Текст книги "Witch from the Sea"
Автор книги: Philippa Carr
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“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.”
“Tell her quick. I like not to be kept waiting.”
His eyes were on me. “Do not think,” he said, “that it pleases me to turn a beautiful lady from her bed.”
“I am sure it does not,” I retorted, “and I am equally sure that our good host will find you a comfortable lodging somewhere in his inn.”
He had stepped into the room. My mother watched him coldly. Jennet was frankly staring, her mouth a little slack. I knew what she was thinking. This was the kind of man she adored. If he had looked her way she would have been ready to do anything he asked of her with the utmost willingness. But he seemed unaware of her. He touched the wall and murmured: “This panelling is beautiful, is it not? Worthy of a mansion. I always admired it. ’Tis a good bed too. You’ll not find a better in any inn in the country.”
“I am sure I shall agree with you when I have used it,” I said.
“Ah, but we shall have to come to an agreement earlier than that. I wish to sleep in this bed tonight.”
“As I shall be sleeping there that is out of the question.”
“It is not an impossibility,” he said insolently.
I flushed and my mother said: “I must ask you, sir, to leave us. If you continue to insult us my husband will hear of this.”
“Pray who is the gentleman? Our host has been most remiss in making introductions.”
“He is Captain Jake Pennlyon,” said my mother firmly, “and he is a man who will not allow his wife and daughter to be insulted.”
“His repute has reached my ears. Who could be ignorant of his existence? Ha, here is Nessie. It takes you a long time to come, my girl. Did you not hear my arrival?”
Nessie bobbed a curtsy. She was a plump, pretty girl with rosy cheeks and abundant fair curly hair; her gown was low cut and the thought occurred to me that she knew this man very well. He caught her by the ear and pinched it. She gave a little yell and put up her hands to his. He laughed and let his hand drop to her breast which he patted caressingly as he said: “Now, Nessie, clear the room. This baggage comes out and mine goes in.”
“I will not allow this,” cried my mother.
“My dear lady,” he said, “how will you prevent it?”
“I wish to see the landlord immediately.”
“Come,” I said to my mother, “we will go to him now. Come, Jennet,” I said.
She left our bags where they were and followed us.
The landlord was in the hall; he was visibly trembling.
“This is a fine way to treat your guests,” began my mother.
“My lady, it is no fault of mine. I did not know he would be here this night. It is only last week that he came. He does not usually come so often. I have a very nice room …”
“No,” said my mother, but she was very uneasy. Outside it was dark. If we left the inn where could we go? There would not be another for some miles. The horses were tired. We would have to stay; and yet she was in revolt against the arrogant churlish behaviour of this man.
“My lady,” said the innkeeper. “You do not know Squire Colum Casvellyn.”
“If that is the name of that oaf I do not wish to.”
“Ah, my lady, we cannot always help these things. I can prepare a good room for you. It is not our best room but it is a good room and there you can spend the night in peace.”
“You have forgotten that you gave us the Oak Room.”
“I do not forget, Madam, but Squire Casvellyn can make great trouble. He is a man who must be obeyed. I could not say what would happen to us all if I refused to allow him to have the Oak Room.”
“I will speak of this with my daughter,” said my mother.
He nodded. We went into the inn parlour which mercifully was deserted. Jennet followed us and sat some little distance away. My mother said impatiently: “Take that look off your face, Jennet. That braggart wouldn’t look your way. You’re an old woman now.”
Jennet simpered. I was always amazed by her imperturbability. My mother once told me that she had always been like that. No matter what had happened in the past; when she had been the victim of men’s lust, as she had frequently, she had accepted her fate without a qualm, although, as my mother said, she would never have been an unwilling victim in those circumstances.
“The wisest thing to do would be to take the smaller room,” said my mother. “I wish your father were here.”
“Then there would be a fight. I should not like that.”
“Your father would make short work of him.”
I was not so sure. I saw in this man something akin to my father and he was many years younger.
“But my father is not here. How I hate giving way to him!”
“I also. But what would happen if we refused to leave that room? He would be there too. He might throw us out. What sort of night should we have then? No, ’tis better to accept the other room and behave with dignity. But when your father hears of this he will not allow it to pass.”
I could see that she was right. We were not in a position to fight against him, and his remark that he might share the room with us had upset me.
“Let us then tell the landlord to give us his next best room. We deplore the ill manners of his guest but as he will do nothing about it we must needs accept this insult.”
