Storm Bay

by Jessica Blair

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

Whitby farmer, John Dugdale, is involved with a local band of smugglers, seeing it as an easy and harmless way of making money. But John is shocked when Mark Roper - his daughter Emma's childhood sweetheart - turns up on a secret mission for the local excise officer. Emma is forced to face the harsh realities of a world she never knew existed, and must also decide who it is she really Ioves; the dependable Joe, or the handsome schoolboy, who has disappeared from her life.

Release date: April 5, 2011

Publisher: Little, Brown UK

Print pages: 512

Sample

‘Stop loitering, Jay! Night’ll soon be on us and there’s mist rolling in from the sea.’ Concern rang in Emma’s reprimand as
she turned and saw her sixteen-year-old brother squat once again to examine something in the heather.


Irritated by a wisp of auburn hair, she pushed it into place under her hood. She shivered, and grasping her cloak with her
long fingers drew it more closely to her. She hoped the autumn mists of 1762 weren’t going to be as frequent as last year.


‘Coming,’ called Jay half reluctantly. He had just spotted an adder and wanted to take a closer look, but he knew Emma was
right. The moor was no place to be caught in the dark especially if a sea roak closed in as it could do on this part of the
Yorkshire coast, south of Whitby. He wasn’t going to take the blame for getting them all lost. He straightened and ran after
his sisters. ‘Thee shouldn’t have stayed so long,’ he panted as he caught them up.


Annoyed by his criticism, Emma cast him a sharp glance but made no counter-remark. She understood the boyishness still left
in him though in the last year he had moved rapidly towards adulthood and now shared more time with his father. Jay was growing fast and stood as tall as Amy, his
other sister. He was filling out and bore the Dugdale characteristics of high cheekbones, square jaw and arched eyebrows.


‘Jay’s right,’ agreed eighteen-year-old Amy, then couldn’t resist the temptation to admonish her elder sister. ‘When thee
and Cousin Meg get yapping, thee doesn’t know what time it is.’


Emma tightened her lips and quickened her pace. A frown marred the pretty features of her usually calm face. Although her
sister and brother were old enough to look after themselves, she, at two years older than Amy, felt responsible for their
safety.


Amy hummed quietly to herself as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Emma sometimes envied the happy-go-lucky, relaxed attitude
with which her sister always seemed to face life. Good humour was just as much a part of Emma but she had a serious side which
came from being the eldest child.


Both with the Dugdale dimples, they were very much alike, though Emma was the taller by two inches, but it was their eyes
and hair which differentiated them. Emma’s auburn hair, inherited from her mother, was the envy of everyone, especially when
the light made it glisten with a copper sheen. Amy’s, a dusky black, tumbled to her shoulders like dark waves breaking on
a seashore. Emma’s deep brown eyes sparkled with life but could take on a penetrating seriousness when faced with problems,
whereas Amy’s blue eyes reflected the happy-go-lucky nature which sang in her heart.


Emma chided herself for staying late, but she always enjoyed visiting her aunt and uncle and time just flew when she was with Meg. When attending a small Academy for Young Ladies in Whitby, Emma had stayed with her relations and the two
girls had become more like sisters; in fact, she felt closer to Meg than she did to Amy. Emma had found pleasure in experiencing
a different way of life to that which she led on the farm though she was happy enough at home; the family was close-knit with
loving parents, and she appreciated the hard work her father put in as a tenant farmer to give them a comfortable life.


John and Grace Dugdale had seized the opportunity fifteen years ago when a considerate landlord had offered them the tenancy
of Beck Farm which nestled close to a stream in a small valley cutting into the North Yorkshire moorland plateau. The land
in the valley was good and the moors offered grazing for sheep. John figured, with hard work to get the farm running as he
wished, he could derive a comfortable living from it. An enlightened couple, John and Grace saw that it would also give them
the opportunity to send their girls to the Academy and Jay to the Reverend Borrisow, who supplemented his meagre income with
tuition. Accordingly they arranged for their offspring to stay with John’s brother, Robert, and his family during the school
terms.


Emma had settled immediately and was delighted with the opportunity to spend more time with her cousin and taste life in the
home of one of Whitby’s leading merchants.


