[Brenda & Effie 00] - A Treasury of Brenda and Effie Page 20

  The two women stood side by side for a while, watching the unsteady procession make their way to the edge of the West pier. A petite woman with a mane of curly red hair directed the group to line up along the railings. They all raised their scrolls in the air and the women could hear a chant faintly drift across the harbour. “One, two, three!” Then there was a ragged cheer as the councillors threw their scrolls into the sea. The party turned and started heading back the way they had come.

  “Litter bugs,” Effie grumbled as they watched the scrolls sink beneath the sea.

  “Well that was...”Brenda started to say, the scrolls come zooming back out of the water and straight towards them.

  “...odd!” She yelped, as a roll of paper clipped her ear.

  The women watched in amazement as the scrolls flew towards the entrance to the Bitch’s Maw at the far end of the Abbey.

  “Catch one!” Effie shouted, as she started running.

  Brenda overtook her a few seconds later, her flat feet slapping the ground. She threw herself forwards in a rugby tackle at the nearest scroll. She managed to grab it and then landed face first on the ground.

  Effie galumphed after the rest of the scrolls and tumbled through the small doorway that led to the Maw. The claustrophobic chamber was filled with a bright light and she could just make out that the arcane symbols around on the walls were pulsing. The last of the scrolls whooshed through the gateway to hell and the light abruptly vanished. It left behind a whiff of sulphur.

  Brenda pushed herself up into a sitting position. She gripped the scroll tightly as it was tugged towards the Bitch's Maw. The scroll in her hand went dormant once the rest of the scrolls had disappeared. She loosened her grip slightly, but it now seemed like a normal piece of crumpled paper. Brenda brushed herself down, straightened her wig and pushed herself to her feet. Effie rejoined her, panting after her unexpected sprint across the Abbey grounds.

  “Good, huff, catch, huff,” Effie said.

  Brenda gave her a thumbs up. They stumbled over to a nearby bench and flopped down onto it. They sat in silence for several minutes as they got their breath back.

  “Right,” Effie said, straightening up. “Let's have a look at what we've got.”

  Brenda unrolled the scroll carefully. She tilted it this way and that, trying to read it in the dim light.

  “Just a mo.”

  She rummaged in her coat pockets. She produced the now-squashed slices of Battenberg, and placed them on the bench, before finally finding her trusty torch.

  She and Effie examined the scroll in the torchlight, silently reading what it said.

  Honoratus to the holy god Mercury. I complain to your divinity that I, Cecilia Bramble, have been slighted and belittled by one Edward Bramble

  I would ask the genius of your divinity that you do not allow good fortune to the person who has done me wrong until they are reconciled with me. With renewed prayers I ask your divinity to look favourably on my petition.

  The names had obviously been handwritten into a form template. The scroll was also decorated with a man’s head, with wings sprouting out of his curly hair.

  Brenda and Effie looked at each other and then back at the piece of paper.

  “Well, that's some kind of curse all right,” Effie said.

  “And Mayor Bramble cursed her husband! I wonder what he did to upset her?” Brenda asked.

  “Ohh, from what I hear, he's been doing the salsa with someone else.”

  “Effie! You don't really think he's having an affair do you?”

  “No, he's literally doing salsa with someone else. Y'know, the dance. Said the Mayor didn't have the right moves and started entering competitions with a woman from their dance class.”

  “I'm not surprised she felt like cursing him then.”

  “But… but...”

  Effie's face took on a purple tinge as she thought more about the curse scrolls.

  “But... that means someone cursed us. I mean, us. How dare they! After all we do for this town,” Effie said. Her fists started to clench as she got more worked up.

  Brenda shook her head sadly.

  “I've been cursed many times over the years, Effie. Some would say my whole existence is a curse.”

  Effie felt a twinge of pity for her friend, but she could not help dwelling on who might want to wish bad luck on them. She stood up and starting waving the scroll around.

  “I bet it was the butcher, he always shorts me on sausages. Or them down at the hairdressers. They look like they're talking about me when my head's stuck in the dryer. Or...”

