Storm Child

by Sharon Sant

  ‘I’ve lived with Ernesto since I were a nipper and you don’t really know how thick we are together. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘I only got here a few months ago, didn’t I?’

  ‘It’s alright,’ Polly said. ‘I’d be thinkin’ the same thing if it were me.’

  ‘You get away with things we never could,’ Annie replied, glancing at Isaac who seemed to be out cold again. ‘You’re his favourite.’

  ‘I may be his favourite, but that don’t mean I have to like him, does it? I do what I have to do to survive. As soon as he meets his maker, I want that house of his. He ain’t got nobody of his own, so far as I can tell, so I reckon I’ll be in line,’ she sniffed and wiped her nose across the back of her hand, ‘so long as I play him right.’

  ‘But you say the naughtiest things to him.’

  ‘But I know him, see. I know he likes me ‘cos I’m quick and clever and he can trust me to bring him money in, so he puts up with it.’

  ‘He might not feel that way tonight when we turn up empty handed.’

  Polly yawned. ‘You might have a point there. Perhaps we should run away and join the circus.’

  ‘I thought we were the circus.’

  ‘Polly smiled. ‘That we are. I’m telling you now, though,’ she continued, her tone subdued again, ‘he’s taken you in and given you grub and a bed, and he wants something in return for that, don’t he? You make him money and clean his house and he’s happy, ain’t he? You keep his possessions safe…’ she stressed the word, staring hard at Annie who swallowed back the sudden knot of fear in her throat, ‘and you don’t cross Ernesto Black… not ever.’ She leaned back and regarded Annie, looking for some indication that her warning had sunk in. ‘So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll go and get that baby back and maybe he’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Annie replied. ‘I don’t know who took her.’

  Polly shrugged and turned her attention to Isaac. ‘He looks awful sweet when he’s sleepin’, don’t he?’ she said with obvious affection.

  Annie followed her gaze. ‘He ain’t sleeping, though, he’s been cracked over the head.’

  ‘It all looks the same to me.’

  ‘You like him really, even though you pretend you don’t,’ Annie said.

  ‘Yeah, I like him well enough. But I want a rich fella, see, so he ain’t no good to me.’

  Annie looked at her sharply. ‘That ain’t nice.’

  ‘The truth, though. I learned that lesson early, didn’t I? Always be on the lookout for the next mug. It’s what Ernesto taught me, ain’t it? I don’t want to live in the gutter my whole life.’ She shook herself. ‘We’d better get him on that cart somehow. He ain’t waking up any time soon.’

  Annie got to her feet and went over to the cart. The light was fading rapidly now, the world washed in grey as she scooped the contents of the cart to one side as best she could. Glancing across, she caught the brief kiss that Polly placed on the forehead of Isaac, and turned away quickly before Polly could see her watching.

  ‘He’ll have to lie on the table but I moved most everything else out of the way,’ Annie said as she went back to help Polly lift him. They took an arm each and dragged him to the tilted cart, hauling him onto the upturned table, wooden legs surrounding him like a cage.

  ‘He’s heavier than he looks, ain’t he?’ Polly wiped her hands down her dress. Isaac’s legs dangled over the edge, but when they lifted the handle he just cleared the ground. She grimaced. ‘Not much fun but the best we can do. You ready?’ Annie nodded. ‘Come on then,’ Polly said, straining to get moving, ‘let’s see what Ernesto has to say about all this.’

  The sun had already set by the time they reached the sprawling house they shared with Doctor Ernesto Black. Nobody really knew why he carried the title of doctor, and as far as anyone could tell, he certainly wasn’t worthy of it. He spoke often of a life before the orphans, where he had been a gentleman meant for greatness, but whenever questioned on what that greatness was, he would wave away the enquiry with a vague excuse. He was even more guarded when questioned about his family or connections.

