Storm Child by Sharon Sant Page B

railings. It was almost the height of Isaac himself, but he
couldn’t see any other escape route and if he wanted to get away he was going
to have to clear it. As he raced towards it, he reached for the railings and
hauled himself up on top of the brickwork.  After a quick glance back, and
then down over the other side to see that it was clear, he swung his leg over.
Pain made him cry out as he caught his leg on a metal tip, but he bit down and
tried to block it out. As he glanced up again he saw his pursuers now gaining.
Throwing his other leg over the railing more carefully, he dropped down the far
side of the wall.  Without looking back again, he tore down the quayside
to make his escape. 
    Once the sounds of the hunt had
abated, he stopped in a deserted alleyway and, with a shaking hand, pulled
aside the torn fabric of his trouser to inspect his wound.  The street
spun around him, and nausea added to the thumping headache he already had, but
he forced himself to look and decided the gash wasn’t that deep.  Polly
would be able to fix it. He took off his cap and ran a hand through his long,
damp fringe.  Taking the new money bag from his pocket and opening it up,
he heaved a sigh of relief.  He stuck his cap on again, pulling it low, and
made his way out to the open street.  
    The gates of the town were in
sight when his arm was yanked behind him in a firm grip.  He cried out in
shock, twisting to get free, and turned to see two uniformed men.  In a
second he was held by both of them, pulling in vain to escape.  The man
from the first tavern stepped from behind them. 
    ‘Yes, officers, that’s him.’

 
    Ten
     
    The water was frozen in the pump and the ground was iron,
but the day was bright and clear and promised to warm a little once the misty
morning had passed.  The classes run by Miss Steele were only a few hours
long, and not every day, but Charlotte’s mother had decided that even that
short time was too much for Charlotte after her illness. Charlotte had never
imagined she would be so keen to get across the heath to the draughty wooden
building where the teaching took place, but she had been ill and then kept
cooped up by her mother for so many long weeks that to finally be allowed out
again, even just to school, was a relief.
    Charlotte sat quietly at the long
wooden bench, waiting for Miss Steele to begin.  She looked around the
room at the handful of other children sitting with her. She was now one of the
oldest – most of her older classmates of the previous school year had gone to
work on their parents’ farms or to spin thread and weave at home alongside
their mothers. None of her remaining classmates had a face peppered in ugly
white scars. Today was the first time many of her classmates had seen her since
her illness and her appearance had elicited some curious stares as she entered.
It was also the first time she had seen many of them since George’s funeral.
She tried to ignore the stares, had spoken a few uneasy greetings on arrival to
children she had been friends with and then had hurriedly and awkwardly taken
her seat. Recently, Charlotte’s mother had insisted that Charlotte pin her hair
up – she was becoming a young lady now and that was the proper way for young
ladies to wear their hair. Charlotte suddenly wished she could let loose her
thick curls from their neat bun and hide behind them. 
    As Miss Steele’s back was turned
for a moment, Mary Matthews leaned towards Charlotte.
    ‘Have you heard about the wolf?’
she whispered. Her eyes were bright, keen for scandal. She was a year younger
than Charlotte but the gap had always seemed much bigger to her.  She
usually had too many reasons to gossip too. Mary was the one girl in class
that, had she found Charlotte’s scars offensive and wanted to avoid her,
Charlotte wouldn’t have minded one bit. But for some reason, Mary always felt
compelled to single Charlotte out as someone to gossip to, despite the fact
that