Storm Child (10 page)

‘Oh… whatever shall I do?’ Polly
asked in a weak voice.

‘Come in,’ the woman replied
briskly.  She opened the door wider and Polly followed her into a small
kitchen.

A girl, perhaps a year or two
younger than Polly herself, looked up in some surprise from a book she was
reading.  Her face bore the unmistakable scars of recent illness but she
seemed to have a good colour and Polly decided quickly that whatever pox she
had suffered from was gone now.  Polly took in the contents of the room in
one swift, efficient glance.  There was bread, cheese and cake on the
table, but no meat, and a decent fire in the hearth.  A baby’s basket in
the corner of the room, but no sign of a baby…  A giggle caught her
attention and a dark haired toddler emerged from under the kitchen table.

‘Afternoon little un’…’ Polly
bent down to greet the child, instantly recognising her.

Immediately, the older girl swept
the baby into her arms and threw a questioning glance at the woman who had
answered the door. ‘Mother?’

‘This girl is lost and we can’t
let her stay out after dark.’

‘But –’ the older girl began to
argue but her mother held up a hand.

‘Have you forgotten already what
happened to you and Georgina?’

Polly watched them carefully.
Georgina
? 
It was a coincidence too far that the people who had taken her in had chosen to
call her by the same name as she actually owned. Or had Annie been in contact
with them? It could be the only explanation. Polly couldn’t help but be
impressed – Annie was a better liar than she had given her credit for. Polly
was also relieved that she didn’t need to stay any longer – she had all the
information she needed.

‘I’ll be on my way. I shouldn’t
have bothered you,’ she said.

‘Nonsense!’ The woman gave Polly
a warm smile.  ‘We’re a little unprepared for visitors but you are more
than welcome to stay the night and continue on your way in the safety of
daylight.’

Polly glanced out of the window.
‘But it’s still light now.’

‘Not for much longer. You’ll
certainly not make it back to
Uxmouth
before dark.’

‘But I have to get back tonight.
My uncle will be waiting for me.’

‘Then let us find someone to
escort you back.’ Even before Polly had time to reply, the woman was reaching
for a shawl from a wooden peg near the door.

‘Who will you find?’ Polly asked,
a note of real concern now creeping into her tone.  Quickly she came to
the conclusion that the nearest help was at the forge where she had waited for
the family to return home and if that was who Mrs Harding went to fetch,
Polly’s web of lies would collapse.

‘There’s a blacksmith’s forge not
far from here. Tom would be happy to escort you and keep you safe.’

‘No!’ Polly almost shouted. The
young girl clung to the baby tighter and peered closely at Polly with a curious
look. ‘Perhaps I could stay here, if it
ain’t
no
imposition,’ Polly added, getting her panic under control. ‘Uncle will likely
be in bed anyway so he won’t miss me.’

‘Not at all. You can be away at
first light, I promise.’  The woman turned to the girl. ‘Charlotte, would
you put the kettle on to boil while I find some blankets for…’ She turned to
Polly. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t know your name.’

‘It’s Celia.’

‘What a pretty name,’ the woman
smiled. ‘I’ll find some blankets for you. It will have to be a chair by the
fire I’m afraid, but we’ll make it as comfortable as we can.’

‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’
Polly gave her best curtsey. Politeness wasn’t something she practised very
often and it felt strange and awkward. But, it wouldn’t have to be for much
longer. If things went her way, she’d never have to be polite to anyone again
if she didn’t fancy to.

The woman swept out of the room
leaving Polly alone with the girl – Charlotte – and Georgina.

‘Lovely little thing,
ain’t
she?’ Polly said, bobbing her head at the baby.

Charlotte nodded shortly. 
She turned to pull the heavy kettle from the hearth, never letting go of the
child as she did so.  Taking advantage of the fact that she was
unobserved, Polly bolted for the door and yanked it open, tearing across the
heath.

She was almost out of earshot
before anyone had had time to call her back.

‘You’re sure it’s her?’ Ernesto asked, his eyes dancing with
dark menace.

‘Sure as I know my own nose,’
Polly said.

‘You’ve done well, my
beauty.  Things are moving, faster than you can imagine, and come
tomorrow, the empire will be a different place. We needed to find that baby and
you couldn’t have timed it better.’

Polly frowned. ‘What do you mean,
the empire will be a different place
?’

‘Because tomorrow the news will
be all over Her Majesty’s empire.’