Robert did not like farming and saw opportunity in the growing port of Whitby. Although isolated on the bleak Yorkshire coast
by the harsh hinterland of moors, with little in the way of reasonable tracks across them, Whitby developed as an important
port with its own ships, built beside the River Esk, plying its trade to all known corners of the world. Robert had seized his chance, and with astute judgement and a nimble brain soon became a successful merchant.
He had married Matilda, only child of a flourishing trader who also owned two merchantmen plying their trade with Europe.
When her father died Robert was able to amalgamate the two businesses to become one of the leading exporters and importers
in the town. Now his sons, Simon at twenty-three and George at twenty, were helping to expand the business even further.


The lowering sun set the purple sea of heather ablaze, stretching to the horizon in the shimmering light, but Emma had no
eyes for it. She was keeping a wary watch on the mist which hugged the cliff tops but a mile distant and was threatening to
move inland.


After the climb out of Whitby, the five-mile walk home to Beck Farm was hard going on the rough tracks which threaded the
moors. Though darkness might catch them before they reached home, Emma was certain she would have no trouble finding the last
mile or so of trackway, but if the mist rolled in it could be a different matter. Mist brought with it a strange sense of
disorientation.


Jay grumbled at her for urging him on, but Amy, though disgruntled at Emma for staying so long, kept her own counsel and matched
her sister stride for stride.


Distant clouds hastened the dusk before the sun touched the horizon. The sparkle went from the landscape, leaving a seemingly
lifeless terrain. No sheep bleated, no curlew broke the silence with its plaintive cry. At these heights there was usually
a breeze, no matter how slight, but this evening even that was missing.


The mist swirled as if stirred by some unseen hand. It twisted and turned, wraithlike, sending clammy fronds gliding across the heather. Its movement quickened as it spread further inland and in a matter of moments it was waist high.


Emma shivered. She knew the moors, but darkness and mist gave them a new perspective, one which she usually avoided. Today
she had been careless. While enjoying the company of her cousin she forgot the time and now was paying for her thoughtlessness.
If the mist rose further they could be in trouble. In a darkened, mist-enshrouded landscape, holes and gullies set traps for
the unwary.


‘Listen!’ Amy stopped. She pushed her hood from her head. Her dark hair, which had been neatly tied back when she left home,
tumbled in disarray to her shoulders. She inclined her head as if straining to catch a sound.


Her sister and brother looked questioningly at her.

‘What is it?’ asked Emma. She too slipped her hood back and pushed her hair behind her ears. She could hear nothing but knew
that Amy was blessed with an acute sense of hearing and picked up sounds long before anyone else.


Unnerved by the strange look which had come to her face, Jay tugged at her sleeve.

She shook him off without altering her rigid stance. ‘Shhh! There it is again.’

Emma concentrated to try to pick up the sound but without success.

Amy nodded. ‘A galloping horse.’

A moment later Emma and Jay heard it. The drumming hooves penetrated the shroud of mist.

‘There’s something odd …’ Emma kept her voice low, and her voice was uncertain as she tried to identify what it was.

Instead of the usual thrumming of a galloping horse, the beat was subdued, eerie. It came dully through the dank air which drifted ever more thickly around the three figures isolated
on the moor.


‘Look!’ Jay’s exclamation made his sisters jump. They glanced at him to see his eyes widen with fright and his outstretched
arm shaking as it pointed across the moor.


They followed his gaze. A chill gripped Emma though her heart was pounding. Her terrified mind tried to make sense of what
she was seeing. She must try to keep a grip on her feelings for the sake of the others.


‘I’m off!’ Jay’s cry startled her.

She turned quickly and grabbed him as he started to move. ‘No!’ she yelled, knowing that to run blindly on the moors could
prove fatal.


She held him and was aware of Amy coming closer, stiff with fright. Only an utmost effort of will made her stand her ground.
The desire to run was intense but even if it had been wise to do so she doubted if her legs would have obeyed for they felt
like paper.


All three of them stared at the apparition which moved across the moor through the swirling mist.

‘Marten’s Ghost!’ Jay’s voice was so petrified it scarcely passed his lips.

