Storm Child

by Sharon Sant

  Polly stepped forward and prodded Isaac’s nose playfully. ‘That’s my business, ain’t it?’

  Polly made quick progress, the clean, cold air filling her lungs and making her feel more alive with every step. Full of nervous energy and plans forming in her head, she hardly noticed the length of her journey as she bounded towards the place where the town gave way to the wild heath, and a small white cottage could be seen on the outskirts of a rural village. The occasional pang of guilt was pushed firmly to the back of her mind. She, Isaac and Annie were alright in Ernesto’s care, so why shouldn’t Annie’s sister be too? Whatever Annie thought she had overheard, it couldn’t be true, could it? Ernesto might lie to the others from time to time, but he wouldn’t lie to his favourite, old reliable Poll, would he? So what harm was she doing by going to fetch the baby home? If anything, Annie ought to be grateful that she was reuniting them. She might be angry at first, but in time, Annie would see that Polly had been right to do this all along. And if Ernesto happened to show his gratitude as well, by leaving her the house and all his money, then that was alright by Polly. She’d even let Annie and her sister live there as long as they wanted, and she wouldn’t make them do chores every day like old Ern did.

  The cottage looked to be roughly in the same location that Polly recalled seeing the first time Annie had given her reason to suspect that it housed the missing toddler, although the heath all looked so flat and vast, the same in every direction save for the woods bordering one side and the village on the other, it was hard to be certain of anything. Painting on her most innocent expression, she picked her way through the undergrowth of brackens and wilted ferns to investigate.

  A couple of knocks at the front door brought no reply. She went to a small window and peered in. There was no movement in the kitchen and the fire was low. Polly mused for a moment on where the occupants might be, until she recalled it was Sunday and they would almost certainly be at church. Polly allowed herself a wry smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she had stepped inside a church. The amount of sin she must have accrued since then would probably make her combust on entry to one now.

  A moment of indecision and then Polly made for the next building she could see on the horizon. As she drew nearer she could hear the echoing clang of metal on metal, thick smoke rising into the clear air. The door was open, the heat blasting out from the space inside was terrific as Polly stepped in.

  The smith looked up from his work as she cleared her throat loudly.

  ‘Afternoon, Miss. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m tryin’ to visit my friend, and I can’t find her house.’

  The smith stood straight and wiped his brow. ‘Who might that be?’

  ‘Miss Harding…’ Polly had no idea of any more specific information. She hoped it would be enough to confirm that the people she was looking for lived in the cottage she had just been to.

  ‘They’ll be at church now,’ he replied.

  ‘I know,’ Polly began, thinking quickly. ‘I said I would go with them but I fear I’m too late and now I’m lost.’ Her eyes watered slightly. It had the desired effect – the man’s tone softened.

  ‘You can take a seat here awhile until they return.’ He nodded a head towards the cottage just visible through the open door. ‘They live there so you didn’t stray too far. It shouldn’t be long now and it ain’t safe for young ladies to wander around the heath these days. I can’t say I’ll be much company, mind.’

  Polly sniffed and looked as grateful as she could manage. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s lovely and warm in here.’ She paused as she cast around for a place to sit. Just inside the doorway was a rough wooden bench. Polly settled herself. ‘You ain’t at church, sir?’

  ‘Been ill in bed this week. Sunday is a day of rest for those who can afford it, but metal don’t work itself and I got a family to feed.’ He gave a tense smile as he noticed Polly suddenly look concerned. ‘I ain’t infectious if that’s what you’re thinkin’.’

  ‘No, not that. Don’t let me stop you working.’

  He gave a short nod and turned back to his task. Polly watched with interest for a while as he heated the piece of iron he was working on before beating it. There seemed to be no pattern at all to the way he hit it, but every so often he would pause and take a closer look before resuming, and before long, the lump of metal began to look like a shape.

  ‘What are you making?’

  The smith looked up; a faint expression of surprise on his face as though he had quite forgotten Polly was there. ‘It’ll be a new section of railings for the churchyard when I’ve done.’

