Mistress of the Storm (16 page)

They resigned themselves to being stuck with Martha Platt during lessons but developed a sophisticated system of signals and excuses to ensure they rarely saw her during breaks or lunch times. And that they never, ever got stuck with her at close of day.

Occasionally Verity caught a glimpse of Martha standing on her own in the distance, looking lonely. But then she reminded herself of the pompous bore lurking underneath.

Finally the last day of term arrived, and with it the Priory Bay Christmas Spectacular. This event was always held in partnership with Whale Chine, in what was billed as a seasonal display of goodwill but was in fact a biennial exercise in outdoing the other school’s efforts.

This year it was Priory Bay’s turn to host, and the entire school thrummed with excitement at the prospect of showing those Whale Chiners how to throw a party. There would be stalls – with tombolas and mince pies and gingerbread and hot spiced drinks – and a Father Christmas, and carols and an end-of-year revue … it was all anyone could talk about.

Verity followed uncomfortably in her new red silk dress as Grandmother swept into the main hall, not appearing to notice the small children who were wrong-footed by her suddenly and imperiously flinging open the entrance doors.

Beside her, Poppy gasped. Every wall was covered in wreaths of holly. Mistletoe hung from the chandelier. In the crook of the grand staircase stood a gigantic tree, adorned with candles, golden glass baubles and garlands of tinsel. Lights shone prettily from every available window space or niche.

‘It’s just beautiful,’ she breathed happily, grabbing Verity’s arm. ‘Isn’t it?’

Verity nodded quietly. She watched as her mother carefully negotiated the room, mindful of her bump. Father had elected to stay at home in his study. What would it be like next year when the baby was here? Would Grandmother still be with them? Was this their new family now? To be honest, the festivity of the revue made her feel all the more sad that she was dreading Christmas at home so much.

‘Is it not good enough for you?’ demanded Grandmother snidely, poking her in the ribs.

Verity bit her tongue, unwilling to make a scene in public and spoil Poppy’s day out.

‘Oh, Grandmother, you are silly,’ giggled her sister as she beamed in greeting at friend after friend.

Verity stifled a momentary flash of irritation. Why did Poppy and her mother never notice the spite in the old lady’s comments?

‘My holiday homework,’ Poppy exclaimed, tapping her head in remembrance. ‘I should collect it now, before I forget again.’

‘Verity will go for you,’ said Grandmother, giving Verity an unseen shove that made her stumble. She frowned, and the old lady glared in response. ‘Have you something better to do?’ she asked sharply.

‘Could you, Verity?’ asked Mother. ‘It would be such a help.’

‘She’ll only waste time talking to the little fat boy otherwise,’ Verity heard Grandmother saying as she
walked off. ‘Such a shame she can’t find any proper friends.’

The room was filled with excited babble, children darting confidently from group to group, comfortable in their surroundings. There was Henry, queuing for raffle tickets.

‘Where’s your family?’ he asked, sucking a humbug.

‘By the tombola,’ said Verity. ‘Grandmother sent me on an errand for Poppy.’

Henry pulled a face in sympathy.

‘No, it’s better this way,’ she pointed out. ‘The less time I spend in her company, the better.’

‘Just what everyone looks for in a house guest. No sign of her leaving then?’ he asked.

‘None at all. And I wouldn’t dare ask. She’s really quite frightening. Sometimes she moves so fast it’s as if she can be in two places at once.’ Verity caught Henry looking at her with misgiving. ‘But of
course
I realize she’s just an ordinary old lady and nothing peculiar is going on,’ she added sarcastically.

‘Poppy’s got one of the lead parts, hasn’t she?’ said Henry, changing the subject.

Verity nodded. ‘She’s been looking forward to the revue for months – which reminds me’ – she recalled the task at hand – ‘I should go and collect her books.’

She slipped into the quiet of Poppy’s form room, pleased to have escaped the throng for a second. She made her way over to her sister’s desk and retrieved the forgotten homework, lingering to have an inquisitive flick through … Verity froze in mid page-turn. She had just heard the
unmistakable sound of someone sniffing underneath the desk. She peered around to see who was there. Crouched on the floor was Martha Platt, her face puffy and red, a few telltale tears running down her cheeks.

Verity felt awful. ‘Martha …’ she said softly.

