Mistress of the Storm (6 page)

Suddenly Verity felt scared again.

In the sitting room Poppy played a short piece from her primer on the piano, her long fair hair hanging smoothly down her back against a pretty dress that suited her slim figure so well.

‘How delightful,’ exclaimed Grandmother, clapping her hands together in a way that didn’t actually make any noise. ‘What an enchanting little girl you are, Poppy,’ she added with a rather pointed look in Verity’s direction that only she noticed.

‘Well, this is all working out rather well,’ said Mother happily as Poppy drew her by the hand to find another songbook.

Verity stared in disbelief. Could she really be the only one who noticed her grandmother’s barbs? It was as if this intimidating old lady had simply waltzed in and woven a spell of enchantment over everyone in the house but her.

‘I can’t understand why you’re being so obstructive, Verity,’ Mother said as she helped to make the new bed. Moving around the room, she knelt down to pull Verity’s nightgown straight. ‘Honestly, I do wish you’d try to keep
yourself a little neater. You could make anything look like a sack of potatoes tied in the middle. You have to be accommodating. Remember she’s the guest.’

‘Don’t you think it’s odd,’ asked Verity, ‘that Father didn’t mention she would be visiting? And now he’s not here …’

Mrs Gallant swallowed down her irritation at being left alone to deal with this situation by her ever-forgetful husband. ‘It is a little unusual,’ she agreed briskly. ‘But Grandmother is the wife of your father’s father, and we have a duty to welcome her.’

‘It seems peculiar calling her Grandmother too,’ said Verity. ‘After all, she isn’t really related to us, is she?’

‘I do hope you’re not suggesting that you address our guest by her first name,’ said her mother briskly.

‘Father has never mentioned Grandmother before,’ Verity went on as she got into her new bed.

‘Father doesn’t like to discuss it,’ said Mother, kissing her on the forehead.

‘Of course.’ Verity reflected that there were clearly any number of things Father didn’t like to discuss.

Verity wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke up. She sat upright, her heart beating jerkily.

She’d been dreaming. About the Keeper of the Wind. No. She’d been dreaming she
was
the Keeper of the Wind. And that everyone she met was charmed by her. It was wonderful. She was so popular and pretty, funny and charming. She had beautiful clothes, went to fascinating
parties, and everyone wanted to be her friend. But after a while it … well, it was boring. No one ever seemed to disagree with her. No one dared.

Until eventually she started doing whatever she chose, to see if anyone would stop her. Until she found herself stealing anything she took a liking to. Until she killed at will. Until she took newborn children and drank their blood to make herself younger … That was when Verity had woken up.

She slipped out of bed.
It was just a dream
, she reminded herself.
It’s just a book
. Standing at the window, she opened the curtains. The full moon was high in the clear night sky. Staring down at the street, Verity was astonished to see a tall boy with long chestnut hair and bright green eyes slowly walking under a lamppost on the opposite pavement.

As if sensing her stare, he looked up. His eyes locked with hers. Unaccountably embarrassed, her cheeks flushed pink and she hurriedly moved away from the window.

But Jeb Tempest – grandson of Isaac – was not making a detour past the Gallant house by accident.
So she’s moved into the room with the sea view already. That was quick work
, he thought to himself. Above him in the clear night sky, a patch of dark grey cloud scowled down. In the gutter, little eddies of leaves swirled in the brisk wind.

When dawn broke the next day, it was as if the
Storm
’s arrival had cleansed Wellow, making it afresh. A mild autumn sun shone across the water, lending a sparkle to the gentle ripples. Many in the town would be making their way to the harbour. And Verity was to be among them, as it was the day of her mother’s long-planned shopping trip, which meant a short ride on the ferry to the next large town of Niton.

Her head still raced with the events of the previous night. In the rose-patterned sanctuary of her new room, her mind played back once more the arrival of that great ship. In an instant she was up on the downs again, her head filled with the smell of sea water, her body drenched with rain. But each recollection was interrupted by an unwelcome memory of the other – less agreeable – arrival. Verity sighed.

