Mistress of the Storm (19 page)

Henry snorted. ‘That’s just a load of religious guff,’ he insisted.

Miss Cameron smiled mysteriously. ‘The authors’ theory was correct, Martha,’ she continued. ‘The Original Stories were all significant. Each of them was created by your grandmother, Verity. She and her three sisters knew the secret places around the world where a story could be told, and then become reality. But the Mistress – being as she is – couldn’t resist taking advantage of this knowledge and telling stories from which she would benefit. Favourite amongst these were tales that centred around the
acquisition of possessions … or other things. And her stories were destined to become true over and over again.’

‘Like the smart aleck who gets granted three wishes … and asks for three more?’ said Martha.

‘Precisely,’ agreed Miss Cameron. ‘The authors noticed these stories and made it their work to piece them together by travelling the world and collating different recurring tales – gathering evidence for their theory, if you like. It was difficult, of course: your grandmother had been careful to cover her trail most of the time. But they were a very clever trio. When she found out, she was furious that her abuse of power had been exposed. It was she who destroyed the authors and all but two of the copies. Yours she defaced by removing the Introduction, in which they set out their purpose.’

‘I knew a section was missing,’ said Martha triumphantly.

‘Is that why Abednego gave me the book?’ asked Verity. ‘So I’d realize who my grandmother really was?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Miss Cameron. ‘Abednego has always been fiercely loyal to his Mistress. But at any rate, he did. And that was a thoroughly good thing, because without it, you would have struggled to accept the truth.’

Verity thought for a minute about the character from her book: a woman so powerful she could create storms simply because she wished to. In her mind she was back at the window of her former bedroom, on the night the
Storm
arrived in Wellow … the rain beating down on the glass so heavily you could scarcely see single drops … the wind
furiously buffeting the wooden sash frame. Grandmother had created that.

‘Does she know about you?’ she worried. ‘Will she be suspicious that you might have told me?’

‘Only your grandmother knows what she plans to do in Wellow,’ said Miss Cameron. ‘Her confidence is such that she won’t be able to believe you are any threat to her. But you must make sure she does not change her opinion. You must not provoke her anger, Verity – that is crucial.’

Verity felt a small chill of fear. Miss Cameron was a master of understatement. If she said a thing was important, it could well mean your life would depend on it.

The librarian looked out of the reading-room window. It was dark. Looking in turn at the three children – one anxious, one indignant and one intrigued – she appeared to make a decision.

‘I think that’s quite enough to take in for one day,’ she announced. ‘Can I suggest you go home now? We can gather here tomorrow afternoon – if you are all free?’

The question was hardly necessary. Come hell or high water there was no way either Verity, Martha or even Henry would have missed the opportunity to find out more.

You must not provoke her anger, Verity – that is crucial
.

Secretly, Verity had always thought it would be exciting to discover that she was at the heart of an adventure, just like one of the heroines of her books. But the reality was a lot less exhilarating and quite a bit scarier. Miss Cameron’s words kept ringing through her head. Her mind whirled with the new information she’d had to take in.

As she made her way home, she was painfully conscious that, despite the shocking revelations of the day, her behaviour had to be exactly the same as before. Closing the front door behind her, she racked her brain to remember the Verity of this morning. That person seemed aeons away now.

Mr Gallant was in the sitting room staring intently at the ceiling, as if he could see something she couldn’t. Verity stood in the doorway gazing sadly at him. What had happened to him? She now knew it must have something to do with her grandmother. It couldn’t be a coincidence. There had been no coincidences since she’d arrived.

Mr Gallant looked at her and grinned beatifically. His face was flushed, his hair dishevelled. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘No, Father,’ said Verity quietly.

‘Well, don’t stare, child,’ he said, shaking his head as if something were whisking past him. ‘It’s very rude to stare.’ He giggled. ‘Bad things happen to rude people.’

This man in front of her was not Father, Verity thought. Suddenly she turned and saw Grandmother approaching. A chill breeze floated down the hall with her. Fear gripped Verity’s stomach. Their guest had everyone under her control. Miss Cameron was right: she must not provoke the old lady’s anger. Who knew what the price would be if she did?