  Conversation halted again as the smith returned to working. Polly blew out a breath and swivelled round to peer out of the open door. Not one for sitting around, waiting was something she wasn’t very good at. But at least it was giving her time to think through in more detail her approach when the time finally came to act. Finally, she could stand the silence no more.

  ‘What does Mr Harding do?’

  The smith stopped work again and glanced up, this time a look of suspicion crossing his features. ‘Don’t you know he’s dead? Master George too.’

  ‘I ain’t been acquainted with them long,’ Polly said quickly, realising her mistake.

  The man turned and spat on the floor behind him. Polly didn’t flinch – she’d seen much worse down the alleys of Uxmouth. ‘Ain’t safe for them living out here with no man in the house.’

  So, there was no Mr Harding. It would make Polly’s investigations a lot easier. The perfect introduction to the Harding residence had presented itself. All she needed to do now was check that the baby did indeed live there, and that it was the right baby, and Ernesto’s fortune was practically hers.

  ‘Do you think church will be over now?’

  The smith threw a glance up at the darkening sky. ‘Happen it might.’

  Polly stood and dusted down her billowing skirts. ‘I’ll thank you for the warm, sir, but I’ll be on my way now.’

  ‘Miss…’ Polly turned back from the door. The man’s expression was deadly serious. ‘Wolves have been heard around these parts. Don’t be out after nightfall.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself, sir…’ Polly tossed her hair back with a mischievous grin. ‘Ain’t a wolf alive that can outwit me.’

  By the time Polly had reached the cottage, lights could be seen in the window. Evergreens stood sentry at the porch, pretty but modest floral curtains framing the windows and the smell of newly burning peat reaching her even from feet away. It looked warm and homely, a place of safety and love. Somewhere from deep within, a strange emotion tugged at her. In another life, perhaps Polly might have lived in a house like this, sitting by a peat fire eating bread and homemade jam with a mother to care for her.

  Shaking such ridiculous sentimentality, she knocked at the door. After a moment or two of waiting, it was opened cautiously to reveal the face of a woman who could only be called beautiful. She was dressed in an elegant forest green gown with a complimentary floral bodice, one that had clearly seen better days, but still lovelier than anything Polly had ever owned. Polly felt that tug at her heart again, and was taken aback for the shortest time until she collected herself.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m lost.’

  The woman cast an appraising glance over Polly. ‘Where are you travelling to?’

  ‘Uxmouth.’

  ‘Uxmouth? Alone? Why did you leave the road and come over the heath?’

  ‘On account of the howling.’ Polly’s eyes were wide. ‘I was afraid.’

  The woman glanced back into the house and then seemed to make a decision. ‘It will be dark soon and you shouldn’t be out in these parts alone after nightfall.’

  ‘Oh… whatever shall I do?’ Polly asked in a weak voice.

  ‘Come in,’ the woman replied briskly. She opened the door wider and Polly followed her into a small kitchen.

  A girl, perhaps a year or two younger than Polly herself, looke
d up in some surprise from a book she was reading. Her face bore the unmistakable scars of recent illness but she seemed to have a good colour and Polly decided quickly that whatever pox she had suffered from was gone now. Polly took in the contents of the room in one swift, efficient glance. There was bread, cheese and cake on the table, but no meat, and a decent fire in the hearth. A baby’s basket in the corner of the room, but no sign of a baby… A giggle caught her attention and a dark haired toddler emerged from under the kitchen table.

  ‘Afternoon little un’…’ Polly bent down to greet the child, instantly recognising her.

  Immediately, the older girl swept the baby into her arms and threw a questioning glance at the woman who had answered the door. ‘Mother?’

  ‘This girl is lost and we can’t let her stay out after dark.’

  ‘But –’ the older girl began to argue but her mother held up a hand.

  ‘Have you forgotten already what happened to you and Georgina?’

  Polly watched them carefully. Georgina? It was a coincidence too far that the people who had taken her in had chosen to call her by the same name as she actually owned. Or had Annie been in contact with them? It could be the only explanation. Polly couldn’t help but be impressed – Annie was a better liar than she had given her credit for. Polly was also relieved that she didn’t need to stay any longer – she had all the information she needed.

