could match the best harpooner in Whitby.


John paused at the gate, raised his hand in farewell and called out, ‘Take care of yourself, Arabella. Remember, your mother
would want you to recall her with joy and not mourning.’


She nodded and raised her own hand, wishing their years spent growing up together meant as much to him as they did to her; hoping that she sparked a quickening of his pulse
as he did hers. How did he really see her? Whenever Arabella looked in the mirror she saw someone she regarded as plain. How
she wished she was pretty like her sister Harriet!


Arabella walked slowly back into the house, wondering what the future held for them all without her mother to smooth their
path.


‘Reverend, I must …’ Benjamin started, but was immediately stopped by the Vicar.

‘Arthur, please, Benjamin. The formalities of today are over. We have been friends ever since I came to Whitby ten years ago.
You gave me a wonderful welcome then, one I have never forgotten.’


‘Immediately upon meeting you I recognised a God-fearing man, one after my own heart, so it was natural I should support you
and your views.’


‘You did indeed. I do not know if I could have forged bonds with my new parishioners without your taking up my cause.’

‘Many of them needed prompting to follow the precepts of our church. You provided the moral guidance that was necessary.’
Benjamin hesitated slightly then added, ‘Arthur, I must thank you for that wonderful eulogy.’


‘Nothing more than Jane deserved. She was a wonderful woman, a wonderful mother, and no doubt a wonderful wife.’

Benjamin’s lips tightened as tears came into his eyes. ‘She was indeed.’

‘What will you do without her?’ Arthur’s voice was gentle, full of concern for his friend’s future.

‘I will immerse myself in my chandler’s business and my merchant ventures. They will help to occupy my mind. I must put the
business on a much firmer foundation for Charley; he’s only fourteen but I will take him into the firm as soon as possible,
enabling him to work his way up from the bottom so that he has learned every aspect of the trade by the time I wish him to
take over from me.’


‘And your daughters?’

‘Daughters are for marrying, but Arabella will have to take Jane’s place for now as head of the household. She is quite capable
of doing so and will have the good Mrs Ainslie to help her. I will tell her what I expect of her tonight.’


‘Wouldn’t it be better to wait a while? Let her get over the shock of losing her mother first?’

Benjamin frowned as if such a consideration should never have been voiced. ‘Life has to go on. The sooner Arabella gets a
grip on her new responsibilities the better.’


His friend nodded but remained silent.

The evening meal in the Brook household was conducted almost in silence. Benjamin spoke only when absolutely necessary. His
three daughters and son respected his wishes and resisted fidgeting. After they had finished they awaited grace and their
father’s permission for them to leave the table. Before he gave it, Benjamin issued his instructions for the weeks ahead.


‘I was pleased with the way you conducted yourselves today and the respectful sobriety of your mourning clothes. Quite rightly
they were without any adornment or frippery. I wish you to maintain a similar restraint until your six months of full mourning are over. Though you, Charley, could be excused, I believe you should not be favoured over
your sisters so you will maintain the same level of observance as they will.’ Charley, rubbing his face, scowled behind his
hand. ‘And you, Harriet,’ their father continued, ‘no strutting around as I saw you do on a couple of occasions today. There
is no need for that. Respect your mother’s memory at all times.’


Harriet looked contrite as she said quietly, ‘Yes, Papa.’

‘You all know what is expected of you so see that you follow my orders. I will know if you don’t.’ His severe gaze encompassed
them. ‘That is all.’As he rose from his chair he added, ‘Arabella, come to my study in ten minutes.’


‘Yes, Father.’ She judged his serious tone merited a formal ‘Father’ rather than the more relaxed ‘Papa’.

As soon as the dining-room door shut behind him, Harriet slid up to Arabella. ‘What’s he want?’ she asked, her lively blue
eyes sparkling with curiosity.


‘I don’t know.’ Arabella gave a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘But I soon will.’

A curious Harriet watched her sister hurry up the stairs then turned back to join Sarah and Charley in the drawing-room.

Arabella paused in front of the cheval glass in her room to appraise her mourning dress of black bombazine trimmed with crepe.
She pulled a face at the thought of wearing similar dresses devoid of any ornamentation or colour for half a year more. Black
made her look severe, she decided, especially as her hair was worn drawn tightly back at the sides under a centre parting.
Satisfied that her dress was tidy, she sat down in front of her dressing table and looked into the mirror. She smoothed her
hair and, seeing the pallor of her cheeks, pinched them to try to bring a bit of colour into them. Then she stared at herself
in the mirror again. She did not know why her father had singled her out for attention. She looked at her fob watch. Better
be on her way; he was a stickler for punctuality.


At precisely the right moment she knocked on his study door and answered the call of, ‘Come in.’

‘Ah, Arabella my dear, sit down.’ Her father indicated the chair that had been placed on the opposite side of the desk from
his. He waited for his daughter to be seated and then leaned forward, arms resting on the polished surface. ‘This has been
a sad, sad day.’


‘Indeed it has, Papa.’

‘But life has to go on. We cannot cease to strive because your mother is no longer here to help and guide us. There is now
her place to fill, in as much as we can.’


