Текст книги "Witch from the Sea"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“Come, Janet,” said my grandmother, “you should go to bed. I will bring you something to make you sleep.” She took Janet Landor’s arm and I took the other. We led her to her bed.

“Lie still,” soothed my grandmother. “Try to sleep. Don’t brood, it can do no good. We can best help ourselves and others by stifling our grief.”

I was proud of her because I knew how she suffered from my mother’s death and I wanted to be like her.

“That child’s mother,” whispered Janet, “was she murdered too?”

My grandmother had taken me by the arm.

“She is rambling,” she whispered to me. “Now, Tamsyn, go back to your bed. Try not to disturb the others. I will look after this lady. Good night, my child.”

I went away wondering about poor Janet Landor; and there was one phrase which kept ringing in my head: “That poor child’s mother … was she murdered too?”

She must have been referring to my mother, and what did she mean?

My grandmother had said she was rambling and she was certainly hysterical. She could not have been referring to my mother!

I did not see Janet Landor for several days and when I did she was quiet again and although I forgot that nightly disturbance the memory of it was to return to me with some force later.

Senara and I stayed with my grandmother until the spring. It was May when we went back to the castle.

A surprise awaited us. Our father had married again. Senara’s mother was to be my stepmother.

After coming back from Lyon Court, Castle Paling seemed an alien place, which was strange for it had always been my home. Everything seemed to have changed since we had been away. My mother’s influence had been eliminated entirely and in its place was something new—intangible; it was hard to say what.

Some of the furnishings had been changed—the bedchamber which my mother and father had shared was entirely different. There were rich velvet hangings about the bed and at the windows. There was a foreign look about it. I looked into the Red Room. That had been left exactly as it always had been. I remembered all the stories I had heard about its being haunted. My mother’s sitting-room which she had used so much was also left untouched. There was her carved wooden chair and the table on which stood the rather large sandalwood writing-desk of which she had always been fond.

Senara was secretly proud that her mother instead of being a rather mysterious guest in the castle was now the undisputed mistress of it. She had previously, I think, felt something of an outsider and that was why I constantly tried to remind her that I thought of her as my sister.

The servants had changed. They whispered a lot; they were constantly crossing themselves as though for protection against the evil eye. I knew that they were afraid of my stepmother Maria; sometimes I thought even my father was a little.

I could not suppress a certain resentment. In the first place I hated to see someone in my mother’s place; in the second, I thought it had happened too quickly. Three months after she had died my father had married my stepmother; and the fact that she had been living in the castle was somehow even more shocking.

My father had never taken much notice of me. Connell was his favourite. He had little regard for girls—at least, not for his own daughter. He kept out of my way after my return almost as though my presence embarrassed him. He knew how very devoted my mother and I had been to each other.

At first Senara gave herself airs but that was very soon at an end. The friendship between us was too firm for anything to harm it. The fact that her mother had taken my mother’s place might have caused a rift in some cases, not with us. My father engaged a tutor to give us lessons because my mother had done so in the past, and he was already installed at the castle—a Master Eller—he seemed aged, but I doubt he was much more than forty-five. He was strict and serious and even Connell had to pay attention, although he hated lessons and at twelve years old thought he should have been beyond them.

Jennet had scarcely changed except that she had aged a little. I think my mother’s death had shocked her deeply. She was only a year younger than my grandmother and I knew she had regarded my mother as her own daughter. She used to go about muttering to herself and she harboured a dislike for my stepmother which she was afraid to show.

So many people were afraid of my stepmother. It was because she had come on Hallowe’en and that was the time for witches. That she was different from other people was clear. She never appeared to be angry, but if she were displeased there would be a strange glitter in her eyes which was as frightening as my father’s loud displays of temper. Everyone and everything was different. The castle seemed full of shadows. Servants were afraid when the darkness fell. Jennet, who had been so talkative and pleased with life, was no longer so. On her face was a perpetual expression of bewilderment. Once she broke down and wept. “I knew your mother when she was a baby,” she told me. “I held her in my arms when she was but a day old. Your grandmother was good to me but sharp. She lifted her hand against me more than once, but Miss Linnet …” She broke down and we cried together.

Then Jennet crossed herself suddenly and said in a hollow voice: “God help us all. That good lady’s place … my little Mistress Linnet’s place … be took by …” Then she looked over her shoulder and after a long pause she murmured, “by … by another.”

Like everyone else, Jennet was afraid of my stepmother. I wondered about my father. His eyes followed her wherever she was. I heard one of the servants say: “He be spellbound.”

