by M. L. Welsh
‘Your stepmother has taken Verity’s room,’ she began briskly.
Mr Gallant was sitting facing away from his desk, looking out of the window. He didn’t reply.
Not unused to this state of affairs, Mrs Gallant continued with her speech, gazing with irritation at the cluttered shelves that were so difficult for Sophia, the maid, to clean. ‘I really do think, Tom, that if you are going to invite guests to the house, the least you could do is warn me of it. And possibly make sure you are here to welcome them too,’ she added with more sarcasm than was usual.
Still her husband said nothing. Mrs Gallant huffed with frustration. This was intolerable. ‘Are you just going to sit there and say nothing?’ she asked crossly.
He remained silent. Mrs Gallant drew herself up to her full height. ‘Fine,’ she said coldly, closing the study door with an abrupt bang.
* * *
On the other side of Wellow, Villainous Usage opened the front door of the fisherman’s cottage that he and Mother shared, letting in a fierce gust of cold in the process. His stoaty face scrunched up as he squinted into the gloom of the front room.
‘Muvver,’ he bellowed (quite unnecessarily given that the entire property consisted of two downstairs rooms and two up).
She was in the kitchen, treating the range to a monologue. ‘Who’s he to talk to me like that?’ she demanded, surveying it with ill-concealed contempt.
Villainous stood at the doorway and extracted the carcass of a rabbit from inside his coat. ‘Gutted it just now, I did,’ he explained with enthusiasm. ‘Fair stank.’
‘Who’s he to deny me my family’s trade?’ she continued, grabbing the proffered gift without a word of thanks. ‘If the Storm isn’t here to do business, then what’s her purpose?’
Villainous stared anxiously and said nothing. No words sufficed when Mother got like this.
‘Well, there’s more ’n one way to skin a rabbit,’ she snarled, holding up the bloody specimen in illustration of her point. ‘The Lady Georgia heads this way in November, packed with gold, and I must have that cargo. If he won’t provide the service I need, I’ll go round him.’
Chapter Seven
Sunday morning dawned with a crisp, fresh autumn breeze. Verity needed to be at the sailing club for nine o’clock so she was already gathering together Mother’s suggested outfit, trying to ignore a quiet sense of misgiving.
She hadn’t packed any cotton trousers when evicted from her room, so she went upstairs to get some. Standing at the door, she breathed in the familiar scent for a second or two. A ray of late autumn sun shone through the window. A few motes of dust floated peacefully through the air. It was so calm up here, but already it looked completely different somehow.
Verity went over to the window. On the sill lay a pair of delicate gilt and enamel binoculars. Without thinking she picked them up and looked out across the rooftops. The binoculars were superbly crafted: they made everything seem so close. Verity felt like a bird swooping above the town and heading out over the sea. The Storm came into her line of sight, still anchored in the bay.
Adjusting the binoculars with their mother-of-pearl wheel, Verity eagerly focused on her. First the rows of mullioned windows and the elaborate decoration of the taffrail at the stern. Then the galleries and intricate ship’s lanterns. Then the vast lattice of spars and sheets, shrouds and ratlines that held and controlled the sails.
Suddenly the faintest of noises … Verity hadn’t heard anyone coming up the stairs, but she knew she was being watched. Turning round, she saw her grandmother standing in the doorway. Verity felt a cold shadow pass across her. The old lady was clearly very angry. As Verity looked into her eyes, a blast of fury hit her as if she had been slapped.
She hugged both arms around herself for comfort. For some idiotic reason she wished she had the strange wooden ball with her, but it was still tucked under her bedcovers with the book. Grandmother looked completely different – just as she had when the strange boy bowed to her yesterday, or perhaps more so. Her face was warped. There were no traces of the usual imperious good looks: her eyes were sunken and hollow; her parched skin showed every angle of bone.
Grandmother advanced angrily. Her anger pinned Verity back against the window like a gale. Snatching the binoculars from Verity’s hand, she leaned in very close. ‘Do you make a habit of prying in other people’s rooms?’ she hissed.