  Polly’s gaze ran over the exterior of her home as they dragged the cart containing a still unconscious Isaac through the wrought iron gates. Even the faintest glow from the lamps burning inside was enough to reveal how dilapidated the building was, though it was clear from the grandness of the design that it had once been a handsome dwelling. It was one of the reasons Polly gave any credit to Ernesto’s claims that life had treated him cruelly, and had torn from the young Master Black all its promises of a bright future. Now, the gravelled driveway of the house was pitted with holes and choked by weeds; to either side dense shrubs clawed their way onto the path, like the thorns of Sleeping Beauty’s prison. Window frames were rotting and loose and the lights from within showed the gaps around the front door. The orphans did their best with the upkeep, but it was a task far too large for three children to manage and Ernesto certainly wasn’t interested in such low pursuits as household maintenance. And so, year upon year, the house fell into a slightly worse state of disrepair.

  The front door opened and Ernesto’s huge bulk filled the frame. ‘Where have you been?’ His gaze fell on Isaac. ‘What happened to him?’

  Polly nodded at Annie and they set down the handle of the cart. Isaac slid down the incline and Annie shot out a hand to steady him.

  ‘Got clobbered over the ‘ead, didn’t he?’ Polly huffed.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Ernesto said as he made his way down the porch steps to them.

  ‘I’m telling you we got robbed.’

  ‘What!’ Ernesto thundered.

  ‘It weren’t my fault,’ Polly fired back, planting her hands on her hips. ‘He weren’t looking out! Fat lot of good you sendin’ us out with a boy, we need a man out with us, don’t we?’

  ‘It weren’t Isaac’s fault,’ Annie said quietly. ‘None of us saw the robber comin’.’

  Ernesto seemed to shake, struggling to contain his rage. His gaze bored into them. Annie’s eyes were wide with apprehension as she held her breath, waiting for the next event. The moment was broken by a long howl from somewhere close by. The sound seemed to bring Ernesto back to himself. He gave a low grunt and turned to go into the house, his long coat sweeping the steps.

  ‘Get him inside. And don’t think you’re eating tonight.’

  Polly opened her mouth to argue but then closed it again. She looked at Annie. ‘Even I ain’t crossin’ him tonight,’ she said in a low voice. Her attention turned to Isaac. ‘Give me a hand with ‘im, sweet.’

  Annie looked down at the boy uncertainly. ‘Don’t he need a doctor? He’s been out cold for hours.’

  ‘The only doctor round ‘ere,’ Polly inclined her head towards the now deserted front door, ‘is in there, and he ain’t in the mood for ministering right now. You can ask ‘im, but I ain’t.’

  ‘What about Isaac?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘We’ll get him in his bed. Happen he’ll wake in the mornin’ right as rain.’

  ‘What if he don’t? I heard all sorts of stories about folks who’d been clobbered over the head, like they turn simple or forget who they are.’

  Polly cast a glance at Isaac. ‘Be an improvement, then,’ she muttered before grabbing an arm and hauling him up.

  Polly knocked at the door of the study. When she did not get the usual gruff reply, she cautiously pushed open the door and put her head around it.

  ‘Ernesto?’

  He was sitting at his desk, hands folded in front of him, staring at the opposite wall. At the sound of her voice he turned his attention to her.

  ‘If you think I’m going to change my mind about supper, you can think again. We needed that money.’

  ‘I weren’t goin’ to ask for supper,’ Polly said. ‘I were only bringing you a tot of somethin’ to cheer you.’

  ‘I don’t want cheering.’ He rose from his seat at the desk and
made his way to the gaslight on the wall, twisting the screw so that the light dimmed. Taking a seat in a wing-backed armchair, he patted the small side table that stood next to it. Polly took the decanter she was carrying over and placed it beside him with a glass. Without a word he poured himself a generous measure and took a deep draught.

  ‘You won’t be too savage with Isaac, will you?’ Polly asked.

  ‘It would be better for the useless lump if he didn’t wake up,’ Ernesto growled.

  ‘He’s good with the punters, though,’ Polly said.

  Ernesto topped his glass. ‘He is that.’ He fell to brooding again as Polly stood and waited, the only sounds filling the dusty silence her shallow breathing and the sonorous ticking of the clock.

