Mistress of the Storm (7 page)

Abednego stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to look down at whatever was impeding his progress.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Mother Usage simpered in what she believed was a winning way.

Abednego continued to stare, his handsome face impassive and still.

‘I did but notice you across the way,’ she continued, ‘and I said to my son, “Why, we must introduce ourselves” – didn’t I, Villainous?’

Villainous nodded mutely, his face uplifted towards the legendary smuggler.

‘I am the widow Mother Usage of the Usage family,’ she continued, undaunted. ‘The Usages – of the Gentry, sir,’ she prompted in response to Abednego’s silence.

As he stood there on the quay – like Gulliver being held by one very overweight Lilliputian – the solidity of Abednego’s presence was at odds with his inability to drag his mind back to the here and now.

Finally he spoke – he must continue as usual, he reminded himself. ‘I am not here on business.’

For many it would have been enough that Abednego could see her true purpose as if it were written on her face, but Mother was not to be put off that easily. Continuing in her best voice, she playfully pushed her other hand against Abednego’s chest. He looked down at the place she had touched.

‘Come now,’ she persisted, determined to keep the conversation going at least. ‘I was just saying hello.’

A hush of breaths being held. Abednego’s expression still didn’t change. ‘There is nothing to be gained from a conversation with me.’

Mother’s temper started to fray. ‘I can always try other options,’ she said, with an edge.

‘You will find that unfruitful,’ Abednego replied. The conversation was at an end. Loosening Mother’s grip on his arm, he continued on his way, and this time there was no stopping him.

Around them rose up a hubbub of the ‘did-you-see?’ variety. Staring angrily after the disappearing Abednego, Mother Usage cursed and spat while Villainous moved anxiously from one foot to the other. ‘He’ll be sorry for that,’ she said venomously.

Boarding the ferry after Poppy, Verity gazed with interest at the crowd gathered around the captain of the
Storm
and a woman so large she must have weighed even more than him.

‘Come on, come on.’ Verity steadied herself as she was nudged to one side by a portly man in very unflattering yellow trousers. ‘We’ll have just as good a view from here. Far cheaper, and you get a wonderful flavour of the local experience,’ he said importantly, ushering others onto the boat. Brandishing a pamphlet, he loudly instructed his party on where to sit. ‘Not there, Torquil. I find there’s a better view from the starboard side.’

Shuffling politely around the central locker, the passengers arranged themselves on the benches in two tightly packed rows.

The ferryman stood on the gunwale with careless ease as
he cast off. It was a beautiful autumn morning. Verity took a deep breath and turned her face into the wind as the boat gathered speed. She gazed inland at the town – at the alleys and courtyards that could only be spotted from the sea. She was used to living near the sea and seeing boats, but being
in
one was a rare occurrence. Would the sailing match tomorrow be any more fun?

‘Two hundred and twenty-five feet long, this fine craft was made from approximately six thousand oak trees – that’s nearly forty hectares of woodland,’ brayed Yellow Trousers, reading authoritatively from his pamphlet as they picked up speed.

Looking out to sea, Verity realized he was talking about the
Storm
. And to be fair, he was right: taking the ferry gave you a very good view of the vessel.

The ferryman did his bit by taking them a little out of his way to see the
Storm
from close to. She was certainly handsome.

‘Her main mast is over three hundred feet tall and her rigging comprises a total of twenty-six miles of cordage,’ Yellow Trousers continued, getting into his stride now. ‘Requiring over forty crew members, she carries a hundred and sixty guns – purely for show now, of course – weighing just over twelve tons in total, and has an astonishing top speed of twenty knots. Note also the fine craftsmanship on the stern lantern – quite masterful. Other features of interest include the ship’s bell, which is said to have been cast in Padua by the famous bellmaker Maria Pianissimo.’

Verity gazed up at the protruding cannon and pictured herself roaming the open seas in search of adventure.

‘Carrying seven anchors, she can store up to six months worth of food …’ continued Yellow Trousers in the background.

Drawing closer, they moved along the ship’s vast hull towards the prow, until the figurehead came into view at last.

