by M. L. Welsh
‘Seriously,’ she said gently, ‘are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? There are things happening in Wellow. Dangerous things.’
‘Some of us are popular enough to receive these things called gifts, Verity,’ said Miranda superciliously. ‘If you had any worthwhile friends, you’d know that.’
There’s no point being nice to Miranda, Verity reminded herself. She just uses it as an opportunity to put you down. Watching her move on to her next target, Verity realized that if she were receiving gifts from Grandmother, it probably meant she was reporting back to her too. So now she would know that Jeb had brought her here. A wave of panic swept through her. Who else was in her grandmother’s pay? What did she know? Father was already behaving peculiarly. What else was she planning?
Verity was finding the idea of being a character in a live story more than a little unsettling. Did it mean that she wasn’t in control of her own actions? Sometimes when she was walking along a street, she would wonder if the steps she took were of her own volition or whether her grandfather’s story was driving her along. Now she felt as if everything was closing in around her; as if nothing and nowhere were safe any more.
Book Three
SPRING
Chapter Seventeen
Winter was turning gradually to spring. The first snowdrops had been and gone, and all around Wellow daffodils and crocuses were optimistically poking their heads above ground. Verity couldn’t bring herself to share in their hopefulness. She was finding it increasingly difficult to escape the house and the attention of Grandmother, who seemed determined to keep her close to home and away from her friends.
No sooner had she finished one task than the old lady would helpfully suggest another. Occasionally she would try to sneak out, but she was no match for Grandmother’s astonishingly good hearing. Each time she got as far as the door, the old lady would appear silently, like a gust of malevolent wind, with another chore at the ready.
‘It’s for the best, my dear,’ she was fond of saying in a clear voice. And Verity would silently acquiesce, unwilling to leave her mother on her own now that the pregnancy was taking its toll. She was finding movement very difficult, and sleep eluded her.
‘Oh, bother,’ snapped Mrs Gallant in exasperation as she knocked over the tea caddy. Verity quickly grabbed a dustpan and brush and began sweeping up the leaves from the floor.
‘Hurry, child,’ goaded Grandmother. ‘You can hardly expect your mother to clear up this mess.’ Turning to Verity’s mother, she added in a cloying tone, ‘You should be taking more care of yourself, dear. Go to the sitting room and Verity will bring you a warm drink.’
‘It is really very trying that pregnancy makes you so clumsy, when you are least able to pick things up,’ fretted Mrs Gallant.
‘Try not to worry about it,’ Verity soothed, ignoring her grandmother.
Mother sighed, clearly exhausted.
So Verity stayed at home, mindful that her family were unwittingly dependent for their safety on her co-operation with Grandmother. She thought of the baby her mother was carrying and wondered what it would be like. Another brother or sister – she found it impossible to imagine. Sometimes she wished she could be more enthusiastic about the prospect, but it just seemed so hard to grasp.
Fortunately life at Priory Bay had become easier of late. Since Jeb arrived to meet her, many of the girls had become a lot friendlier.
‘Never knew you had it in you,’ said one admiringly.
The clothes sent by Alice helped too. Her old friend had been so generous that Verity never wanted for stylish new outfits now. Her current favourite was a plaid pinafore dress, which she liked to wear with a cream turtleneck jumper and her black patent shoes. It was silly, she reflected, how much more confident she felt knowing what she wanted to put on in the morning.
Not that being teased at school was her main concern these days: it rather paled in comparison to the prospect of having to defend her family from an evil witch and act out a story she didn’t know the ending of.
Verity, Henry and Martha had been spending every spare minute researching the legends of both the Mistress of the Storm and the Keeper of the Wind. Martha was adamant that preparation was going to be the key to success. But it was slow work, and each new reference or snippet they unearthed was more worrying than the last. Verity wasn’t convinced it was helping.
‘I think your grandmother’s scared of you,’ said Henry one Friday afternoon as they sat in the library reading room when they should have been attending games.
‘She does a very good job of hiding it,’ said Verity glumly.
