The Witch from the Sea (3 page)

“Her nails began to wither and her hair fell out,” said Edwina. “The Queen suspected there was some sort of liaison between them and had them watched. It’s strange how she still remained faithful to Leicester in spite of everything.”

“Our Queen is a faithful woman,” said Jake. “An example to you all.”

He looked at my mother who was suddenly silent, remembering I think how not so long ago she was ill and suspected Jake of trying to rid himself of her. How foolish of her! I realized she knew that now.

“Yes indeed,” said my mother. “For she was sorely tried. Leicester hoped for years that she would change her mind and marry him, but she never would. That old scandal would have been revived! How hard it is to live down a scandal!”

“But he did marry the Countess of Essex,” I said.

“And when the Queen heard,” put in my mother, “they say she was heartbroken and she was furious with him.”

“She all but sent him to the Tower,” said Edwina. “But she relented and she has hated Lettice ever since.”

“And now he is dead. Do you really think it was poison that killed him?” I asked.

“With poison one can never be sure,” said Edwina. “If it is true that Lettice was in love with Christopher Blount and that Leicester was trying to poison him and was given one of his own concoctions by his wife …”

“Would that be possible?” I asked.

“Yes, indeed it would.”

Edwina should know. She was descended from a witch. I was never quite sure how far back but her mother was the great-granddaughter of one, I believe. My mother told me she used to tease her adopted sister about it.

Edwina talked of herbs then; for she had built up a big herb garden at Trewynd. She was very interested in the uses of the plants and whenever we were not well we always first asked Edwina if she knew of a cure before consulting apothecaries or doctors.

She had just learned that woodruff was good for the liver and she was working a cure on one of the grooms at Trewynd. Fennimore became quite interested then—far more than he had over the chatter of Leicester’s affairs. In fact I feared he was a little bored by all that.

He said: “You must find something that will cure sailors of their ills on long voyages. Food is a great problem and also keeping sailors healthy. They suffer from terrible diseases—scurvy is one of them. If you could grow a herb that would cure that you would be performing a great service.”

Edwina said she would study the matter, but her herbs were of the simple sort and she merely picked up information here and there.

“It may be the cure is simple,” he answered.

Then he began to talk again of sea and the trade he hoped would come to England.

I watched from my window the rowing-boat take Fennimore Landor out to his ship. As I stood there I heard someone come into my room and, turning, saw that it was my mother.

She came over to the window and together we looked at the carrack out there on the faintly moonlit waters.

“A fine ship,” said my mother. “What did you think of her captain?”

“I thought he was a man with a purpose.”

“There was no doubt of that. It sounded very sensible to me.”

I was pleased and showed it; she looked at me intently.

“I liked him,” she said. “I liked his earnestness. He’s an idealist. And that’s a good thing for a young man to be.”

“This idea of trading,” I said, “how much better than fighting!”

“There will doubtless be fighting involved in it,” replied my mother grimly. “Men never seem to be able to get along without that.”

“Do you think he wants some sort of partnership?”

“I gathered he wanted your father’s help.”

“Do you think he will give it?”

My mother was thoughtful. Then she said: “He might. As a Captain who has been accustomed to see a prize and take it, he will find it a little difficult to adjust himself to legitimate trading, I doubt not. But I fancied he was less sceptical as the hours passed than he had been in the beginning.”

“Shall you persuade him?”

“My dear Linnet, do you think anyone could do that?”

“I think you could.”

“Why, the very fact that I thought it a good idea would make him try to prove it wasn’t. So you liked the captain, Linnet?”

“I thought as you did that he was earnest … serious and dedicated to his plan.”

“If your father joined him in some enterprise doubtless we should see a good deal of him. I discovered where he comes from. Farther along the coast towards Falmouth.”

“Not so very far from here then.”

“No.” There was a slight pause. Then she said: “Edwina had some good news she whispered to me. What do you think? She is going to have a child.”