Downstairs she heard Mother flitting about while Poppy got ready. Verity hid under the bedcovers with her red leather-bound book, unwilling yet to yield to the fuss of
being pulled, primped and tweaked into her best outfit. She knew better than to hope for anything other than sensible clothes today. But at least they would also be looking at sailing kit for the school match, which would surely be more exciting.

Verity flicked absent-mindedly through the pages of her book, darting from one story to another. She frowned as she ran a finger along a line of text and remembered her nightmare.

Mother would say that if it gave her bad dreams she should stop reading it. Verity frowned and gripped the cover a little tighter. She didn’t want to. Besides, it was just a book.

‘Verity.’ Her mother’s voice rang through the covers.
‘Please hurry up.’ She sounded cross. Verity pushed her prized possession down to the foot of the bed and got up.

‘Won’t this be nice?’ said Mother as Verity sat down to breakfast. ‘Our first outing with your grandmother.’ Now recovered from the surprise, Mrs Gallant supposed there was nothing to do but adjust to the sudden arrival of her husband’s stepmother. She had always been good at adapting to change without asking too many questions.

Their guest appeared silently and suddenly at the door. ‘Up at last, little Verity,’ she said, pinching Verity’s cheek just a touch too hard. Verity unconsciously rubbed it with her sleeve.

Mr Gallant followed her into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot and saying nothing. As he sat down, his hand swatted at something which Verity could not see – it must have been a fly buzzing around his head. He looked dishevelled, as if he hadn’t slept very well.

‘Father, you’re back,’ said Verity, pleased to see him. ‘Good morning.’

Mr Gallant looked up, as if only just noticing her presence. ‘Certainly,’ he agreed – the single word seemed to require a great effort. ‘Certainly it’s a good morning.’

Verity looked at him carefully. He was always a little distracted. But still, he seemed even more … distant. ‘Mother wasn’t sure where you were last night,’ she said carefully. Questions were always frowned upon in
the Gallant household, but she longed to know why Father had disappeared just as their mysterious guest arrived.

‘I was out,’ said Mr Gallant slowly.

Verity looked puzzled. It was almost as if he weren’t quite aware who she was. ‘I see,’ she said, even though absolutely nothing was clear to her.

‘Good, good …’ muttered Mr Gallant, rubbing his legs and shaking his head.

Despite Verity’s concerns about her father’s behaviour, in truth, her main thought that morning was of seeing the
Storm
once more. By the time they got to the quay the ship had already drawn a sizeable crowd of visitors enjoying the weak autumn sunshine. An enterprising boat owner was even charging for short trips around the vessel itself. Less adventurous folk could pay to take part in a guided walk along the water’s edge.

Lost in her own little world, Verity followed automatically behind Mother, Grandmother and Poppy as they headed for the ferry, completely unaware that she was surrounded by people who had a vested interest in her future and that of the
Storm
.

Families with infants milled about near the jetties, while older couples sat in companionable silence with their sandwiches and binoculars. Bigger children darted through the crowd with their friends. And on the lips of all were speculations and guesses as to why the great ship had returned to Wellow after so long.

A row of dinghies was moored in a line near the quay. In one particularly aged bucket sat Jeb Tempest and his grandfather. Gazing at the
Storm
, Isaac packed his pipe with a new wad of vanilla tobacco.

‘Just as impressive today as she ever were,’ he mused. ‘The Mistress always did have exquisite taste.’

Jeb tutted in reply.

Gazing across the harbour, Verity started slightly at the sight of the strange boy who had been outside her house last night. Standing up in his rowing boat, he mockingly saluted in her direction. Verity was astounded – was it aimed at
her
?

Then she glanced up at Grandmother – and jumped in fright. The old lady was so angry she looked like a completely different person. Her previously elegant face was distorted with fury. Verity was terrified. She’d never seen anyone change so dramatically. So it was Grandmother the boy was signalling to … Now Verity was even more confused. Did that mean he
knew
her …?

