Mistress of the Storm (10 page)

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.

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.

At school matches like this it was traditional for the visiting school to borrow boats from the host team – which meant that the Whale Chine girls were using a selection of dinghies owned by Priory Bay and its pupils.

‘I can see why none of your parents bother buying anything decent for you lot,’ sniped Miranda Blake as she expertly tightened the sheets on an admittedly rather battered vessel, ‘but I don’t understand why
we
have to be lumbered with your leaky tubs.’

Looking up, she spotted the latest arrival. ‘Here at last, Gallant?’ Studying Verity’s outfit, she paused to execute an
exaggerated double take. ‘Are you wearing your mother’s clothes?’ she enquired.

Verity blushed hotly. Then Miranda spotted the shoes. She shrieked with delight, grabbing her team-mate’s arm. ‘Look at Gallant’s deck shoes,’ she trilled at the top of her voice. ‘Quite the latest thing.’

All the Whale Chine girls cackled with laughter – at which the Priory Bay team members looked up from their tasks.

‘Talk about letting the side down,’ said one crossly. ‘How are you going to get about the boat in those old-fashioned clodhoppers?’

‘Gallant the Galumph and her Cornish pasty shoes,’ Miranda giggled. ‘As if you didn’t weigh enough already.’

‘There you are, Gallant,’ boomed Mrs Watson, oblivious to any pre-match altercations. ‘You’re with Makepiece.’

Judy Makepiece was a small girl with curly dark hair and big brown eyes. Verity smiled nervously; the girl glared balefully in reply.

The assembled spectators started to make their way out onto the wooden balcony that looked out over Wellow harbour and the ocean beyond. At the westernmost corner an old man leaned against the rail. His clothes smelled faintly of vanilla smoke; occasionally he would lift his pipe or raise an eyebrow in greeting. His young companion absent-mindedly kicked one of the posts while he looked anxiously out to sea.

A small sandy-haired boy jostled past with two companions who were clearly his brothers, immersed in excited conversation: ‘… bound to wipe the smirk off Blake’s face … Verity must have been racing for years.’

The old man smiled wryly.

‘She’s really never sailed before?’ Jeb Tempest asked his grandfather quietly, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

‘Not once,’ said Isaac calmly.

Jeb shook his head.

Verity gazed up at the club building as she and Judy manoeuvred their craft down the slipway into the water. She frowned. There was the strange boy again.

‘
Hello
. Are you going to pay attention?’ her team-mate shouted angrily. Verity stared blankly in reply. ‘I
said
, it’s a south-westerly today so we’re going head to wind.’ Judy rolled her eyes and leaped nimbly into the dinghy. ‘Just get in the water and hold the boat,’ she said crossly. ‘I’ll sort out the sails.’

Verity jumped gamely off the slipway and into the shallows where the dinghy was bobbing. She gasped. It was absolutely freezing. She tried grabbing hold of the pointy end of the boat. It was very slippery.

‘There,’ Judy snapped, slapping the side of the boat. ‘
That’s
the gunwale.’

Verity stood in the water, teeth chattering, while her team-mate unfurled the red sail and briskly hitched various ropes to some straight metal bolts.

Most of the other dinghies were moving off now, so theirs was no longer hemmed in. As the sails began to catch the wind, the boat started moving.

‘Get in, you idiot,’ Judy shouted angrily.

Verity tried to pull herself over the edge. It was really difficult. How did the other girls manage to hop aboard so easily?

Miranda Blake, sitting neatly at her helm, screamed with laughter. ‘What style, what grace,’ she taunted. ‘You’re agility personified. Look, everyone. Look at Gallant trying to
haul
herself into the boat.’

Verity steeled herself to make one last-ditch attempt to get herself into the dinghy. Suddenly she felt her dreadful deck shoes sinking deep into the sticky seabed. Her feet started to come out on their own.
No, no, no
. Mother would be beside herself if she lost them after just one outing. And she’d be convinced Verity had done it on purpose.

A gunshot went off from outside the club.

‘Hurry
up
,’ Judy bellowed. ‘That’s the ten-minute gun. Honestly, I’d have been better off with a sack of potatoes.’

There was nothing for it. The shoes would have to go. Verity pulled herself in at last, barefoot.