‘What news? You
ain’t
makin
’ sense. About the
baby? She
ain’t
that special.’

‘No…’ Ernesto seemed about to
burst. He paused for a moment, obviously torn about whether to utter his next
sentence, but then seemed as though he couldn’t contain himself any
longer.  ‘The baby’s only part of it…’

‘What then?’

‘All in good time, my dear.
You’ll find out soon enough –’

Before he had finished his
sentence, the door to his study flew open and Isaac stood before them, eyes
wild and face pale.

‘Have you heard?’ he panted.
‘Queen Victoria’s only gone and got herself shot dead!’

Seventeen:

Instead of looking shocked, asking questions about the
facts, or indeed discussing them at all, Ernesto had simply shooed Polly and
Isaac from his study as soon as the news had been relayed, telling them that he
had a lot of work to do and that he didn’t want to be disturbed again that
night.  They had left quickly, but not before Ernesto had warned Isaac
that he would be needing his assistance early in the morning and a severe
beating was in order if Isaac wasn’t ready and waiting at the crack of dawn.

‘I’m famished,’ Polly said in a
bored voice as she closed the door behind them. ‘Who’s been
cookin
’
today, because if it was you an’ not Annie, it looks like burnt offerings is
the best I can hope for.’

‘Never mind that. What’s
goin
’ on?’ Isaac hissed as he followed her to the kitchen.

‘You seem to know more than me.’

‘Don’t it bother you that Her
Majesty is dead? What will we do now? We
ain’t
got no
monarch! Before we know it we’ll have a French king on the throne and all be
talking French! ’

‘Don’t
  be
such a dimwit. Where did you hear that?’

‘At the tavern when I heard the
news.’

Polly narrowed her eyes. ‘What
were you
doin
’ at the tavern?’

‘Nothing…’ Isaac bit back a
sheepish grin. ‘I got wind of a game, that’s all.’

‘You
ain’t
got
nothin
’ to wager. Besides, Ernesto would never
let you out without his say-so.’

‘Ah… you think you’re the only
one who can sneak out? Happen I did have
somethin
’ to
wager and happen I won.’ He showed her a handful of coins with a triumphant
grin.  ‘All for you, Poll.
Anythin
’ you want,
I’ll buy you.’

Polly peered at the coins and
grimaced. ‘Whatever that will buy I don’t want. Is that the best you can do?’

Isaac’s grin slipped. He shoved
the money back into his pocket. ‘It don’t matter anyway. Before long English
coins’ll
be no use and we’ll need Francs.’

Polly rolled her eyes. ‘Not that again.’

‘But who will take the throne?
Don’t you understand, Queen Victoria is
dead!
’ 

‘She got plenty of nippers to
take her throne. Too many if you ask me.’

‘None of them will run the empire
like Her Majesty though.’

‘Whether they will or whether
they won’t, I don’t care.’

‘Why not?’

 Polly rested her hands on
her hips. ‘Don’t make a difference to me. I was poor with her alive, and I’ll
be poor with her dead. French, English… whoever takes the throne I’ll be poor
with them an’ all.  All that don’t mean a stuff and the only person who
will ever look after me is me.’

‘But
everythin
’
is going to change now,’ Isaac said, brushing a hand through his fringe, his
voice rising.

Polly stopped and stared hard at
Isaac. ‘Not for us.’

Before he had time to reply she
had started to walk again.  Isaac caught up as she detoured to the larder.

‘I think I’ll have some o’ that
lovely salted pork,’ she said in a sing-song voice as she inspected the
shelves.

‘
Ern’ll
skin you alive if you take that!’

‘Not today he won’t.’

Isaac grabbed her arm and spun
her to face him. For a moment she looked shocked by the violence of the
action.  ‘Ernesto didn’t care
either that Her Majesty is
dead, and
he ought to.’

‘Why should he care? What’s she
ever done for ‘
im
?’

‘Because he’s an adult and adults
care about things like that.  More important, never mind where I’ve been,
where have you been all day and why do you look like the cat who got the
biggest bowl of cream?’

‘You’ll find out tomorrow
morning.’

‘Tell me now, Poll!’

Polly met his demanding gaze with
a steely glare. ‘You leave me alone! I
ain’t
tellin
’ you anything!’

Isaac rubbed a hand through his
hair and took a deep breath. ‘I
ain’t
trying to hurt
you, Poll, he said, his voice softer, ‘I’m
tryin
’ to
look out for you.’

