The Witch from the Sea (23 page)

“Do they still blame Colum for the death of their daughter?”

“I have tried to explain that it was a natural happening but they won’t have it.”

“What of Fennimore?”

“He lives at Trystan Priory with his wife when he is not at sea. I believe the little boy is very well.”

“Surely their grandson will make up to them for the loss of their daughter.”

“He does, I am sure, but it is natural that they go on brooding for her.” My mother changed the subject. “So many people believed that we had beaten the Spaniards off the sea with the defeat of the Armada. It was not so. They still have great strongholds in America, and Sir Walter Raleigh and the Earl of Cumberland, backed by the City of London, is amassing a fleet of men-of-war to attack the settlements in America.”

“This will mean more war.”

“We will always be at war with the Spanish, your father says. They are scattered all over the world. They have possessions everywhere.”

“We defeated the great Armada though, Mother.”

“Yes, praise be. I would to God they could take their ships out for trading only—without guns and weapons of war, simply because they did not need them.”

“You are wishing for the impossible. You want everyone to be as peace-loving as you are.”

“If they were no man would ever raise his hand against another.”

“Dear Mother, how wonderful if everyone felt the same! People don’t, though. Even this trade will bring trouble, I doubt not.”

She shivered. “When I think of the men of our family—your father, Carlos, Jacko and Penn—every one of them a seaman. You should be thankful, Linnet, that your husband does not go off on those long voyages when you cannot know what is happening to him and whether he will come back.”

I was silent, thinking of stormy nights when Colum was about his business. I wished that I could have confided in my mother, but I resisted the temptation to do so.

She went back to Lyon Court in September and it was on the last night of October, the 31st and what we called Hallowe’en, that the woman from the sea came into my life. That was a night which was to influence my whole life. There was always a certain amount of excitement at Hallowe’en. In Cornwall the weather was usually mild and damp at that time of the year. The spiders’ webs seemed to be festooned over every bush and little globes of moisture clung to them like glittering jewels. In the lanes there were carpets of leaves, all shades of brown from gold to russet, and the trees lifted their denuded branches to the sky to form a delicate lacy design making them as beautiful as when they were in leaf.

Jennet chattered a great deal about the excitement in the servants’ hall. Hallowe’en was the night when witches rode on their broomsticks to attend the Sabbat only they knew where and woe betide any who walked out at midnight and strayed into their coven.

It had happened, said Jennet, to one of the Seaward women years ago. She had never been seen again in the form by which they knew her, but there was a black cat who haunted the place looking for someone who would sell her soul to the devil in exchange for certain favours.

“So, Mistress, don’t ’ee go out on Hallowe’en.”

“I’m not likely to,” I replied.

“’Twill be a thorough stormy night, I do believe,” prophesied Jennet with a shiver, “but witches take no heed of weather.”

When it was dark a fire was lighted on a hillock outside the castle precincts; I wrapped my cloak around me and took the children to see it, but I would not let them go near it for the wind was rising fast and the sparks could prove dangerous. Connell, now three years old, was an adventurous boy and I took Jennet with me to help me look after them lest they should be too bold.

The servants danced round the fire and when it died down they picked up the ashes which they would treasure.

“They’ll bring luck,” said Jennet. “Protection against the evil eye. I’ll get you some, Master Connell, and you too, Mistress Tamsyn.”

The children watched round-eyed and Connell asked questions about witches. I wouldn’t let Jennet answer them for fear she instilled some terror in them. I told them there were good witches—white witches who cured people who were sick.

“I want to see a black witch,” declared Connell.

It was difficult to get them to sleep that night. The wind was rising and making ominous whistling noises throughout the castle.

I felt uneasy because a storm was brewing.

It was one of those nights when Colum was out and I knew that that meant there was a ship in distress.

This had happened before. I lay in bed experiencing a dreadful unrest. It was near midnight and I knew that I could not sleep. I thought of the people on the sinking ship, and of Colum and his men rowing out to pick up the salvage.

