Mistress of the Storm (28 page)

The
Storm
hadn’t been readied for such a blow. The great ship pitched and yawed frantically. Everything not battened down flew through the air or rolled across the deck. The rigging smacked and thwacked against every neighbouring piece of wood. Verity clung grimly to the baby and to Henry, her eyes tight shut.

Eventually the swell subsided and the
Storm
settled. Verity opened her eyes to see a scene of devastation. The Mistress was gone; the grandmother – who had never been her grandmother – was no longer there.

She looked around: Henry was there; Poppy and her father were safe, on the other side of the deck.

‘Alice,’
screamed Verity, staring in horror at the space where her old friend should have been. She ran across the deck clutching her sister. Henry followed her, his face creased with concern.

‘She was too close, Verity,’ he said sadly. ‘Whatever Alice
did caused some kind of explosion. She couldn’t possibly have escaped the blast.’

Of all the people Verity had expected to lose today, Alice had not been one of them. ‘You’re wrong,’ she yelled desperately at Henry. ‘Not everything has a logical explanation.’ Tears started to roll down her cheeks. She ran to the side of the deck and looked over the rail. Henry tried to take her arm.

‘You’re wrong,’ she repeated with a sob, jerking herself away.

Henry grabbed hold of her more firmly this time, saying nothing. He held her and the baby in his arms.

Verity wept, the tears hurting as they welled up in her eyes, her chest tight. ‘She can’t be gone,’ she cried, the words raw with grief. Henry stroked her hair silently while her baby sister mewed and wriggled in her blanket.

Abednego came over and placed the eye of the
Storm
in her hand. ‘I do not believe Alice is dead,’ he said.

Verity looked up at him, her face red and swollen. Instinctively she knew he was right. She felt calmer. ‘Why did you give this to me?’ she asked.

‘I am not sure,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps I hoped it would be the start of my penance for my time as a servant of the Mistress.’

Verity turned it around in her hand. ‘I’ll miss the peace it brings,’ she said, handing it back to him.

Abednego shook his head, his high cheekbones glinting
in the sun. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It soothes the weather, but not the spirit.’ He stared thoughtfully at her. ‘What you felt was within yourself. It is yours to keep.’ And he wrapped her fingers around it.

Verity stood beside her father as they prepared to leave the
Storm
. He leaned on her slightly: after so many months of torment it would be a while before he was fully recovered. In the distance they could see the watching crowd still milling about on the quay, presumably desperate to know what had happened. Henry and Jasper helped Poppy gently over the side and down into Jeb’s waiting dinghy. Martha had boarded the
Storm
to help and was carrying the youngest Gallant sister for now.

‘Your family are animals, Gallant,’ spat Miranda Blake as she shoved her way past, carrying handfuls of jewellery she had liberated from the cabin suite. She knew she couldn’t go back to her mother empty-handed.

‘We came to rescue you, you poisonous girl,’ shouted Henry indignantly. ‘Well,’ he conceded, ‘not you specifically … but
still.
’

Verity looked furiously at Miranda. Her family and friends had nearly been killed, the woman she’d trusted all her life had turned out to be the sister of her worst enemy … and had now disappeared once more. This stupid girl felt like the least of her worries at the minute.

‘I did warn you about her,’ she told her. ‘And anyway, she’s gone now.’

The miraculous disappearance of the Mistress seemed to have broken down all normal barriers and put everyone in a celebratory mood. Isaac Tempest was waiting at the quay to help Tom Gallant home, and things had progressed quite naturally to an impromptu gathering.

Martha was assisting Henry in making large pots of tea and great mounds of sandwiches in the Gallant kitchen. He knew all about the correct procedure for large family get-togethers.

Mrs Gallant was sitting on a sofa feeding her new baby, whose beautiful eyes were clamped shut, her cheeks pink. She didn’t quite understand why her husband had arrived looking so dishevelled, or what had brought so many people to their home right now. He had started trying to explain something about his stepmother and the baby, but it hadn’t made any sense.

‘And it’s all thanks to Verity,’ he had finished proudly, patting their eldest daughter on the shoulder.

‘Well, that’s nice, dear,’ she had replied dutifully. She was sure she would hear about it later.

At the moment Verity’s father was manfully welcoming everyone into his house with quiet good humour. He looked a little frail. ‘So pleased you could make it,’ he could be heard saying to each and every guest in turn.