‘Reach away to the beach, girls,’ shouted Mrs Watson to them as their boat started to move off. ‘You’ll be fine.’

Verity wished she could share her teacher’s confidence.

‘How could a Gallant living in Wellow get to her age and still not know how to sail?’ Jeb asked.

‘Because Tom chose to protect his daughters from everything it meant to be Gentry,’ said his grandfather. ‘Something Rafe was never there to do for him. Too busy.’

‘Travelling the world,’ sighed Jeb enviously.

Isaac smiled ruefully. ‘Running an empire,’ he acknowledged. ‘Losing sight of what matters.’

‘You’re sheeted in too hard,’ Verity’s team-mate shouted as they started to move off.

Verity flinched: she had no idea what that meant. Judy gestured angrily at the small sail to the front of the boat. It was almost completely flat.

‘I need you to loosen that rope there,’ she huffed. ‘To let more wind into it.’

They were heading for the natural beach, marked by a row of fishermen’s huts on the opposite side of Wellow harbour. Verity vaguely remembered something about this from the tactics session. Weren’t they going to be racing around a triangle marked out by something called a channel mark, a sandbank buoy and a mark set down by the club?

‘We’re tacking round to get to the starting line, which is between those two boats over there,
remember
?’ Judy snapped sarcastically, clearly resenting having to explain anything at all. ‘Ready about,’ she continued, and then, practically in the same breath, ‘Lee ho.’

Verity sat where she was, hoping that the meaning of one or both of those phrases would become clear.

‘Ooph.’ The piece of wood attached to the bottom of the
sail hit her squarely in the chest as another gunshot went off. Verity started to feel just the tiniest bit fed up. This was the complete opposite of fun.

‘What are you
doing
?’ shouted Judy, incensed. ‘Jump to the other side of the boat. Uncleat the jib sheet – that
rope, there
– and re-cleat it here. Lord of the Sky, we’re already on the five-minute gun. Why did you agree to come when you don’t know the first thing about sailing?’

Verity had no idea. And she was prepared to admit – although not to her moody team-mate – that it had been a pretty stupid move. There was clearly so much more to sailing than she had ever imagined. Why had Mrs Watson thought she could do it?

They were heading towards the starting line now, where the other dinghies were all gathered, jostling for position. Some appeared to be going up and down in small zigzags; others were almost circling in their anxiety to be as close as possible to the starting line when the final gun went off.

‘We’d better tack here,’ shouted Judy sulkily. ‘Lord only knows what mayhem you’d cause if we got too close to the rest of them.’

As they turned the boat round, Verity managed to hop across – un-cleating and re-cleating the jib sheet – with a little more agility this time. A third gunshot went off in the background. Verity looked around, slightly puzzled. Had the race started?

‘Oh
yes
,’ crowed Judy. ‘What a scoop. We’re in front.’

Behind her, Verity could hear Miranda Blake fouling the
air with a string of heartfelt expletives. She giggled. Looking across at her team-mate, she grinned, and to her astonishment Judy smiled back.

‘Look at that – we’ve managed to rattle Blake,’ she said happily.

On the club’s balcony the crowd were paying attention now that the race had begun.

‘First across the starting line,’ said Percy to Will and Henry in admiration. ‘She really must be good.’

Nearby, Mrs Blake glared with distaste at the three boys. ‘What does Miranda think she’s playing at?’ she hissed to her husband.

In the corner, Jeb watched Verity and her team-mate prepare to tack. ‘She don’t seem to be doing too bad,’ he said hesitantly.

Isaac Tempest smiled. ‘Give her time to get a feel for it,’ he said. ‘She’ll come into her own.’

‘Does she need to?’ asked Jeb, still unsure what was to be required of the solemn little girl on the water.

‘She’s going to need the confidence and spirit it can bring,’ his grandfather replied.

Verity and Judy tacked round the first marker laid down by the club. In spite of the fact that she was soaked from the waist down, Verity realized she was enjoying herself. Maybe it was the clean sea air or the sharp cool breeze, but she felt alive. In a small dinghy like this you were so close to the sea
and its movement. She felt as if this was where she belonged.

They were approaching the second marker: a large orange triangle attached to a floating barrel. ‘We’ve got to do a controlled gybe round this one, then a run to the next point,’ shouted Judy with a hint of anxiety in her voice. ‘It’s going to be more violent than a tack because we’re moving to put the wind directly behind us.’

