Mistress of the Storm (14 page)

‘He completely ignored me,’ said Verity, turning back to Henry in exasperation.

He had finally managed to catch up with her. ‘I told you the Tempests are peculiar,’ he said. ‘Come on. Let’s go home.’

*   *   *

Jeb continued striding towards the Spyglass Inn, cursing himself. He hadn’t expected the Gallant girl to come running up to him – all windblown hair and pink cheeks – asking questions about her grandmother like that. Especially with the Twogood nipper standing there looking so snotty. It had completely thrown him.

On the other side of Wellow, Villainous Usage was also discomposed. He sat quietly in the corner of the room as Mother took a fourth bun from the paper bag she was holding and bit into it angrily. This last week he’d found that keeping quiet was the safest option.

Villainous couldn’t make head nor tail of it. He knew from Mother – and any number of Spyglass regulars – that the glory days of wrecking, led by his father, had yielded easy money. Now the
Storm
was back in Wellow there should have been no obstacle. And yet every usual avenue of opportunity they tried had been unexpectedly or mysteriously cut off. The great ship was there, right there to be seen, anchored at sea. The
Lady Georgia
was due any day: an entire packet ship which they knew for sure carried an extraordinary cargo of gold bullion. And still no way of driving her onto the rocks.

Mother’s mood was not improved at present by the unexpected visitor standing in front of her. Jasper Cutgrass continued with his unfruitful enquiries. He paused for a few seconds before speaking. Jasper
always
paused for a few
seconds before speaking. It was one of the characteristics that divided opinion on him so fiercely.

‘It does seem surprising to me,’ he said, ‘that the
Storm
should be in Wellow and yet a family of the Usages’ heritage is unable to board.’

‘To both of us, sir,’ Mother snapped angrily. Could he have phrased a question that would aggravate her more?

Jasper sighed and went over to the tiny dirty window, gazing out. Villainous stared mutely at their peculiar guest as he gingerly swapped the strap of his custom-made canvas bag from one shoulder to the other. Villainous was good at watching people. He got a lot of time for it in the company of Mother, who discouraged unsolicited conversation. Jasper adjusted the bag to sit more snugly against his hip, moving it carefully – as if his life depended on it.

‘The, er,
device
your husband commissioned …’ he began, getting back to the real reason for his visit.

This was too much for Mother. What little patience she had dissolved. ‘If we had it still, do you think I’d be sat here talking to you when there’s cargo I could be claiming?’ she spat.

Jasper decided to put this comment down to the famous Gentry sense of humour. ‘Ha,’ he laughed cautiously. ‘Well, quite.’

Mother hauled herself out of her chair and lumbered over to look her unwelcome guest squarely in the eye. ‘Whatever you’re looking for,’ she snarled, flecks of angry
spittle flying as she spoke, ‘you en’t gettin’ any ’elp from me. So I suggest you ’op it.’

Jasper’s eyes widened. Her breath alone was quite terrifying. Questioning the Usages had been a long shot, he knew, but even he could sense it was time to leave now.

We all need to feel we belong somewhere, so it was not particularly surprising that as Verity became less comfortable in her own home, she grew fonder of Henry’s. And since it seemed clear that Verity’s grandmother had been trying to keep them apart, both Verity and Henry were all the more inclined to stick together like glue.

The
Storm
remained anchored at sea: a dark and brooding presence lodged just outside the remote little town. The circumstances of her return were nothing like the tales of her halcyon days. It was if she were waiting.

Verity couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something unusual about recent events. But Henry was not likely to abandon a lifetime of believing that there is a logical explanation for any phenomenon. Instead he focused on taking her mind off things. Which was easier at some times than at others.

‘Verity, no one goes sailing in the winter. It’s too cold,’ he
grumbled as they pushed
Poor Honesty
down the shingle beach.

‘It’s a lovely day,’ she said.

Henry sighed and decided it was easier to keep pushing the dinghy. They’d had this debate many times now and he never won. Though he had to admit that the weather
was
lovely. The air was crisp and cold. The sky was icy blue and the sun was shining low and dazzling.

‘Well, I’m not casting off.’ It was an admission of defeat.