  Brenda tugged Effie back down on to the bench before she went off on one of her rants. She gently took the scroll out of Effie's grip and replaced it with a bit of battered Battenberg cake. Effie sighed.

  They munched contemplatively on the cake for a few minutes. The sea breeze ruffled their hair and seagulls screeched in the distance. Even if the people of Whitby did not appreciate them, it was still their duty to put a stop to this outbreak of bad luck. Especially as the Bitch’s Maw was involved. That meant one of the denizens of hell was behind it all. Brenda shook cake crumbs off her lap and stood up. Her muscles still protested after her unexpected earlier exertions.

  “Come on, let's go back to mine and have a proper think about our next move.”

  Back at Brenda's attic, she automatically went to put the kettle on and then thought better of it. There was only so much tea one could attempt to drink in a day. Instead she got out her little sherry glasses and poured them both a tipple.

  Effie made herself comfortable and examined the curse in more detail. She looked up as Brenda set a sherry down beside her.

  “I'll have to have a look through some of my books, but I think this is a modern attempt at a Roman curse tablet.”

  “That would make sense of the toga costumes, sort of.”

  “I suppose. It obviously got the attention of something from the depths of hell.”

  “Something that is no doubt delighting in playing havoc in our town.”

  “But who's creating the scrolls, and why are people dressing up and throwing them into the sea?”

  “No idea, ducky, but you know who might know?”

  “Not Mrs Claus?”

  “She and her elves do always seem to have their fingers on the pulse of Whitby's dark-side. Plus the Council must have gone straight past the Christmas Hotel. I'm sure someone will remember seeing the Mayor marching along in a toga.”

  “You would think so, but I've found that sometimes people are very good at ignoring what's in front of them. Luckily for me.”

  “I still think it's our best lead.”

  Lead? thought Brenda. Sometimes, Effie seemed to think they were in a detective novel. In their previous adventures together they did more stumbling on, or barging into, unfortunate situations than actual detecting. Still, Effie was probably right. The Christmas Hotel was always a hive of gossip.

  “Fine. We'll head up to there tomorrow for a late breakfast.”

  The next morning, the two women headed to the imposing hotel that dominated the Western Cliffs above the harbour. It was always disorienting to step through the doors of the Christmas Hotel. Easy to forget it was late summer outside when you were greeted by a huge Xmas tree and tinsel as far as the eye could see. Brenda and Effie were pretty blasé about the sight nowadays and breezed straight into the restaurant area. This was normally where the owner of the hotel, Mrs Claus, could be found sitting on her motorized mobility scooter as if it were a throne. Her fawning employees in their regulation elf uniforms danced to her tune. However, she was nowhere in sight, which rather took the wind out of their sails.

  They paused near the bar and Brenda grabbed one of the passing elves. The skinny, spotty young man gave her a look of contempt.

  “Mrs Claus is far too busy to deal with the likes of you today.”

  “Where is she?” Effie asked.

  “Told you. Busy.” He tried to walk away, but Brenda eas
ily maintained a grip on his upper arm.

  “We need to talk to her about the Roman procession that went past here last night,” Brenda insisted.

  The elf grinned maliciously and pointed further down the bar.

  “You don't need to talk to the mistress for that. Councilman Bannerman knows all about it.”

  Brenda and Effie followed his finger. A tall, suited man sat at the bar. His head was in his hands as he stared into a very large cup of black coffee. A bacon sandwich lay on a plate beside him, a single bite missing. His right-hand sported a large gold signet ring engraved with the letters BRB. Bruce Raffles Bannerman. A Local councillor, he also owned several of the gaudiest jewellery shops on Silver Street. Brenda and Effie knew him by his reputation for partying hard. He looked like he was suffering for that reputation now.

  Brenda let the elf go and he scuttled away. No doubt to report to his mistress on their visit to her domain.

  The two women slipped onto bar stools either side of the councilman. He did not look up from his coffee.