  ‘I don’t belong here, Poll,’ Ernesto said finally.

  She looked at him with a silent question.

  ‘I had a fortune and now look at me. Stuck in a damp-ridden pit with three useless orphans who can’t even bring me a decent living. And I’ve a good mind to whip that ungrateful wretch, Annie, till she begs for death.’

  ‘What’s Annie done?’ Polly asked quietly.

  ‘You know full well,’ he replied. ‘That baby was our golden goose, and Annie saw to it that we lost it.’

  ‘It don’t make no difference,’ Polly said in a soothing voice. ‘The punters don’t know real magic from pretend. It’s just tricks an’ they’re happy.’

  ‘She wasn’t for performing. She was far more precious than that.’ He rubbed a huge hand over the sooty stubble erupting from his chin.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘The baby does have magic, you’re right, and she was exactly what they were searching for.’

  ‘Who?’

  Ernesto ignored her question. ‘I’ve been looking for a child with real magic for years, just like they asked me, and they would have paid me well.’ He drained his glass and knocked it onto the table. ‘Well enough to see me live in luxury for the rest of my days.’

  Polly folded her arms, her expression thoughtful. ‘If the baby had magic, then what about Annie? She’s got the same mama, ain’t she, d’you think she has magic?’

  Ernesto shook his head. ‘No, she’s as useless as you and that other dolt upstairs. Besides she’s too old. They want a child under seven.’

  Polly frowned. ‘That sounds strange. What do they want that for? A nipper can’t do street performin’ for ‘em.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied.

  Polly wasn’t sure she believed him. On a different day she might have challenged him, but today didn’t seem like the day to push her luck. ‘Who is it that wants the little ‘un?’ she asked again.

  He waved a hand at her. ‘Get out now. I want to be alone.’

  Polly looked as though she would say something else, but then turned to leave.

  ‘Polly…’

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘You find out where that baby is… and I’ll look after you.’

  She nodded shortly, and then softly closed the door.

  Eight

  Charlotte woke the next morning to the sound of her mother singing in the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and swung her feet out of bed, wincing as the cold floor sent shivers up her back. Winter had well and truly arrived, and quickly. Outside the small window of her room, the heath was dressed in a glittering coat of frost, a shining dusting of crystals sparkling in a low sun set in a sky of the freshest blue. That was how days like this felt to Charlotte, fresh, like the world had been given a scrub to make it shine again.

  She clambered back into bed a while longer, gazing round her room as it was filled by the soap-washed sunlight, smiling to herself as her mother sang an old hymn. Eventually, another sound joined it, the excited babble and nonsense chattering of a baby. It sounded as though the little one was trying to join in. Charlotte smiled to herself as she listened, and then as all the events of the previous day came back to her and filled her with excitement, was persuaded to try to leave her bed again. She leapt down quickly and rummaged in her cupboard for a woollen shawl, hopping from one foot to another as she did to keep warm.

  When she entered the kitchen, her mother had already started the fire and it was burning, new and warm. Charlotte joined the baby, who was sitting on the rug in front of it. Her mother frowned and pointed to Charlotte’s feet.

  ‘Bed socks?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She looked sheepish. ‘I don’t know where I left them.’

  ‘For goodness sake, you know you must stay warm. You must search for them after breakfast and always wear them.’

  ‘Yes, mama.’

  ‘Would you like porridge for breakfast?’ Charlotte nodded. ‘It will take some time for us to get used to being three again,’ her mother mused as she stirred the pot over the stove.

  Charlotte hadn’t thought of it that way. In some ways, this baby would fill the hole that George had left. Thinking about it reminded her of the illness they had both been struck with but only she had survived. Her hand went to her face and traced the small round scars left as a reminder of what she had endured. The marks grew paler as the months passed, but Dr Weston had told her she would have them forever. Charlotte’s mother was considered beautiful by many, and in her moments of vanity, Charlotte had often thought that she would become a beautiful young woman too. Not now, though.