Now and then I found her dark eyes fixed on me. I don’t think she understood me. She was expecting me to be resentful towards her for taking my mother’s place; stepmothers were not generally liked by the children of their predecessors. But I knew that hating her could not bring my mother back. She was Senara’s mother and Senara thought her wonderful. My misery did not take the form of wanting to blame someone. When she understood this she ignored me, and I was glad of that. She was such a strange woman. Although she had never shown affection for Senara, she was anxious for her future. She made sure that Master Eller made an educated lady of her; and she engaged a young man to teach us dancing and singing. His name was Richard Gravel and we called him Dickon. He played the lute and the virginals in such a manner as to raise the spirits or bring tears and make the heart melt; and he could dance so beautifully that when he performed it was impossible to take one’s eyes from him. Senara was enraptured by him and was eager to excel at both music and dancing. We learned country dances, morris dancing, but chiefly those which would be performed at balls and banquets. It occurred to me that my stepmother wished to make a great lady of her daughter and because I was her companion I shared in the tuition too. It vaguely entered my mind that she did not believe Senara would be in the country all her life. This training was to make a court lady of her.

But we were far from the court. Deep in my mind was the knowledge that if my stepmother desired it, so would it be. I had heard one of the servants mention that she had “The Powers”. I had never heard the expression before but I understood immediately what she meant.

But it is surprising how very quickly young people can adjust themselves to situations. Before the year was out my home no longer seemed a strange place; the extraordinary had become commonplace. It was not that I forgot my mother; I should never do that. I used to go to the burial ground and put flowers on her grave; and because it seemed unfair to leave out those other two, I put flowers on them.

There were of course several long-dead Casvellyns in the burial grounds, but these three graves were together and I was sorry for my father’s first wife, Melanie, and the unknown sailor. To set my mother’s apart I planted a rosemary bush on hers, because rosemary is for remembrance. When I planted that tree the notion came to me that my mother was not completely lost to me; she was close to me at all times and particularly so when I needed her help. Whatever the delights of heaven, she would never leave me entirely alone. I sensed her presence watching over me, guarding me from evil. It was a comforting thought and once it had come to me, it stayed with me and I began to be happy again.

Life settled down to a new pattern. Lessons with Master Eller and singing and dancing with Dickon took up a great deal of our time. We rode with the grooms; we visited Lyon Court although my grandmother never came to us, and she was never pressed to do so. I believed that she did not want to be in a household where my mother had lived, nor did she wish to see my father’s third wife. But I was encouraged to go to her whenever I wished and when I went Senara accompanied me. It was inconceivable to either of us that we should be parted. We quarrelled occasionally but we both knew that those differences would be quickly settled. We were very different in temperament. I was quiet, rather serious, not easily roused to anger and enjoyed looking after people. Senara was impatient with me sometimes, although she liked me to look after her. She was full of life, she hated lessons. Master Eller despaired of her; but she played the virginals and the lute with passion and flair; she could sing prettily and she danced so gracefully that it was a great joy to watch her. I was serious and loved books; and she would be jealous of my reading. Is that more interesting than talking to me? she would demand. I would truthfully answer that it was, whereupon she would endeavour to tear the book from my hands. Then I would try to interest her in what I read but her attention soon strayed. In spite of these differences we were very happy in each other’s company.

And so the time passed.

When I was thirteen years old the Queen died. I was staying with my grandparents at the time. It was March of the year 1603. I remember feeling depressed, not so much because the Queen was dead but because the realization was brought home to me that my grandparents were old and if the Queen who had seemed immortal should die, so could they. My great-grandmother Damask, who was named after the rose, had died at a great age just after my mother had. It was a double blow for my poor grandmother, for although she saw little of her own mother, she being in London, there were the same kind of ties between them as there had been between my mother and hers.

Death was in the air. “’Tis something as don’t come singly,” said Jennet prophetically.

My grandfather, the once lusty sea captain, no longer went to sea. He must have been over seventy years old, for my grandmother was sixty-three. He used to sit on the Hoe for hours looking out to sea, I suppose dreaming of the days of adventure. He walked with a stick because one of his legs was stiffening and gave him a certain amount of pain. He still roared about the house and my grandmother still berated him, but I felt they behaved as they did not because they felt any animosity towards each other but because they wanted to go on as they always had. Uncles Carlos and Jacko were at Lyon Court often when they were not at sea and they would sit with their father and talk of their latest exploits. They were devoted to him. Edwina was often at Lyon Court too; and her sons with her. Damask was going to marry one of the captains in the Trading Company. It was with a certain sadness that I realized how everything was changing—a little here, a little there, until the entire picture was different.