The bookish girl clambered out of her hiding place and sniffed again, her hair noticeably less perfect than usual.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Verity kindly.

‘I thought I’d come because it was a party,’ said Martha unhappily, ‘and it would be fun’ – her voice broke a little – ‘but it’s still lonely when nobody wants to talk to you.’

Verity didn’t know what to say. She was a terrible person. Here was this girl, in a similar situation to herself, and she’d just ignored her.

‘I know I come across badly,’ blurted out Martha, wiping her face with a shirt sleeve. ‘I think it’s nerves … or something. I’m not as stuck-up when you get to know me.’

Verity smiled. ‘I haven’t been to many parties,’ she said kindly, ‘but Henry tells me they’re often not as good as you think they’re going to be … something about fun not being fun when it’s organized.’ She reached in her pocket for a clean hankie and handed it to Martha. ‘We shouldn’t have avoided you,’ she told her.

‘It’s all right,’ sniffed Martha. ‘I don’t make it easy for people to like me.’

‘Why don’t we go to the loo and wash your face?’ Verity suggested.

By the time Martha looked a little less blotchy, the
end-of-year revue was in full swing on the temporarily erected stage in the Hunter Hall. Verity craned to look across the seats, hunting for her family, but there were no spaces anywhere near them.

As the two girls stood together at the back watching the show, Verity’s attention started to wander. Gazing across the crowd, she realized that the Blake family were all seated a few rows in front of her. Miranda was completely dwarfed by George and Oscar – both pink of cheek and blank of eye, with unruly floppy hair. Their smaller blond brother was tucked away on the other side of the Blake parents. How confident they all looked, mused Verity. As if the world were theirs for the taking.

Looking round, Miranda Blake caught sight of her and said something to her mother, who smiled superciliously. ‘Not at all surprised …’ Miranda stage-whispered. ‘If she were my relative I wouldn’t want to be seen with her either.’

Verity gripped the wooden ball – her constant companion – in her pocket.
It would be more of a worry if she
did
like you
, she reminded herself, and stared blankly at Miranda, determined not to give her the satisfaction of looking hurt. Then she raised her hand, mimicking the patronizing wave Miranda had used at the sailing club. The shrewish little girl looked furious. Verity felt a small glow of triumph.

‘You don’t seem to have spent a lot of time with your family,’ observed Martha cautiously as they shuffled out at the end.

‘No, but actually it’s been quite a relief,’ Verity admitted. Realizing how that must sound, she started trying to explain herself.

‘It’s all right,’ interrupted Martha. ‘I think I understand … It can be pretty lonely living with my parents,’ she elaborated. ‘I mean – I suppose it’s good that they treat me more like an adult, but sometimes I think they forget I’m there.’

Verity smiled sympathetically.

‘And just recently,’ said Martha sadly, ‘they haven’t been getting on very well. Sitting at the dining table through one of their “debates” can be pretty depressing.’

Verity didn’t know what to say. No wonder Martha could be awkward at times.

‘Thanks for being so nice to me,’ the new girl said as they reached the main hall.

Verity blushed, embarrassed to think that her thoughtless behaviour had contributed to Martha’s unhappiness. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she said, and gave Martha a hug that was also an apology. The little girl felt so small and vulnerable, even wrapped up in her thick winter coat. Her woollen scarf tickled Verity’s face.

Martha smiled and hugged her back. ‘See you in two weeks’ time,’ she said.

It was Christmas Eve at last. The air was fresh and sharp, the sky so clear that each star, each swirl of firmament could be seen. The night was velvety silent, as, in each and
every home, children went quietly to bed, anxious for this one last chance to show how good they could be.

All save Miranda Blake – who was instead proving her worth by sitting in the cabin suite of the
Storm
with her parents. She looked again in satisfaction at her new ivory silk dress with puffball sleeves and accompanying mulberry velvet cape. She twirled her ankles to get a better view of the matching slippers that adorned her feet. This, she felt, was entirely as things should be.

‘Don’t you think they’re pretty?’ she asked her mother, tugging at her skirts for attention.

Mrs Blake glanced down at her only daughter with barely concealed irritation. ‘Not now, Miranda. Father and I are talking.’ She turned back to her husband and continued
sotto voce
, ‘And the furnishings … everything to the very highest specification, Rupert.’ Her eyes darted greedily around the wood-panelled dining room, fitted with stunningly crafted lockers, decorated with the most sumptuous materials and lit now by weighted bronze lamps.