  Her mother interrupted her thoughts by bringing a steaming bowl of porridge to the table. Charlotte took the bowl to the rug in front of the fire. In company, Charlotte always had to sit politely at the table, but in recent months, her mother had been happy enough to let her eat this way whenever she pleased.

  ‘On a chair please, this is hot and there are little hands around now.’

  Charlotte looked up in surprise, but then did as she was told. ‘Yes, mother. Of course.’

  ‘And when you’ve finished that, you can get dressed and fetch some water. Georgina needs a bath.’

  Charlotte nearly choked on her porridge. Georgina? She spluttered, not able to find the right words: ‘But….did you, I mean…when did you decide...’

  ‘It’s so strange. When I woke this morning, it was in my head.’

  Strange wasn’t the word for it, Charlotte thought as she watched as her mother bend down to pick up the newly named Georgina, swinging the child round to make her giggle. ‘And,’ Charlotte’s mother added, ‘it seems as though Georgina likes it too.’

  Charlotte worked the pump on the lane, barely paying any heed to her task. She couldn’t stop thinking about the strange effect the baby was having on their home. Only a few hours ago she had been filled with excitement for the happiness that the new arrival might bring to her and her mother, but now her thoughts were tainted with unease. There was something unnatural about the things that were happening, and no matter how much she tried to tell herself how ridiculous the idea was, she couldn’t shake it. Everybody knew that people with magic roamed the country, small in number but feared for the power they wielded. Most in the countryside, in villages like Charlotte lived in, turned a blind eye to the problem and hoped never to run into such a person, particularly one who might harbour ill-intent. But some chose to persecute and shun them. Charlotte had often thought that perhaps these people were the real problem, forcing those with magic to hide it from society and making them so bitter that ill-intent was all that was left in their souls. Whatever she thought, the fact was that the village had not seen evidence of one in their midst since Charlotte could remember. Had she and her mother unwittingly taken one in? And the question of why Georgina had been abandoned still hung over her too. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered what, exactly, their new houseguest really was.

  Nine

  A grey dawn saw Isaac wake. He lay still for a long time, staring at the pattern on the ceiling from the shadow of the old tree outside his bare window. His breath curled into the air above him, and he noticed ice coating the inside of the window pane. It wasn’t the first morning he had w
oken to this, and as it was the beginning of winter, it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As many other winters had passed in this fashion, it wasn’t something that Isaac worried about. Across his field of vision, a spider scuttled down the wall, finally taking refuge somewhere beneath his bed. Familiar shapes in the cracked and crumbling plaster held his attention as he tried to focus on bringing the previous day’s events back to his memory. He felt at his head. The skin had been broken, but it didn’t feel too bad. Not as bad as the huge swelling that made him wince when he applied even the gentlest pressure.

  He suddenly shot upright.

  ‘Poll,’ he breathed, and kneeled on his bed to look out of the window.

  Down below, Polly was in the yard grooming Ernesto’s horse while Annie beat out a rug at the back door that led to the kitchen. Isaac heaved a sigh of relief and allowed himself to climb back under his thin blankets turning on to his side to avoid pressure on his injured head. Ernesto would want him up soon, but nausea was beginning to bite, and the beginnings of a ferocious headache already. The way Isaac felt, any extra time in bed was worth risking Ernesto’s wrath.

  He recalled overhearing a conversation that Polly had had with Annie. Someone had mentioned a robbery, or had he just imagined that? More fragments came back to him; some that made his face burn in shame and humiliation. Polly wouldn’t have said those things about him, surely? He felt at his head again. He was probably having a funny turn. Polly and him, they were meant for each other. Fate had thrown them together for a reason, and no one knew what made Polly tick like he did. Surely that counted for something?

  The door to his room flew open. For a moment, Polly stood in the doorway, a quiet smile lighting her face. Then, she seemed to shake herself. ‘You still remember who I am?’

  He raised his head slightly. ‘You’re the one sired by the devil himself,’ he grinned.

  She pouted. ‘Your head’s alright then. Ol’ Ernie wants to see you.’