On the day the Queen died we sat at table in the great hall because there were guests in the house. There were the parents of the young man Damask was to marry and he was there too, and there were several others who worked for the Trading Company.

The talk was naturally all of the Queen: what a great reign it had been and that her death was sure to mean changes. She had been ailing for some time and we should have been prepared, but we had all thought she would continue to reign over us for ever. All my life people had talked of the Queen as they might have talked of the Earth. It was impossible to imagine England without her.

My grandfather adored her. To him she was the symbol of England. She had once sent for him to go to London and he had sailed up the Thames and had gone to Greenwich where she most graciously received him. It was before the defeat of the Armada and she had been fully aware of how useful men such as Jake Pennlyon could be to her. She had complimented him on his exploits and had hinted that she looked to him to go on robbing Spaniards of their treasure and bringing it home and making sure that a goodly proportion of it made its way into the nation’s purse, while at the same time she let the Spaniards believe that she was admonishing her pirate seamen. That had appealed to my grandfather. He had constantly declared he would serve her with his life.

Now she was dead. That proud spirit was no more. We had always listened avidly to the stories about her; how she was so vain that with her painted cheeks and wigs she had believed the courtiers who had told her she was the most beautiful woman on earth (had she really, or had she appeared to in order to attempt to convince them that she was?); how she had loved the Earl of Essex yet had agreed to his execution; how right to the very end she had expected men to fall in love with her and thought them traitors if they did not, how furious she had always been when they married or took mistresses although she had no intention of giving up one small bit of her sovereignty by marriage; how she had three hundred dresses in her wardrobe, how choleric she was, how calm and shrewd, how cruel, how kind she could be. Whatever she was, she was a great Queen.

“We shall never see her like again,” mourned my grandfather.

She had gone to Richmond when she had become so ill, for she believed the quiet and the air would help her to recover; for a while she had seemed better there but then she had fallen into a state of stupor. She had had a notion that if she went to bed she would never rise again so she commanded her servants to bring cushions and she lay on them on the floor.

Captain Stacy, the father of Damask’s betrothed, had recently come from London and he had special information. He had heard from some present at the time that she had named her successor. She had said to Cecil, her Secretary of State: “My seat has been the seat of Kings and I shall have no rascal to succeed me.”

“By rascal,” said Captain Stacy, “Her Majesty meant none who was not a King, for she went on: ‘Who should succeed me but a King.’”

“She was referring to King James of Scotland, the son of her old enemy the Queen of Scots,” said my grandmother. “I doubt not that is a most excellent choice for he is indeed the true heir.”

“And a good Protestant,” said my grandfather, “in spite of his Papist mother.”

So died our great Queen, she was seventy years of age and had reigned for forty-five years.

We had a new monarch. King James I who had been the James VI of Scotland.

“I wish my mother had lived to see this day,” said my grandmother. “This union between England and Scotland is bound to bring peace. Peace was what she wanted all her life—and although she came to find it in her own household, all through her life there was conflict throughout the country—religious conflict.”

“Do you think that is over now, Grandmother?” I asked.

She looked at me and a sad look came into her eyes.

She shook her head slowly.

There was a great deal of talk about our new King and Queen. At the beginning of a new reign everyone was full of hope. They believed that the old evils would disappear and be replaced by blessings. The news we heard regarding our new King was mixed. He was said to be very clever and wise—and was known as the British Solomon; it was believed that the harsh laws against Catholics would be modified. After all, had not his mother been one of the greatest Catholics of them all? We had to learn what manner of King we had but when he came to England with his Queen there was a great revival of the scare of witches.

Although it had happened some thirteen years before when the King’s Queen, Anne of Denmark, had come to England from her native land, the story was recalled.

She had been married by proxy to King James of Scotland (as he was then) and a great fleet had been prepared to take her to her husband. In September of the year 1589 she set out with the Earl Marshal and eleven ships to accompany her. As they neared the coast of Scotland such a storm arose that they could make no progress against it and were very soon in danger of drowning. There was nothing to be done but to allow themselves to be blown on to the coast of Norway. Oddly enough, although they waited there until the storms had abated, when they set out again, no sooner had they sighted the coast of Scotland than the storms arose once more and drove them back.

Peter Munch, the Danish admiral, had no doubt that the repetition of this disaster was due to witchcraft. He took Queen Anne back to Denmark and there began to cast about in his mind for anyone who might bear him a grudge. There were several people he suspected. As these were men and witchcraft was usually attributed to women, he arrested the wives of these men, put them to such torture that they broke down and confessed and they were then burned alive.