‘There’s always been money around the
Storm
,’ her husband replied in a baritone rumble deepened by the liberal and regular application of port and cigars.

A thought occurred to Mrs Blake, and she turned to her daughter again, smoothing her dress and pinching her cheeks to bring a colour to them. Miranda smiled at the attention, trying to catch her mother’s eye.

Mrs Blake ignored her. ‘Don’t mess this up, Miranda,’ she said briskly. ‘We’re relying on you.’

Miranda stared at her reflectively, thinking of the dozens of visits she’d already made to the
Storm
as part of this charm offensive. ‘Of course not,’ she replied efficiently. ‘You can rely on me.’

Abednego came silently into the room. Today he wore a soft white shirt and an emerald jacket. The gold jewellery in his ears and on his wrists and neck shone brightly against his ebony skin. ‘The Mistress is ready for you now,’ he said.

Miranda’s parents headed for the doors that led to the heart of the cabin suite, Mrs Blake struggling to hide her anticipation.

Abednego’s handsome almond-shaped eyes glinted with tears as he watched her push her only girl child eagerly in front of her.
A minnow to catch a shark
, he thought to himself sadly as he closed the doors regretfully behind them.

For Villainous Usage, Christmas Eve was a less stately affair. He sat quietly on his own, eating a bowl of broth and thanking his lucky stars Mother was out. The last few weeks had been a time of bitter frustration for her, and consequently of uncomfortable anxiety for all in her vicinity.

The window of the front room shook as the door swung open violently. Villainous shrank back in his chair. But the black mood that had dogged Mother over the last six weeks seemed to have lifted.

‘There’s a
second
packet ship,’ she announced jubilantly, with a slight slur that made it obvious she’d discovered this news in the Spyglass. ‘The
Lady Georgia
is to be followed by
the
Helmingham.
’ She pinched Villainous’ pustule-ridden cheek. ‘Tardy Paul has said we can borrow his rowing boat.’

Villainous waited to find out why.

‘We must go directly to the
Storm.
’ Mother swung an arm out in the general direction of the harbour. ‘If I can just talk to Abednego a while longer, I’m sure he’ll remember how profitable the old days were, and see sense. We can’t miss this one. It’s meant for us.’

Villainous’ ferret-thin face went a little pale. ‘Approach the
Storm
uninvited?’ he said. ‘Are you sure, Muvver?’ His mind crowded with rumours he’d heard of the sometimes fatal manner in which the
Storm
dealt with unannounced guests.

Mother swayed towards him. Her eyes were having difficulty focusing but the menace could still be clearly felt. ‘We must go there now, son. And you will row me.’

Villainous reflected that a death later on the
Storm
might be less inglorious than one in the cottage at the hands of Mother. ‘I’ll get my coat,’ he said.

But Mother was not to need her passage to the
Storm
, for there on the harbour, as Villainous helped her down the narrow street, was Abednego himself, assisting Miranda Blake and her parents out of a tender. It was dark now, and the inky black water lapped gently against the quay.

Mother Usage hissed with righteous indignation. She pulled herself up to her full rotund height and bustled
along as fast as her weight would allow in the direction of her quarry.

‘So it’s like that, is it?’ she demanded of the
Storm
’s captain. ‘Only got need for such as the Blakes?’

‘Really,’
Mrs Blake whispered disdainfully. Not too loudly, because even she knew that Mother Usage was not someone to cross.

‘There was a time when our plans were acceptable,’ Mother carried on full throttle. ‘What’s changed that you can turn us away so high and mighty? Just one storm,’ she demanded angrily, so lost in her ill temper that she gave no thought to the captain’s reputation. ‘Just one to bring us a little good fortune.’ She squared up to him, her short round body contrasting with his tall lithe figure. ‘Surely we are owed that?’

A spark of fury flashed in Abednego’s eyes. He seized Mother Usage and gripped her tightly by both arms. ‘You have your son,’ he said with a chilling passion.

Mother Usage felt her courage draining – from the pit of her stomach and down her legs – as if it were a physical fluid.

‘You have your son, and you are safe,’ he repeated softly.