“I’m so glad. She has long wanted that to happen. I thought there was something different about her tonight. Now I come to think of it, she seemed to be hugging some secret.”

“It won’t be a secret for long. Of course it’s early days yet. But I’m so happy for her. She and Carlos have been married … why, it must be seven years.”

“It’s a long time,” I agreed.

“I know exactly how they feel.” Her eyes had that glazed look which they had when she looked back into the past. Then she was right back in the present looking straight at me. “The greatest happiness, Linnet, is to hold your own child in your arms. I remember …”

Suddenly she put her arms about me and held me close to her for a few moments. I knew she was thinking that I should marry soon and have children of my own.

And the thought had been put into her head by the arrival of Captain Fennimore Landor. It meant that she liked him; that she would persuade my father to help him in his venture; and that from now on the young man might well be a frequent visitor at Lyon Court.

By the time
Trade Winds
sailed out of the Sound, my father had arranged that there should be a further meeting with the Landors. Whether my mother had persuaded him or whether he had been impressed by Fennimore’s earnestness I was not sure, but the fact remained that he was interested in his ideas and had said in a few weeks’ time he would visit them for further talks.

I was delighted and I believed my mother was too when an invitation came for us to join the party.

“What women have to do with trade, I fail to see,” growled my father.

My mother retorted: “Of course a woman should know what kind of business her husband is involved in. In any case the invitation is for me and I shall accept it on behalf of Linnet and myself.”

My father had gone off on a short trip and Jacko was with him, so it was arranged that my mother and I, accompanied by her maid Jennet and two grooms, should make the journey to Trystan Priory, the Landor’s home, by road.

It was early November when we set out; warm, damp and misty; the hedgerows were festooned with glistening cobwebs and the bare branches of trees made a lacy pattern against a grey sky. A touch of colour was supplied here and there by patches of golden gorse which was always with us. I remember my father’s once saying that the only time a man should not make love to a woman was when the gorse was not in bloom, the implication being that the gorse bloomed all the year round.

I was excited. I was sure there was something in the air that day which told me that I was on the verge of adventure. It must have something to do with Fennimore whom I was looking forward to seeing again.

“What a gloomy day,” said my mother, as we rode along side by side.

“Do you find it so?” I replied; and she laughed suddenly. She seemed very happy. I read her thoughts. I was eighteen years old, marriageable. Every mother wants to see her daughter married; she dreams of grandchildren. My mother wanted that for me and she had decided that Fennimore was a good choice. She had been impressed by his sincerity; perhaps too she thought that he did not live very far away and she would see me frequently if I married him. It was a sad point with her that she was so far from her own mother whom she adored.

Yes, I was in high spirits that morning. Adventure was in the air, discoveries, marriage, children, the right of every woman to love and reproduce. There might have been some warning in the mist, but I could not sense it. Nor did my mother, for she was as eager for what was awaiting us as I was.

The road took us through country lanes with high green banks and hedges in which a few wild flowers lived on as a reminder of the riot of colours they had offered at different times of the year—some campion, dead-nettle and shepherd’s purse and every now and then we would have a glimpse of the sea, greyish, silent on this still windless day. We met few people, only a party on horseback like ourselves who called a greeting, a pedlar whose pack we stopped to examine, a farmer at work on his land. We had made good progress on that first day and before darkness fell we reached an inn where we spent the night. The landlord had a good roasted ox and ale which we ate and drank in the parlour before retiring to our room. My mother and I slept in the big bed and Jennet on a pallet on the floor. The grooms lay in the stables and as soon as it was light we were off, our horses rested and ready for the day’s journey. There would be one more inn stop and then we should arrive at Trystan Priory.

In spite of the excitement which possessed me, I slept soundly and so did my mother and we were up early and ready to continue at dawn.

The second day was like the first. The country changed a little though; the coast was more rocky, the countryside stark; it lacked the lush greenery of our Devon scenery; and on that night we came to The Traveller’s Rest.