Why were there never any survivors?

I felt that I was propelled by an irresistible impulse. I could not lie here waiting, letting my imagination conjure up a scene. I must know what was happening. I got out of bed and put on a cloak with a hood, and heavy boots. I went out of the castle.

The wind caught at me, buffeting me. Walking close to the castle walls I came out to the path. It was difficult to stand up and I almost crawled down to the shore. In the lee of the castle there was a little shelter. I saw dark figures running hither and thither. I stood as close to the water’s edge as I dared go. The waves rose like giant monsters and came thundering on to the sand. I heard Colum’s voice shouting: “We can’t go out yet. Wait awhile.”

There was a ship out there, I knew. Caught, held fast on the Devil’s Teeth. The wind caught my hood and threw it back; my hair flapped about my head. The wind and rain lashed at my skirts. It blinded me.

As I cowered there a figure loomed up before me.

“Good God,” cried Colum, “what are you doing here?”

“There’s a ship out there,” I cried. “Can’t we do something?”

“Do what?” shouted Colum. “In a sea like this. What, in God’s name? Go back. Go back at once.”

He took me by the shoulders. I could not see him very clearly but from what I could I thought he looked satanic.

“Don’t dare come out again. Go back. By God, do as I tell you.”

“I want to help …”

“Go back. That’s the way to help.” He pushed me from him and I stumbled towards the castle.

I knew there was nothing I could do by remaining there. If I could have done something to help those people on the ship I could not see but knew to be there, I would have defied him. But there was nothing.

I made my way to the shelter of the castle and leaned against the wall. The sharp stone cut into my hand. I was shivering with the cold for my clothes were saturated with rain and sea water from those gigantic waves.

And as I stood there I saw the men with their donkeys; they were coming towards us and each man was carrying a lantern. They did not see me standing there. They walked round the path to the Seaward Tower.

I went into the castle. I took off my wet clothes and rubbed myself dry. I felt sick with horror. Something told me that I did not know everything of what happened on nights like this.

I wrapped a cloak about me and went to the window. I could see nothing but the darkness. I could hear nothing but the groaning and shrieking of the wind and the sound of the waves pounding against the rocks in their fury.

I did not go to bed. I knew I would not sleep. Colum did not come home all night. With dawn the storm had abated. The wind was screeching in a lower key; the waves were washing against the castle walls, their anger spent.

I knew that down there the little boats would be going back and forth. They would be bringing what they could find from the vessel. They would carry it stealthily into the Seaward Tower and in a few days Colum would go away and find a buyer for what he had to sell. Then a little later Jennet would be told she was not to go to the Seaward Tower to her lover because he had other work to do than entertain his mistress.

And out there in this fierce malignant sea men would be dying and there would be no one to save them. It was not men’s lives they were interested in; it was the ship’s cargo; and if they saved lives what complications that might bring. What if the saved ones demanded to keep what was salvaged from their ships? So it was to the interest of Colum and his men that all perished.

It was this that I could not forget.

Soon after dawn I dressed myself and again went down to the shore. It was there that I found her. She was lying in the shallow water; her long dark hair floating about her. Her face was pallid and I thought she was dead.

I waded out and caught her arm. When the wave had subsided I dragged her nearer to the shore. The next wave came and nearly carried me out with her, for the sea had not yet calmed down and the waves were still strong. But I managed to drag her free of them.

She was lying on the sand and I knelt beside her.

She is dead, I thought. Poor woman.

I took her wrist and felt a pulse fluttering. Then to my horrified amazement I realized that she was heavily pregnant.

My father had taught me a form of artificial respiration. I turned the woman’s body so that she was lying face downward, her head turned to one side. I knelt and placed my hands on her back and keeping my arms rigid I pressed with the weight of my body—thus I drove the water out of her lungs and I believed saved her life.