  ‘I’ll be on my way. I shouldn’t have bothered you,’ she said.

  ‘Nonsense!’ The woman gave Polly a warm smile. ‘We’re a little unprepared for visitors but you are more than welcome to stay the night and continue on your way in the safety of daylight.’

  Polly glanced out of the window. ‘But it’s still light now.’

  ‘Not for much longer. You’ll certainly not make it back to Uxmouth before dark.’

  ‘But I have to get back tonight. My uncle will be waiting for me.’

  ‘Then let us find someone to escort you back.’ Even before Polly had time to reply, the woman was reaching for a shawl from a wooden peg near the door.

  ‘Who will you find?’ Polly asked, a note of real concern now creeping into her tone. Quickly she came to the conclusion that the nearest help was at the forge where she had waited for the family to return home and if that was who Mrs Harding went to fetch, Polly’s web of lies would collapse.

  ‘There’s a blacksmith’s forge not far from here. Tom would be happy to escort you and keep you safe.’

  ‘No!’ Polly almost shouted. The young girl clung to the baby tighter and peered closely at Polly with a curious look. ‘Perhaps I could stay here, if it ain’t no imposition,’ Polly added, getting her panic under control. ‘Uncle will likely be in bed anyway so he won’t miss me.’

  ‘Not at all. You can be away at first light, I promise.’ The woman turned to the girl. ‘Charlotte, would you put the kettle on to boil while I find some blankets for…’ She turned to Polly. ‘Forgive me, but I don’t know your name.’

  ‘It’s Celia.’

  ‘What a pretty name,’ the woman smiled. ‘I’ll find some blankets for you. It will have to be a chair by the fire I’m afraid, but we’ll make it as comfortable as we can.’

  ‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ Polly gave her best curtsey. Politeness wasn’t something she practised very often and it felt strange and awkward. But, it wouldn’t have to be for much longer. If things went her way, she’d never have to be polite to anyone again if she didn’t fancy to.

  The woman swept out of the room leaving Polly alone with the girl – Charlotte – and Georgina.

  ‘Lovely little thing, ain’t she?’ Polly said, bobbing her head at the baby.

  Charlotte nodded shortly. She turned to pull the heavy kettle from the hearth, never letting go of the child as she did so. Taking advantage of the fact that she was unobserved, Polly bolted for the door and yanked it open, tearing across the heath.

  She was almost out of earshot before anyone had had time to call her back.

  ‘You’re sure it’s her?’ Ernesto asked, his eyes dancing with dark menace.

  ‘Sure as I know my own nose,’ Polly said.

  ‘You’ve done well, my beauty. Things are moving, faster than you can imagine, and come tomorrow, the empire will be a different place. We needed to find that baby and you couldn’t have timed it better.’

  Polly frowned. ‘What do you mean, the empire will be a different place?’

  ‘Because tomorrow the news will be all over Her Majesty’s empire.’

  ‘What news? You ain’t makin’ sense. About the baby? She ain’t that special.’

  ‘No…’ Ernesto seemed about to burst. He paused for a moment, obviously torn about whether to utter his next sentence, but then seemed as though he couldn’t contain himself any longer. ‘The baby’s only part of it…’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘All in good time, my dear. You’ll find out soon enough –’

  Before he had finished his sentence, the door to his study flew open and Isaac stood before them, eyes wild and face pale.

  ‘Have you heard?’ he panted. ‘Queen Victoria’s only gone and got herself shot dead!’

  Seventeen:

  Instead of looking shocked, asking questions about the facts, or indeed discussing them at all, Ernesto had simply shooed Polly and Isaac from his study as soon as the news had been relayed, telling them that he had a lot of work to do and that he didn’t want to be disturbed again that night. They had left quickly, but not before Ernesto had warned Isaac that he would be needing his assistance early in the morning and a severe beating was in order if Isaac wasn’t ready and waiting at the crack of dawn.