Mother was heavily pregnant and having difficulty moving around. The fabled bloom of maternity seemed to have eluded her. She looked tired and uncomfortable. Verity and Poppy helped to carry in the vegetables for dinner. Grandmother brought in Mother’s prized cornflower-detail gravy boat, with a lot of fuss.

The meal started in silence, punctuated only by the uncomfortable scraping of cutlery on china and the barbs thrown in Verity’s direction by her grandmother. She had come to dread dinner times.

‘Little Verity has spent a lot of time enjoying herself this holiday,’ said Grandmother. ‘So pleasant for her,’ she added with an acid smile, ‘but surely a more dutiful daughter would have volunteered to help her mother?’

Verity silently spooned carrots onto her plate and stared at the jade patterned wallpaper.

‘It is not too late though,’ the old lady continued, running an elegant hand through her immaculate hair, as if the idea had just occurred to her, ‘for her to help with the chores.’

Verity looked at her appraisingly. Why was this suddenly being brought up?

Grandmother casually twirled her string of pearls around a finger. ‘After all, with Verity’s looks she is unlikely to marry. She should learn to make herself useful if she is going to be a burden.’

‘I might choose to work,’ Verity muttered, glaring at the impostor she was so powerless against. She knew it would only make her enemy more spiteful, but for a second she didn’t care.

Grandmother shot her a look of pure fury, making her skin prickle. ‘A little time at home might help improve her manners,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it is the company she’s keeping these days …’

The penny dropped. Her friends: Grandmother was trying to keep her away from her friends. Mother seemed flustered. Verity realized the tense atmosphere was making her uneasy.

‘Of course I’d like to help,’ she said, to diffuse the situation. ‘But it will need to be outside of school hours – otherwise I’d be truanting, wouldn’t I?’

‘Always ready with an answer, little Verity,’ muttered the old lady.

‘That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?’ said Mother, trying to keep the peace.

Grandmother’s mouth pursed in a moue of disapproval, which instantly robbed her patrician face of its beauty. ‘I suppose it will suffice,’ she said.

Verity stared at the starched linen tablecloth, chosen so carefully by her mother many years previously. She knew all too well from the stories in her book that she shouldn’t be riling Grandmother. She knew it put her and her family in danger, but she couldn’t help it. The old lady brought out a rebellious streak in Verity that she found hard to quell.

The next day was Verity, Henry and Martha’s first back at school after the Christmas break. Never had six hours passed with such agonizing sloth.

As soon as the end-of-school bell rang, the three children sprinted from Priory Bay to the library.

‘I can’t stay long,’ said Verity anxiously, ‘otherwise Grandmother will kick up a stink.’

‘So why is she in Wellow now?’ asked Henry, cutting generous slices of moist plum cake from the slab donated by his mother. Verity poured the tea.

‘Your grandmother believes an Original Story is unfolding which will bring about her demise,’ said Miss Cameron in her usual soft voice. ‘And she wishes to stop it.’

She paused to smile kindly at Verity. ‘I realize this must be an awful lot to take in, so I’ve invited someone else to tell you a little more …’

Verity heard the faint slam of the red double doors, followed by a series of purposeful steps.

‘Just in time,’ said Miss Cameron.

The door of the reading room opened. It was the strange boy.

‘Verity, Henry, Martha,’ said Miss Cameron, ‘I’d like you to meet Jebediah Tempest. Or Jeb, as he prefers to be known.’

Jeb Tempest stood uncomfortably in front of them, looking hot and a little flushed.

Henry made no effort to disguise his lack of enthusiasm at this new arrival. ‘What’s
he
doing here?’ he exclaimed, managing to convey a healthy dollop of disapproval in that one question.

Jeb shot him a look of equal animosity. ‘Least I’m no Twogood turncoat,’ he growled.

‘The Tempest family have a long and honourable history in Wellow,’ said Miss Cameron. ‘I’m sure you know that, Henry.’

‘Honourable if you’re Gentry,’ Henry muttered.

Martha peered in shock at the new arrival. Jeb was staring at the floor self-consciously, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded and torn trousers.

Verity’s mind was a whirl of vindication. ‘You see,’ she said, swivelling excitedly round to Henry, ‘I
told
you I kept seeing him,’ just in case he hadn’t got the point.

‘Hmph,’ said Henry.

‘
Were
you following me?’ she asked Jeb directly.