Verity’s stomach shrank instinctively into a tight ball of fear. Grandmother’s reaction to her presence was as petrifying as it was extraordinary. This had been her room, after all. ‘I was looking for some clothes—’ she tried to explain.
Grandmother’s face flickered with animosity. ‘You were snooping,’ she insisted.
‘No,’ said Verity earnestly. ‘I came in to look for some trousers to sail in, but then I went to take a look at the view – because I do love it so – and … picked up your binoculars. They’re very pretty,’ she added quickly in an attempt to change the subject and somehow diffuse the situation.
It seemed to work. Grandmother looked out of the window for a second, and when she faced Verity again, appeared more like her usual self. Verity had to wonder whether she’d imagined the terrifying transformation.
‘She’s a beautiful ship,’ she said tentatively. ‘Did you travel on her with my grandfather?’
‘You would love to know more, wouldn’t you?’ said the old lady venomously.
Verity shrank away. Now she knew it hadn’t been a flight of fancy.
‘These things are nothing to do with you,’ her grandmother went on. Then, as if the subject were at an end, ‘Your clothes are not here.’
Verity moved over to the bed and knelt on the floor to pull out the box underneath it. ‘No, you wouldn’t have noticed them,’ she started, ‘because they’re under the bed. I don’t wear them very often, you see.’ She waved a hand under the bed, feeling for the case. ‘That’s odd …’ She tipped her head down to the floor to see. There was nothing there.
A thought occurred to her. She turned slowly to look around the room. No wonder she’d felt it looked different – there wasn’t a trace of her left in it.
‘My things …’ she said, confused. ‘My books …’ She went out onto the landing to see if there were any boxes. Nothing. She returned to her room. ‘My books,’ she repeated. ‘All my things – they’re gone.’
Grandmother’s face was perfectly still and yet somehow exultant. She said nothing. Verity went over to a drawer and pulled it out. Empty. She turned round to look at the old lady.
Verity couldn’t have cared less about the clothes, but her books were irreplaceable. She had spent her whole life searching them out in charity shops and church fairs. Her books told of people who lived in strange lands full of adventure and mystery – of children who sailed and fought. They were her refuge.
‘Where are all my things?’ she asked in disbelief.
The corners of Grandmother’s mouth turned up just enough to form a perfectly malicious smile. ‘They are not here,’ she said. ‘I threw them out.’
‘Verity dear, your grandmother is very old,’ Mother said, helping her on with a pair of her own trousers, which were consequently too large. ‘Sometimes when people get older they do things without quite understanding.’
Verity was in no doubt that Grandmother had known exactly what she was doing, but she realized there was nothing to be gained from saying so. What really puzzled her was how she had removed all her possessions so completely.
Verity knew that the subtleties of this would be lost on her mother at the best of times, but it just wasn’t that easy to pack up dozens and dozens of books and carry them down two flights of stairs. It was as if all her possessions had simply been spirited away.
‘We’ll buy you some new books,’ said Mrs Gallant in response to Verity’s silence.
Her daughter stared helplessly. ‘You won’t be able to find them,’ she said limply. ‘They were all out of print.’
‘Well,
exactly, Verity,’ said Mother, clearly tiring of this particular topic. ‘They were all old. So much nicer to have new ones, don’t you think?’
Verity wondered if there was any point trying to explain what they meant to her. ‘Father seems to have been acting a little strangely,’ she commented, deciding that there wasn’t.
Mrs Gallant sniffed crossly. ‘Indeed,’ she agreed tartly. Then, remembering who she was talking to, ‘I expect it’s just the worry of another little mouth to feed. We both have any number of things to think about at the moment.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Verity quietly. ‘I’m sure you both have a lot on your minds. I shouldn’t be bothering you.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mother, kissing her on the forehead as she left the room. ‘I’m so glad you understand.’
With her mother gone, Verity stared despairingly in the mirror at her hotch-potch outfit. Even she could see that the combination did nothing to lessen her height or stoutness. The dreaded deck shoes added the finishing touch.
Poppy’s head appeared round the door. Verity looked at her bleakly.