  ‘I’m famished,’ Polly said in a bored voice as she closed the door behind them. ‘Who’s been cookin’ today, because if it was you an’ not Annie, it looks like burnt offerings is the best I can hope for.’

  ‘Never mind that. What’s goin’ on?’ Isaac hissed as he followed her to the kitchen.

  ‘You seem to know more than me.’

  ‘Don’t it bother you that Her Majesty is dead? What will we do now? We ain’t got no monarch! Before we know it we’ll have a French king on the throne and all be talking French! ’

  ‘Don’t be such a dimwit. Where did you hear that?’

  ‘At the tavern when I heard the news.’

  Polly narrowed her eyes. ‘What were you doin’ at the tavern?’

  ‘Nothing…’ Isaac bit back a sheepish grin. ‘I got wind of a game, that’s all.’

  ‘You ain’t got nothin’ to wager. Besides, Ernesto would never let you out without his say-so.’

  ‘Ah… you think you’re the only one who can sneak out? Happen I did have somethin’ to wager and happen I won.’ He showed her a handful of coins with a triumphant grin. ‘All for you, Poll. Anythin’ you want, I’ll buy you.’

  Polly peered at the coins and grimaced. ‘Whatever that will buy I don’t want. Is that the best you can do?’

  Isaac’s grin slipped. He shoved the money back into his pocket. ‘It don’t matter anyway. Before long English coins’ll be no use and we’ll need Francs.’

  Polly rolled her eyes. ‘Not that again.’

  ‘But who will take the throne? Don’t you understand, Queen Victoria is dead!’

  ‘She got plenty of nippers to take her throne. Too many if you ask me.’

  ‘None of them will run the empire like Her Majesty though.’

  ‘Whether they will or whether they won’t, I don’t care.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Polly rested her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t make a difference to me. I was poor with her alive, and I’ll be poor with her dead. French, English… whoever takes the throne I’ll be poor with them an’ all. All that don’t mean a stuff and the only person who will ever look after me is me.’

  ‘But everythin’ is going to change now,’ Isaac said, brushing a hand through his fringe, his voice rising.

  Polly stopped and stared hard at Isaac. ‘Not
for us.’

  Before he had time to reply she had started to walk again. Isaac caught up as she detoured to the larder.

  ‘I think I’ll have some o’ that lovely salted pork,’ she said in a sing-song voice as she inspected the shelves.

  ‘Ern’ll skin you alive if you take that!’

  ‘Not today he won’t.’

  Isaac grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. For a moment she looked shocked by the violence of the action. ‘Ernesto didn’t care either that Her Majesty is dead, and he ought to.’

  ‘Why should he care? What’s she ever done for ‘im?’

  ‘Because he’s an adult and adults care about things like that. More important, never mind where I’ve been, where have you been all day and why do you look like the cat who got the biggest bowl of cream?’

  ‘You’ll find out tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Tell me now, Poll!’

  Polly met his demanding gaze with a steely glare. ‘You leave me alone! I ain’t tellin’ you anything!’

  Isaac rubbed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. ‘I ain’t trying to hurt you, Poll, he said, his voice softer, ‘I’m tryin’ to look out for you.’

  Polly tossed her hair back with an imperious look. ‘I don’t need you to look out for me. I don’t need anyone. One day I’ll be mistress of this house, you’ll see.’

  ‘I know,’ Isaac said quietly. ‘That’s what scares me.’

  ‘Where’s Annie?’ Polly asked, ignoring the sudden melancholy that seemed to have settled over him.

  ‘Cleaning the parlour.’

  Polly turned back to the shelves of food without reply. As far as she was concerned, the less she saw of Annie the easier the evening would be. If she hadn’t known better, she would have put the feeling down to a guilty conscience.

  Dawn struggled in through the grimy windows of Isaac’s room. He woke to find Annie shaking him gently.

  ‘Isaac,’ she whispered, ‘you got to get up.’ He turned his back on her, settling into his covers. ‘Dr Black wants you,’ Annie insisted. ‘Right now.’