Polly tossed her hair back with
an imperious look. ‘I don’t need you to look out for me. I don’t need anyone.
One day I’ll be mistress of this house, you’ll see.’

‘I know,’ Isaac said quietly.
‘That’s what scares me.’

‘Where’s Annie?’ Polly asked,
ignoring the sudden melancholy that seemed to have settled over him.

‘Cleaning the parlour.’

Polly turned back to the shelves
of food without reply.  As far as she was concerned, the less she saw of
Annie the easier the evening would be. If she hadn’t known better, she would
have put the feeling down to a guilty conscience.

Dawn struggled in through the grimy windows of Isaac’s room.
He woke to find Annie shaking him gently.

‘Isaac,’ she whispered, ‘you got
to get up.’ He turned his back on her, settling into his covers. ‘Dr Black
wants you,’ Annie insisted.  ‘Right now.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he
mumbled.

The sound of heavy footsteps came
from the stairs and a moment later, Ernesto stood at the doorway of the
bedroom.  Annie shrank back, and then scurried away. Isaac turned just in
time to see Ernesto raise the bucket. The next minute, Isaac and his bed were
drenched in icy water.

‘Get up!’

Shivering, Isaac ran a hand down
his face, gasping for the breath that the cold had stolen from his lungs. 
Before he’d had time to reply, Ernesto was already heading for the stairs.

Annie’s anxious face appeared at
the doorway. ‘Sorry… I could try to dry it for you. I can’t promise in this
weather it’ll be much better though.’

Isaac gave her a tight smile.
‘Thanks Annie. Don’t feel bad, you did try to wake me.’

‘That weren’t no reason to throw
water on you,’ Annie whispered, glancing behind her.

‘I’d sooner a bucket of water
than his boot up my backside.’

Less than ten minutes later, Isaac was standing in Ernesto’s
study, his hair still wet.

‘Go and ready the horse. We’re
taking the trap today – we have business to attend to.’

‘Where we
goin
’?’
Isaac asked.

‘You don’t ask questions.’ Isaac
hesitated for a moment. ‘What are you waiting for, boy? I gave you an
instruction.’

Isaac turned on his heel and
marched from the room scowling.  Polly met him in the hallway.

‘What’s
eatin
’
you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Don’t look like nothing.’

‘Some people should realise that
we’re all growing older and one day the dog will bite his master, that’s all.’

‘Ah,’ Polly replied shrewdly.
‘Old Ern wants you to go with him on errands today.’

‘He only needed to ask instead of
soaking my bed.’ Polly bit back a grin. ‘It
ain’t
funny,’ Isaac huffed. ‘If you think it’s funny, see how funny it is when I take
your bed tonight.’

‘You’d never do that to me,’
Polly said carelessly.  ‘You got time for breakfast?’

‘No. His Lordship wants to go
now.’

‘Didn’t think so.’ Polly produced
a plate from behind her back. ‘I got you some bread and butter to eat while you
get Chester ready.’

Isaac couldn’t help the smile
that spread across his face. ‘Ta, Poll.’

‘Don’t get any funny ideas that I
like you or anything…’ she paused, biting back a smile of her own. ‘You know
how you got them winnings from the tavern… maybe I’ll let you take me out for a
pie when you get back from your errands.’

‘What about Ernesto?’

Polly tapped her apron pocket.
‘What he don’t know won’t hurt, will it?’

Isaac’s smile became even wider
as he watched her walk away.

By the time they were on the road, a weak sun had
risen.  Ernesto drove the trap, Isaac sitting silently by his side,
hugging himself for warmth.  Where Ernesto had a thick woollen overcoat
and leather gloves to fend off the early frost, the cold was biting through
Isaac’s thin clothes, and his damp hair wasn’t helping him feel any
better.  Steam rose from the back of Chester in soft clouds as he
clip-clopped on the deserted
Uxmouth
road. Isaac
wondered whether Ernesto had business with a trader there, or perhaps he was on
the way to buy another unfortunate child from the orphanage, but he couldn’t
imagine why his guardian would need him in attendance for either of those
things.  That wasn’t the only reason Isaac was jittery. It was only a few
days before that he had been locked in a jail in
Uxmouth
and his face would still be fresh in the minds of the officers responsible,
particularly for the manner of his escape.  He wasn’t keen on the idea of
being locked up again.

