The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child by Robin Jarvis Read Free Book Online Page B

potatoes.
    The nun's body was straight as a plank and from the collar of her habit her neck stretched and tapered up to a long gawky head which always seemed to be grinning like a laughing mannequin at a fairground.
    This strange, spoon-shaped woman was in her early forties and there was no one in Whitby who had not heard or been made aware of her. When she galumphed by, the sight of her brought smiles to many, but to others the merest glimpse could bring only dread.
    It wasn't as if she was a bad person—no one could be sweeter. Frances was an innocent and had all the eagerness to please that a faithful terrier possesses.
    That was in fact her main problem: Sister Frances utterly exhausted people. She would rush headlong into situations without stopping to think of the consequences. So anxious to be of service, she would be deaf to any refusals until satisfied that her duty had been well and truly done.
    Many times the Mother Superior had gritted her teeth to endure the nun's unasked for assistance, but what to do with her was a complete bafflement. For an order which devoted itself to visiting the sick, it had been extremely embarrassing to receive that snarling telephone call from the senior registrar. In no uncertain terms he shouted that Sister Frances would never be permitted to enter the hospital again—from now on the building was barred to her.
    Unfortunately, Frances' visits to the wards had been rather too frequent and rather too long. The recovery of the patients had been hindered by her over-zealous desire to help. Finally, when a man who had only been admitted with an ingrowing toe-nail had to be treated for three fractured ribs, a broken arm and aggravated stress, enough was considered to be enough.
    Everything the nun ever did stemmed solely from her willingness to give aid where she thought it was needed. Yet, in spite of her intrepid endeavours, she never accomplished anything and blustered through life oblivious to the mayhem that erupted around her.
    Even that fateful banishment from the wards failed to dampen her lively spirits. Seizing this God-given opportunity she had taken it upon herself to visit those in need of her special skills in their own homes.
    However, it seemed the only beneficiaries of her new devotions were likely to be the owners of Whitby's china and crockery shops. As Sister Frances invariably outstayed her welcome, when she finally departed the helpless invalids she left behind felt worse than before her arrival. So exasperated were these victims of her eager bounty that they hurled whatever came to hand at the door through which she had recently departed. Hence many vases and tea cups were smashed to pieces and needed to be replaced.
    That morning, with the rain running down her long straight nose and plopping in large droplets on to her chin, she was ready for anything that God might throw at her, and breathing in the clean sea air rejoiced in all He had created.
    As she made her ungraceful way into Church Street, Sister Frances gave her ungainly salute to everyone she knew. But for some reason, the owners of those familiar faces broke into furtive trots when they saw her and rushed by with only the briefest of exchanges. The nun waved after them but evidently the rain was too severe or their hats too tight over their ears and they did not hear her.
    With large, irregular strides she passed The Whitby Bookshop, whose proprietors hastily immersed themselves in the stock-taking which they had been putting off for weeks.
    Frances stared in at them. Madeleine, the willowy woman with strawberry-blonde hair, was desperately trying not to notice her, and Michael her partner had deviously hidden behind one of the bookshelves.
    The nun rapped teasingly on the window and in her overgrown schoolgirl voice called, "That's it! Nose to the grindstone!"
    "Go away!" Michael droned. "If she comes in you deal with her—I'll have to go and lie down."
    "Don't you dare leave me to cope on my own!"