Witch from the Sea

by Philippa Carr

  I thought afterwards how like the coming of a storm it was because there is so often a first faint rumble of thunder in the distance and you scarcely notice it. Perhaps you say: “Oh there is thunder about.”

  So at this time when I was fifteen years old, there was Witchcraft “about”.

  The Catholics seemed a greater menace and when a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament was discovered, the whole country was agog.

  I was allowed to sup in the great hall when there were guests coming, and because I was given this privilege so was Senara. We used to enjoy these occasions. We would listen avidly to the conversation and afterwards watch the dancers. Dickon was brought in to give displays which were always highly applauded and several times Senara had danced with him for the company. She loved these occasions for she yearned for admiration; she had to be continually assured that she was beautiful, attractive and desirable. I who was given to looking for a reason for everything, had convinced myself that she had become like this during the years when her mother had not been at the castle. But now of course, her mother was the Châtelaine and it was I who was often set aside for her. I didn’t mind this; I saw that it was natural for a mother to love her own daughter more than a stepdaughter, and I often wondered whether I was a constant reminder of my mother.

  I remember at this time how the conspiracy which was called the Gunpowder Plot was discussed.

  When my father talked his voice boomed down the table and most people stopped their private conversations to listen. My stepmother sat beside him and on either side of them were the important guests. The servants no longer sat below the salt—that was an outmoded custom.

  My father said: “Guy Fawkes talked when racked. He has betrayed the whole party of them and they will lose their heads for this.”

  Senara listened, eyes wide. It seemed that a William Catesby with his accomplices Sir Everard Digby and Francis Tresham were the leaders. They were joined by a relative of the great Percys of Northumberland and a soldier of fortune, Guy Fawkes. Tresham, whose brother-in-law was Lord Monteagle, wrote to Monteagle and warned him against going to the Houses of Parliament on a certain day. The letter was shown by Monteagle to Lord Cecil who had the vaults searched and there were found two hogsheads and barrels of gunpowder. This was at two in the morning. The man Guy Fawkes was discovered when he arrived to ignite the gunpowder. He was seized, and only after severe torture did he betray his accomplices. However, the Houses of Parliament were saved and throughout the country the people marvelled at the miraculous chance which had led to the discovery.

  Everywhere throughout the country people discussed the Gunpowder Plot. It was something which must never be forgotten.

  And so at our table the Catholic menace was discussed.

  “We’ll never have papists here,” cried Squire Horgan, one of our neighbours, his face flushed with wine and fury. “Depend upon it.”

  My stepmother smiled in her strange mysterious way and I wondered whither she had come when the sea had thrown her up that night long ago before Senara was born. There was an aloofness about her as though she were despising these people at her board. She was, it was said, from Spain. She certainly had Spanish looks. My grandmother said there was no doubt of her origins and she would know because before she had married my grandfather she had been married to a Spaniard on the island of Teneriffe. Spaniards were Catholics, very staunch ones. But I suppose witches had an entirely different religion.

  I pulled myself up sharply. I must not think of her as a witch. She never practised religion, I believe. She was never in the chapel, though Connell, Senara and I went regularly I rarely saw my father there either.

  The Gunpowder Plot was to have its effect on our family. Very soon after that night when I had sat at table and listened to the talk about it, a messenger came to us from Lyon Court with very sad news. My grandfather had died. My grandmother wished Connell and me to go over to her for the burial.

  My father raised no objection and when Senara heard that we were going she wanted to go too. I was always flattered and touched by her devotion to me. It really seemed as though she was unhappy without me, and as her mother seemed indifferent as to what she did, she was allowed to come.

  How sad Lyon Court was without my grandfather! I knew it would never be the same again. He had been such a big man—I mean in more than size. Lyon Court was always different when he was there. He was constantly shouting about the place; often abusing either the servants or my grandmother or any member of the family. It all seemed so quiet and silent.

  My grandmother looked old suddenly. She seemed to have shrunk. After all, she was sixty-five years of age.

  Three deaths of people she loved most dearly—her mother, my mother and now my grandfather—had left her frail, bewildered, as though she were wondering what she was doing on the Earth without them.

  I had an uneasy feeling that it would not be long before she followed them.

  Connell was very upset because he had been my grandfather’s favourite. The old man had loved boys; but of course his love of women had been one of the pillars of his nature. Perhaps I should say he had needed women. Young boys, members of his family, had pleased him as girls never could. His mistresses had been numerous; yet it was my grandmother whom he had loved. She had been so suited to him—so fiery, such a fighter, far more so than my mother had been or I could ever be.

  She used to say that I took after her mother.

  She took me into the chapel at Lyon Court where his coffin had been set up. Candles burned at either end of it.

  She said: “I cannot believe that he has gone, Tamsyn. It seems so empty without him. There doesn’t seem to be much meaning in anything any more.”