‘Pipe down.’
Isaac Tempest pulled Jeb firmly back into his seat on the dinghy. Jeb glowered but didn’t argue. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from such bravado,’ his grandfather said firmly.

‘I’m not scared,’ muttered Jeb defiantly.

‘Well, you should be,’ said Isaac. Changing the subject, he nudged his grandson to look in the direction of the quay. ‘See there: Captain Abednego making his way to the Spyglass, if I’m not mistaken.’

Jeb followed Isaac’s nod to find the dark giant. Abednego carried his powerful frame with an agile grace that seemed only to emphasize his strength. Ignoring the furtive glances and whispered comments, he expertly tied his boat to the town jetty and made his way across Wellow quay to the famous Spyglass Inn, pausing only to stare openly at the lone Preventative Officer who was happily making his way through the crowd.

Jasper Cutgrass had only just started working his way through the files of the Town Records Bureau, but he was certain that being in Wellow itself would bring him closer to the truth. For Jasper was a man obsessed. His sole preoccupation since he was a child had been the mythical technologies attributed to those smuggling villains, the Gentry. Wellow had so many records and documents he’d never seen before. He was positive the Gentry’s paper trail would reveal what he sought.

Meanwhile he couldn’t resist taking a few minutes out to see for himself the characters so familiar to him from the scandal sheets, articles and papers he had pored over during his long years of research.

There – closer still than his first glimpse last night – was Abednego. Jasper had seen drawings of the famed captain, read descriptions and imagined him for himself. But now he was just yards away, truly larger than life.

And Isaac Tempest – sitting in that boat with a young lad. The notorious Isaac Tempest: charmer, rogue, astute
businessman … and former leading light of the Gentry. So it was true, he really
was
still alive.

For a second everything went black as a gigantically obese woman smacked head-on into his chest, winding him completely. ‘Mind where yer going,’ she snapped aggressively. A young man with a very unpleasant odour stepped around him.

Oblivious to the pain, Jasper hugged himself with excitement. That had to be two of the Usages. The unique combination of facial features was a clear giveaway. Jasper’s face – so unreadable – betrayed nothing, but inside he was a maelstrom of emotion. Wellow was more than he could ever have hoped for. Soon, he knew, he would find out who had made the precious Gentry device that he kept in the bag at his side.

Villainous hurried to catch up as his mother continued to shove and push her way through the crowd.

‘What the hell’s a customs man doing in Wellow?’ she spat. Through the crowd she sighted her quarry. Abednego was on the other side of the quay, heading from the Spyglass to the jetty. There could be no mistaking the dark Goliath.

As he followed his mother, the youngest Usage noticed that Abednego was lost in thought. Perhaps it was his imagination, but there seemed to be something in his bearing that spoke of loss. And fear.

Villainous said nothing to Mother Usage, of course. Anything that didn’t concern her was meaningless to her.
Furiously she barged her way through the gawping strangers and their squawking children, seething with impatience. At last she came within snatching distance of her prey.

Mother Usage was a whale of a woman; a corpulent hulk of flesh so big your first thought was to wonder how much she ate in order to maintain that kind of weight; so large all you could do was stare in amazement. Not for too long though. Because a walking stick in the face is likely to hurt.

Extending a pudgy hand, she grabbed one of Abednego’s immense arms, her pale, doughy fingers gripping the carved ebony of his muscle in a surprisingly vice-like hold. The noise level dimmed noticeably as, all around Mother Usage and Abednego, the crowd fell silent.

Abednego’s reputation had preceded him for so long that there were few places in the world it hadn’t reached, and Wellow certainly wasn’t one of them. There were those who said that his air of serenity was the jaded response to a lifetime’s violence. There were those who said he had seen things that would leave lesser men witless. There were those who said that he and his crew were the very devil and his demons. But there were none who said that he should be treated lightly.