His sisters, transfixed, did not answer.

The fog rose silently, momentarily obscuring the white horse with its rider dressed in a white hooded cloak, then moved just
as quickly to reveal that the apparition was no figment of their imagination. Man and animal moved as one, progressing swiftly
across the moor.


Emma’s body tensed, her mind telling her that no human dare ride at such speed in this fog. Besides, a real horse, at full gallop, did not make such a sound as that drifting across the moor.


The mist rose and closed around them like a shroud. The ghost had gone, veiled from their sight. Emma shivered. She was consumed
by fear but fought the panic which threatened to overwhelm her. She must keep a level head for all their sakes. Though she
felt chilled to the bone her hands were wet with sweat. Her neck was taut and her breathing came fast, trying to relieve the
constriction in her chest.


‘We must go before Marten’s Ghost returns,’ she urged.

All three knew the story of Marten whose ghost was supposed to haunt the moor, but none of them had ever seen it before.

Ten years previously Jonas Marten had lived in a cottage on Deadman’s Howe, an isolated place which stood about a mile off
the main trackway between Whitby and the inland market town of Pickering. Returning home after a late night drinking with
acquaintances in Whitby, he became lost in the fog. He wasn’t missed for several days and then a half-hearted search revealed
nothing. Jonas Marten had disappeared off the face of the earth and no one gave him a second thought. Six months later a farmer,
gathering sheep off the moor, stumbled across the remains of Jonas and his horse in a gully some distance off the trackway.
It appeared he had lost his way, the horse had tumbled into the gully, breaking its leg, and had fallen on top of him. Now,
it was said, he still rode the moor trying to find his way home. The superstition was that anyone who saw him ride back towards
Whitby would die.


‘Hold hands so no one gets lost,’ Emma ordered firmly. ‘We must get home before it returns.’

She felt Jay trembling as she took his hand, and Amy’s was as cold as ice. No longer was she the easy-going girl of a few minutes ago, but was heartily glad that Emma was with them.
Amy looked sideways at her and saw that, though worry lined her face, there was a reassuring determination to keep calm and
protect her younger sister and brother.


‘We’ll be all right.’ Emma struggled to sound reassuring. ‘Be careful where thee walk.’ She curbed the urge to hurry and made
a determined effort to hold on to her sense of direction which could easily desert her.


Their progress was slow as the mist and the fading light combined to obliterate the narrow trackway.

‘I wish we could gan faster,’ moaned Jay. ‘Ghost’ll be back and then …’

‘Hush!’ snapped Emma, not wanting to hear the consequences attached to Marten’s return.

‘Hear anything, Amy?’ he asked.

‘No.’ A tremor came to her voice as she added, ‘Don’t want to.’

They stumbled over some clumps of heather.

‘Stop!’ cried Emma. ‘We’re off the track. Stand still.’ She knew that there were treacherous patches of bog among the heather
and one false step could plunge them into a life-sucking morass. ‘I’ll find the track. Don’t move.’ She edged carefully backwards
and in a few steps had lost sight of Amy and Jay as the fog seemed determined to separate them. A few more and she thought
she had found the track. She inched sideways and then back again and felt certain she was right. ‘I’ve found it,’ she called
reassuringly. ‘Come slowly backwards. I’ll keep calling.’


Within a few minutes the three were united, finding relief in each other’s presence.

‘This way,’ said Emma, and neither of the others questioned her for they had both lost their sense of direction and now placed
implicit faith in their sister’s judgement.


But they had not taken a step when they heard a sound behind them. With hearts beating fast they turned and froze in horror
to see the form looming out of the mist. The urge to run was strong but their limbs seemed fastened to the ground with a binding
which could not be broken.


The form began to take shape as it moved slowly towards them. A horse and rider. Jonas Marten … they were doomed! Fear gripped
them. Tears began to trickle down Amy’s cheeks. She did not want to die out here on the lonely moor. If only she had heard
it coming! But she had been so preoccupied with listening to Emma’s calls that she had not had ears for anything else. Jay
wanted to shout for his father but no sound came as he stood frozen in dread of their fate. Emma tried hard to control her
own feeling of impending doom for she knew she must show strength for them all in facing the unknown.