He nodded awkwardly, his shyness rendering him stiff and graceless. He stared silently at the elder Gallant girl. He noticed the way her long brown hair flowed over her shoulders as she chatted confidently to her friends.

‘Jeb is here to tell you a little more about your grandfather,’ said Miss Cameron. ‘I should begin with Ruby, if I were you,’ she suggested to Jeb before she left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

‘With Ruby?’ asked Verity. ‘My father’s sister?’

Jeb nodded, pulling a Jacobean chair towards him and sitting on it.

‘Didn’t she die at sea?’

‘She drowned. In her dinghy. Your grandmother killed her.’

Verity was horrified at Jeb’s matter-of-fact statement. ‘She—? But how? Why?’

Martha removed the cup and saucer that were dangling precariously from Verity’s hand and put them on a nearby table.

‘Rafe were a clever man,’ said Jeb. ‘But at the beginning of their marriage he had no idea of the Mistress’s malice, or her greed. She hid it, and he was fooled by her.’ He drew in a long breath and exhaled. Talking to an audience was harder than he’d expected.

Verity smiled reassuringly in encouragement.

‘While Rafe travelled the world, she and Barbarous Usage brewed up a plot,’ he continued.

‘Barbarous what?’ interrupted Martha.

‘Usage,’ said Henry. ‘The leader of the Usage family – and the wreckers,’ he added contemptuously.

‘ ’S right.’ Jeb nodded. ‘Barbarous recruited the laziest, the most corrupt of us. And as every likely ship passed these shores, the Mistress brought about a storm to sink her. Our traitors salvaged the cargo … and gave the Mistress her share. Thousands died. It’s why these shores have such a fearsome reputation.’

Verity stared at him wordlessly.

‘When Rafe found out about their collusion, the scales fell from his eyes,’ said Jeb. ‘He cast the Usages out from the Gentry and vowed to have nothing more to do with his wife – your grandmother, the Mistress.’

Henry whistled.

‘It were a long time coming,’ Jeb went on. ‘The Mistress concealed her true self because she wanted Rafe, but it were always going to show eventually. Rafe was a good man. He hated cruelty, dishonesty and greed.

‘At first the Mistress were astonished … I don’t suppose she really believed he wouldn’t forgive her. But Rafe refused – until eventually her shock turned to fury, and her anger to a desire for revenge. She waited until the next time Ruby went to sea—’ He stopped for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

‘Rafe had told Ruby not to go out in her boat,’ he continued, ’but she were a right wilful thing by all accounts. The Mistress whipped up a storm – a storm so terrible Rafe would know for sure it had been meant as punishment for him. And Ruby drowned.

‘It broke his heart,’ said Jeb simply. ‘He left Wellow that night and never returned. And it shattered the Gentry.’

‘But why has the Mistress returned to Wellow now?’ asked Verity.

‘When Rafe found Ruby dead – and the Mistress had killed her – he vowed to avenge her death,’ said Jeb. ‘So he made a pledge.’

‘A pledge?’ repeated Martha.

‘Duty and honour are very important to the Gentry,’ explained Jeb.

Henry snorted.

The other boy glared at him. ‘To the real Gentry a Pledge is a solemn and binding undertaking: a promise,’ he told Verity. He blushed a little as he started to recite from memory: ‘
Just as my love has turned to hate, my blood will turn on yours … That which gave you life shall destroy you
. The Gallant Pledge, it became known as.’

Verity said nothing for a while, then: ‘I don’t understand what it means.’

‘
That which gave you life
is commonly assumed to be the first Original Story,’ said a placid voice.

Verity turned round to see that Miss Cameron had came back into the room.

‘Your grandfather vowed to make an Original Story that would bring about his wife’s death. It had never been done by a mortal before. But he said that it would be: in Ruby’s name.’

‘But how?’ asked Verity.

Miss Cameron went over to stand by the window, with its clear view of the moonlit sea. ‘By discovering one of the wellsprings – the secret locations where a story could be told and become reality. Rafe knew that if he succeeded, he could make a story that would kill the Mistress.’

Verity glanced up anxiously at the library clock. ‘I need to leave soon,’ she said, ‘and there’s so much I still have to ask. I don’t understand why Grandmother is here …’