“Jennet,” I said rather primly, “I suppose you will always be the same.”
“I suppose so,” she said with happy resignation.
I told Colum that I had been to Seaward Tower and met some of his servants who lived there.
“They are good men,” he said.
“And women.”
“They have their wives and women. That is necessary, you understand.”
“I understand. My Jennet has joined them.”
He burst out laughing. “It does not surprise me.”
“She has quickly found a lover there.”
“Jennet would find a lover anywhere. Who is the man?”
“I know none of them by name. But I thought I recognized the leader of your robber band.”
He laughed again.
“So they know of how I was tricked. I am not sure that I like that.”
“They are discreet. They are not like ordinary servants.”
“No, they do not seem so. I gather that they do special work for you.”
His bushy brows shot up. “What do you mean by that?”
“Such as abducting females on the road.”
“Such work they do admirably, you will admit.”
“They will be laughing at how I was duped.”
“They would not dare. They are good servants and wish me well. They are delighted to have had a hand in bringing me my present happiness.”
I was reconciled.
He put his arms about me gently and drew me to him. “You should not wander about the castle without me or someone with you. There are so many dangerous places … Those spiral staircases … you could so easily trip and fall. The cobbled courtyards, the unevenness of the stones and all the steep paths. You must not wander off alone. I forbid you to.”
“So must the husband of Nonna have talked to her! I am not allowed to ride. What may I do?”
“You may obey your husband. I place no restriction on that.”
“You are … despotic.”
“I am the ruler of my home.”
“The king of your castle.”
“Why should I not be? When the child is born you will have him to occupy you and then we will ride together out into the country. We will visit your parents. Perhaps we will call on the Landors. I heard that your would-be-husband has quickly become reconciled. He is to be married shortly. Of course she is a wealthy young lady. But he has taken his disappointment well, has he not?”
“I feel little interest in his affairs.”
“Why should you when you have a husband and a child of your own?”
“I am content,” I said, “deeply content.”
July had come, hot and sultry. I often climbed to the ramparts although I knew that Colum would have been displeased if he knew. Sometimes I took Jennet with me. I noticed how often her eyes strayed to the Seaward Tower.
She told me something of life in that tower, of the man who was her lover and who had taken her out in his boat on one occasion. They had fished and brought home their catch and it had been cooked and eaten at the table in the Seaward Tower.
“There are plenty of boats there and all those horses,” she said. It was an exciting place, the Seaward Tower. She had helped to clean the lanterns there. Never had she seen so many.
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable now. It could only be about six weeks from my confinement. I was so longing for my child to be born that the days seemed as though they would never pass. One day I wandered down through the inner ward and came at length to Ysella’s Tower. I looked at the iron-studded door and up at those grim, grey walls. Was the story true? It was impossible. How could a man keep someone’s identity secret for ten years? Surely she would have been seen? There would be a door on the other side of the tower similar to the one I had discovered in Seaward; there might be a little path there. Had that long-ago Casvellyn been as forceful as his descendants? I was sure he had. He would have forbidden Ysella and Nonna to leave their towers unescorted and perhaps he had good reason for this in view of what Colum had told me about the robbers on the road. I pictured Ysella up there waiting for the man she believed to be her husband and Nonna waiting for the same man who was hers.
It was a wild and fantastic story—the sort which attached themselves to old places like this.
I tried the iron-studded door. It would not move. Had I really expected it to?
I began to feel exhausted and fearing for the child retraced my steps back to the Crows’ Tower.
August came—the long-awaited month. A messenger had arrived from Lyon Court with the news that my mother would be setting out in a few days’ time.
One night I awoke startled and found that I was alone. The curtains drawn about the bed made it pitch black. It had been a stifling hot day and I had been quite exhausted by the weather and my condition.
I could hear something so I drew aside the curtain. I realized at once that it was the heavy rain. I got out of bed and went to the window. I could hear the rain pelting down on the stones and a wind was howling. A flash of lightning lit up the sky briefly. I saw the towers against the angry sky; then came the great crack of thunder which sounded as though it was overhead.
I went back to my bed. I could not sleep. I wondered where Colum was on such a night and whether the roads would be sodden when my mother set out from Lyon Court.
I lay still listening for the next clap of thunder, and I suppose because I did now find the days exhausting I was soon asleep.
When I awoke Colum was beside me. He was in a deep sleep. I rose noiselessly and was dressed before he awakened.
He rose yawning and I said to him, “What happened last night?”
Did I fancy it or was he suddenly alert? He said: “It was a fierce night.”
“What thunder!” I said. “I woke and got out of bed. There was one clap which must have been right overhead.”
“I was up,” he said. “There was a ship in distress out there.”
“How terrible … on such a night!”
“I thought there might be something we could do.”
“How good of you, Colum.”
