Mistress of the Storm (11 page)

‘Crikey,’ said Percy to his younger brother. ‘Your girl’s got some spirit.’

‘She’s not my girl,’ said Henry automatically, gazing in astonishment at Verity’s dinghy. ‘Charming,’ he added as Mrs Blake elbowed her way furiously past him.

Verity looked around and saw that they were still in one piece. And in the lead. She beamed with happiness. This was brilliant fun. But as Judy Makepiece opened her eyes and realized they had not capsized, her relief turned to embarrassed anger.

‘What the hell do you think you were doing, showing
off like that?’ she shouted at Verity. ‘I should have known you’d think you were something special.’

Verity was baffled and confused. ‘I’m sorry,’ she shouted back. ‘It just seemed like the right thing to do. I thought it helped.’

Still shaking, her team-mate recovered a little. She knew she wasn’t being fair. They were going to win, and it was all down to Verity; but there was no way Judy was going to admit that. ‘Let’s just get round this final marker and call it a day,’ she snapped.

Verity stood once more in the freezing water, holding the dinghy by the gunwale while Judy furled the sails and cleaned the ropes. She paused occasionally to glare at Verity. ‘Never raced with someone so unprofessional … Should have known you’d pull a stunt like that.’

Verity could feel the sticky sandy mud oozing between her toes. She had no idea what she’d done. Just as she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Miranda Blake’s dinghy came speeding towards them with an incensed occupant.

‘Beginner’s luck, Gallant,’ she snarled across the water. ‘That and the fact that your lousy team-mates saddled me with a leaky tub.’

‘Shut up, Blake,’ shouted a familiar voice further up the slipway.

‘The Twogoods,’ Miranda sneered, investing those two words with a world of disdain.

Henry and his brothers gave her a hard stare as they came down to congratulate Verity on her win.

Jumping nimbly from her boat onto the dry slipway, Miranda stared challengingly at her as she shivered in the water. ‘What a delightful couple you make, Verity,’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘You have so much in common: second-hand clothes, archaic sailing gear … robust physiques.’

‘Pack it in, pygmy-girl,’ shouted Percy.

But Miranda was on a roll now and she wasn’t giving up. ‘Goody Twogood and Gallant the Galumph.’ She smiled brightly at Verity. ‘Goody and the Galumph.’ She laughed spitefully and Judy Makepiece joined in.

‘Goody and the Galumph,’ Verity heard someone giggle. ‘That’s quite good.’

Gallant the Galumph
. Was that what everyone was going to call her? Verity was devastated. She was cold, she was wet and she’d had enough of being teased and bullied for one day. Pulling herself up onto the slipway – and studiously avoiding anyone’s gaze – she hurried away from the dinghy before her welling tears overflowed. She could hear people shouting, but she didn’t care. She just kept pushing blindly through the crowd, heading for the exit and escape.

On her own at last, Verity gave in to the unhappy hurt of being laughed at in front of so many people. Grandmother’s words rang in her ears:
Do you have any friends? I suppose the little fat boy will have to do if none of the
girls like you
. She was useless. Nobody liked her – not even when she was in the winning boat.

At the corner she heard Henry shouting. Verity was angry now. And Henry was there. ‘Just leave me alone,’ she shouted back. Henry’s honest, open face looked confused and hurt but she didn’t care.

‘But you—’ he started.

‘I’m what?’ Verity snapped, tears streaming. ‘The only person in Wellow who can’t sail? Incredibly unpopular? Dressed like an old woman?’

‘No, you were—’

‘I’m one half of
Goody and the Galumph
,’ Verity interrupted. ‘Even by my standards, that has to be a new all-time low.’

‘Oh,’ said Henry as she stormed off down the road, still crying bitterly.

The next morning Verity woke up feeling terrible. Why had she been so mean to Henry? The only person at school who’d ever been nice to her and she’d been horrible in return. She wondered what Alice would make of her behaviour. Hating herself, she headed downstairs for breakfast.

Father was already at the table reading his paper, peculiarly dressed in a thick jumper and scarf which he wore over his dressing gown. His breakfast lay untouched.

Clutching at straws, Verity wondered whether perhaps Henry might be used to tempers, having six brothers. ‘Do boys mind hurtful comments as much as girls?’ she asked.

Mr Gallant moved his paper to one side and stared distractedly at her. He was sweating profusely. ‘Only if they care about the person who made them,’ he replied. Patting her hand reassuringly, he added, ‘So you should be fine.’

Verity watched silently as he concentrated on buttering a piece of toast. He had always been off in a dream world, but there was something very different about him now.
Why did only she notice it? She’d tried mentioning it to Mother and Poppy, but according to them it was simply another example of her overactive imagination.

Verity was sure there was more to it than that. She shrank slightly at the thought of having even fewer people on her side.

Verity sat on the bed in her new room. Even reading the book couldn’t take her mind off things: she was no closer to figuring out why Abednego had given it to her, and every story she read was so horrible it made her feel worse.

Verity wiped a tear from the side of her nose. The half-term holiday stretched out like a vast expanse. Perhaps Father was right: maybe Henry didn’t actually like her that much anyway – and if he had before, he’d certainly have been put off her now.

She reached under the bed for the strange wooden ball, turning it over and over in her hand, listening to the familiar click and rattle. Holding it up to the light, she frowned. Perhaps if it made a noise, it was meant to open? Pressing her fingertips on either side, she strained to pull it apart. Sure enough, a gap showed. Excitedly she applied more pressure.

The wooden casing clicked open with a snap. Inside was a white marble ball. Verity gazed at it curiously. It didn’t look as if it would come out. She spun the marble round in the wooden casing, then shrieked. The ball fell to the ground. Gazing at her from the other side was an extremely realistic eye.