Arabella’s heart raced. What was her father getting at? Surely … No, that was impossible. Then she realised he was speaking
again.


‘Someone must take your mother’s place as head of the household. It is your duty to do so.’

She stared at him in disbelief, all manner of thoughts racing through her mind. She uttered the one word that automatically
came to her lips. ‘But …’


Benjamin stepped in quickly. ‘There can be no buts. You, as the eldest daughter, must take charge; look after me and your
sisters and brother.’ Seeing her colour fade and astonishment fill her eyes, he added with a firmness that brooked no opposition,
‘It is your bounden duty!’


‘Father, we do have Mrs Ainslie.’ Arabella’s words were only a weak protest because she knew he would not tolerate anyone
going against his decision.


‘Mrs Ainslie is a capable woman, the right sort of person for you to work with, but overall authority must rest with you.
After the appropriate period of mourning is over, I intend our family life to return to what it was before your mother died.
Obviously it will never be quite the same, but in outward appearance at any rate …’ He saw she was going to say something
but held up his hand to stop her. ‘I intend to throw myself into my work; expand the business so that it is thriving when
Charley takes over.’


Arabella’s mind was racing even faster at his mention of Charley; her brother had his heart set on joining the whalers. Father
clearly did not know this or else was ignoring his son’s desire. She was about to say something but thought better of it;
she would warn Charley instead.


Benjamin continued to speak. ‘So, you see what extending the business will mean? Entertaining business acquaintances as well
as friends. Your mother was always my able partner in that. You saw what she did … how she managed things. That is what I
wish you to do in her place. I’m afraid this will inevitably mean you will not be able to take so many walks with your sisters
and brother, nor with John when he is home from the sea. You must not neglect the charitable works your mother did either.
They reflect well on the family. You must never forget the position we need to maintain.’


Arabella was speechless. She knew she was competent to do what her father was ordering her to do, after all she was her mother’s
daughter – but it would change the whole tenor of her life. Her youth could be lost; all her hopes and dreams vanish. If only
John had proposed; if only they were already married! But her regret was swamped by the enormity of her father’s demand. She could not oppose him; she had seen others cut off from family and security
by defying a parent’s authority.


‘Very well, Father,’ she answered meekly, though inwardly she was crying out to be released from the burden he was placing
on her.


‘Good. You will want for nothing. “Ask and you will receive,” as the Good Lord said. Where are the others?’

‘I think they will be in the drawing-room.’

‘Then let us tell them now,’ he said, rising from his chair.

As he entered the drawing-room, followed closely by Arabella, Harriet immediately recognised from her father’s hard, solemn
countenance and her sister’s tight expression that what had passed between them had been serious. She had learned quickly
as a child to read her father, recognise his moods and know how to manipulate them to her own advantage. She glanced quickly
at Sarah and raised an eyebrow.


‘Be seated,’ said Benjamin, his authoritative tone making his children obey immediately. He took up position with his back
to the fireplace, drew himself up and clasped his hands behind his back.


‘I have just had a serious talk with Arabella … a necessary one on this sad day. I pointed out to her that, although life
can never be exactly the same for us, we must endeavour to resume it as near as possible to the way it was when your mother
was alive. She would want us to do that. It is necessary for someone to take over your mother’s role. As you all know, that
task always falls to the eldest daughter. I now call on you to acknowledge Arabella as head of the household and promise to
support her in that capacity.’ He paused and glanced around. Seeing no acknowledgement in their expressions, he said, ‘Is that understood?’


‘Yes, Papa,’ they answered in unison.

He gave a little nod. ‘Arabella, we’ll go and see Mrs Ainslie together.’

She rose quickly from her chair and followed him out of the room without a glance at her siblings.

‘May we have a word, Mrs Ainslie?’ Benjamin asked when the housekeeper answered his knock on the door of her private sitting-room.

‘Of course, sir,’ replied the middle-aged woman politely as she stepped aside to allow him to enter. She gave Arabella a smile
of sympathy, guessing from her glum expression why she was accompanying her father to this interview.


Mrs Ainslie had come to the Brook household in 1810 at the age of twenty-five on the recommendation of Dr Fenby when Jane
Brook had discovered she was expecting a child. ‘Get yourself a competent housekeeper,’ he had advised in a fatherly way.
‘I know the commitments you already have through Benjamin’s business. His growing ambition will bring you more. If you wish,
I will have a word with him.’


Five days later the doctor had brought Vera Ainslie to the house in New Buildings and presented her to Mr and Mrs Brook. She
impressed them as soon as she walked into the room. There was an air of competence about her that was emphasised by the forthright
way she held herself. Her voice was firm but gentle and she answered all the questions put to her without hesitation. She
had come from Lowestoft on the death of her parents to look after her only relation, an elderly aunt living in the town. After
her aunt’s death, she had been on the point of leaving Whitby, even though she did not know what she would do, when Dr Fenby, knowing of her competence while living with her aunt,
came up with the suggestion that she might like to think about becoming a housekeeper. She had accepted his suggestion and,
while she came under scrutiny from Mr and Mrs Brook, herself subtly assessed what life would be like as their principal employee.
Fort