My mother sent Jennet for the landlord. He came, his hands under his apron trembling, I’m sure. I felt sorry for the man.
“We have decided we can do nothing but accept your offer of another room.”
Relief flooded the poor man’s face. “You are wise, Madam,” he said. “I promise you that everything shall be done …”
“I can see,” said my mother, “that this is no fault of yours. Tell me who is this man who strikes such terror into you and your servants?”
“He is the lord of Castle Paling—a man greatly feared in these parts. He is the lord of the neighbourhood. It has always been so with the Casvellyns. They own much of the land hereabouts. He could turn us out of our homes if we displeased him. He would have no mercy. His father was lord of us all but he was but a shadow of his son.”
“You live in terror of him?”
“He does not come this way so often. That is why since he was here last week I did not think he would come again. He pays well for his lodging here. He is not one to stint. There is grandeur at Castle Paling I have heard. My daughter once went there.”
“Your daughter … Nessie,” I said sharply.
The landlord looked embarrassed and the thought came into my head that the landlord’s daughter would doubtless sleep in the bed which had been taken from us.
“Yes, he … noticed her. He is good to people who please him.”
I felt disgusted. “Let us be shown the humbler room,” I said, and to my mother: “It is unimportant. Tomorrow we shall be on our way.”
“I am grateful, ladies, for your good consideration. Believe me, I am deeply grieved that this should have happened.”
“Think no more of it,” my mother told him. “Let our bags be taken to another room.”
“It shall be done while you eat,” said the landlord, fast regaining his equilibrium. “I trust the flavour of the sucking-pig—which I know will be the tenderest you have ever partaken of—will make up for this unfortunate upset.”
Fresh rushes had been laid in the dining-room and the smell of the herbs was clean and fresh. I was hungry and the sucking-pig which was already on the table looked as succulent and appetising as could be wished. There was a great pie and several tarts besides roast beef and mutton, wild fowl and spiced tarts, marchpane and gingerbread. No wonder the host was proud of his table.
We were sampling the sucking-pig when Colum Casvellyn entered the dining-room. I kept my eyes averted and my mother and I talked of the journey we had had as though he were not there.
He was not the sort to allow himself to be ignored.
He demanded the host’s attention; he would have the prime cut of the beef and the largest of the pies. Nessie waited on him, ignoring everyone else to obey his command immediately.
“It has been a fine day,” he said, addressing me.
“It has,” I agreed.
“You have come far?”
“A day’s ride.”
“How long is that?”
“It would depend on the riders, I doubt not.”
“I was referring to these riders.” He nodded towards my mother and me.
“We left Plymouth two days since.”
“Plymouth. But of course. Captain Jake Pennlyon! One of the nation’s heroes.”
“I doubt not you were at sea with the fleet, sir.”
“Aye,” he said. “And gave a good account of myself.”
“I doubt not that either,” I said. “Mother, have you finished?”
She said she had.
“Then,” I said, “let us go to see how this room in which we are to spend the night compares with the one this gentleman has taken from us.”
He laughed loudly.
We rose but unfortunately we had to pass close to him on our way out and as we did so, he caught at my gown so that I was pulled up short.
I looked down with disgust at his fingers which held my skirt but had no alternative but to meet his gaze. He was looking straight up at me; with mischief in his bright dark eyes—and more. He disturbed me; I tried to tweak my dress out of his fingers but he held on firmly.
“Sir?” I said with fury and indignation.
My mother was pulling at my arm, not aware that he was holding me.
I said: “You will take your hands from my gown.”
“I but wish to be civil,” he said.
“Civil! I do not understand your manner,” I retorted.
My mother was getting very angry. “How dare you lay hands on my daughter,” she said. “If you do not …”
He waited for her to go on, his brow slightly cocked, the insolent smile on his lips. He wanted to hear what she would do, knowing full well it could amount to nothing. He was the master here. The landlord lived in terror of him. What could two helpless females do against such a man?
He said: “I was about to say, Madam, that I have no wish that you should think hardly of me. Therefore I shall tell the landlord that I shall occupy the inferior room for I shall give up the Oak Room to you ladies.”
We were silent, completely taken off our guard.
My mother recovered herself first. She said coldly: “There is no need. We are quite prepared to take the other room.”
He was vehement. He had released my skirt and rapped his fist on the table. “You shall have the Oak Room. I will sleep happily in the inferior one. Nessie, call your father. At once, girl. Don’t stand there gaping.”