‘It’s not too bad,’ said her sister reassuringly, darting forward to pull at the trousers a little. Verity stared at her pointedly. ‘I’m sure everyone will be far too busy sailing to worry about clothes,’ Poppy insisted brightly.
Verity sighed. She looked dreadful, and even Poppy couldn’t deny it.
‘Did you know that our grandfather was a man called Rafe Gallant?’ she asked, thinking that she might as well talk about something more interesting.
Poppy nodded. ‘The leader of the Gentry, you mean?’ she asked, rolling up Verity’s sleeves.
Verity was astonished. ‘Yes. But how did you know that?’
‘People talk, don’t they?’ Poppy shrugged as she tied and then re-tied the leather laces on Verity’s shoes in a futile attempt to change their appearance.
Verity thought to herself that, yes, they probably did. It was just that they didn’t talk to her. ‘Mother and Father have never mentioned it,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think that’s a little odd?’
‘It’s best not to ask,’ said Poppy. ‘Hardly anyone’s parents like to talk about the Gentry. They get cross.’
‘I always thought smuggling sounded quite exciting.’ Verity didn’t mention the fact that she’d scarcely been able to stop thinking about the Gentry since she’d discovered that her own, distinctly dull, family were once world-famous adventurers.
Poppy considered the point. ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘They’re quite like all those books you read, aren’t they?’
Now it was Verity’s turn to shrug. ‘A little,’ she admitted.
‘Just a bit?’ Poppy asked teasingly.
Verity smiled. ‘Maybe quite a lot.’
Verity’s father was hidden away in his study again, which wasn’t particularly unusual. She opened the door to say goodbye, secretly hoping for some words of support. He was standing at the window but she’d never seen him looking so scruffy. He’d taken off his tie and undone his collar as if he felt particularly hot.
Smiling, Verity explained her interruption: ‘I’m off to my first sailing match, so I thought I’d’ – her sentence trailed off as Father ignored what she was saying and instead concentrated on trying to push up the sash – ‘come and say goodbye.’
‘Good, good …’ Father said distantly, shaking his head as if trying to avoid a fly. He waved a hand sharply past his eyebrow.
Verity stared at him, a little disquieted. ‘It must be nice for you to have Grandmother here,’ she said conversationally.
Father paused in his task for a second, his head tilted to one side as if trying to understand her.
‘I was wondering if you might be able to tell me a little more about your father, my grandfather,’ Verity persevered. ‘He sounds like a very interesting relative.’
Mr Gallant was gazing around the study now, but something in this last comment appeared to register. ‘Very interesting,’ he repeated. Then he laughed, eventually trailing off. ‘Oh yes. Very interesting.’
Verity gave up and closed the door behind her as she left.
‘Curiosity is a particularly unbecoming trait,’ said Grandmother, appearing noiselessly in the hall. She smiled with a sinister sweetness. ‘I dislike idle questions. You will avoid them if you know what’s best for you.’
Verity stared at her silently in shock.
‘What an original ensemble,’ her grandmother continued, drawing a line under the previous topic. ‘I’m sure it will provoke any number of comments. Do you have any friends?’ Verity said nothing. Grandmother raised an eyebrow. Leaning in, she whispered in Verity’s ear: Verity felt her skin prickle with goosebumps. Was a window open? she wondered.
‘Perhaps the little fat boy will be there to keep you company. I suppose he will have to do if none of the girls like you.’
Verity felt as if she’d been slapped. How did Grandmother know? Was it that obvious?
* * *
The hall of Wellow sailing club was packed to the gills with assorted family members and friends. Next week was half-term and everyone seemed to be in a holiday mood. With a cold dread Verity walked through the door and realized that she was going to be the only person there with no supporters.
She stood near the entrance, thinking unhappily about what Grandmother had said and wondering why she didn’t fit in. What was it about her that made her so unlikeable? She remembered the strange wooden ball, hidden upstairs in her bedroom. Verity knew it was stupid, but she really wished she’d brought it with her: she could have used some good luck.