Martha pulled a sympathetic face. ‘It must be difficult,’ she said. ‘But you’re actually in a position of power. She’s the one Rafe vowed revenge upon.’
Verity nodded. ‘But if that involves her death, then I have to kill her,’ she pointed out. ‘And she’s immortal … and a lot more powerful than me … and evil.’
‘Rafe Gallant was a famously clever man,’ Martha said. ‘He may have put you at the heart of the story, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have planned to just leave you to it.’
‘He let Ruby die at sea,’ Verity countered. ‘And then abandoned my father.’
‘The story threatens your grandmother. Perhaps it’s simply a case of waiting for things to come to a head. Or for her to do a particular thing that will result in her death – don’t you think, Henry?’ Martha gave him a swift kick under the table.
‘Ow,’ he protested. ‘What did you do that for? Ow. Oh. Er, absolutely,’ he agreed, finally realizing what Martha required of him.
Martha patted Verity reassuringly on the back as she got up to put some books back on their shelves.
Verity sighed. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if she hadn’t got to Father. Often he doesn’t seem to know who I am; he’s so distant. At Christmas, when she was bullying me on the stairs, it was as if I weren’t there.’
‘Perhaps she’s sent him mad,’ said Martha absent-mindedly, looking for the correct slot.
‘What?’
Martha looked round. ‘Oh,’ she said, realizing she had piqued her friend’s interest. ‘Er, well, apparently the wind can send you mad if you’re exposed to it too much … I’m sure I read that somewhere.’
‘Why didn’t you say so before?’ demanded Verity. ‘That must be what she’s done.’
‘Possibly …’ conceded Martha doubtfully.
Verity’s mind raced. ‘Maybe I should get him away from the house?’
‘You can’t do that,’ said Martha, slightly patronizingly.
Henry nodded in agreement. ‘You’ll just make your grandmother suspicious.’
Verity glared at them. ‘Thanks for being so sympathetic,’ she snapped angrily, putting on her coat and striding towards the door.
‘Verity, I’m sorry. That was badly put,’ said Martha anxiously, running after her. ‘Promise me you won’t try anything dangerous.’
‘There’s no need to do anything hasty,’ said Henry earnestly.
‘That’s easy to say when it’s not your father,’ shouted Verity, slamming the red double doors on her way out.
She stormed away angrily, tears streaming down her face. How could they be so insensitive? Neither of them knew what it felt like to be her. She looked back, but neither Henry nor Martha were there. She just wanted something – anything – to be the same as before. If she could make Father normal, things would be better, she knew it.
Verity heard the sound of a car approaching. It was Jeb. Spotting her, he pulled up at the kerb. She quickly wiped her face with a sleeve, hoping her eyes weren’t too red.
‘You OK?’ he asked with a concerned look.
Verity nodded. ‘Fine, everything’s fine,’ she said brightly.
‘Things getting on top of you a bit?’
Her lip quivered. Tears pushed at the corners of her eyes.
‘Come on, get in,’ Jeb said. ‘I know a place that’ll cheer you up.’
Ver
ity debated for a split-second and then hopped in. She turned her face to the window and let the cold air rush over her. They were heading for the top of the town, then turning carefully and slowly onto a brick-walled track whose entrance she had never even noticed, it was so overgrown.
‘Where does this lead to?’ she asked.
‘The Manor,’ Jeb told her. ‘Rafe’s house.’
Verity felt a flicker of excitement. ‘Really? The Manor? It’s Rafe’s?’ she asked, then remembered: ‘Miranda Blake mentioned it to me. She said the parties here went on for weeks.’
Jeb smiled. ‘Lit up the sky like a beacon, apparently. Torches blazing in the garden overlooking the cliff.’
‘Did Father live here?’ Verity wondered.
Jeb nodded. ‘Until he went to Edie.’
‘So who owns it now?’
‘It still belongs to Rafe,’ said Jeb, steering down a surprisingly weed-free drive.