The customs man, meanwhile, had matters of a more urgent nature to attend to. Jasper Cutgrass turned once again at a brisk half-run into a familiar street.

‘Shouldn’t you have left by now?’ Daniel Twogood demanded as his head appeared round the front door. Then he glanced at Jasper’s side. The custom-made canvas bag was no longer there.

‘It’s gone,’ said Jasper happily. Dan frowned. ‘An elderly lady claiming to be the Mistress’s sister caused it to impact against her – the Mistress, that is,’ the customs man explained, ‘and both disappeared.’

Mr Twogood nodded slowly as he absorbed this information. ‘Colliding with each other: that could annihilate both … or remove them at least.’

Daniel Twogood detected a certain elation emanating from this curiously unreadable man. It occurred to him that
he
was not feeling as he normally did, either. He looked in astonishment at the customs man. The Twogood family burden was his no more. The terrifyingly dangerous instrument his father had made was no longer a threat to the world. He grinned. ‘Well I’ll be …’ he said, stepping out
onto the path. ‘Gone, eh? That’s a turn up for the books.’

Jasper was so excited he was swaying slightly from side to side. ‘Completely disappeared,’ he agreed. ‘No one can use it now.’

Daniel Twogood patted him approvingly on the arm. ‘A good day’s work there, nipper,’ he said.

Jasper Cutgrass smiled broadly.

And the widow’s son – what of him? In the tiny front room of the Usage cottage Villainous closed the front door, took off his boots and put them on the mat. It had taken no small amount of earnest persuasion, but next week would be his first as an apprentice at Lapp and Muster.

‘You’ll be the oldest they’ve ever had,’ Mother would sneer when he told her.

He went into the kitchen and took up where he had left off, cleaning and mending each part of their home. In the months and years to come it would gleam like a new pin. What else is there to do in the long dark hours of the night? There was no prospect of sleep. Sleep brought no rest.

For Verity – who had never expected the
Storm
’s arrival – everything was now very different. She remembered the day – a lifetime ago – when a lonely little girl walked through the red double doors of Wellow library and encountered a tall stranger.

‘Rtyy goo’f say s’m’self,’ said Henry, his mouth full of corned beef sandwich. Verity tipped her head to one side in
enquiry. ‘These sandwiches,’ he explained, ‘are pretty good. Even if I do say so myself.’

‘Pleased to hear it.’

‘Well, it was hungry work, all that sailing and running around. It’s no wonder I’m starving.’

In the background Martha was discussing myths and legends of the Gentry with Isaac Tempest. Verity was sitting on the floor next to Poppy. She gave her another hug.

‘Careful,’ laughed her sister, already back to her usual sunny self. ‘You’ll wear me out.’

Verity grinned. Poppy hugged her back. They didn’t need to say any more.

‘What an adventure.’ Poppy grabbed a jam sandwich. ‘And what a relief that Grandmother’s gone. She was terribly hard work.’

Jeb Tempest walked awkwardly into the sitting room, long hair tied back and head down. Verity jumped up, hoping to put him at ease.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ he announced, rather formally. Standing in the middle of the room being stared at by various females and Henry was very far from his ideal platform. Verity looked at him quizzically, a little wrong-footed by his propriety.

‘I’m taking off for a bit,’ he added, to make it clear that he wasn’t just going home for afternoon tea.

‘Oh,’ said Verity, not sure what to say. She tried not to look disappointed.

Jeb shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. ‘We’ve kept my grandfather’s promise to Rafe, you see,’ he began. ‘I’m free now to leave Wellow; see something of the world.’

Verity nodded. ‘There must be lots of places you’d like to see,’ she said sympathetically. She could certainly understand how he felt.

‘There are.’ For a moment Jeb forgot both his audience and who he was talking to. ‘So many things my grandfather’s told me about.’

Verity smiled. ‘Well, that’s absolutely brilliant.’

Jeb allowed himself a brief glance at her face.

‘I’m very envious,’ she continued. ‘But you’ve spent quite enough time waiting in Wellow for other people.’

Jeb looked down at the floor again. ‘I was happy to do it,’ he said quietly.

Verity hoped desperately that the burning sensation she could feel on her cheeks was not visible.