The mist swirled and parted, drifting away from the figure and allowing the truth to be revealed. Relief swept over all three.
This was no ghost.


‘Joe! Joe Wade!’ Emma’s voice was tight with relief. Liberated from fear, she did not know whether to laugh or cry. Beside
her, Amy could do nothing but sob with the joy of seeing the familiar face of someone she thought of as more than a friend,
though she kept this to herself. Jay gulped back the fright which had taken hold of him.


They all drew comfort from the presence of this tall broad-shouldered man. There seemed to be power enough in his body to
combat any ghostly apparition. The expression in his brown eyes bolstered their confidence. The set of his jaw showed a resolve to see them safely home no matter
what must be faced.


‘Emma! What on earth is thee doing here on a night like this?’ Joe slid from the saddle and came quickly to her. He took her
hands in his. She felt heartened by their work-roughened touch.


A pang of jealousy struck at Amy as Joe focused his attention to her sister. Secretly Amy loved him. Though she had tried
to cast him from her heart because of Emma, his handsome features, his manliness touched with gentleness, straight nose, strong
jaw and dark hair with a slight wave at the temples, all combined to fill her with longing.


‘We’ve been visiting our relatives in Whitby and stayed longer than we should,’ explained Emma. ‘And we didn’t expect fog.’

‘Thee knows it can roll in at any time.’ There was a mild rebuke in Joe’s voice, but it was stemmed only from concern for
the safety of the girl he loved.


‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘And I’m so thankful to see thee. We’ve had a terrible fright.’

‘Fright?’ Seeing the pallor of Emma’s face, he reached out with a comforting touch to her arm.

‘We saw Marten’s Ghost and thought thee was it returning, and thee knows what that means!’ put in Amy, wanting to draw Joe’s
attention to herself.


‘Nivver.’ He gave a half laugh of doubt trying to dispel such thoughts from the minds of his friends. He knew the story as
did all folk around Whitby, Robin Hood’s Bay, the outlying villages and remote habitations.


‘It’s true,’ insisted Amy. ‘We all saw it, didn’t we?’

Emma and Jay confirmed this.


‘Then we’d best be getting home,’ asserted Joe.

‘Thee’s sure of the way?’ asked Emma.

‘Leave it to Bonny here.’ He patted the horse’s neck. ‘As long as I’m on her back she’s sure-footed across these moors. Knows
her way instinctively. Keep close.’ He swung into the saddle, and when he was sure everyone else was ready, put Bonny into
a walking pace.


Emma was thankful for Joe’s presence and for the good fortune which had taken him to Whitby today, to return at this time.

Joe was the only child of David and Kate Wade who farmed Drop Farm in the next valley, two miles across the moors from the
Dugdales. He was the same age as Emma. They had grown up together and shared many interests. Joe loved the land, loved exploring
the countryside. From their early years he had encouraged her to accompany him on his explorations. It had gone on through
their years of growing up. She had come to know the ways of the countryside largely through him as he passed on information
taught to him by his father who had devoted much time to his only child. Joe showed her how to stalk deer, get close to a
badger’s sett, take salmon from the river; she learned which berries and roots were edible, and how to build a shelter from
whatever was available.


Their parents expected the deep friendship to blossom into love and marriage, and for the couple to move into Drop Farm which
would eventually be Joe’s.


He loved Emma, had from his youth, but whenever he started to express his feelings or approach the subject of marriage, she
always diverted his attention to something else.


Emma thought a great deal of him but her feelings did not run as deep as those she knew he held for her.


She liked Joe a lot. He was kind and thoughtful, ever ready to offer a helping hand to anyone in need. He was handsome in
a rugged sort of way, his face browned by the sun, beaten by the wind and rain. A man used to the open, he liked nothing better
than to be striding the moors, close to nature. He had a natural affinity with animals. Dogs, horses, cattle, and sheep all
seemed to sense that understanding, while any moorland animal or bird trapped or hurt seemed to know he meant them no harm
and succumbed to his gentle care. His far-seeing deep brown eyes showed joy when a vast landscape lay before him. Those same
eyes looked tenderly upon Emma and only clouded over with frustration when she refused to make the final commitment to be
his wife.


