by M. L. Welsh
But Jeb Tempest – grandson of Isaac – was not making a detour past the Gallant house by accident. So she’s moved into the room with the sea view already. That was quick work, he thought to himself. Above him in the clear night sky, a patch of dark grey cloud scowled down. In the gutter, little eddies of leaves swirled in the brisk wind.
Chapter Five
When dawn broke the next day, it was as if the Storm’s arrival had cleansed Wellow, making it afresh. A mild autumn sun shone across the water, lending a sparkle to the gentle ripples. Many in the town would be making their way to the harbour. And Verity was to be among them, as it was the day of her mother’s long-planned shopping trip, which meant a short ride on the ferry to the next large town of Niton.
Her head still raced with the events of the previous night. In the rose-patterned sanctuary of her new room, her mind played back once more the arrival of that great ship. In an instant she was up on the downs again, her head filled with the smell of sea water, her body drenched with rain. But each recollection was interrupted by an unwelcome memory of the other – less agreeable – arrival. Verity sighed.
Downstairs she heard Mother flitting about while Poppy got ready. Verity hid under the bedcovers with her red leather-bound book, unwilling yet to yield to the fuss of being pulled, primped and tweaked into her best outfit. She knew better than to hope for anything other than sensible clothes today. But at least they would also be looking at sailing kit for the school match, which would surely be more exciting.
Verity flicked absent-mindedly through the pages of her book, darting from one story to another. She frowned as she ran a finger along a line of text and remembered her nightmare.
Those who are attractive and have charm [she read], push the liberties that their gifts afford them – behaving as badly as the world lets them. And She of the Wind was so very attractive and so very charming that she could be very bad indeed. And being so very bad, she became in many ways only the more charming and attractive.
But what begins as spoiled behaviour and is left unchecked must eventually turn to malice and cruelty. For the spoiled simply desire to have their own way; to be given power over others. Once you have that, where do you go next but to test that power? And She of the Wind went unchecked for a very long time.
Mother would say that if it gave her bad dreams she should stop reading it. Verity frowned and gripped the cover a little tighter. She didn’t want to. Besides, it was just a book.
‘Verity.’ Her mother’s voice rang through the covers. ‘Please hurry up.’ She sounded cross. Verity pushed her prized possession down to the foot of the bed and got up.
‘Won’t this be nice?’ said Mother as Verity sat down to breakfast. ‘Our first outing with your grandmother.’ Now recovered from the surprise, Mrs Gallant supposed there was nothing to do but adjust to the sudden arrival of her husband’s stepmother. She had always been good at adapting to change without asking too many questions.
Their guest appeared silently and suddenly at the door. ‘Up at last, little Verity,’ she said, pinching Verity’s cheek just a touch too hard. Verity unconsciously rubbed it with her sleeve.
Mr Gallant followed her into the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot and saying nothing. As he sat down, his hand swatted at something which Verity could not see – it must have been a fly buzzing around his head. He looked dishevelled, as if he hadn’t slept very well.
‘Father, you’re back,’ said Verity, pleased to see him. ‘Good morning.’
Mr Gallant looked up, as if only just noticing her presence. ‘Certainly,’ he agreed – the single word seemed to require a great effort. ‘Certainly it’s a good morning.’
Verity looked at him carefully. He was always a little distracted. But still, he seemed even more … distant. ‘Mother wasn’t sure where you were last night,’ she said carefully. Questions were always frowned upon in the Gallant household, but she longed to know why Father had disappeared just as their mysterious guest arrived.
‘I was out,’ said Mr Gallant slowly.
Verity looked puzzled. It was almost as if he weren’t quite aware who she was. ‘I see,’ she said, even though absolutely nothing was clear to her.
‘Good, good …’ muttered Mr Gallant, rubbing his legs and shaking his head.
Despite Verity’s concerns about her father’s behaviour, in truth, her main thought that morning was of seeing the Storm once more. By the time they got to the quay the ship had already drawn a sizeable crowd of visitors enjoying the weak autumn sunshine. An enterprising boat owner was even charging for short trips around the vessel itself. Less adventurous folk could pay to take part in a guided walk along the water’s edge.
Lost in her own little world, Verity followed automatically behind Mother, Grandmother and Poppy as they headed for the ferry, completely unaware that she was surrounded by people who had a vested interest in her future and that of the Storm.
Families with infants milled about near the jetties, while older couples sat in companionable silence with their sandwiches and binoculars. Bigger children darted through the crowd with their friends. And on the lips of all were speculations and guesses as to why the great ship had returned to Wellow after so long.