The host came to the door to welcome us; bowing low, recognizing us I suppose as what he would call “the quality”. Yes, he had a room for us and he would have a fire lighted in the fireplace and a warming-pan put in the bed. He rubbed his hands together. He had a sucking-pig on the spit; he had beef and mutton and great pies. In fact he had everything to tempt hungry travellers. If we would sit awhile in the inn parlour he would have our room made ready. It was the best in the house. He whispered conspiratorially that it was called the Oak Room on account of the very fine panelling on the walls and some of his guests had told him that it was fit for the Queen herself.

“So, my ladies, if our gracious Queen should ever pass this way we could give her comfort such as she’d rarely find outside her own palace and castles.”

It was a warm welcome. The landlord continued to rub his hands with glee at the prospect of such profits that would come his way. Two ladies and their maid and two grooms! I wondered how many passed this way and how often he could be sure of as many customers.

We sat in the inn parlour and drank wine and ate little cakes which were quite pleasant, for it would take some time before the meat was cooked. Meanwhile a fire was lighted in the room allotted to us and we mounted the stairs to it. It looked rather charming in the light of two candles, for it was now dark. The fire in the grate threw its pleasant flickering light about the room. I touched the oak panelling of which the landlord was so proud and I said: “It is a pleasant place. And the landlord, although a little too unctuous, seems determined to look after us.”

My mother said: “We will tell him we will stay here on our return, which will be in a week or so, for I doubt we should overstay our welcome at Trystan Priory.”

Jennet unpacked what we should need for the night and by that time a maid came to tell us that the food was ready.

“We will come down at once,” said my mother, “for I must confess I am ready for it.”

It was then that I was aware of the noise below, someone was shouting in a loud and imperious voice: “Don’t tell me that, man. Take me there. I tell you this, no matter who has the Oak Room they must vacate it. Do you think I’d take one of your poxy little rooms?”

I heard the landlord, all unctuous pleasure departed: “But my lord … if I had known … It was not more than an hour or so … A party of travellers …”

“It matters not,” came the shout. “They can take another room. By God’s life, host, have I not slept these many times in your Oak Room and what other room have you to suit me? Tell me that!”

“None worthy of your lordship, ’tis true, but …”

“Stand aside.”

I stood there, holding a candle in my hand. I heard the heavy tread on the stairs.

Then he came into sight and saw me standing on the threshold of the room. He stopped short, looking up at me. I was surprised to see that he was young, by which I meant he was reaching up to thirty. His eyes were dark, large and lustrous; his hair looked blackish in the candle light. What struck me most was the size of him. He must have been all of six feet six inches tall. I had rarely seen such a tall man. His shoulders were broad and his padded jerkin made of satin and velvet with its puffed slashed sleeves made him look even broader. His bombasted breeches were of fine material and his jornet, a loose travelling cloak, was thrown back over his shoulders. This arrogant man who, I gathered, was demanding the room already let to us was a dandy.

“By God, Madam,” he said, “so ’tis you who have taken my room.”

“Is it yours, sir?” I answered. “I had thought it was one the landlord had set aside for guests, and my mother and I have already taken it.”

“Is that so?” he said, and his smile was sardonic. He started to mount the stairs.

“I am a frequent patron of this inn,” he said. “There are times when I pass and wish to rest for a night. This room is always at my disposal.”

“Then,” I said, “this is an occasion when it is not.”

My mother had come forward. I realized—though no one else would—that she was a little nervous. But she was not the sort to give up her rights without a fight.

She said: “What is this trouble, sir?”

He bowed to her. “Whether it be trouble or not, Madam, depends on you. You are occupying my room. Vacate it and you may have a pleasant night though perhaps a less luxurious one.”

“We had already taken the room,” said my mother.

“Ah, but that was before I arrived. Nessie,” he shouted. Then: “God’s eyes, man, where’s your daughter?”

The innkeeper was at the bottom of the stairs. “I will call her, my lord, and send her to you.”