Emma knew that life with Joe would be safe and secure, that he would work hard at a job he loved to keep it that way. She
would have his undying love and devotion and that would extend to any family they had. She knew him as a determined man who
would keep on trying to persuade her to become his wife, but though she had nearly given way several times, always she had
been held back by a memory from the past.


If people knew they would say that she was foolish to hold on to a love she had formed in childhood; a love, they would add,
which had no chance of being reciprocated. But Emma still hoped that one day it would, and clung to her dream in spite of
the fact that logic told her it was most unlikely.


She had first met Mark Roper when her longing to study Latin and Greek could not be answered at her own school. She had been directed to a house-bound scholar in Whitby for special tuition and found that Mark, son of Edwin Roper, a well-to-do
Whitby merchant, was also receiving extra instruction in those languages which were beyond the scope of the private tutor
he had at home. He had attracted Emma from the first day they met, for even at that early age his likeable personality and
self-assurance were noticeable. For his part Mark liked the girl whom he saved from teasing town bullies, as they left the
tutor’s house, and soon they became firm friends. On Emma’s part the friendship developed into a girlish love, one which suffered
a bruising when Mark announced that his father was sending him to St Peter’s School in York. There he would board and would
only see her during the holidays. Even then their meetings were infrequent for he was in Whitby and she five miles away across
the moors. But she was happy with their brief reunions, and the love which had come to her so young would not subsequently
be extinguished.


It had, however, suffered one severe setback. When they were both fifteen Mark told her that his father was taking all the
family to live in London. Emma was shattered and barely heard his explanation that his father had seen an opportunity to expand
his firm, though it meant making a home in London and leaving a reliable manager in charge of the Whitby business. Grief-stricken,
she kept her love a secret, told him she would never forget him, and ever since had carried his memory in her heart, the final
barrier to committing herself to Joe. Even after five years, with never a word from Mark, she still clung to the hope that
one day he would return to Whitby.


She had told herself over and over again that this hope was foolish. There might never be a reason to bring Mark back to Whitby. Besides, he had never shown any indication of loving her, only feeling as a friend should. Now he would be
a grown man, brought up in the ways of the great city, and had probably forgotten her. He might even be married, would certainly
have had a chance to pick and choose among the fine young women in London who no doubt would be more sophisticated than her,
better suited to fit the new life he must have found in London.


Yet Emma could not forget those childhood days and the love which had been secretly in her heart all these years.

The fog thickened but Bonny unerringly kept to the track. Emma realised but for the timely arrival of Joe they would have
been lost, and that could have had dire consequences. Joe kept up a stream of encouraging chatter to divert them from thoughts
of their ordeal. They were only too pleased to have this reassurance.


As Emma listened to his gentle encouraging voice and saw in his presence a symbol of a secure and certain future, she wondered
if she was being foolish not accepting his proposal. If she wasn’t careful she could be left a spinster, facing a bleak and
lonely future. It would never do to throw away the chance she had. Maybe she could come to love him in the way he would want
her to as his wife, as devotedly as he undoubtedly loved her. Yet …


Her thoughts were interrupted as the track dipped and she guessed that they were moving down towards their farm but a few
more minutes passed before Joe called out, ‘We’re there,’ and she was able to make out a darker shape against the greyness
of the mist.


The sound of Bonny’s hooves on the cobbled yard brought the door of the cottage swinging quickly open. Light from a lantern
held high pierced the gloom and extended warmth and welcome. John and Grace Dugdale, anxious for their children, crowded the doorway. She moved in front of
him, for his big frame filled the opening.


‘It’s them,’ said John, his restless eyes piercing the mist. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and felt her relief.
She wiped her hands down the white apron which, tied at the waist, covered her grey poplin dress, its sleeves turned back
at the wrist.


‘Ma! Pa!’ Amy and Jay rushed to greet their parents while Emma stopped beside Joe.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m glad thee came along when thee did.’

Joe swung from the saddle. ‘Only too pleased to be of service.’