  “Morning, Mr Bannerman,” Effie said cheerily. Bannerman winced and Effie lowered her voice.

  “Good party last night?”

  He grunted in reply.

  “We heard it was a flaming good time,” Brenda added in a soft voice.

  He gave no response so Effie put on her haughty voice.

  “As citizens of Whitby, especially as fellow local business owners, we think we have the right to know how the city council is spending our taxes… we, and I'm sure The Willing Spirit, would want to know if they are being frittered away by our councillors.”

  Bannerman's eyes swivelled from one to the other. He peered at each of the seemingly harmless ladies through his fingers. His eyes widened in recognition and he lifted his head.

  “I've heard about you two. The… robust... B&B landlady and the witchy antique dealer.”

  He took a gulp of his coffee while Brenda and Effie continued to stare at him.

  “We didn't do anything wrong. Had a toga party, a few bottles of vino, went for a wander along the cliffs. No town council funds were used. In fact we even raised some money for our nominated charity of Wheels for Whitby. To buy some Tuk Tuks to provide less mobile tourists with rides around our independent shopping areas.”

  He straightened up further as he warmed to his theme. Getting into his salesman's patter.

  Brenda waved a hand at him.

  “Okay, okay, you were all just having a good time and doing your bit. We get the picture. Not sure you needed flaming brands for that.”

  “You weren't being very environmentally friendly throwing all those scrolls into the sea.” Effie added.

  “Oh, that was just a party game. The lass that organised the party reassured us that she used biodegradable paper. Eco-friendly and that.”

  “Party game?” Brenda asked.

  “Yes, sending prayers to some Roman Goddess of luck or something. Throwing them in the sea was all part of the game. Ceremonial type of thing.”

  “Ceremonial?” Effie queried.

  “Summat like that,” Bannerman replied. “You'd have to ask the party lass.”

  Leave me in peace, his expression implied, as he indicated to the elf behind the bar that he needed a coffee refill.

  “We'd be happy to do that Mr Bannerman, if you can remember a name?”

  The councilman took a business card from his wallet and offered it to Brenda.

  “And don't forget to vote for me in the next by-election!” he called over his shoulder, as the women hurried out of the bar.

  “As if,” Effie muttered.

  Back at Brenda's, Effie carefully dialled the local number on Pippa's card. The rotary dial whirred and clunked back to its starting position after each digit. She wished Brenda would join the 21st century, but Brenda insisted that her fingers were too big for new phones. Effie just thought she was being stubborn.

  The number connected and Effie readied her posh telephone voice. She was launching into her pre-prepared speech when she realised it was an answerphone message informing people that Pippa was at the council hall.

  “I bet Bannerman knew she was at the council hall. Now we've got to walk to the other side of town again,” Effie grumbled.

  “At least we know where she is,” Brenda replied, and heaved herself back out of her chair. “Come on.”

  When they arrived at the hall they found the young red-haired woman they had spied on the pier the previous night. She was busy unpacking party supplies. Effie bustled up to her, smiling insincerely.

  “Hello, are you Miss Pippa Acton?”

  “Yes, how can I help you?”

  “Well, my dear, dear friend Bruce – You know Bruce – sits on the local council and all that.”

  “Uhuh.”

  “Well, Brucie said he went to a fabulous party last night. Absolutely fabulous. Togas and nibbles and games. Such fun, such fun he had.”

  Brenda rolled her eyes at Effie’s attempts at posh play acting.

  “He said that was all down to you dear. You were the genius behind the fun, as it were.”

  Effie's flattery and praise were not having the expected effect, as Pippa's face hardened. Brenda let Effie do the talking as she carefully looked around the hall. She sidled over to a pile of Pippa's belongings. Lying on top was a flyer for the Borough of Scarborough Rock & Pop Choir toga party that would be happening that evening.

  “Well dear, after hearing all about you I was hoping you'd be interested in organising the annual bash for the West Yorkshire Society of Chartered Accountants,” Effie continued valiantly. “My husband's the President, don't you know.”