Verity nodded, even though she hadn’t understood any of that. They were racing along now. As they approached the channel marker, Judy pushed the tiller to swing the boat round it in a sixty-degree turn. The wind caught the little red sail and snapped the boom across the boat in a violent judder, but they were ready for it. Verity managed to adjust the jib sheet quite nimbly as they swapped across to the other side. Having no shoes on made her feel in tune with the boat. Her movements were certainly quicker and lighter.

‘Try not to worry,’ shouted Judy as she sat back down on the other side of the tiller. ‘Gybing feels quite hairy, but it’s all right most of the time.’

Verity grinned. ‘I’m fine,’ she shouted back happily. And she was.

Jeb and Isaac stared out to sea as Verity and Judy gybed neatly round the channel marker.

Isaac nodded to himself. ‘Not bad,’ he said quietly. ‘Not bad at all.’

‘How did the Usages worm their way into the Gentry in the first place?’ Jeb asked.

‘Didn’t have to worm their way in. They were part and parcel of us.’

‘But they’re not real Gentry.’

‘Yes they are,’ said Isaac evenly. ‘That’s the nub of it, you see. At the heart, there’s as much greed and selfishness in the Gentry as there is honour and valour. And until we admit that, we’ll never overcome—’ He broke off. ‘What has to be overcome,’ he finished.

Jeb followed his grandfather’s gaze. He was staring thoughtfully at a patrician old lady, who was watching the match from a passageway beside the club.

Further along the balcony Henry grabbed his brother Will’s arm. ‘That’s Verity’s grandmother over there,’ he said, frowning. ‘By the post office jetty. I thought she was leaving … She really is the most peculiar woman.’ She was watching the match intently.

‘Maybe she’s interested in how Verity does, after all?’ said Will.

‘Mm,’ said Henry uncertainly. If so, she didn’t look very happy to see that Verity’s dinghy was winning. In fact she seemed furious. Anger distorted her fine features and her hands twitched as if she longed to take some form of action. Finally, almost unconsciously, she snapped her fingers in frustration.

*   *   *

Judy looked up at the little flag at the top of the mast. It was pointing away from the main sail. Her face fell.

‘The wind’s changed,’ she shouted, looking anxiously at the water. They were tearing along now, with a strong breeze behind them. ‘We’re running on the lee.’

Verity grinned happily, not understanding the words or registering her team-mate’s anxiety.

‘The mainsail’s on the wrong side of the bow for the wind direction,’ Judy snapped angrily, all former bonhomie lost in an instant. ‘We could gybe again at any time.’

Verity’s brow furrowed with concern. ‘Well, let’s gybe then,’ she said simply.

‘Oh, let’s gybe then,’
mimicked her team-mate furiously. ‘Yes, let’s just do that.’

‘Look at Moody Makepiece.’ Miranda Blake’s spiteful little voice gusted towards them across the water. ‘She’s going to blub like she did last time she capsized. She wet her knickers too, you know.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ soothed Verity. Instinctively she placed her hand on top of her team-mate’s at the tiller, hoping to calm and reassure the obviously scared girl. But in the same moment a gust of wind seized the dinghy’s sail. Judy cried out with fear.

The sail jerked across the boat, and with no conscious thought Verity dived over, sticking her bare feet under the straps and using them to attach herself to the boat. Instinctively she threw all her weight out of the dinghy, her body thrust out across the water to counteract the force of
the sail. Then, as it righted itself, she moved back just as swiftly to the centre of the hull.

Jeb Tempest had noticed Verity’s grandmother smirk and raise an eyebrow; now he whooped with glee. ‘Did you see that?’ he shouted jubilantly. ‘Not a second’s thought – just sat her weight out and kept it upright. Fearless.’ Turning round to his grandfather, he grinned.

Isaac was a little more circumspect but he still smiled. ‘And she had the instinct to jump back to the middle,’ he agreed. ‘Looks just like her,’ he added proudly.

He and his grandson gazed at the daring young girl with the flowing brown hair and pink cheeks. With a triumphant smile Jeb turned to stare pointedly at Verity’s grandmother. The old woman looked furious.