Free Mistress of the Storm by M. L. Welsh

milk?’ asked Henry, inspecting the larder.
    ‘Some fresh from Aunty Jean,’ said Mrs Twogood as she put a kettle on to boil.
    Verity leaned against the dresser. The pressure of her weight caused a small piece of paper that had been tucked away under a shelf to fall down onto the counter. She picked it up. Pinned to it was a sprig of dried rosemary, and written on it a peculiar verse:
    ‘Protect us, oh lords, from the Mistress of the Storm,’
she read aloud. ‘
She who roams this land and would take what is not hers
. How unusual,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
    Henry looked at it in shock. ‘It’s a Gentry blessing,’ he said, taking it from her to examine. ‘For gullible idiots. Don’t know what it’s doing here.’
    Mrs Twogood moved briskly over to snatch the blessing from her son’s hand.
    ‘For nitwits … and my mum,’ said Henry, realizing who must be responsible for the hidden slip of paper. ‘Does Dad know that’s in the house?’
    ‘Can’t do any harm,’ said Mrs Twogood defensively, tucking it back into place.
    ‘Can’t do any good either,’ said Henry.
    ‘What’s a Gentry blessing?’ asked Verity, intrigued.
    ‘The Gentry spread rumours and stories to scare peopleand keep them in their houses. They had a real gift for it. Made out they had supernatural powers; that they could control the weather, control the sea … protect people. That sort of thing.’
    ‘Really?’ asked Verity. Henry clearly didn’t approve, but she was charmed.
    ‘It was just a load of mumbo jumbo to control the credulous,’ he said dismissively.
    ‘The Mistress of the Storm?’ Verity ran a finger along the words of the blessing. Somehow the name rang a bell.
    ‘One of their most famous scare-tactics: she was supposedly a witch who protected the
Storm
. Now she’s more of a fairy tale.’
    ‘How exciting,’ said Verity, thrilled at the sound of it.
    ‘Complete rubbish,’ said Henry authoritatively.
    ‘So, were the Twogoods part of the Gentry?’
    Henry nodded. ‘Until they got into murdering and stealing, yes.’
    ‘That’s enough now,’ interrupted Mrs Twogood, handing Henry a plate of biscuits. ‘Your dad’ll be back any minute.’
    Henry grabbed a rectangular wooden box inlaid with different coloured squares from the kitchen table. ‘Do you play backgammon?’ he asked Verity.
    Verity rolled the dice.
    ‘Another double,’ groaned Henry in disbelief. ‘Are you sure you don’t know how to cheat at throwing them?’
    ‘Beginner’s luck.’ Verity grinned, moving two more of her counters off the board.
    ‘You can have too much of that, you know,’ said Henry, trying – unsuccessfully – to get back into the game by landing on a point Verity hadn’t covered off.
    ‘Do you know where my grandfather is now?’ asked Verity, keen to get back to their former topic.
    Henry shook his head. ‘No idea,’ he said, passing the dice to her. ‘I just know he left Wellow a long time ago.’
    ‘Did he go because of … because of the wrecking?’ Verity continued, a little anxiously.
    Henry pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure. I know it was about the same time.’
    ‘Biscuits,’ exclaimed a disembodied head, peering round the door of the Twogoods’ sitting room. A second appeared just inches below it. Both displayed shocks of straw-coloured hair.
    ‘My brothers Percy and Will,’ explained Henry resignedly.
    Percy – the eldest of the three – strode into the room and extended a hand towards Verity, while simultaneously snatching a biscuit from Henry’s plate. ‘Miss Gallant. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. You seem to have appalling taste in new friends but we shan’t hold that against you.’
    Verity grinned in silent bemusement as Percy expertly fended off his outraged younger brother and proceeded to eat the stolen contraband.
    ‘How long’s your grandmother going to be staying?’ Henry asked, more to change the subject than anything else.
    Verity felt her happiness