Ernesto scanned the landscape
intently as he drove the cart. After a couple of hours he pulled Chester to a
halt and stared at the small white point of a house on the heath, further
behind which could be seen the distant rooftops of a village.

‘What are you
lookin
’
at?’ Isaac asked, his voice echoing across the frosted heath and sounding
strange in his own ears after their long silence on the deserted road.

‘It will shake the cart to bits
on this blasted countryside. I’ll have to leave it on the road and walk the
rest of the way.’

‘Rest of the way where?’ Isaac
looked at the house and then back at Ernesto. ‘That place?’

‘Stay with the horse.’ Ernesto
jumped down from the cart. Without looking back once, he strode across the
undergrowth towards the cottage. 

Isaac leapt down from the trap to
stretch his legs. Wandering to the front of the cart, he ran a hand down
Chester’s velvety nose.  ‘He gets stranger every day, don’t he?’ Chester
blew a soft breath into the air and nuzzled Isaac’s arm. Isaac laughed. ‘That’s
what I thought.’ When he looked up again, he could see that Ernesto was heading
for the tiny cottage, just as he had suspected he was. But what could he want
from the people who lived in such a humble dwelling?  As he turned the puzzle
over in his mind, Isaac began to form theories.  And they were theories
that he wasn’t altogether happy about.  He watched as Ernesto knocked at
the door, and then was admitted.

Humming softly to himself, he
leaned against Chester’s warm flank and stared up into the sky. Then he let out
a long sigh. ‘What shall I do about Poll, eh Chester? I know she likes me, but
she
ain’t
going to want a poor boy like me to marry.
I mean, I know I’m too young for
marryin
’ but one day
I won’t be.
It’s
Poll I want but I got to make her see
that we were meant for each other. And once she’s got Ernesto’s fortune, she
won’t ever want to give me a second look. She might even make me the stable boy
and marry a fancy gent, and then I’d have to watch her every day, all la-de-dah
and me
doffin
’ my cap and never able to kiss her or
make her laugh again. That would be a rum do, wouldn’t it? I think I’d die from
a broken heart, and that
ain’t
me
bein
’
dramatic. I knew that first day Ernesto brought her home we were meant to be,
and –‘

Suddenly, he leapt away from
Chester, and his head flicked towards the cottage as a desperate scream rent
the air. Without a second thought, Isaac tore across the heath in the direction
of the house.

Charlotte glanced across at her mother in surprise as the
knock came at the front door.

‘Are we expecting anyone today?’

Mrs Harding shook her head. 
The strange appearance and then disappearance of the girl calling herself Celia
only the day before had spooked them both more than they cared to admit. 
Especially when the smith had told them about how she had claimed to know
Charlotte and had waited for them to return from church.

Before either of them had had
time to share an opinion on who it might be at their door, the knock came
again, louder this time.  There seemed to be impatience woven into the
very sound of it.

Charlotte’s mother hesitated for
a moment, before going to answer.

‘Good day.’ A man stood at the
door, perhaps in his late fifties, well-built, thick black hair and dark
skin.  He tipped his hat and bowed slightly. ‘I’m making enquiries about a
lost child.’

‘A child?’ Charlotte’s mother
glanced back briefly towards Charlotte, who was holding Georgina in her
arms.  Charlotte, almost unaware of her actions, stepped back into the
shadows of the kitchen, as if standing against the wall could somehow make the
two of them invisible.  The visitor’s gaze was drawn past Charlotte’s
mother towards the movement.

‘Bless my soul!’ he exclaimed.
‘That’s the babe!’

‘You are mistaken, sir,’
Charlotte fired back. ‘This is my sister.’

‘Strange…’ the man inched his way
into the room, forcing Charlotte’s mother away from the door as he did. ‘She
doesn’t look like you.’

‘Some siblings do not resemble
each other.’

‘Hmmm…’ The man moved closer and
Charlotte continued to back away until the wall prevented her from going any
further. He peered closely at Georgina, whose face contorted into the
beginnings of a wail. ‘She has grown a little, but I would not mistake my own daughter.’

Charlotte’s mouth fell open. She
stared at the man, and then at her mother. ‘Your daughter?’ Something about
this wasn’t right.  How she knew she couldn’t say, but some deep instinct
told her this man was lying.  He wasn’t acting the way a father who had
just found his lost daughter would act.  And Georgina herself seemed to
shrink back in his presence, as though she feared him.