‘That’s fine,’ said Verity, cheerfully taking off her socks and shoes. ‘Hop in.’

Watching her hold the rudder in place, then jump deftly into the boat, Henry thought how quickly she’d taken to sailing. She really was a natural. It never seemed to matter how choppy the sea got, or how fast the wind blew, Verity just enjoyed the thrill all the more. And her technique was good too. Whenever you explained something to her, she listened very intently and then did precisely what you’d told her to.

Out here on the open sea, she seemed so different to the solemn little girl who turned up at Priory Bay each day. Henry decided not to ask her how life was at home. He knew what the answer would be. ‘Still no sign of Alice?’ he said instead.

Verity pulled a face that indicated not. There had been neither sight nor sound of her since she had dropped them both off at the club for the tactics session, and rather mysteriously mentioned that she would be ‘going away’.

‘I wonder where she is,’ mused Henry.

Verity said nothing. Obviously Alice was free to come and go as she pleased, but Verity couldn’t help feeling a little abandoned by the friend who had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember.

Henry nudged her, nodding towards the horizon. ‘Here’s trouble,’ he said. ‘That’s the Blakes’ dinghy.’

Verity’s heart sank as she recognized the diminutive figure of Miranda heading straight for them.

‘An entire channel to sail through,’ said Henry, ‘and we bump into her.’

Henry started to steer away from the other dinghy, but Miranda was too fast for him. Anticipating his move, she sliced in front of
Poor Honesty
. He swore and went head to wind.

‘Gallant,’ Miranda cooed across the water. ‘Spending time with your little friend?’ Verity said nothing. ‘What a practical outfit,’ the venomous girl added with a smirk. ‘Another classic combination …’

Verity glanced down at Henry’s loaned deck shoes, Mother’s trousers and a moth-eaten jumper she’d rescued from the jumble. Inside she shrank with shame.

‘Back off, Blake,’ barked Henry angrily.

Miranda watched them for a second. ‘How sweet,’ she lisped as she manoeuvred her boat away. ‘Always there to defend you, isn’t he?’

‘Poisonous shrimp,’ said Henry contemptuously as Miranda’s smirking face receded into the distance.

Verity smiled, but in her heart of hearts she knew Miranda was right. As her mother was always saying, she looked like a sack of potatoes tied in the middle. A really sensible, quite lumpy sack.

‘You should know better, Henry,’ Mrs Twogood scolded as she vigorously towel-dried Verity’s hair.

Verity stood in the middle of the room, enjoying the fragrant warmth of the wood-burner after the icy cold of outside. Sitting in an armchair, only Henry could see her mischievous grin as she was buffeted about by his mother’s determination to remove every last drop of moisture.

‘Encouraging young Verity to catch her death on that blessed boat.’

‘It was quite a nice day,’ said Henry mildly as he bit into another slice of hot buttered toast.

‘That’s not the point,’ said Mrs Twogood, picking up a brush with which to drag Verity’s hair into submission. ‘Nice young girls like Verity aren’t as hardy as you boys. You need to think on that.’

Verity winced as the bristles made their way through her unruly locks.

‘There you go, my love. Finished at last.’ Mrs Twogood smiled. ‘How about another pot of tea?’ Not waiting for the answer, she disappeared into the kitchen.

‘Hair-brushing hurt, did it?’ asked Henry.

‘A bit,’ admitted Verity.

‘Good,’ he said, taking the last slice of toast.

‘Backgammon?’ she suggested.

They played by the Twogoods’ sitting-room fire. Around them and over their heads raged a heated battle about Percy’s cricket bat, with regard to current whereabouts (unknown), last previous sightings (in Will’s possession) and Will’s ability to comprehend the concept of ownership (brought into doubt by Percy).

Henry took his last piece off the board. ‘Three all,’ he crowed victoriously.

Verity frowned. ‘Why do you think Wellow in particular was home to the Gentry?’ she asked, returning to her favourite topic of conversation.

Henry pulled a face. Verity’s obsession with the Gentry and her grandfather was relentless.

‘Isolated places have always been ideal for smuggling,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Once the government imposes high taxes, you’re guaranteed to find someone who’s prepared to smuggle goods.’

