Witch from the Sea

by Philippa Carr

  That night I could not sleep. I kept thinking about Fenn and my grandmother’s hints that I might marry him. I knew that I wanted to. I realized that I loved Fenn and I was the sort of person who would not change. It seemed to me like a pattern. My mother and her Fennimore, both marrying other people to make the way clear for their children.

  I was seeing everything with that new clarity which had come to me through the ride from Lyon Court. My home was indeed a strange one. My father accused by his mother-in-law of causing the death of his first wife; his second wife dying mysteriously in her bed; and his third wife a witch.

  And the castle—it was a haunted castle, haunted by spectres of the past. There were strange happenings at night. One awoke and was aware of things going on; one had grown accustomed to them and accepted them without asking what they meant. The servants were often uneasy; they were frightened of my father, and those in the Seaward Tower were different from those who attended to our needs in the castle. There were strange comings and goings. I had grown up with these things and had accepted them … until now.

  Strangest of all was my stepmother—that foreign woman who spoke so little, who could enchant all men at will—be they young or old; there were strange rumours about her. I knew my own mother had saved her from the sea on Hallowe’en, which, said my practical grandmother, was why the rumour had started.

  Perhaps that was so, but it was brought home afresh to me that my mother had been dead but three months when he had married her.

  “Tamsyn, are you awake?”

  It was Senara. We had continued to share a room. We could have had one each for there were plenty in the castle, but Senara was against it. She liked the room, she said; and she might want to talk in the night. It was like many other rooms in the castle, big and lofty, but it did have one unique feature. One of my ancestors had put in what was called a ruelle. He had lived in France and liked the idea. It was a sort of alcove which was curtained off by a heavy red curtain. Senara had always been fond of hiding behind it and springing out on me in the hope of frightening me.

  Now I said: “Yes, I’m awake.”

  “You’re thinking about him.” She said it accusingly.

  “Whom do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well.

  “Fenn Landor.”

  “Well, he is our guest.”

  “You think he is a special guest, don’t you?”

  “The guest of the moment should always be a special guest.”

  “Don’t elude me, Tamsyn. You know what I mean. You like him too much.”

  “I just like him.”

  “Too much,” she insisted.

  I was silent.

  She got off her pallet and knelt by mine.

  “Tamsyn,” she said very seriously, “no one is going to take you away from me. No one.”

  “No one shall,” I said. “You and I will always be as sisters.”

  “I would hate anyone you liked more than you liked me.”

  I thought: She is very young. She’ll grow up.

  “Go back to bed, Senara. You’ll catch cold.”

  “Remember it,” she said.

  The next day when I was showing Fenn round the castle we came to the burial ground near the old Norman chapel. I showed him my mother’s grave in that spot with the other two so that they were a little apart.

  “Why,” he said, “that is my aunt’s grave.” He went to it and knelt beside it. “My aunt and your mother. Who is the other?”

  I said: “It was a sailor. He was drowned and washed up on our coast. We buried him here.”

  “I wonder who he is,” said Fenn.

  “I wish I knew. I dare say he has those to mourn for him.”

  Fenn was sad and I knew that he was thinking of his father.

  “There must be many sailors,” he said, “who are lying in graves unknown to their families.”

  “Few are washed up on the shore.”

  “No,” he said, “the ocean bed is the graveyard of many, I’ll swear.”

  “Do you still think so much of your father?”

  “It is six years since we lost him but he is as vivid in my mind as he ever was. You would understand if you had known him. He was a kind, good man in a world that is far from good and kind. That was what made him so outstanding. My mother says he was born before his time. He belonged to a different age, when men had become wiser and kinder because of it.”

  “That’s a wonderful thing for a wife to say about her husband.”

  “He was a wonderful husband.” He clenched his fists suddenly. “I know I shall find out one day what happened to him.”

  “Isn’t it obvious? His ship must have been lost at sea.”

  “I suppose you are right, but I have a feeling that some day I shall hear.”

  “How wonderful if he came back to her. My grandfather was away for years—captured and made a slave and my grandmother never gave up hope. And he did come back. Poor Grandmother, she feels his loss sadly.”

  He was very thoughtful and I longed to share his thoughts.

  Then he said suddenly, “Tamsyn, would you do something if I asked you?”

  “I am sure I shall. What is it?”

  “You have planted rosemary on your mother’s grave.”

  “She loved it and so did I and it’s for remembrance.”

  “Will you plant a bush on his grave?”

  “Of course.”

  “An unknown sailor. Who knows where his family is? Plant the rosemary and it will be as though you plant it for my father. Will you do that for me, Tamsyn?”

  “You may trust me to.”

  He stood up and took my hands in his. Then he kissed me lightly on the forehead.

  I was blissfully happy because that kiss while he stood close to my mother’s and the unknown sailor’s grave was a symbol. It was like plighting my troth. I knew that I loved Fenn. I was not sure whether he loved me but I thought he did.

  Fenn left next day but not before I had planted my rosemary bush. I saw how pleased he was.