A row of dinghies was moored in a line near the quay. In one particularly aged bucket sat Jeb Tempest and his grandfather. Gazing at the Storm, Isaac packed his pipe with a new wad of vanilla tobacco.
‘Just as impressive today as she ever were,’ he mused. ‘The Mistress always did have exquisite taste.’
Jeb tutted in reply.
Gazing across the harbour, Verity started slightly at the sight of the strange boy who had been outside her house last night. Standing up in his rowing boat, he mockingly saluted in her direction. Verity was astounded – was it aimed at her?
Then she glanced up at Grandmother – and jumped in fright. The old lady was so angry she looked like a completely different person. Her previously elegant face was distorted with fury. Verity was terrified. She’d never seen anyone change so dramatically. So it was Grandmother the boy was signalling to … Now Verity was even more confused. Did that mean he knew her …?
‘Pipe down.’ Isaac Tempest pulled Jeb firmly back into his seat on the dinghy. Jeb glowered but didn’t argue. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from such bravado,’ his grandfather said firmly.
‘I’m not scared,’ muttered Jeb defiantly.
‘Well, you should be,’ said Isaac. Changing the subject, he nudged his grandson to look in the direction of the quay. ‘See there: Captain Abednego making his way to the Spyglass, if I’m not mistaken.’
Jeb followed Isaac’s nod to find the dark giant. Abednego carried his powerful frame with an agile grace that seemed only to emphasize his strength. Ignoring the furtive glances and whispered comments, he expertly tied his boat to the town jetty and made his way across Wellow quay to the famous Spyglass Inn, pausing only to stare openly at the lone Preventative Officer who was happily making his way through the crowd.
Jasper Cutgrass had only just started working his way through the files of the Town Records Bureau, but he was certain that being in Wellow itself would bring him closer to the truth. For Jasper was a man obsessed. His sole preoccupation since he was a child had been the mythical technologies attributed to those smuggling villains, the Gentry. Wellow had so many records and documents he’d never seen before. He was positive the Gentry’s paper trail would reveal what he sought.
Meanwhile he couldn’t resist taking a few minutes out to see for himself the characters so familiar to him from the scandal sheets, articles and papers he had pored over during his long years of research.
There – closer still than his first glimpse last night – was Abednego. Jasper had seen drawings of the famed captain, read descriptions and imagined him for himself. But now he was just yards away, truly larger than life.
And Isaac Tempest – sitting in that boat with a young lad. The notorious Isaac Tempest: charmer, rog
ue, astute businessman … and former leading light of the Gentry. So it was true, he really was still alive.
For a second everything went black as a gigantically obese woman smacked head-on into his chest, winding him completely. ‘Mind where yer going,’ she snapped aggressively. A young man with a very unpleasant odour stepped around him.
Oblivious to the pain, Jasper hugged himself with excitement. That had to be two of the Usages. The unique combination of facial features was a clear giveaway. Jasper’s face – so unreadable – betrayed nothing, but inside he was a maelstrom of emotion. Wellow was more than he could ever have hoped for. Soon, he knew, he would find out who had made the precious Gentry device that he kept in the bag at his side.
Villainous hurried to catch up as his mother continued to shove and push her way through the crowd.
‘What the hell’s a customs man doing in Wellow?’ she spat. Through the crowd she sighted her quarry. Abednego was on the other side of the quay, heading from the Spyglass to the jetty. There could be no mistaking the dark Goliath.
As he followed his mother, the youngest Usage noticed that Abednego was lost in thought. Perhaps it was his imagination, but there seemed to be something in his bearing that spoke of loss. And fear.
Villainous said nothing to Mother Usage, of course. Anything that didn’t concern her was meaningless to her. Furiously she barged her way through the gawping strangers and their squawking children, seething with impatience. At last she came within snatching distance of her prey.
Mother Usage was a whale of a woman; a corpulent hulk of flesh so big your first thought was to wonder how much she ate in order to maintain that kind of weight; so large all you could do was stare in amazement. Not for too long though. Because a walking stick in the face is likely to hurt.
Extending a pudgy hand, she grabbed one of Abednego’s immense arms, her pale, doughy fingers gripping the carved ebony of his muscle in a surprisingly vice-like hold. The noise level dimmed noticeably as, all around Mother Usage and Abednego, the crowd fell silent.
Abednego’s reputation had preceded him for so long that there were few places in the world it hadn’t reached, and Wellow certainly wasn’t one of them. There were those who said that his air of serenity was the jaded response to a lifetime’s violence. There were those who said he had seen things that would leave lesser men witless. There were those who said that he and his crew were the very devil and his demons. But there were none who said that he should be treated lightly.
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 l
ong 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.
Chapter Six
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.’