The party then set out once again for Scotland, and again no sooner had the coast of the Queen’s new country been sighted than the storms blew up again and they were driven back to Norway. By this time winter had set in and the admiral dared not undertake the journey yet a fourth time.

Another incident occurred. Jane Kennedy, who had served Mary Queen of Scots with great devotion, married Sir Andrew Melville, another loyal supporter of the late Queen, and these two were greatly favoured by James. He immediately appointed Jane chief lady of the Queen’s bedchamber in readiness for her arrival. The new Lady Melville made her way immediately to the palace, but in doing so she had to cross Leith Ferry. No sooner had she begun this brief journey than a storm arose and the boat in which she sailed was crushed by another and she drowned.

This was considered to be too much of a coincidence to be natural and witchcraft was again blamed. There was a hunt, in Scotland this time, which resulted in the torture and burning of old women. The King in due course had gone to fetch his bride and did succeed in bringing her to Scotland; but that period had become known as The Time of the Witches; and now that James had become King of England and travelled south with his bride, it was remembered that they had been the victims of witchcraft, and the interest in and persecution of witches was revived.

Although I was young at the time I was struck forcibly and with a kind of horror at the manner in which ugly rumour can arise, seek its victims and destroy them. In that year when our Queen died and we had a new King on the throne I saw my first witch. It was horrible, a poor old woman hanging grotesquely on a tree in a country lane. Senara and I were riding with Damask, her betrothed and his father when we came into a lane.

I stood and stared. At first I did not know what it was. Then I felt a horrible revulsion sweeping over me. I could not believe that poor revolting creature had ever really harmed anyone.

None of us spoke about it; we turned our horses and rode as quickly as we could away from that horrible sight.

Senara had a nightmare that night. She crept on to my pallet. We still shared a room with Damask. She was fast asleep.

“What is it?” I said.

“I dreamed of that witch, Tamsyn.”

“It was horrible.”

“Not just of her.”

“What then?”

“I dreamed it was my mother.”

“It was only a dream.”

“I have heard the servants whispering about my mother.”

“Servants always whisper about the families they serve.”

“There is something strange about my mother.”

“She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw.”

“I’ve heard them say beauty like that comes from the Devil. I used to be proud of her but this afternoon …”

“People will always be envious of those who have what they have not.”

“It was so clear. We were riding … just as we were this day and I felt myself forced to go and look at her … and when I got close it was my mother.”

“It could never be.”

“But it could, Tamsyn.”

“Nay, nay, she is much too clever ever to be caught …” I was amazed by what I had said and added quickly, “Even if she were a witch. But how could your mother be that?”

Senara said: “She’s your stepmother, Tamsyn.”

“And my father’s wife, so you see …”

“It’s just servants’ talk. It is because she is so much more beautiful than anyone else.”

We were silent for a while. Then Senara said: “Tamsyn, even if she were … it wouldn’t make any difference to us, would it? We’d still be as now.”

“Nothing would ever make any difference to us,” I promised her.

That seemed to satisfy her. But she was shaken and would not go back to her own pallet.

When I was fifteen there was a great scare throughout the country concerning Catholics. The new King had been on the throne for two years and to us far from the Court the new reign had brought little change in our daily life. There was perhaps one difference. We had always been conscious of the existence of witchcraft and at Hallowe’en a special atmosphere seemed to pervade the castle. Everyone would seem to be very much aware of my stepmother then. She knew this and I imagined she was secretly amused by it.

But I was not really thinking of what was happening in our castle but outside. More witches seemed to be discovered; there were constant rumours of old women being taken and put to the tests and having been examined, their bodies revealed certain marks which proved they had intercourse with the Devil and because of this acquired special powers for evil. Sometimes when riding we would come upon a group of shouting people. I always turned and went off as quickly as I could because I knew that somewhere in their midst would be a poor old woman; and I could not rid myself of the thought that she had only to be old, ugly, squint or have a humped back to be accused, and once named as a witch it was almost impossible to prove this untrue. The new King had a special abhorrence for witches and this sharpened everyone’s interest in them.

When I watched my stepmother—and it was a pleasure always to watch her because she moved with a grace I never saw in any other person—I used to think how different she was from the old women who were suspected, tortured and killed.

But witchcraft was a subject which always made me uneasy which might have been due to the effect I knew it had on Senara. She could be really frightened by it. I would see the shadow pass across her face and then she would get out her lute and play a gay song and ask Dickon if we could practise some new dance. I knew her better than anyone else did and that her nature was—as it had always been—to thrust aside unpleasant things and behave as though they had never happened.

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.