I waited beside her, I rubbed her hands and wrapped her in my cloak. I watched her lest she should need further attention and in due course was rewarded for I could see that she was breathing more naturally.

What I wanted now was to get her into the castle. I wanted to put her to bed and make sure that she had the care she so urgently needed.

I left her lying on the shore and went back to the castle. I called several of the servants. I told them what I had discovered and we took a mule down to the shore, and dazed and shocked as the woman was we managed to get her on to the animal and bring her to the castle courtyard. There I ordered several of the men to carry her to a bed.

They took her into the Red Room wrapped in my cloak as she was and laid her on the four-poster bed. I had not wished her to go into that room but they had put her there before I could prevent them and it seemed unwise to move her again.

She lay very still and I said to Jennet: “We must not disturb her yet but bring clean clothes from my bedchamber. Her condition is dangerous for she is pregnant.”

“My dear life,” cried Jennet. “The poor soul will surely lose her baby.”

“We shall try to see that she does not,” I replied.

I sent one of the men to bring the physician. He lived five miles away but he would come at once if there was a call from the castle. Then I ordered that hot soup should be brought and between us Jennet and I undressed the woman.

I was surprised that she was younger than I had thought. I guessed her to be my age or perhaps a year or so older. Her skin was smooth; her limbs most beautifully formed and in spite of her pregnancy it was possible to see that she was an exceptionally beautiful woman. She was only half conscious but she seemed grateful for what we were doing. Her hands were long and slender; they had never worked, that much was clear. There was a patrician air about her face, an unearthly beauty, but perhaps that was because she was almost more dead than alive. Her hair was magnificent—thick, silky and black with that almost bluish tinge which is so rarely seen in England and when it is usually means foreign blood. Her lashes were as black as her hair and their blackness was accentuated by the pallor of her skin.

“She was on that ship,” whispered Jennet.

“She must have been,” I answered. “There is no other reason why she should be lying in the sea on such a night.”

Jennet’s eyes were dazed with memory. “The sea can be terrible,” she said.

“We will nurse her to health,” I insisted.

It was amazing how quickly she recovered. I was able to feed her with the hot soup and when she was lying in clean clothes in the warm bed, the faintest colour came into her face. It was as though a light had been placed behind the alabaster. Her skin glowed. I thought: I don’t think I ever saw such a beautiful woman.

I had to face Colum. I knew he would be angry. What would he have done if he had found the woman? Left her to the mercy of the sea I knew, which would have soon finished her.

I went into our bedchamber and came face to face with him.

“So you have brought a woman in?” he said.

“She was half drowned. I am nursing her. She is to have a child.”

“Why did you bring her into the castle?”

“She would have quickly died had I left her there.”

He gripped my wrist. “What concern is that of yours?”

“If I see someone dying I would do everything I could to help that man or woman.”

“So you bring her into my castle.”

“It is my home.”

“Forget not that you live here through my clemency.”

“And forget not,” I said, “that the dowry my father gave me has been very useful in maintaining the castle.”

He narrowed his eyes. I knew that he was passionately interested in worldly goods. It must be for this reason that he had become a scavenger; he had married me not only because he had desired me but because I brought a good dowry with me—as good as any girl of the neighbourhood would bring him—doubtless as good as that which came with Melanie Landor. My mother had prevailed on my father to endow me well. It was important, I being in the condition I was, that I should marry the man who had put me in it.

I found it so horribly sordid. He did not. His eyes gleamed now at the prospect of what riches the sea would bring him.

“You are becoming a shrew,” he said.

“And I am beginning to learn something of you.”

“Learn this then,” he said. “It is I who will decide who shall be a guest in my home.”

“What do you propose to do, turn this woman out? She is sick, or will be if she is not cared for. What would become of her?”

“Is that my affair?”

“Perhaps it should be, as you will help yourself to the goods which were being carried by the ship in which she travelled.”