Picking it up, Verity noticed that the room seemed
infinitely still. She thought of her trip around the
Storm
on the ferry.

The eye of the
Storm
’s figurehead – it had to be, she thought, turning it around in wonder. Abednego had given it to her, after all. And the eye was famously missing – that had been plain to see. But why would he give it to her?

Turning it over, she realized that if her parents knew, they’d insist she hand it back. Verity felt a pang of concern at the mere thought. It was her talisman. She had better keep it hidden.

Hurriedly she snapped the wooden ball shut and stuffed it into her coat pocket. A thought occurred to her. She should go to Henry’s house to apologize. It wasn’t a very attractive prospect: his mother and brothers must be really cross with her too. But she knew she would feel terrible until she’d done it.

Verity knocked anxiously on the front door of the Twogoods’ house. Even though Henry had explained they rarely used it, it seemed a little presumptuous to walk round to the back. A few doors up, a dog barked, but this house was very quiet. They must all be out.

Verity turned to walk back down the path. As she reached the gate, she heard muffled cursing. Someone was trying to open the front door despite the heavy mass of coats, hats and scarves that hung from it.

Turning round, Verity saw a man of medium height and solid build. He was handsome in a sturdy and dependable
way. In his vest and trousers, with salt and pepper hair askew, he looked like someone who had recently been asleep and was not particularly pleased now to be awake. Verity swallowed anxiously: this must be Henry’s father.

Walking back up the path, she smiled nervously to break the ice, gripping the strange wooden ball in her pocket. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you,’ she said, ‘but I was looking for Henry.’

Mr Twogood stared at Verity for a second. ‘ ’E’s not here. Gone fishing with his brothers,’ he said. ‘Told ’em to take ’im so I could get some sleep,’ he added pointedly.

Verity had spent the entire walk to Henry’s house rehearsing her apology. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might not be in when she got there. She stared limply at Mr Twogood, overwhelmed with disappointment.

Henry’s father decided to put an end to this fascinating discourse. ‘I’ll tell ’im you called,’ he said, and shut the door.

Verity stared at it, then headed for the gate – only to hear the sound of coats, hats and scarves being shoved against the wall for a second time. She waited for Mr Twogood’s head to appear once more.

‘Gallant girl, was it?’ he asked. Verity nodded mutely. Mr Twogood appeared to be thinking. ‘Hmph,’ he said, and shut the door again.

Verity walked home slowly and sadly. Henry had clearly already told his family about her behaviour. Not that she could blame him. They probably all hated her now.

*   *   *

The first few days of Verity’s half-term dragged by. Father was still acting strangely while Mother was constantly tired from the pregnancy – and more than a little irritable as a consequence. Poppy had been invited to an even larger number of parties and events than usual, which left Verity on her own to fend off the worst of Grandmother’s jibes.

There had been no reply from Henry. Verity wasn’t sure if it was because she was hoping to hear from him but there seemed to be a cruelly higher number of callers that week. Each time the doorbell rang her hopes rose. But it was never for her. Henry must be really angry. She could have kicked herself for being so horrible to him.

‘No sign of the little fat boy?’ asked Grandmother, appearing silently and suddenly in the room where Verity was reading. How did she always manage to do that? ‘He’s probably laughing about you with his brothers,’ she mused, picking up Mother’s favourite porcelain figurine.

It was only what Verity believed herself, but it was horrible to hear it said out loud.

‘I expect you thought you were quite the daring little seafarer out there,’ Grandmother continued, holding the twee figure up to the light and examining it with distaste.

Verity’s heart sank. It was true. She really
had
believed she could be good at sailing.

The old lady glanced in her direction. ‘It’s your silent insolence that I find particularly trying,’ she said curtly. Still Verity couldn’t find any words that would ease the situation.

Astonishingly the little ornament suddenly leaped from Grandmother’s fingers and dashed itself on the hearth. It smashed noisily on the marble. Verity stared in amazement and horror.

‘Really, Verity,’ scolded Grandmother in a loud, clear voice. ‘Isn’t that one of your mother’s particular favourites?’

Mrs Gallant hurried into the room. ‘What’s all the commotion—? Oh.’ She knelt down to examine the shattered pieces.

‘I did warn Verity to be careful. But of course she rarely listens to her elders and betters,’ soothed Grandmother.

Verity stared at her in outrage. ‘That’s a complete lie—’ she started.

‘Verity,
really.
’ Mother was holding the broken shards with evident sadness. ‘How dare you cheek your grandmother. To your room
now.
’

Verity opened her mouth to object once more and then shut it again. As she traipsed unhappily up the stairs, she reflected that thanks to her own stupid temper she didn’t even have Henry to confide in about her hateful relative.

She couldn’t blame him for not wanting to speak to her, but life without him seemed even lonelier than before. As much as she hated to admit it, Grandmother was right. Her one chance at having a friend, and she’d blown it. And to make things worse, it left her with no one to ask about either her grandfather or the Gentry. Why had Alice chosen now, of all times, to disappear off on a trip? Verity sighed. She missed her terribly.

*   *   *

‘Miss Cameron, the librarian, stopped me in town this morning,’ said Poppy, sticking her head round Verity’s bedroom door. Her sister was sitting on the bed dejectedly. ‘About a book. She asked if you could come in this week.’

Verity stared at her. A cold feeling hit her stomach. Had Miss Cameron realized she was in possession of the red leather-bound book? She wondered how much trouble she would be in. Was she technically in receipt of stolen goods?

‘Something you ordered? Quite a mystery actually …’ Poppy continued. ‘She asked me to be discreet when reminding you about it. Said it was
a slightly delicate matter.
’ She recited the last four words in a remarkably accurate imitation of Miss Cameron’s dulcet tones, then grinned. ‘I had no idea the world of librarianship could be so intriguing.’