  “I know you are the sort of girl who would keep her promises,” he told me.

  Before he left he said that he wanted me to come and stay with his parents. He would arrange that they should soon invite me.

  I waved farewell to him and then went right up to the ramparts so that I should see the last of him.

  Senara came and stood beside me.

  “You’re madly in love with him,” she accused me.

  “I like him,” I admitted.

  “You show it. You shouldn’t do that. You should be aloof; it is for him to fall madly in love with you. Now I suppose he will ask for your hand in marriage and then you will go away to that place of his and I shan’t see you any more.”

  “What nonsense!”

  “It’s not nonsense. I shall be left here and I don’t like it.”

  “When I marry—if I do—you shall come and stay with me.”

  “What’s the use of that? We’ve always been together. We’ve shared a room. You’ve been my sister ever since I could remember.”

  She was pouting and sullen. Then her eyes were suddenly mischievous. “What if I made an image of him and stuck pins in it? Then he’d die because I’d pierce his heart. No one would know how he died … except me.”

  “Senara, I hate to hear you talk like that. It’s all such nonsense.”

  “People do die … cows die, sheep die … as well as people. No one knows what killed them. There is no sign at all … They just die. It’s the evil eye. What if I put it on your precious lover?”

  “You couldn’t and you wouldn’t … even if he were my lover, which he is not. He is merely a good friend. And, Senara, I beg of you do not say such things. It is dangerous to talk so. People hear it and take it seriously. You mustn’t say it.”

  She dodged back from me and put out her tongue. A favourite gesture of hers which was meant to irritate.

  “You are no longer a child, Senara,” I said. “You must be sensible
.”

  She stood still, her arms folded, mocking me.

  “I am sensible. They are always saying my mother is a witch. Well, I’m a witch too. Nobody knows where we came from, do they? How do I know, how do you know, who my father is?”

  “Senara, you are talking dangerously. Your mother had the misfortune to be wrecked at sea. My mother saved her life. You were about to be born. It is all easy to understand.”

  “Is it, Tamsyn? Is that what you really think?”

  “Yes, it is,” I said firmly.

  “You always believe what you want to. Everything is good and nice, according to you. Other people don’t always think so. And one thing, don’t imagine you are the only one who has a lover.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah, wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I very soon did know. It suddenly occurred to me that Senara had inherited that indefinable quality from her mother. In the days which followed she seemed to grow more beautiful; she was passing out of her childhood and she was of a type to mature early. Her body had become rounded, her long eyes languorous and full of mystery—so like her mother’s. When she danced with Dickon she was so lovely that it was impossible to take one’s eyes from her.

  Dickon adored her. When he danced with her there was such happiness in his movements that it was a joy to watch them. He would sit and play the lute to her and sing songs of his own composing. They seemed all to be about the charms of a dark-eyed maiden, who tantalized him and tormented him while she enchanted him.

  Enchantment! Bewitchment! These were words which occurred again and again in his song. She beguiled his senses; she had this elusive quality which he could not define.

  One day in the music-room Maria discovered her daughter in the arms of Dickon, the music teacher. Senara told me about it afterwards. She was hysterical, half defiant, half fearful.

  “Dickon always wants to make love to me,” she had said. “He has a passionate nature and so have I. You wouldn’t understand, Tamsyn. You are so calm and dull about these things. I love Dickon. He is beautiful, do you not think so? And the feeling he puts into his songs … and when we dance together, I seem to melt in his arms. I am ready to grant any request he might make of me. That’s how Dickon affects me, Tamsyn.”

  “It sounds a very dangerous state of affairs,” I had replied with trepidation.

  “Dangerous? Of course it’s dangerous. That’s why it’s exciting. When I am going for my lesson I make Merry curl my hair and I choose my ribbons very carefully to match my gown. Merry laughs. She knows.”

  Merry was the maid who had been given us now that we were growing up. She worked for us personally, looked after our clothes, did our hair and was in fact a lady’s maid whom we shared. She was youngish—a little older than I was in fact, and she was in love with Jan Leward, one of the menservants who lived in the Seaward Tower. They were going to marry one day, she had confided in us, and she was very pleased with life because of this. Senara tricked her into giving confidences about the progress of her love-affair with Jan.

  “Oh Senara, take care,” I had begged.

  “That is something I prefer to leave to others,” she had retorted. “Care! It’s dull, and I hate dull things. No, I shall never take care. I shall be bold and reckless. That is how I intend to live my life. I think Dickon is handsome. More so than your Fenn Landor and I tell you this, Tamsyn, you are not going to be the only one with a lover.”

  “What other people have has nothing to do with loving.”