  Brenda had to choke back laughter at the thought of Effie married to an accountant. In Brenda's experience Effie's taste in men was a little more exotic and dangerous.

  Pippa was now stone faced.

  “I do know Councilman Bannerman,” she finally replied. She was rubbing a coin between her fingers and thumb, as she faced up to Effie.

  “In fact, he phoned me just before you arrived,” she said. “Warned me I may get a visit from some meddling old biddies. Apparently you're well-known for making trouble.”

  She jabbed her hand towards Effie, the coin still held between her finger and thumb.

  “And you certainly don't have a husband, let alone one who's the President of the West Yorkshire Society of Chartered Accountants.”

  She looked at both women and then gestured towards the door.

  “Please leave. I have work to do.”

  Effie's opened her mouth to say something, but Brenda grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the exit.

  Once they got outside, Brenda waved the flyer she'd half-inched at Effie.

  “The next toga party is tonight. And did you see that coin she was holding?” Brenda said.

  Effie nodded.

  “We need to get into that party and stop this cursing lark. And get that coin off Pippa,” Brenda continued.

  Effie declared that she would need the rest of the day to do some serious research to find a counter-curse, something that could undo the curses already in place. She couldn't very well find enough Roman pendants to protect the whole town. She wasn't sure everyone should be protected, given that someone had cursed her and Brenda. It must have been at the Women of Whitby party. Brenda had to talk her down as she started ranting about those stuck up cows who thought they were better than everyone else. Eventually, Effie got back on topic and declared that Brenda would have to make them togas for the party.

  “Me?” Brenda asked. “Why do I have to make us costumes?”

  “I'll be far too busy with a counter curse,” Effie replied. “And, you're the one with a stack of bed sheets in the cupboard. And weren't you a seamstress in a previous life?”

  Brenda gasped at the thought of turning her carefully selected guesthouse sheets into garments.

  “Couldn't we just rent costumes?”

  “Oh no, Pippa said that we'd need to bring our own.
She's cleared out the local costumes shops for her clients.”

  Brenda made a few more attempts to get out of massacring her sheets, but Effie would brook no argument.

  As she was leaving, Effie scribbled down her measurements and handed them to Brenda.

  “If you can, make my toga nice and fitted. Make the most of my figure,” Effie said.

  “Make it fitted!” Brenda exclaimed.

  Effie really could get carried away. They were only going to the party to put an end to any hellish hanky-panky.

  By the time she had unpicked several seams in Effie's 'fitted' toga Brenda had remembered why she gave up life as a seamstress. Her fingers were feeling sore, there were bits of thread all over her sitting room, and she was mourning the loss of several good sheets. Finally, she had two finished costumes.

  Meanwhile, Effie was surrounded by piles of scrunched up paper and Aunt Petunia was whining in the background. She consulted her books on curses, counter-curses and Roman history a final time. She crossed a word out on the sheet of paper in front of her, and breathed a sigh of relief. The ghostly canine started wagging her tail enthusiastically. She'd done it. Now she just needed to make several more copies of the counter-curse.

  Across town Pippa Acton was going through a similar routine to the afternoon before. Moving chaise longues around and chasing up the caterer. Hanging up the freshly laundered togas, she hoped none of them had shrunk. She was on her fifth Red Bull of the day and promising herself a night off to sleep, as soon as business slowed down again. Not that she wanted it to slow down too much. With this third party in a week she had finally paid off her rent arrears and might be able to buy some food that wasn't party leftovers. She refreshed the pile of 'Roman Curse Tablets', aka the silly joke bad luck prayer she'd printed off the internet. A little mystique and ceremony had turned it into the high point of the party, once everyone was nicely lubricated. She checked to see that no one was around, gripped the coin in her pocket and wished for the evening to go well. It seemed to be working as a lucky charm and she didn't want to break her winning streak. She downed the last of the energy drink and tried to ignore the elevated pounding of her heart.