As he pulled up outside the house, Verity was already enthusiastically opening the car door. She walked eagerly across the lawn. The view out to sea was spectacular.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed, gazing at the clear blue water, which melded so perfectly with the sky on the horizon. From the top of the uppercliff, it looked like a rippled sheet of silk. Above, one lonely cloud cast a green shadow on the water’s surface.
‘Wait till you get to the beach.’ Jeb pointed to an opening in the stone wall that marked the edge of the garden.
Verity followed him, then gasped as she turned the corner and looked down at a rough-hewn stone path. It had literally been carved into the cliff-face. To her left, dark trees clung to rocks that fell steeply away.
Jeb jumped down in front of her. ‘You’ll get used to it quickly enough,’ he said.
Verity moved a nervous foot towards the first mossy step.
‘You can hold my hand if you like,’ said Jeb.
Verity realized she was being silly. ‘I’m fine,’ she told him firmly.
‘So how do you know Miss Cameron?’ she asked as they made their way down the path.
‘She and my grandfather were introduced by your friend Alice,’ said Jeb, his voice muffled by the damp rock and trees.
‘By Alice?’
They were at the bottom of the steps now. Jeb continued along a dry mud path, obviously confident of where he was going. ‘She were a good friend of Rafe’s,’ he said.
‘So she must have known my grandmother?’ said Verity, a little breathless as she struggled to keep up.
Jeb stopped at the edge of a bank. Verity could see bright daylight filtering through the overgrown lilac in front of him.
‘You’d be surprised what Alice and Miss Cameron know,’ he answered simply, then reached out to pull the bush aside.
Verity gasped at what lay before her. She stepped past Jeb to the end of the dune and looked at the sheltered cove. The cliffs towered up on either side, covered in trees so you could hardly see the rock. The shallow sea was clear, fading out to blue the further you looked. The shore was clean yellow sand.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said quietly.
‘This was Rafe’s beach,’ said Jeb. ‘It belongs to the Manor.’
Verity looked around in wonder. ‘Imagine having this at the bottom of your garden,’ she said.
‘This was where they found Ruby,’ he told her.
Verity looked at him in horror. ‘Really? How awful.’
Jeb nodded. ‘Isaac said it were heartbreakin’. He was with Rafe when the news was sent. Rafe scrambled down that path and through the woods like the devil was on his tail. My grandfather thought he was going to kill someone – or himself – right there, he looked so crazed with grief.’
Verity stared at the quietly lapping water. ‘He must have loved her an awful lot.’
‘Yes,’ said Jeb, ‘he did … but the reason he felt so bad were that he was always wrapped up in Gentry business. She were just a little girl on her own in a grand house full of adults. She went out in her boat because she were lonely. And he knew that.’
‘Then he left my father here?’ said Verity.
‘Rafe were no angel,’ Jeb told her.
Verity was troubled. The man in the books she’d spent weeks poring over sounded so thrilling she couldn’t help but be enchanted by him … and yet …
She stared out to sea. It was so peaceful. She breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. Jeb was right: she did feel better here.
‘It must have been exciting,’ she said wistfully. ‘Travelling to all those far-flung places, outrunning enemies on the water, the intrigue …’
Jeb grinned. ‘My grandfather and Rafe had a rare old time,’ he acknowledged. ‘Saw a few sights too. Some of the places Isaac can tell you about. They scarcely seem credible.’
Verity glanced at him. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be doing the same?’ she asked. ‘Wellow’s a bit tame by comparison.’
Jeb shrugged. ‘One day … But my grandfather promised Rafe the Tempests would stay in Wellow and wait for the Storm to return, and I owe a lot to him: he raised me from a child. The least I can do is help him keep his promise.’
He crouched down and picked up a piece of sea glass, worn smooth and opaque from untold journeys in the ocean. ‘You know these are called Mistress’s tears?’ he said.
Verity took the proffered piece of glass and turned it over in her hand. ‘Really? Why?’
‘It’s from an old Gentry tale: we used to say that when a ship went unwrecked, she cried bitter tears of glass that would cut and hurt just like she did.’