  “So wise,” she had mocked me. Then came this indiscretion. She told me about it. “The door of the music-room opened and my mother stood there. We were seated at the table. My lute lay on it and Dickon had his arms about me. He was kissing me and suddenly we knew that we were not alone. You know how silently my mother comes into a room. She stood there and looked at us. She said nothing. It would have been better if she had. Dickon started to tremble. You know how they can all be so afraid of her. Then she walked to the table. We both stood up. Dickon’s face was scarlet. He has such beautiful fair skin. Mine doesn’t change colour like that. But I was as frightened as he was. She picked up my lute and gave it to me. ‘Play,’ she said. ‘Play a love song, a sad one, for love songs are often sad.’ I took the lute and she said ‘Play “My love has gone and forever more I mourn”.’ I did and she sat there listening. Then she looked at Dickon and said; ‘How well have you taught my daughter?’ He stammered that he had done his best and that I was an apt pupil. She sat there for a while. Then she got up and went out. We don’t know what will happen but Dickon is afraid.”

  We soon discovered what had happened.

  Dickon did not appear in the music-room again. He had been sent away.

  Senara was violently angry and quietly sad in turns. She used to cry at night and talked constantly about Dickon. I had thought her feeling for him superficial, but this did not seem to be so, for as time went on she continued to remember him and speak of him with bitter and sorrowing regret.

  Senara changed after that incident. She seemed always to be trying to score over me. I think there was a streak of envy in her nature and particularly where I was concerned. I used to remind myself that in the early days of her life she had been the waif about whom so little was known. Her very name betrayed that. The admiration she had had from Dickon had softened her considerably and when it was snatched from her she had really suffered.

  At first she had confided more in Merry than in me. She insisted that I had my Fenn Landor and she spoke of him as though we were betrothed. I must confess I did not stop her as I should. I was, I suppose, so enamoured of the idea of being betrothed to Fenn that I couldn’t resist deluding myself into thinking that it was so.

  Then my stepmother—no doubt influenced by the Dickon affair—said that now we were all growing up there should be more entertaining at the castle. She would invite the best of the neighbouring families. Some of them had eligible young men who might be interested in us, and there was Connell also to be considered.

  My father evidently agreed. He seemed always to agree with my stepmother. At least I never saw any conflict between them. When I compared them with my late grandfather and grandmother I thought how different their relationship was and that there was something more normal in the bickering of my grandparents than in the quietness I observed between my parents—my father being the man he was. I sensed that when they were alone they were far from quiet; and sometimes the thought came into my mind that my stepmother was indeed a witch and even my father was in thrall to her.

  “The young man who brought you from your grandmother’s,” she said, “was very charming. I believe he has a sister. Perhaps we should invite them both to stay here.”

  I was delighted. I said I thought they would be pleased to come.

  “We shall see,” said my stepmother.

  The seamstress was working hard making new gowns for us. When we entered into a new reign fashions always seemed to change. In the country as we were, we were always a year or so behind but even so we were now getting what was called the short Dutch waist and the full farthingale. We had cartoose collars and tight sleeves under long sleeves hanging from the elbow. We had dresses with divided skirts to show barred petticoats usually much finer than the gown itself. Ruffs had disappeared—for which I was thankful—and in their place we had stand up collars. The sewing-room was littered with cloth of all kinds, taffeta and damask, some silk and velvet and a mixture of silk and some other thicker material called crash and mockado which was mock velvet.

  The sewing-room was a symbol of the fact that there were three marriageable young people in the castle and weddings were to be expected. It was strange how gay that made everyone feel.

  Merry was no ordinary maid, for we were both fond of her and she was very pretty too and full of life. She talked a great deal—particularly to Senara—of Jan her lover and how one day they were going to get married. There was great excitement when she was wearing a
ring. It looked like gold—a thick band.

  “It be my token ring from Jan,” Merry told us solemnly.

  Alas, her triumph was short lived, for it seemed Jan had stolen the ring. He had taken it from my father’s possessions and when it was discovered there was a great upheaval in the castle.

  Merry quickly lost her token ring and wept for it, but even more bitterly did she weep when Jan received his punishment. We three shut ourselves away so that we could hear nothing of it, but quite a number of the servants gathered in the Seaward courtyard. Jan was tied to the whipping-post and given ten lashes.

  “’Twill be the shame of his life,” sobbed Merry. “He be such a proud man. He only took to give to me.”

  Senara’s eyes flashed with anger. “A curse on those who are beating Jan,” she cried. “May their arms rot and …”

  I silenced her. “Whoever lifts the whip against him does so on orders,” I said. “And, Senara, please do not say such things.”

  “I mean them,” she cried.

  I knew who had given the order for punishment. It was my father.

  We comforted Merry as best we could. Senara prepared an ointment for she was interested in such things, and we sent it over for Jan’s back.

  “It will let him know that we are thinking of him,” said Senara, “as well as help to cure him.”

  The atmosphere of the castle had changed. An air of melancholy had descended on us.

  There was a letter from my grandmother.

  She was glad to hear that Fenn and his sister were coming to stay with us.

  I’m afraid this could never have happened while his grandmother was alive (she wrote). Now, poor soul, she is at rest and perhaps the feud between the two families will be over. I could understand, of course, her bitter sorrow when her daughter died and some people must lay the blame for their sorrow on other shoulders. It’s a great mistake. You will see Fenn again and I am sure you will enjoy his company. I believe his sister Melanie is a charming girl.