Henry got up, evidently of the opinion that this compelling dialogue had gone on for quite long enough.

‘And you’ve got Henry to look after you,’ Jeb pointed out. ‘They don’t come any more reliable – or honourable – than him.’

‘That’s true.’

‘Verity doesn’t need looking after,’ said Henry. ‘She’s more than capable of taking care of herself.’

Jeb grinned. ‘Yes, she is,’ he agreed.

Verity shoved Henry in a silent reminder that this was not a very gracious acceptance of an obvious compliment.

‘I couldn’t have reached Verity without you,’ Henry acknowledged reluctantly.

‘I know you won’t see it as a good thing,’ Jeb told him, ‘but there’s true Gentry spirit in you.’

Henry nodded. ‘And there’s less of it in you than I thought there would be,’ he replied, shaking Jeb’s hand, completely and blissfully unaware he’d just won a battle he had no idea he was fighting.

Verity went out into the garden to see Father. He was sitting on a bench, looking tired. She took a seat next to him. He smiled welcomingly at her.

‘Just having a little rest,’ he explained.

They sat together in companionable silence, enjoying the last rays of late afternoon sun.

‘I’m so sorry, Verity,’ he went on, holding his daughter’s hand. ‘I should have told you about your family heritage. Not left you to hear it from others … And then, when I really needed to, I couldn’t,’ he continued sadly.

Verity smiled reassuringly, not sure what to say.

‘I should have been stronger,’ he said, his voice breaking.

Verity frowned. ‘How could you have overcome that?’ she asked. ‘It must have been unbearable.’

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Father told her.

‘I had some help,’ Verity pointed out.

Mr Gallant looked lovingly at his daughter. ‘You can tell a lot about a person by their friends,’ he said, ‘and I think yours reflect very well on you.’

Verity smiled, feeling a little glow of happiness inside her. ‘I’m glad you like them,’ she said.

‘I realize now that we should have let you enjoy your childhood more,’ Mr Gallant said sadly. ‘We were just worried that you’d …’ He trailed off. ‘I was so angry with your grandfather for leaving, I tried to wipe out the Gentry past – pretend it never happened. I cast aside everything from that life … but you were terribly brave today.’ He smiled proudly. ‘It made me see that there were many good things about the Gentry originally: courage, spirit, enterprise. You displayed all of those. And I promise I will try to live up to that heritage for you in the future.’

Verity hugged her father, holding him as if she never wanted to let him go.

Later, in the library, Miss Cameron took out her personal copy of
On the Origin of Stories: A Disquisition
. The book was not bound. It was loose-leaf, and far bigger than the volume Abednego had handed to a little girl on Steephill Cove. It also credited an additional editor: Hodge, Heyworth, Helerley … and Cameron.

Beside her stood a man, his once handsome face lined and scored, though his blue eyes burned. The librarian turned to show him a new section. The words
Verity
and
Gallant
could be seen in the title. He looked at it proudly.
‘Without love I am nothing,’
he said. ‘That is what you taught me.’

‘What would you be if you honoured your child’s memory with hate?’ she asked.

Rafe nodded to acknowledge the truth of it. ‘This is better,’ he agreed. ‘An Original Story that shows how every child who is alone or out of place will find the friends they need, and the love they deserve. Verity’s tale.’

Miss Cameron smiled.

‘A nobler way to make good what I owed to Ruby and Tom … to all my children,’ he added sadly. ‘What must you have thought,’ he asked, ‘when I appeared on your doorstep that night – half crazed – and thrust the book into your hand?’

‘You were grief-stricken,’ said Miss Cameron. ‘To lose a daughter … and then find your own wife was so much more than you had realized.’

‘I was a fool,’ said Rafe briskly. ‘To know what she could do – to profit from her ability to control the wind – and not consider what else she might be capable of.’

‘The book makes it very clear,’ Miss Cameron told him.

Rafe nodded. ‘When she murdered Ruby, I couldn’t bear to have one thing of Aure’s in the house. I went to her room to throw out every last trinket. And there it was. It took just a few pages to realize at last; to understand her capacity for cruelty … and the means by which she staved off death …

‘How did you know I would come to doubt my thirst for revenge?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t,’ said Miss Cameron. ‘But it takes a long time
to travel to the other side of the world … and back again.’