Storm Child Read online

  STORM CHILD

  Sharon Sant

  STORM CHILD

  Sharon Sant

  Kindle Edition Copyright 2016 © Sharon Sant

  All rights reserved

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  www.sharonsant.com

  One

  The basket the girl carried was almost as large as her and she gasped as she stumbled, nearly dropping it. It had been dragged on a stolen handcart along dark, silent roads until she reached the edge of the heath. The cart was useless on the dense undergrowth here and now she walked with her precious cargo, crooning to it as she laboured under its weight.

  Biting back tears, she took one last look around. Her gaze returned to the lights of the tiny house. Was this close enough? Would the basket be found? What would happen if it wasn’t? But the girl had no choice. The alternative was a fate far, far worse.

  She opened her mouth and clear, high notes rang out across the darkened terrain. A few moments passed, the girl singing in the darkness, until a shadow appeared on the horizon and crept towards her. The wolf approached and bowed its head.

  ‘Thank you,’ the girl said. ‘You will protect her until she is claimed. After that, your will is your own again.’

  The wolf stared at the girl, as if in a trance. Then it sat next to the basket and turned its eyes to the heath.

  Two

  First there was the cracking flash, followed closely by the long, low rumble of thunder. Now wide awake, Charlotte went to her bedroom window and peered out. Rain tore from the heavens in vast sheets. Another fork of lighting blazed down towards the trees beyond the heath, making it bright as day, just for a second. It wasn’t the lightning that frightened her – Charlotte had seen enough storms in her time and living out in the countryside she knew all the old advice to stay safe. In fact, she liked to watch thunderstorms from the safety of her home; they were magical; all at once a terrifying and magnificent act of nature. No, a second of illumination was enough for her to see the dark shape flit across the landscape at the very corner of her vision. Afterwards, Charlotte could not be sure what it was she had seen, could never even be sure she had seen anything at all. But it was enough to send her scurrying away from the window, seeking the sanctuary of her bed.

  The storm raged for what seemed like hours. Charlotte burrowed further under her covers as another growl of thunder ripped across the sky above the tiny cottage. Dare she disturb her mother again? Last time Charlotte’s mother had been furious. Of course, the fever wasn’t helping her mood, and Charlotte understood why her mother was so adamant that she should stay away. Still, with the irrational fear that had gripped her, Charlotte was quite prepared to risk infection and her mother’s wrath rather than stay in her own room alone.

  And what was worse, Charlotte’s mother had insisted that she put out her candle, so that now the brilliant flashes of lightning flaring in the deep darkness threw up grisly shapes in the corners of her room. Charlotte knew there was nothing there really, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to hide under her bedclothes so that she couldn’t see them.

  No, she decided. Any fear that the storm might bring was small in comparison to the scolding she would get if she disobeyed her mother’s instructions. She made the best of being alone.

  Charlotte was not sure for how long the rain beat at the window of her room and the thunder boomed but, finally, the storm began to move away. She inched above the covers and peered across to the empty bed at the other side of the room. George would have been laughing and teasing her now, had he been here to see her cower beneath her bedclothes. They had been too old to share a bedroom, but the cottage was so tiny that they hadn’t had any choice. Secretly she had liked his company. Now, with him gone, the cottage often felt far too big.

  Charlotte dried her eyes on the frilled sleeve of her nightgown. The night was quieter now and she settled into her pillow, trying to tempt sleep, but it was as if her eyelids were on springs and they opened again as soon as she stopped concentrating on closing them. She blew out a long breath and stared into the darkness. Then the moon, released by the clouds for just for a moment, showed through a gap in the curtains of her room and drew a silver sword of light on the wall at George’s side.

  And as she gazed at it and remembered her brother, a sound caught her attention.

  Charlotte listened with her breath held. It sounded just like a baby’s cries. A baby? In the middle of the night, out on the heath, out in the wet and cold? Who on earth would take a baby out on a night like this? She tried to ignore the sound. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her; perhaps it was a wild animal that sounded like a baby. Sometimes foxes sounded like that. Or worse. A spirit, pretending to be a baby, to lure children away from their safe, warm cottages, to lose them on the heath forever. Charlotte had never been one to swallow the stupid superstitions that the other children of the village believed in, but on a night like tonight it was hard not to. Or perhaps it was a baby? Even if it was, Charlotte reasoned, there must be someone out with it. They’d be on their way soon enough.

  But the baby, if it was a baby, carried on crying out into the night. Like it was calling for help. Charlotte listened for another voice. She heard nothing but the pitiful mewling sound carried on the wind. She wondered if she should wake her mother. Then she remembered the gaunt face, exhausted from illness, and decided that she wouldn’t.

  She tried to settle down to sleep again. The sound wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Charlotte dropped from her bed, the wooden floor rough and solid under her bare feet, and padded to the door of her mother’s room. She pressed her ear against it and listened. Charlotte could hear the gentle, steady breaths of sleep. She waited for a few minutes, with the sound of the baby wailing in her ears, certain that her mother must wake and come to investigate soon. But the door of the room remained closed. Charlotte couldn’t stand it, the pleading, almost hypnotic cries that seemed to say someone come, please come, over and over again.