‘I found a section on Gentry shanties today,’ said Verity, setting out the counters for a new game. (She didn’t have to ask – she knew Henry would want a re-match.) ‘They’re quite gruesome – listen to this one. She fished a book out of her school bag and read out the scribbled notes:

She laughed. ‘Isn’t that horrible?’

Henry rolled his eyes, shaking a dice to start. ‘It’s a song,’ he said, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘They made up mumbo jumbo like that to frighten people. They used violence and intimidation to get their own way, and now you’re perpetuating it.’

Percy looked up from his current task of attempting to stuff a struggling Will head-first down the side of an armchair. ‘Are you
still
going on about the blasted Gentry?’ he asked Verity in mock indignation. ‘Good lord, girl, if our father could hear you. They were a bunch of wrong ’uns – that’s all you need to know.’

Verity giggled. She knew Henry and his dad disapproved of the Gentry, but to her they were thrilling: outrunning customs men on the high seas, travelling the world making deals, making up tall tales to keep people in line … it was captivating.

Returning home as late as she dared that afternoon, Verity closed the front door nervously, gripping the strange wooden ball for comfort. Since Grandmother had arrived she could never tell what kind of atmosphere she’d have to face, and she dreaded it. Usually it was best to slip unnoticed to her room, and read.

Poppy came bounding down the stairs. ‘There you are,’ she said, beaming. ‘You’ll never guess …’

Verity wondered what could have happened. A small flicker of hope lit in her stomach. Perhaps her grandmother had decided to leave?

‘Little Verity …’ Grandmother appeared silently in the hallway, a look of thinly concealed anger dancing across her features. ‘It appears you have a mysterious benefactor.’

Verity had no idea what she was talking about. The old lady leaned over and, with a single finger, closed her granddaughter’s jaw.

‘Do come and look.’ Grabbing her sister’s hand and pulling her up the stairs, Poppy opened the door of Verity’s room to reveal a gigantic brown leather trunk dominating the bed. ‘It just arrived,’ she breathed. ‘Isn’t it exciting?’

Verity stared at it. A label glued to the side announced that the contents were for Miss Verity Gallant’s personal attention only.

‘We’re all dying of curiosity. I for one am desperate to know what’s inside,’ chattered Poppy. ‘Quite lucky you came back now,’ she added more quietly. ‘I think Grandmother was about to investigate herself.’ Poppy giggled at her little joke.

Verity smiled wryly and reflected that her sister was probably closer to the truth than she realized.

‘Open it then,’ urged Poppy, scarcely able to contain herself.

Verity moved forward to undo the brass clasp. The
heavy lid swung open with a thud, restrained only by its inner straps. She pulled off the top layer of tissue. The two girls gasped. Piled into the copious trunk were layer upon layer of clothes, interlaced with tissue and other boxes, presumably containing smaller items.

Balancing on top of it all was a delicate pair of black patent shoes with a tiny embroidered flower on each outside heel. Verity picked them up in wonder. Inside one was a card.

‘With love from Alice,’
she read aloud. She smiled happily. Wherever she was, her old friend hadn’t forgotten her after all.

‘They’re
beautiful
,’ squealed Poppy excitedly. ‘Try them on.’

Verity placed the shoes carefully on the floor. They fitted exactly. Unable to stop herself, she beamed with joy. ‘They’re perfect.’

‘Look underneath,’ said Poppy, jumping up and down and giggling with anticipation.

Verity lifted out a gorgeous party dress in scarlet silk and held it against her waist. She could tell it was just the right size.

‘It’s divine. Here – step into it like
this.
’ Poppy bustled around, expertly guiding Verity into the stunning red creation, then leading her along to Mother’s bedroom mirror.

Verity stood in front of it, biting her bottom lip as her sister fussed and tweaked. Then she grinned. The dress was magical. And incredibly flattering.

‘You look lovely,’ Poppy clapped her hands happily and gave her a kiss.

Verity turned to glance anxiously at her. ‘Some of the clothes must be for you too …’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ called Poppy as she ran back into Verity’s bedroom. ‘Here,’ she said, carefully pulling off a layer of tissue to reveal a velvet-trimmed coat, then a kitten-soft cream scarf with matching gloves. ‘Try these next.’