Mistress of the Storm

by M. L. Welsh

  Abednego hesitated. A trace of doubt flickered across his face. He knew the Mistress’s bent for cruelty better than most.

  She smirked and leaned out to take the Storm Bringer from Abednego’s hand … Too late.

  Focusing every ounce of will and determination, Verity had already steeled herself to take action. This was it: her chance to fulfil the Pledge. Forcing her hands to reach out, she grabbed the mysterious Storm Bringer from the captain.

  Years later, she could still remember that moment as if she were experiencing it afresh. It was as if she were outside her body looking down on the deck of the Storm, watching herself in silent slow motion.

  Around her she was aware of Jasper throwing out an arm – too slowly – in an effort to stop her. She saw Miranda Blake, with the baby in her arms, coolly weighing up the situation; Abednego turning, startled; Henry, running towards her, shouting something she couldn’t make out. She could see the raddled, desiccated creature that was the Mistress cringing.

  And then she saw her own overwhelming confusion as the Storm Bringer was lifted gently but firmly out of her hand. The terrible dry pricking heat lifted.

  ‘That is not how the story ends, Verity,’ said a familiar voice.

  ‘Alice,’ exclaimed Verity, stunned, as she turned and recognized her friend. ‘What are you doing here?’

  The old lady’s inquisitive pink face looked exhausted. For the first time in her life Verity noticed the deep lines and wrinkles. Alice turned to face the wasted cadaverous creature in front of her.

  ‘Oh, Aure,’ she said softly. ‘What have you let yourself become?’ Her voice was filled with love, disappointment and regret.

  The Mistress hissed. ‘I don’t need your pity, sister,’ she said, managing to fill that one word with a world of contempt.

  Verity and Henry gasped in shock.

  ‘How …?’ Verity asked incredulously. How could Alice be the sister of that … that thing?

  Alice looked ashamed. ‘What must you think of the deception?’ she asked.

  Verity didn’t know what to say.

  ‘All I can tell you is that my love for you was genuine – whatever it must look like now.’

  Verity swallowed awkwardly. She knew that. Of course she knew it. Why would Alice think otherwise?

  Alice walked towards the Mistress. ‘You will not take the baby,’ she said. ‘I won’t let you.’

  The Mistress was furious. ‘How dare you interfere again? You see how she uses you all?’ she barked, staring around.

  ‘I know what you did, Aure,’ said Alice, briskly switching to the real reason for her presence. ‘I know what happened to our sisters.’

  In a day of unprecedented shocks, this was the most startling revelation of all for the Mistress. She stared at her sister with undisguised horror.

  ‘You have to come with me now,’ Alice told her.

  ‘I shall do no such thing,’ snapped her sister, desperately trying to recover her composure.

  Alice reached out with sympathy and love. ‘This is how it finishes, Aure,’ she said.

  The Mistress gave a guttural screech of frustration and anger; suddenly arid sand-filled air blasted the onlookers’ faces. With a movement so swift it scarcely seemed possible, she snatched Verity’s baby sister from Miranda’s arms. Verity shrieked in horror. The creature that was the Mistress opened its terrifying maw, preparing to feast on the infant’s blood.

  Each thing after that happened so fast that it was impossible to be sure what was taking place. But Verity saw Alice at the Mistress’s side with the Storm Bringer. She saw the two struggling. They made such a strange contrast: the terrifying creature whose skin was as black as its soul, and the frail-looking old lady with delicate pink cheeks who was evidently a great deal stronger than she appeared.

  Then Verity found herself holding her new sister. The world froze. The tiny baby was so perfect. Her pink rosebud lips were slightly apart beneath her snub nose. Her blue eyes opened and they seemed to look at Verity with the wisdom of ages. Verity was overwhelmed with love. She had never expected to feel like this.

  Then came an earth-shattering explosion. The deafening crack and boom of the blast ripped the air. A tremendous force shook the Storm, knocking her crew and all her unexpected guests off their feet. Verity thudded to the deck as Henry flew across to protect her and the baby.

  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.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

&n
bsp; 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.