Mistress of the Storm Read Online Free PDF Page A

it … cheesy.’
    Verity tried one. It was surprisingly good.
    Henry nodded gravely. ‘The food of kings.’
    Verity sat down on the wall next to him. ‘Miranda Blake said the storm was coming,’ she said as they ate. ‘She seemed quite pleased about it.’
    Henry snorted. ‘Typical Blake,’ he said, waving a chip dismissively.
    ‘Why is everyone so excited about the weather?’ asked Verity. ‘Is it going to be particularly bad?’
    Henry looked at her, chewing thoughtfully. ‘Yourparents really don’t talk much about the Gentry, do they?’
    Verity frowned. What did that have to do with anything? ‘Not a lot,’ she admitted. ‘I think they see it all as slightly vulgar.’
    Henry laughed. ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ he conceded. His chips finished, he scrunched the paper into a ball and threw it with pinpoint accuracy into a wood-slatted bin. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘If we hurry we’ll just about get to the headland in time.’
    Verity stared at him in alarm. ‘In time for what …? I have to go home,’ she insisted. ‘My parents will be wondering where I am.’
    ‘Do they know how long a tactics session lasts?’ Henry asked her.
    ‘No. I don’t suppose they do.’ Verity had never deliberately stayed out late in her life.
    ‘Come on then, or we’ll miss it. You get the best view from up there.’
    ‘The best view of what?’ asked Verity, scurrying after him, overwhelmed with curiosity now.
    ‘This way,’ said Henry, pointing to an alley. ‘I know a short cut.’

Chapter Three
    The town of Wellow lay still and expectant under a silent sky. Above the bay, its houses clung to the curved cliff-face. The small white fishermen’s cottages clustered round the harbour. Further up, the stone villas grew larger and more ornate as they ascended. At the top, the Manor dominated the skyline to the west, while to the east was Priory Bay College.
    The weather was changing. In the distance the sky was a bruised black. An overwhelming sense of calm and peace cocooned the town. The air was close and warm. No trees rustled. No birds sang. The atmospheric pressure had dropped and it felt like a promise of hopes to be fulfilled.
    A lone gull flew across the downs towards the headland – here, the wind blew clean and fast and straight – swooping down again to the ocean, which stretched all the way to the horizon. The salt spray was fresh and cold, the rolling sea flecked with specks of white. Without warning the greatest smuggling ship of all time crashed into view.
    The
Storm
was coming.
    She cut through the bright green ocean like a knife. The waves beat at her pristine wooden hull as she towered above the water. She was colossal – three hundred feet high and two hundred and twenty-five long, her deck a quarter of an acre. She made her presence felt like a living thing. She didn’t just dominate the view, she gripped your attention and held it by the throat. She was awesome and magnificent, so vivid that she seemed to put everything around her out of focus.
    The sounds of deck, hull and masts straining – of loose blocks and sheets slapping and smacking and banging – rang out; the crash of the prow as the
Storm
ploughed head-on into the churning waves. Sea water washed over her deck and drained back in torrents of foam. Her crew worked furiously – dirt-stained, sun-brown and wind-beaten, each one a master of his particular skill. The weather was getting worse now, but they just whooped and cat-called all the more, flying in defiance of the sea.
    In Wellow harbour a crowd had gathered on the quay. Word had spread – as it always does. A gaggle of spectators stood awaiting a first glimpse. A hush had fallen.
    The
Storm
was coming. And it would change Verity Gallant’s life for ever. But while she knew nothing of this, there were those in Wellow who were alive with anticipation. And they were drawn to the quay like children to a piper.
    Jasper Cutgrass – only child of loving parents