‘Verity,’ a familiar voice shouted through the throng. ‘Excuse me, excuse me. Boy with arms, and mouth, full.’
To Verity’s astonishment Henry appeared from behind a disgruntled would-be spectator, holding a plate piled high with buffet food. ‘The sausage rolls are always really good here,’ he said, pointing to booty he’d already started work on. ‘Though not up to Mum’s standard, obviously. Want one?’
Verity shook her head. She was far too nervous. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
Henry shrugged. ‘Thought it might be fun – thought you might like some support,’ he said.
Verity smiled gratefully at her new friend, not knowing quite what to say. ‘I wonder if my grandfather ever came here?’ she wondered, looking around.
‘I think he built it—’ Henry was suddenly interrupted by Percy and Will.
‘I didn’t realize the match would offer such rarefied company,’ exclaimed Percy, jumping up and down in mock excitement. ‘I can see the Blakes from here – would have put my best underwear on if I’d known.’
‘I feel quite at home myself,’ said Will, nodding in what he considered to be an imitation of someone engaging in sophisticated banter. ‘Always fancied a bit of hobbing and nobbing.’
Percy helped himself to a devilled egg from Henry’s plate.
‘Get your own,’ his younger brother complained.
‘I’m doing you a favour,’ Percy insisted. ‘Morning, Verity,’ he added. ‘Ready to show us how it’s done?’
Verity laughed. He must be joking. She looked across the room for the rest of her team-mates. There was Miranda Blake, competing for Whale Chine. She waved delicately at Verity, then made a comment to her friends – who all looked at her and burst out laughing. Verity’s insides turned over.
‘That girl is a piece of work,’ said Will.
Verity frowned. Standing next to Miranda Blake was someone who looked familiar. A tall slender figure in deceptively simple clothes. She was deep in conversation with a pinch-faced lady and a whiskery gentleman and had her back to Verity. Could it really be …? Verity stared again in astonishment. It was.
‘That’s my grandmother,’ she exclaimed, grabbing Henry’s arm. ‘Talking to the couple over there. How did she get here so quickly? And why didn’t she mention that she was coming?’
‘They’re the Blakes.’ Henry injected a healthy
amount of disdain into the one short sentence.
‘Mrs Blake looks very pleased to be talking to your grandmother, I must say,’ said Percy.
The conversation appeared to have ended. Now, at a word from Miranda, Grandmother swung round. Spying Verity, she headed over and looked questioningly at her granddaughter, who introduced the three boys nervously. She took in Henry, Percy and Will with one dismissive stare.
‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ Verity added nervously.
‘What company you keep, Verity,’ said the old lady, ignoring the comment and the Twogood brothers. ‘I am going now.’ And without further comment she left the hall.
Verity felt her face burn with shame and anger.
‘Well, she seems really nice,’ said Percy, opening his eyes wide and pulling a face.
‘Looks like you’re not the only person she doesn’t like,’ said Henry.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Verity, embarrassed.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Will. ‘We have tons of barking relatives.’
Verity sighed. ‘She certainly is very strange.’ She turned to Henry. ‘I know this probably sounds really weird … but this morning she got so angry it was almost as if her entire face changed.’
‘Yeah, Mum looks pretty terrifying when she decides we’re playing up,’ said Henry.
Verity shook her head. ‘No, really. She looked completely different. I know it sounds odd, but she did.’
Henry didn’t believe in mystery or the supernatural. It wasn’t part of the Twogood outlook. Normally he would have quashed any such speculation with a guffaw, but he could tell Verity was on edge, so he just smiled sympathetically.
There was a loud call for all girls to assemble in their teams.
‘You’d better go,’ he said kindly. ‘I’ll see you later.’ He gave his wide, honest smile and Verity couldn’t help grinning in return.
Chapter Eight
Things weren’t going so badly, Verity thought to herself as she went down the wooden stairs that led from the side of the boat club to the slipway. Maybe she didn’t need the strange wooden ball for luck after all. A flurry of activity was already underway. Competitors from both schools were pulling their dinghies down to the water on metal trolleys, sails furled.