  Then she told me how he had died. “If there had been no Gunpowder Plot I am sure he would be with us today. His rages could be terrible. He never tried to control them. I was always warning him. I used to say, ‘One day you’ll drop down dead when you let your passions get the better of you.’ And that was what happened, after all.

  “He heard of the plot. ‘Papists!’ he said. ‘That’s who it is. The Spaniards are behind this. We defeated them in fair battle and they’ll come back by foul means. God damn them all.’

  “Then he fell down and that was the end. The Spaniards killed him in the end, you see, Tamsyn.”

  She found great comfort in talking to me about him. She told me how they had met, how she had hated him, how he had pursued her and of the adventures she had had before she finally married him.

  “Somewhere in my heart, Tamsyn, I always knew that he was the one for me. Always, when I was far away from him, I remembered that he was there in my life. And now he is there no more.”

  I tried to comfort her. I told her I felt that my mother was not really gone. “I seem to feel her there close to me,” I said. “When I am unhappy or frightened I call to her. Then I’m not afraid any more.”

  “May God bless you, little granddaughter,” she said.

  Fenn Landor came to be with us on the day of the burial. He had grown up and was different from the boy I had met before. He would soon be sixteen—and so should I. We were no longer children.

  My grandfather was buried in the Pennlyon burial grounds. They were not as large as ours at Paling, for the Pennlyons had only been in the house for a few generations.

  Connell, Senara, Fenn and I used to go out riding together and Fenn and I always seemed to find ourselves together. He liked that because he wanted to talk to me about the Trading Company of which he was now a member. He was going to take his father’s place, he said. He still talked a great deal about his father.

  “One of these days,” he said, “I shall find out what happened to him.”

  I remembered his grandmother who thought he was at the bottom of the sea. We could talk together about our parents, both being in the same position, and we were very happy together.

  Senara grumbled. “You and Fenn Landor are always going off together.”

&nbs
p; “Why should we not?”

  “I think he’s a bore.”

  “You may think what you please. That does not affect my opinion.”

  She stamped her foot. “If I were a witch,” she said, “I’d put a spell on him.”

  “Don’t dare say such things, Senara,” I retorted angrily.

  She looked a little frightened.

  “I would though,” she went on. Then she was soft and clinging. I never knew anyone to change moods more quickly than Senara. “Don’t like him better than you like me, will you, Tamsyn?”

  “As if I could.”

  But she set me wondering.

  I did like Fenn. I liked him very much indeed and I hated saying goodbye to him when it was time to return to Castle Paling.

  “We shall meet again soon,” he said. “I will call at the castle and you must come and visit us.”

  When we went home Fenn rode with us. It was on the way to his home of Trystan Priory, he said.

  My grandmother was a little dubious when she heard that he proposed accompanying us; then she lifted her shoulders. “Why not?” she said. “He will protect you from the dangers of the road.”

  Later when we were alone, just before I left, she said: “The two families have never met since the death of your father’s first wife. It used to be rather awkward when your mother was alive. We saw so much of the Landors, being involved in business together, and Fenn’s grandmother could not be induced to see anyone connected with your father.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Your father’s first wife was her daughter.”

  “Her daughter. The one she said was …”

  She stopped me before I could finish. “She was hysterical with grief. She refused to see things as they really were. She wanted to blame someone for her daughter’s death so she blamed the daughter’s husband. What happened was that your father’s first wife died in childbed.”

  “And she blamed my father for that?”

  “She was of the opinion that her daughter was too frail to bear children and should never have been allowed to try to do so.”

  “That seems unreasonable of her.”

  “People are not always reasonable in their grief.”

  “And for that reason she would not meet my father!”

  “That’s true, Tamsyn.”

  “She made a strange remark about my mother. Do you remember when I went into her room on that night and found her crying?”

  “I remember it well. It was just after the disappearance of young Fenn’s father. Poor soul! I think the loss of her children unhinged her mind.”

  “But what she said about my mother …”

  “I cannot bear to think of it, Tamsyn. My daughter … she was so young. And to die in her bed.”

  “Her heart failed, they said.”

  “And she had been unwell and had not told me. The greatest regret of my life is that I was not there to nurse her.”

  “She did not appear to need nursing. I was with her on the nights preceding that one. But on her last night I was not there.”

  My grandmother covered my hand with hers.

  “My dearest, we must try not to grieve. So Fenn is going to ride back with you. He will stay a night or two at the castle, I dare say, for I am sure your father will not object. You like Fenn, do you not?”

  “Oh, I do. He is so interesting and so … good.”

  She smiled. “At one time I thought his father might have married your mother. The son is so like the father that sometimes I could believe it is Fennimore who is here and the girl who likes him so much my own Linnet.”

  “Did you want her to marry that Fennimore?” I asked.

  She turned her head away and did not answer. Then she said suddenly: “She wanted your father. In the end it was her choice.”

  I did not quite know what she meant by that but I believed the subject was painful to her and I did not want to make her more unhappy than she already was.