‘… binnacle for the compasses … leather buckets of water or sand in case of fire … skylight for the dining room …’

Verity continued with her daydreaming, halfway around the world by now.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Yellow Trousers trumpeted, ‘do not neglect to admire the famed figurehead of this grand ship, the
Storm.
’

‘The
Storm
is coming …’ whispered Verity, thinking of her strange encounter with Abednego and wishing desperately she knew why he had given her the red leather-bound book. On the opposite side of the ferry, Grandmother’s head snapped up and her pale blue eyes stared straight into Verity’s. Fear coursed through Verity like a bolt of lightning. Petrified, she switched her gaze to the
Storm
herself.

The florid livery of the
Storm
’s name was right above her now. The ship’s vast figurehead stared out at the open sea. Fierce and wild, with long black hair, she looked even more frightening when you saw that she only had
one eye. Where the other had been was just a gaping socket.

‘The right eye has been missing for a very long time,’ Yellow Trousers was saying, ‘rumoured to have been removed by a drunken crew member as a prank and then confiscated by the captain.’

Leaning over the rail, a swarthy crew member looked down on the ferry passengers. He was dressed flamboyantly in a white shirt, emerald waistcoat and vivid red scarf. His ears were pierced with gold. Catching sight of Verity, he winked. She blushed and looked away as he laughed at her discomfiture.

Verity and Poppy followed their mother and grandmother past the latticed windows of the townhouses in Niton’s main street. Several hours had passed, and Mrs Gallant had finally reached the end of her shopping list. Verity was now well provided with white cotton vests, hard-wearing skirts and practical jumpers. Poppy was happily swinging a bag that contained a very pretty little cardigan that had not come in Verity’s size.

‘Just time for a pot of tea before we go home,’ Mother announced with a happy sense of accomplishment. She’d forgotten how tiring it was being pregnant.

‘What a good idea,’ agreed Grandmother, patting her daughter-in-law sympathetically with a kid-gloved hand. ‘I’m sure you could do with a rest.’

Mother smiled politely and shifted the large collection of bags she was carrying from one hand to the other in an effort to ease the strain.

Verity stared anxiously at her. ‘Were you planning to look for sailing kit on the way back?’ she asked hesitantly. Her mother looked blank.

‘
Sailing
kit?’ Grandmother laughed scornfully. ‘
You
are going sailing?’

‘For the school match tomorrow,’ Verity prompted. ‘We talked about it the other day.’

‘Oh. Of course.’ Mrs Gallant was temporarily discomfited: it had completely slipped her mind. ‘Well’ – she put down the shopping – ‘let’s see now – what will you need?’ Ticking off the items on her fingers as she went, she ran through a quick inventory. ‘A pair of cotton trousers – you have plenty at home; a plain vest and top – again at home; a practical mac – you can borrow mine; and socks … There,’ she finished triumphantly. ‘We have all we require.’

Verity said nothing. She hadn’t been expecting a completely new kit, but Mother’s suggested mish-mash of items sounded like just the sort of thing her fellow pupils loved to laugh at.

‘It’s not as if you’re going to take up sailing full time, is it?’ Mrs Gallant smiled brightly.

‘Quite right, Felicity,’ Grandmother agreed, turning to smile nastily at Verity. ‘I should find another hobby if I were you. Something that’s a little easier to master.’

Verity bit her lip. ‘I’m still going to need deck shoes,’ she said quietly. Mother was obviously keen to avoid any further shopping, but she couldn’t see how she would manage without them.

Poppy stepped in to defend her sister. ‘That’s right,’ she said, beaming winningly at her mother and grandmother.

‘Verity absolutely needs them. She’ll damage the wood of the dinghy otherwise. Which wouldn’t look good at all, would it, Verity?’ Verity shook her head earnestly in thankful agreement.

Mrs Gallant sighed quietly. She looked across the street. Inspiration struck. ‘Joliffe’s,’ she announced. ‘Joliffe’s will have something – and they’re right here.’

Verity hesitated. She did love Mrs Joliffe’s shoe shop. It was such a beautiful art deco building, with a curved walnut staircase and an intricately tiled entrance. But most of the stock seemed to be left over from the same era.

Mother sensed Verity’s doubt and overrode it. ‘There’s nothing for it, Verity. Joliffe’s will have to do.’

‘Goodness me.’ Mrs Joliffe smiled kindly as she took Verity’s foot out of the measuring device. ‘Up another size.’

