Mistress of the Storm (22 page)

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 things 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.’

Verity’s eyes widened. ‘Really? But how do you—?’

Suddenly she heard footsteps ringing outside in the hallway. Her face paled with concern at being caught trespassing.

The large brass doorknob twisted and the oversized wooden door swung open to reveal an old man. His face was weatherbeaten and rugged, with green eyes that sparkled beneath thick brows. He looked familiar.

Isaac Tempest came towards Verity, smiling in greeting. ‘Miss Gallant,’ he said warmly, extending a hand. She shook it. His grip was strong and firm, his palm leathery from age and hard sailing. ‘I trust Jeb has been looking after you satisfactory?’

‘He’s been very kind,’ agreed Verity, smiling back. There was something about this old man that was instantly charming.

‘Tempests and the Gallants go a long way back,’ he told her.

Verity nodded. ‘I’ve heard … I’ve seen,’ she added, pointing to the photo.

Isaac looked intently at her face and smiled fondly.

‘I was just asking how you find this channel,’ she said, pointing to the map.

He smiled. ‘A small withy,’ he said. ‘A piece of willow.’

Verity was astonished. ‘That stick near the marker?’ she asked.

Jeb nodded. ‘The sandbank shifts and changes with the movement of the sea,’ he explained, ‘and so does the channel. We move the withy as a sign for those who know. You’ve to keep it to your right … Look up to the cliffs on your left and aim for the pepperpot.’

‘That peculiar brick lump on the downs?’ asked Verity.

‘Can’t go wrong,’ he told her.

Verity smiled wryly. He made it sound easy, but she knew it would be far less simple in practice.

As Verity and Jeb left the room to walk back out through the Manor grounds, Isaac Tempest lovingly tidied away the charts.

‘Looks just like Ruby,’ he mused to himself. ‘Very pretty too, especially when she smiles.’ He grinned, thinking of the look on his grandson’s face. He could hear steps in the room above him. A familiar tread. The sound of someone else going to the leaded window in the room above.

‘Could you drop me off at the library?’ Verity asked as they drove down through Wellow. ‘I should go back to apologize.’

Now she’d had time to calm down, she could see that her friends were right. She couldn’t do anything hasty to help Father. They mustn’t let on that Verity knew who Grandmother really was. She had to be careful not to arouse her suspicion.

‘They’ll understand,’ said Jeb. ‘They’re your friends.’

At the corner Verity smiled brilliantly at him as she prepared to get out. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

He grinned back, leaning over to open the door for her. ‘Weren’t a hardship.’

His green eyes caught hers for a second. Verity felt particularly clumsy as she slid out of the passenger seat. She walked awkwardly across the street, unsure whether to look back or not. Jeb watched her for a moment and then pulled himself together. He was being ridiculous.

Verity pushed back through the familiar red doors that led into the main hall. But Henry and Martha were no longer there. As she rounded a corner, she realized that the only other person in the library appeared to be a strange man in a neatly ironed jacket with highly polished buttons. He was sitting quietly in the folklore section, surrounded by piles of books on the Gentry and Rafe Gallant.

Verity stopped short. The man glanced from the book he was reading to his notepad and scribbled something down. Then he stood up abruptly and strode towards the reading room. Why was he reading up on the Gentry and her grandfather? Verity wondered. Did he know
something? Seized by a terrible curiosity, she darted over to his table. If he came back, she reasoned, she could say she was interested in them. Which was true.

On the desk was a custom-made canvas bag. It was open. Inside was a maritime gimble holding a glass sphere. It looked as if two liquids were floating separately inside. They seemed to be moving. Verity picked it up, holding it at eye level. A slight breeze ruffled her hair. She gawped in astonishment.

‘It took a man of rare talent to make that device,’ said Jasper Cutgrass calmly.

Verity swivelled round to stare fearfully at the customs man, who had silently appeared by her side. She wondered how much trouble she would be in for tampering with a Preventative Officer’s equipment.

‘I shouldn’t move too swiftly. It could kill us both,’ Jasper continued.

Verity put the gimble down carefully; she wasn’t sure what to say. This strange man didn’t seem at all concerned, either by this or by the fact that he’d just found her disturbing his property.

‘Jasper Cutgrass,’ he said, extending a hand. Verity shook it. ‘It’s a Storm Bringer,’ he went on. ‘Commissioned by your grandfather’s rival, Barbarous Usage. Spinning it gently creates a breeze that radiates out in a wide circle. But the closer the ball is to you, and the faster you move it, the more the local atmosphere is disturbed, causing a violent wind. Holding it at arm’s length lessens the effect … 
That’s the general principle at least – I’m afraid in practice it’s quite volatile.’