  I forgot a little of the sorrow I had left behind me at Lyon Court when I was riding along with Fenn. He talked a great deal about the trading company and how they would miss my grandfather. “But it is some years since he went to sea. He was a great sailor. I don’t think he ever quite got over the loss of the Landor Lion. It seemed so strange to disappear like that … after it had been sighted quite near the Sound.”

  I was afraid he was going to talk about his father, and although I was very interested I knew it was a depressing subject and I wanted to get away from depression. I kept thinking about my mother who might have married his father and if she had how different everything would be.

  It had put an idea into my head which might have been there before. What I mean was that I recognized it was a possibility and it was one which gave me a great deal of pleasure.

  What if I should marry Fenn?

  I was sure my mother, if she could do so, would approve of this. She had been very fond of Fenn’s father. He must have been very like Fenn; then why had she married my father?

  During that ride home I thought now and then of my father. I seemed to see him for the first time. I did not love him in truth, although I had always thought I had, simply because it was the dutiful thing to love one’s father. I was happier when he was away; I kept out of his range as much as possible. He had very little interest in me, I was sure. Connell had always been his favourite. I wondered then why my mother had loved him more than Fenn’s father. He had probably decided that she should. He was the sort of man who made people’s decisions for them. He was hard and cruel, I knew. I had seen men after they had been whipped because they disobeyed him. There was a whipping-post in the courtyard before the Seaward Tower. The servants were terrified of him.

  I wondered what Fenn would think of him, Fenn who was kind. That was what I liked about him. He was so kind and gentle too. If he had boys and girls he would never allow the girls to see that he preferred the boys, even if he did. Yet in a way I suppose I was glad my father was not as interested in me as he was in Connell. Connell had had many a beating because he had failed to please my father. I was never beaten because I neither pleased nor displeased.

  I was suddenly looking at my home with a new clarity because I was wondering what Fenn would think of it.

  My father was at home when we arrived and he and my stepmother came down to greet our guest. I saw the curl of my father’s lip as he studied Fenn, which meant that he did not think very highly of him.

  My stepmother smiled a welcome. Even Fenn was startled by her. I tried to look at her afresh. I could not understand quite what that magnetic charm was. She was very beautiful, it was true, but it was not only beauty. There was a sheen about her; it was in everything she did, in her smile and her gestures.

  “Welcome to Castle Paling,” she said. “It is good of you to go out of your way to look after my daughters on the road.”

  Fenn stammered that it had been his pleasure and was by no means out of his way.

  “It’s rarely that we see a Landor within these walls,” said my father. “The last one was my first wife. She would be your aunt, would she not?”

  “That’s so,” Fenn replied.

  He seemed to shrink before my father, and I felt that old protective instinct, which had amused my mother, rising within me.

  I wondered whether my father was going to make sport with him, to trick him into betraying his enthusiasm for the trading company and then show his contempt for it.

  My father shouted to one of the servants to prepare a room for our guest and to send another with wine that he might welcome him on his first visit to the castle.

  The wine was brought. We drank it and we talked of the death of Captain Pennlyon and the sadness it had caused at Lyon Court.

  “A great sailor, my father-in-law,” said my father. “One of the old buccaneers. I’d like to have as many golden crowns as Spaniards he has put to the sword.”

  “It was a cruel world in those days,” said Fenn.

  �
��And has it changed? Why, young sir, whether men go in trade or war ’tis all the same. Booty is what they are after and blood and booty go together.”

  “We aim to trade through peace.”

  My father was laughing to himself. “Aye, ’tis a noble sentiment.”

  I was glad when the servants came down to tell us that the room was ready.

  “I have ordered that it shall be one of our best rooms,” said my father. “Some of the serving-women will tell you it’s haunted but that will not affect you, I know.”

  Fenn laughed. “I’ll swear you have ghosts and to spare in a castle such as this.”

  “Ghosts!” said my father. “On the stairways, in the corridors. I’ll tell you, you would be hard pressed to find a room that couldn’t boast of one. This is a castle of legends, sir. A haunted castle. Dark deeds have been done here and some say they leave their mark.”

  “I promise you, sir, I fear them not.”

  “I knew you would have a bold spirit. Your profession demands it. Though they tell me that sailors are the most superstitious men on the Earth. You tell me, is that true?”

  “When they go to sea it is. There are so many evil things that can befall a ship. But those sailors who fear that which is not natural at sea, are bold on land.”

  “We are on land but the sea laps at our walls and it would sometimes seem that we are on neither one nor the other. Come, you will wish to go to your room. ’Tis but an hour or so to supper.”

  He signed to the serving-girl to show him where he would sleep.

  I knew he was being taken to the Red Room.

  Supper was a merry meal. My father was in good spirits. My stepmother decided to charm him. She did a little, I noticed with some dismay. She sang a song—in Spanish, I suppose it was. I could not understand the words but it throbbed with tenderness. My father watched her as she sang as though he were bewitched. In fact I think every man present was. I wondered, as I had on many other occasions, what she was thinking.