  Out on the heath it was as dark as her black velvet mourning dress. The fire had been down to stuttering embers in the kitchen grate, but there had been just enough to light a candle, which Charlotte had carefully placed into a storm lamp and now held aloft to guide her way. The heath was as familiar to her as her own face, but it was not often she was out on it at night, certainly not this late and alone. The ground was soggy from the storm and she was afraid of marshy spots that might drag a foot down and hold it fast. She travelled cautiously, trying each section of ground gently before putting all her weight down. The night was musty with the scent of brackens and ferns washed into the air by the recent heavy rain. As she went, she scanned the landscape eagerly, each section captured in the tunnel of yellow light from her lamp. The cries grew louder and softer as she moved in different directions, so Charlotte could pinpoint where they were coming from by going this way and that, following where the sound led.

  And then she saw a shape, lying right out on the open ground. Charlotte’s heart hammered in her chest as she approached it. She grew closer, straining her eyes, until her lantern threw enough light to enable her to see a rattan basket lined with blankets. Charlotte peered into it. As soon as the baby saw Charlotte, it smiled, a squinty, tear-stained little smile, holding out its chubby hands to her. Charlotte’s mouth fell open.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ she asked, immediately feeling foolish for talking to a baby who wasn’t going to answer her. Then she looked around, sure that whoever the baby belonged to was nearby. ‘Hello!’ she called out to the night. ‘Hello… Anyone out there?’

  The
heath remained silent, save for the gentle rustle of the undergrowth in the low wind. Charlotte began to shiver and pulled her shawl more tightly around her. The land was flat and open, the sky a moving patchwork of broken clouds and ragged pockets of stars. A figure standing upright would surely show against the horizon? One last scan of the landscape convinced her that she and the baby were alone. Whoever had left the infant had not meant to be found.

  Then, there was another sound. A long, low wail carried over the heath from the woods beyond, steadily increasing in urgency until it became a blood freezing howl piercing the night air. She couldn’t imagine what kind of creature could have made such a noise, but she didn’t want to wait around long enough to find out. Charlotte took another look at the baby and made a decision. Tying her shawl around her shoulders in a secure knot, she crooked a finger, hung the lamp from it and hoisted up the basket with the baby still in it. She staggered back. It was heavy and bulky and she almost dropped it back onto the ground. Abandoning the idea of carrying everything in one arm, she scooped the baby out, hugging it to her chest. The baby gurgled happily. As her hands brushed against them, Charlotte was surprised to find that the blankets were completely dry. So the baby must have been left there in the short time since the thunderstorm had ended. Whoever had left it must have run from the scene to be out of sight now. Why would they have done that?

  ‘I’ll come back for the basket tomorrow.’ Charlotte whispered to the baby, who squealed and grabbed a loose ringlet of Charlotte’s hair with podgy fingers in reply. Charlotte smiled, unable to stop herself. ‘Now, now. None of that mischief, if you please.’ she said as she carefully prised her hair from the baby’s tight grip.

  The baby let go and Charlotte staggered home with her with her odd bundle.

  Three

  With a single sweep of his huge hand, Ernesto Black cleared the desk. Ink splattered against the far wall, pens skittered across the floor and papers fluttered into the dusty air. He leaned forward, gripping the sides of the table, and stared hard at the girl standing before him. She was thin, blue eyes too big for her head, long, mousey hair tied with a shabby ribbon, and she looked terrified.

  ‘I’m going to ask you again. Where is she?’ he growled.

  She turned her gaze to the scattered debris at her feet. ‘I don’t know, honest I don’t.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘I ain’t, on my mother’s grave I ain’t.’

  ‘Leave off her, Ernesto, can’t you see she’s too scared to lie to you?’ The new voice came from the open door.

  Ernesto looked up at the girl standing with her arms folded across her chest, leaning on the frame. ‘Get out!’ he shouted. ‘And close the door, you eavesdropping little ragamuffin.’

  The girl heaved a bored sigh. ‘I ain’t no ragamuffin. Them kids are ragamuffins, I’m practically the lady of the house.’

  ‘Is that so? How about I don’t let you reach lady-of-the-house age? If you want to see your eighteenth birthday you’ll stop distracting me and get out!’

  ‘Alright, alright, I’m going. But I’m telling you that shouting at poor Annie there won’t get you nowhere. It never worked on me, did it?’

  The man groaned and turned another shade of red. ‘That’s because the devil himself sired you, now get out!’

  She grinned and pirouetted from the doorway. ‘Ta-ta.’

  ‘Shut the door!’

  There was a slam and the room was silent again.

  ‘That damn girl,’ Ernesto muttered as he turned his attention back to the younger one standing before him. ‘Now, Annie, I’m going to ask you again, and I’m trying hard to keep my patience… what have you done with my baby?’

  ‘She’s not yours.’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘She is my baby, understand? She’s my property. And I want her back.’

  ‘She’s my sister.’

  ‘She’s mine, and so are you. I bought you both fair and square.’

  ‘I ain’t done nothin’.’