‘What a shame,’ said Grandmother. ‘Delicate feet are such an asset to a young girl, I have always found.’ Verity wondered if it was also a blessing to be really good at making hurtful personal comments.

Mrs Joliffe returned with two rather faded pairs of deck shoes for Verity to try on. Even to Verity’s untutored eye they looked old-fashioned.

‘Do you have anything newer at all?’ she asked hopefully.

Grandmother had been watching her silently for the last few minutes. Something appeared to be on her mind. ‘Little Verity wants a pair of shoes that will help her look the part,’ she said suddenly.

A small flame of hope lit up in Verity. ‘That would be quite nice,’ she admitted.

Casting her eye around the shop, the old lady gazed up the high shelves, where piles of boxes were stacked on top of each other. ‘That pair,’ she said, with astonishing eyesight for someone of her age. ‘Aren’t they in Verity’s size?’

Mrs Joliffe looked at the dusty box indicated. ‘Those styles would probably be a little out of date,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Nonsense,’ said Grandmother. ‘The picture looks quite charming to me.’

Verity was astonished – even she couldn’t see the illustration from this distance.

‘Well, there can’t be any harm in trying them on,’ said Mrs Gallant as Mrs Joliffe fetched them down.

Verity gazed in horror as they emerged from their box. They looked like something that might have been constructed by someone who had never seen shoes before and had only read a description of a moccasin in a hurry. In fact, they looked more like a pair of leather Cornish pasties than an item of footwear.

‘They’re not very flattering,’ said Verity quietly as she tried them on. Just looking at them made her stomach shrink with fear at the shrieks of laughter they would provoke.

Mrs Joliffe started to take them off and pack them away. ‘Not what a young thing like you wants, are they?’ She smiled reassuringly at Verity.

‘But what is wrong?’ demanded Grandmother, putting a hand on the box.

‘I think I might prefer one of the other styles,’ said Verity with a careful smile.

‘They seem perfect to me,’ snapped Grandmother. ‘I have to admit I find it quite hurtful …’ she continued with a little quaver in her voice. ‘My first day as a guest and already my advice is unwanted.’

Verity stared in disbelief. Why was Grandmother so determined that she should have these hideous shoes?

‘Not unwanted,’ said Mrs Gallant hurriedly. ‘No, I was just about to say that they’ll be really quite practical. Won’t they, Verity?’

Verity looked at her with alarm. ‘Mother, I’m not sure I want them,’ she said at last.

‘I don’t think they suit Verity,’ Poppy agreed supportively.

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Gallant, who had seen the determined glint in her mother-in-law’s eye and was anxious to avoid a scene. ‘They’ll be fine.’

Turning to Mrs Joliffe, she smiled and handed over the objects of dispute. ‘We’ll take them,’ she said.

That afternoon Verity made her usual trip to the library, books in hand. In truth she’d been pleased to get away. Grandmother had been there less than a day, but already Verity felt her presence in the house like a physical weight.

‘Verity,’
a lone voice shouted as she reached the top of
the undercliff path again. She looked up with a grin to see the unmistakable figure of Henry – wrapped in a woolly hat, scarf and gloves – waving in her direction.

‘How was your morning?’ he asked.

Verity’s heart sank at the very thought of it. ‘Awful,’ she said. Then, remembering that Henry didn’t know, added, ‘My grandmother arrived unexpectedly last night.’ She realized that the latter wasn’t any explanation of the former, but in a way it was.

‘You don’t get on well then?’ asked Henry. ‘Can’t please everyone in your family,’ he added philosophically. ‘Bitter experience has taught me that.’

‘I’ve never met her before,’ said Verity, not quite able to believe the strange train of events herself. ‘Mother says she’s the wife of father’s father, but they’ve never mentioned her. She just appeared on our doorstep. I don’t think Mother has met her before either.’

Henry looked surprised. ‘That
is
unusual – even by the standards of elderly relatives. What’s she like?’

Verity considered this point. ‘I’m not too sure yet. She seems a bit …’ She paused, trying to think of the right word. ‘She sort of demanded my bedroom,’ she said eventually.

‘I hate that,’ Henry sympathized. ‘Every time anyone comes to stay I’m always first to be booted out of my bed and put on the rubbish camp-bed downstairs and it’s—’ But before he could continue with a theme that was clearly very dear to his heart, Verity remembered the conversation that had been cut short at Alice’s house.