‘But glass from the sea is always smooth,’ said Verity.
Jeb nodded. ‘Because the sea heals them.’ He stood up and dusted the sand from his trousers. ‘It’s an allegory.’ Verity looked up, trying not to appear surprised at his use of such a long word. ‘The Gentry prayer of hope,’ he continued. ‘That everything can be healed one day – even the Mistress.’
They climbed back to the top of the cliff and wandered slowly across the lawn.
‘Would you like to have a look inside?’ he asked.
Verity’s eyes widened. ‘What, really?’ she asked excitedly. Then, before he had time to change his mind, ‘Yes, I’d love to. How can we get in?’
Jeb shrugged. ‘It’s not locked,’ he said.
Verity stared at him in confusion.
‘No one would break into Rafe’s house,’ he told her.
Verity stood and gazed at the oak-panelled wall in front of her. This was once her grandfather’s home. It had been her father’s too. Had he played in here? Or read perhaps? To the right was an entire wall of shelves filled with books. With the rays of afternoon light warming the air, it smelled comfortingly of leather and ageing paper. She went over to look at the rich mahogany and brass telescope by the window.
‘Nothing’s been touched since Rafe left,’ said Jeb. ‘Just looked after.’
On a bureau stood various framed photographs. Jeb looked at them over Verity’s shoulder. ‘That’s Rafe,’ he said, ‘on the left, with my grandfather.’
She stared intently at the two people in the picture. Her grandfather, Rafe Gallant. Even though the picture was brown with age she could see he was very handsome. He and Isaac Tempest looked young. They were both laughing – real belly-laughs, she could tell. They were on a yacht.
‘Rafe loved racing,’ said Jeb. ‘Kept so many keelboats he could have had his own fleet.’ He grinned.
Verity sighed. So much of her family history was known to others, but not her. She wandered over to a table upon which various maps were laid out.
‘Charts,’ explained Jeb. ‘They show the depth of water, features of the sea bed, things to watch out for when you’re navigating.’
Verity carefully turned a large page. Then, just as carefully, put it back again.
‘Rafe were meticulous about keeping records,’ said Jeb, coming over to the table. ‘Didn’t need them himself, of course, but he were very particular about the importance of marking thin
gs down.’
‘Why wouldn’t he need them himself?’ asked Verity.
‘You could set him down in pretty much any harbour around the world and he’d know as much as the local pilots—’ Jeb saw that he’d gone too far with his jargon. ‘The experts who are paid to guide newcomers through tricky waters,’ he told her.
He tapped a leather-bound volume. ‘Not even the Admiralty could match these for detail,’ he said proudly.
Verity stared blankly at the unintelligible sheets of paper.
‘Knowing the secret routes through waters that were reckoned to be impassable – that was a Gentry skill that made us uncatchable,’ explained Jeb.
Of course, Verity remembered. ‘Henry told me about this,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘He said that at Soul Bay there was just one route through the ledge to the shore.’
‘That’s right.’ Jeb smiled and pulled out a large sheet of thick paper from a pile. Verity had a small moment of triumph as she recognized the topography of the local coast. ‘Right here,’ he said, tracing a zigzag route which she was sure she would never be able to master herself. ‘But this is a neat little trick too,’ he added. ‘See that sandbank …?’
Verity frowned. All she could see was a few random numbers.
Jeb realized his mistake. ‘Each figure indicates the depth of the sea bed from the surface level of the water,’ he said. ‘So when there’s a range of ones and twos forming a shape, then you know there’s a sandbank under the water. Or leastways something you can’t sail through.’
Verity nodded. She understood what Jeb was talking about now: she’d sailed round it often enough.
‘Most people think it blocks the sea area off – that you have to go round it, like this,’ said Jeb, his finger showing her the route on the map. Then he grinned mischievously. ‘But there’s a channel, big enough for a small boat … right here.’ He traced a line along a series of higher numbers written in by hand. ‘Lets you cut straight through to Wellow bay, quick as you like.’