‘Come in until the fog clears,’ offered Emma.

‘That’s tempting,’ he returned, ‘but it might last all night and Ma and Pa will be wondering what’s happened to me.’

‘Well, a warm drink afore thee gan on?’

‘I wouldn’t say no t’ that. This fog gets into the bones.’

They hurried inside the house and closed the door on the unwelcome weather which shrouded the valley and the moorland heights.

‘Where’s tha been?’ fussed Grace as she helped Amy out of her coat. ‘We were worried sick when the mist came in.’

‘My fault, Ma,’ said Emma quickly before either of the others could make their accusations. ‘Thee knows how it is when Meg
and I get chattering.’


‘There’s some mulled wine in the pantry, Amy, warm some up for Joe,’ said John, reaching for his pipe. ‘How come thee was
on the moor?’


‘Been to Whitby,’ he replied. ‘Caught up with these three.’

‘Glad thee did. We were worried …’


Jay’s efforts to get a word in were going to be held back no longer. ‘Ma, Pa,’ he interrupted. ‘We saw Marten’s Ghost!’

‘Nonsense,’ rapped John, his eyes reflecting his doubt.

‘We did, Pa, we did,’ cried Jay excitedly. ‘Didn’t we, Emma? Didn’t we, Amy?’

John and Grace looked questioningly at their two daughters.

‘He’s right,’ agreed Emma seriously.

‘We did, Pa,’ said Amy, a bottle of wine in her hand.

‘Joe?’

‘No, I didn’t see it, but if the three of them …’

‘Thee’d better stop here,’ interrupted Grace, concern in her voice.

Joe gave a half smile. ‘I’ll be all right, Mrs Dugdale. I’ll have that drink and be on my way.’

Amy was already attending to the wine but Grace, uneasiness showing on her face, went to take over as if she could hurry its
warming.


‘Where did thee see this ghost?’ asked John with a frown.

‘Across the moor on the main Whitby, Pickering track,’ said Jay, eager to impart information.

‘Could it have come fra Baytown?’ his father asked, using the local name for Robin Hood’s Bay.

‘Might. Couldn’t tell,’ replied Jay.

Joe took his wine and drank it quickly, enjoying the warmth it sent down his throat and into his stomach. ‘Thanks, Mrs Dugdale.
Now I’ll be off.’


‘If thee’s sure, lad?’

‘Aye, I’m sure. Goodnight to thee all.’ His gaze met Emma’s and lingered for a moment.

Amy opened the door for him. ‘Take care,’ she said with quiet concern as he passed her.


The fog swirled, trying to encroach into the wellbeing of the cottage. Amy closed the door quickly.

‘Hast thee see Marten’s Ghost, Pa?’ asked Jay with eager curiosity.

John and Grace exchanged glances.

‘Aye, lad, I have more than once. It ain’t a pretty sight close to.’

Jay’s eyes were wide with astonishment. Emma and Amy had stopped what they were doing and were hanging on their father’s every
word.


‘And I kept out of the way in case it came back.’

‘Put the shutters up, John,’ put in Grace seriously.

‘Aye, lass, I will.’ His glance took in his three children. ‘And none of thee look outside ’til morning. Better not to see
what thee might see!’


Zac Denby’s chest heaved as he hurried up the steep pathway which climbed between the cottages clinging to the cliffside.
He paused at the top to get his breath and glanced over the red roofs, across the huge bay to the cliffs rising to an awesome
height at Ravenscar.


Baytown, or Bay as it was called by most local folk, had been his home all his life. It had been a life of poverty, his father
earning little from his trade as a fisherman, and the small amount of money he did get soon disappeared in drink which he
could not resist. It had eventually been his undoing. In a drunken fit he had taken his boat out to sea and had fallen overboard.
The boat had been found empty by two brothers from Bay who towed it back. Zac, though only fifteen at the time, persuaded
his mother not to sell up and to let him take on the role of fisherman for the family – his mother, and three brothers and
two sisters, all younger than himself.


The money he earned was often not enough but it was more than they had ever had when his father had held the responsibility.
Life had been tough for Zac as a youngster when he was often the butt of jokes because of his size