He smiled at me in that tender way which I always so much appreciated because it seemed unnatural to him.
“When you really know me you’ll see I’m not such a bad fellow after all.”
“I am already beginning to ask myself if this is the case.”
It was a strange day that followed. The ship in distress had come to grief on the Devil’s Teeth. All day long the boats were going out to see if there were any survivors. Colum told me there was none.
How delighted I was to greet my mother. I was watching for her from the turret of the Crows’ Tower which gave a good view of the road. I felt a rush of emotion when I saw her sturdily seated on her horse with the grooms and two servants riding with her.
I was waiting at the portcullis to greet her. She swept me up in her arms and then had a good look at me.
“I see you are in good health and spirits,” she said. “Nothing to worry about. And by the look of it it seems as though we shall not have to wait long.”
She busied herself with preparations. She admired the cradle in which Colum himself had once lain. Generations of Casvellyns had used it. I wondered whether Nonna and Ysella had had any children and if so how they had managed to keep them hidden away. I must ask Colum some time. In any case, it was just a legend.
The weather seemed unbearably hot to me in my condition and it was a great joy to sit out of doors. There were not the gardens at Castle Paling that we had at Lyon Court, but we could sit in one of the grassy courtyards. My mother spread a rug for me and I would lie with my back against the wall and we would talk.
She was very pleased with my marriage. She had become convinced that it was right for me, in spite of its beginnings.
“Colum and Jake,” she said, “are of a kind and that is the kind of man women like us need. It is good when one can look back and say this and that happened for th
e best.”
“It seems so strange to me that a year ago I did not know Colum,” I marvelled.
“Time in such matters is not important. I can see you are happy.”
“Yet how much you wanted me to marry Fennimore Landor!”
“You would have had a peaceful life with him, but perhaps a dull one.”
“When is he to marry?”
“In September.”
“How strange that such a man should so quickly make up his mind.”
“I gather from his mother that he has known this Mistress Lee for many years. They have been childhood friends. Of course he was fond of you; he wanted to marry you; and it was ideal too in view of the amalgamation. But when you married he renewed his friendship with Mistress Lee. Their families are pleased about it and it seems a suitable match.”
“They hope to start trading next year,” she told me. “It is amazing how long these matters take to arrange. Your father chafes against delay. You know what an impatient man he is. I am sure it is the thought of getting the better of the Spaniards that makes him so pleased with the venture.”
“But the Spaniards are finished.”
My mother looked slightly worried. “I am not so sure. Admiral Drake has taken out a fleet of men-o’-war and attacked towns in Spain and Portugal. Why should he do that if they were so defeated? Why should he feel it necessary to give them another blow? I heard before I left that over a thousand gentlemen accompanied him and that only just over three hundred returned. Then our men have seized sixty ships in the Tagus which belonged to the Hanse towns there. It was found that these ships contained stores to fit out a fleet to come against us.”
“My father and Colum think that the Spaniard has been beaten for ever.”
“I cannot believe such a powerful nation could be finished so completely. What I long to see, Linnet, is an end to war and conflict. That is why this peaceful trading project appeals to me so much. There is so much more that is interesting in life than fighting. I heard that a mill has been set up in a place in Kent called Dartford where they are making paper. Imagine that, Linnet! How much easier it will be for us to write to each other. I call that progress—not one side killing more than the other. And something else. I heard of a new plant the other day. It is called saffron—a kind of crocus. Its stigmas make cakes yellow and give them a most distinctive flavour.”
“Have you tried it?”
“I have not seen it yet. It has only just been brought to England. But I intend to at the first opportunity.”
And so we walked and passed our days most happily, for she had brought with her not only the clothes she had made for my baby and new recipes for my tasting, but that sense of comfort which only she could give me.
She brought back memories of my father and young Damask who had so wanted to come with her, and had made a doll for the baby. My father had insisted that messengers be sent as soon as my baby was born with word that I had a fine healthy boy. Edwina, who now had her own little boy and wanted everyone to know of her contentment, sent affectionate messages. It was like seeing them all.
I was very happy during those last days and even the apprehension which must come to a woman who is about to have her first child was stilled by my mother’s presence.
It was not a difficult labour and to my intense delight I gave birth to a healthy boy.
I had never seen Colum so overjoyed. He snatched the baby from my mother and marched round the bedchamber with him. Then he came and stared down at me. I thought I had never been so proud and happy in my life.
I had reached the summit of happiness. I had my beautiful son whom we named Connell and he delighted me in all ways. I marvelled that this perfect creature was my own son and I rejoiced in him doubly when I saw Colum’s pride.
If he had been out, as soon as he returned to the castle he would go to the child’s nursery and satisfy himself that all was well. He would pick up the boy and lift him high in the air. Jennet and I would say that it was no way to treat such a young baby but Connell did not seem to mind. If he were crying—and he had a lusty pair of lungs and a strong temper—he would stop when his father lifted him up even when he was very young. As he grew a little older it was clear that he was fascinated by his father.