  For a moment he seemed as though he would explode again, but as he watched the girl begin to tremble under his fierce gaze, his features relaxed into a look of cunning.

  ‘You were very fond of the little tyke, weren’t you?’ Annie bobbed her head in a small movement, not quite a nod, not quite a shake. ‘So was I,’ he continued, ‘so I just want to know that she’s safe. You see?’

  ‘I don’t know where she is, honest.’

  ‘So how come she’s not here? She couldn’t just get up and crawl away by herself.’

  Annie cast her gaze to the floor, her fingers twisting around each other in jerky movements.

  He sat down, silent as he appraised her. ‘Go on,’ he said finally. ‘You have training to do and chores to attend to.’ She curtsied and turned to run from the room. ‘And tell Polly to come clean this mess,’ he shouted after her.

  The girl who had been ejected from Ernesto’s office moments before was sitting on the bottom step of a dusty, sweeping staircase. She called as Annie scurried from the office.

  ‘Oi, wool-brain!’

  Annie stopped and turned to her.

  ‘What you done with that bairn, then?’

  ‘Doctor Black wants you to clean up his study,’ Annie stammered.

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to clean his study. You was the one who made him angry enough to mess it up. You should clean it.’

  ‘But if I go back in when he said you…’

  Polly grinned. ‘I’m teasing. We don’t want him blowing his top again. I don’t think his poor old ticker would take it.’ She became serious and jumped from the step, taking Annie’s arm and leading her to a door. ‘In here, quick.’

  Annie found herself in absolute darkness as Polly opened the door, shoved her into the pantry and followed her, closing the door behind her. A symphony of smells greeted them: cheese, bread, dried fruit, salted meats. There was a noise like someone’s stomach groaning.

  ‘I’m gonna make this quick,’ Polly whispered, ‘the pong in here is driving me mad.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Annie asked.

  ‘I know you had something to do with that baby disappearing. You and I ain’t got real magic, so what did you do with her?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘I won’t breathe a word to ol’ Ernesto, I swear.’

  ‘It weren’t right,’ Annie said.

  ‘I know that. But it weren’t your place to steal her away.’

  ‘I had to, he was going to do something awful with her.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I… I can’t exactly say.’

  ‘You hear ‘im muttering to ‘imself at night?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘So do I. It’s all rot.’

  ‘Not always. I heard him talking to other people too.’

  ‘Polite society don’t come visitin’ here.’

  ‘Someone came.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘A few nights ago.’

  ‘How comes I didn’t know about it? I know everythin’ that goes on in this house.’

  Annie gave a silent shrug. ‘I only know I heard them in his study.’

  There was a pause. ‘So you took her?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, please…’

  Although Polly’s face was in darkness, her next words sounded like they were being smiled. ‘I’m proud of you, girl.’

  ‘You won’t tell him, then?’

  ‘Duck-face in there? Why would I tell him?’

  ‘Because…’

  ‘POLLY!’

  Both girls jumped as Ernesto’s voice thundered along the hallway.

  ‘Stay here,’ Polly whispered.

  Feeling along the shelves, her hands detected the cold smoothness of an earthenware pot. She gathered it into her arms and emerged from the pantry.

  ‘There ain’t no need to shout. I was just getting your elevenses.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for elevenses. I told that wretched Annie to fetch you. Where is
she?’

  ‘Feeding the horse. She told me an’ I was coming, but I thought you might be hungry, what with your mornin’ of terrorising young ‘uns and everything.’

  ‘I don’t want feeding. Get in here and clean this mess.’

  Polly opened the pantry door and replaced the crock, winking at Annie as she did. Then she shut it again and followed Ernesto to his study.

  A few moments later, Annie crept from the pantry and ran out to the stables.

  In the study, Ernesto closed the door and watched as Polly gathered up his papers.

  ‘You know how you’re my favourite?’ he asked in a silky voice.

  Polly stood, straightening papers into a neat pile. ‘I dunno how these go together, seein’s as you won’t teach me to read,’ she frowned.

  ‘Never mind that.’ He stepped forwards and took the sheaf from her. ‘I want you to do something for me.’

  She narrowed her eyes, hands resting on the fullest part of her long, threadbare dress. ‘What?’

  ‘You know how precious that baby is to me,’ he said.

  ‘I do… so precious that we had her in the house for weeks and you never called her anything but the baby.’

  ‘It’s better not to get attached.’ Ernesto returned, seemingly struggling to keep his voice level.

  ‘Well, she had a name and if you thought anythin’ of her you’d know it.’

  ‘I only need to know names when you’re old enough to answer to them when I call.’

  ‘Sounds right,’ Polly huffed.

  ‘Watch your tongue; don’t forget who feeds you.’

  Polly bent to collect more sheets of paper from beneath the desk. She handed them to him. ‘She were a witch, you know, her mother. So that baby’ll likely be a witch too.’

  ‘I didn’t know that when I bought her, did I?’

  ‘You know people who would give good money for her, though.’

  ‘I don’t know where you get these ideas from. If I knew that I would have sold you and Isaac years ago.’

  ‘We ain’t got real magic, though I can’t speak for Annie. Isaac and me only got tricks.’