I was delighted. I loved to see the joy Colum found in his son.
And I had given him to him. I sometimes marvelled that this boy of ours should have been conceived in such a manner. I think Colum did too. But there was nothing that could have made him happier than the possession of this son.
My mother stayed with me for a month after the child’s birth and then she thought she should return to Lyon Court. She had young Damask to look after. Next time she came, she said, she might bring her, although she thought she was a little young to make the journey. My father had set out on the first of his trading voyages and would be home, she believed, by Christmas. We must all spend Christmas together. It was unthinkable that we, living so near, should not. I must persuade Colum to come to Lyon Court but perhaps because of the baby they should come to us.
We said goodbye. It was September and a touch of autumn already in the air. The mornings were misty and the sea calm but grey. I thought that at Lyon Court they would soon be gathering the apples and pears and I remembered how we had done it the previous year and stored the fruit in the apple room.
I watched her ride away for as long as I could see her. She did not look round. I fancied there were tears in her eyes. But she had confessed herself well pleased with the way in which everything had turned out. I think she was comparing me with herself and perhaps on consideration she could say her marriage had been a happy one.
I wished that we were just a little nearer. If Castle Paling had been as near Lyon Court as Trewynd Grange was how happy I would be! The fifteen miles or so which separated us just made frequent visits not so easy to achieve.
The christening of Connell was a great event. There was a big christening cake and Colum had asked a great many guests from the surrounding country. People whom I had never met before came to the Castle and there was feasting and revelry for two days and nights.
I was living in a dream of happiness and it seemed as if Colum was too. The beauty of the ceremony in the castle’s Norman chapel touched me deeply. My son wore the christening robes which had been worn by several generations of Casvellyns and I wondered whether the husband of Ysella and Nonna had worn them.
Colum had chosen the godparents—friends of long standing, he said. Sir Roderick Raymont was one—a man I did not take to—and another was Lady Alice Warham, a handsome woman who came to the castle with a meek husband several years older than herself.
Lady Alice carried my son to the font; and the ceremony was performed beneath that vaulted roof with its Norman archway and its massive supporting pillars of stone.
Connell was good and uttered no protest but I felt a great desire to snatch him from the arms of the woman who held him. I did not know why this fierce jealousy came over me and I knew I would be glad when all the visitors had departed.
When the ceremony was over and the cake had been cut and the baby had been admired by all, I took him to his nursery and gloated over him and I felt I was the most blessed of women, to have married in such an unusual manner and to have found a husband who excited me more than any other person ever had, and to have my union with him crowned by this blessing of a child.
The guests lingered for a few days and it was during their stay that I made a discovery.
The great hall, which was rarely used when there were no visitors, was now the centre of our entertainments. All through the day there came from the kitchens the smell of roasting meats and many of the inhabitants of Seaward were pressed into service. “You see,” said Colum to me, “there are occasions when we need these servants.”
I asked him if he entertained frequently, since we had not done so during the first months of our marriage.
“I did not wish it then,” he said. “I wanted
to have you all to myself. Moreover I thought it might be bad for the child.”
“Will these people think it strange that there was no celebrations of our wedding?”
“It has always been my way to let people think what they will,” he answered, “as long, that is, as it does not offend me.”
Then he talked of the boy and how he was much more advanced than other boys, how he believed that he would grow up into a fine Casvellyn and he could scarce wait to see it.
“As he grows older,” I said, “forget not that you will also do so.”
“And you, wife,” he reminded me.
Then he laughed and held me against him and I was very happy knowing him to be content with our marriage.
I think that was the last time I was entirely contented, for it was that night that I learned something which had not occurred to me before.
It was Lady Alice who began it, and I wondered after whether she did it purposely. I asked myself whether she sensed my complete abandonment to pleasure and, being envious of it, sought to destroy it.
We were at table. The venison was particularly delicious, I was thinking, done to a turn. The rich golden pastry of the pies was appetising and the company was merry. Colum, at the top of the table, flushed and excited, basked in the pride he felt for his son.
I was thinking to myself: May he always be as happy as he is now and may I, when Lady Alice said: “You have made your husband a very proud man.”
“It is a wonderful thing to have a child.”
“And so shortly married. You are indeed fortunate.”
Her eyes were enormous—great dark eyes, not quite as dark as Colum’s. I did not recognize the malice in them then.
“Colum, I know, is beside himself with joy. I am not surprised. When you remember the past disappointments …”
“Disappointments?” I said.
“Why yes, when he hoped and hoped … and it never happened. And then the second time he is fortunate immediately. It is not a year, is it, since your marriage and already that beautiful boy. One could almost say it was a happy release … although so tragic at the time.”
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