As we were about to leave the room the landlord appeared. “These ladies are to have the Oak Room,” roared Colum Casvellyn. “Take their baggage and put it back. I relinquish it. Now, Nessie, fill my goblet.”
My mother said to the landlord, “This is a ridiculous matter and I would see an end of it. We will not go back to the Oak Room. We shall leave it for that … that … ill-mannered oaf …”
The landlord shook his head, beginning to tremble. “He has said it shall be, my lady, and so it must.”
He looked so terrified that my mother shrugged her shoulders. Our bags were brought back to the Oak Room, Jennet unpacked and we decided we would settle down for the night.
My mother locked the door. With such people in the inn one could never be sure, she said.
It was a long time before I could sleep although the bed was comfortable. I kept thinking of Colum Casvellyn and imagining his being in this bed with Nessie, for I was sure the girl was spending the night with him. I felt excited in a rather unpleasant way; something had been aroused in me of which until this time I had been unaware.
My mother was wide awake too. We talked a little and then were silent and finally she did sleep. Jennet on her pallet was asleep, breathing with the deepness of complete and undisturbed repose. I tried not to toss and turn for fear of disturbing my mother and lay rather stiffly and uncomfortably.
As I lay there I heard a faint thud on the window pane. At first I thought I had imagined it and lay still, listening. It came again. Swiftly and silently I got out of bed and went to the window. I pushed it open and looked out. The half moon threw a white light on the trees and hedges. It was beautiful out there and the air was mild and sweet-smelling. Then I saw the shadow emerge from among the trees and he was standing there, legs apart, looking up at the window.
I drew back; I heard him laugh. He put his hand to his lips, kissed it and threw the hand towards me. I was so astonished that for a few seconds I just stood there looking at him. He threw out his arms as though inviting me to come down.
I shut the window hurriedly and went back to bed. I lay there trembling a little, terrified that I would awaken my mother. I kept my eye on the window, half expecting to see him appear there. I lay listening for a sound at the door.
Nothing happened.
It was a long time before I slept and then I was disturbed by vague shapeless dreams, but he was there dominating them.
Before it was light we were awake. The landlord gave us a hot breakfast and we left soon after dawn, before the inn was fully astir.
I was glad to get away but I knew I should remember Colum Casvellyn with a kind of fascinated horror for a long time to come.
That day we came to Trystan Priory. It was a lovely house some five miles inland. My father had not yet arrived and we were warmly welcomed by Fennimore and his parents. The house had been recently built on the site of an old Priory which had been demolished during the dissolution of the monasteries in the reign of the Queen’s father. There was a little of the old Priory left and Fennimore during that day and the next while we awaited the arrival of my father took great pleasure in pointing these remains out to us.
His parents were charming. His father was a sea captain, and that gave us much in common, and I liked Fennimore as well in his own home as I had in my own. I liked his quiet earnestness, his purposefulness; against my will I found myself comparing him with the man whom we had met at the inn. There was one who would take what he wanted; so was Fennimore in a way; but how different his methods would be. I fancied Fennimore would be one always to consider other people. I was looking forward to my father’s arrival and hoped that he would come to some agreement with the Landors.
There were a large number of rooms in the west wing, for the house like so many was built in the shape of a letter E; and my mother and I were given rooms side by side and there was a small one for Jennet close by. Our grooms were accommodated near the stables with those of the household; and I was immediately struck by the absolute peace of the place. That night I slept soundly; no doubt because of the previous disturbed night, and I found the atmosphere of Trystan Priory decidedly pleasant.
My mother liked our host and hostess very much and there seemed to be a tacit agreement that Fennimore should look after me.
That first morning he said he would first show me the house and as after three days’ riding I must be in need of a rest from the saddle he would take me for a walk round the estate so that I could really become acquainted with the place.
The great staircase which led up from the hall to the gallery was very fine indeed, with exquisitely carved banisters; in the gallery were the portraits. I paused before that of Fennimore. He looked out from the canvas with unruffled gaze on the world; it was the look of a man who would know exactly what he wanted.
“An excellent likeness,” I said.
There was a space on the wall next to his picture and I knew that another had hung there once. I wondered vaguely why it had been removed.
It was a homely house. Less ostentatious than Lyon Court and so modern when compared with ancient Trewynd Grange. It had its buttery, pastry bolting house where flour was bolted or sifted, and the winter parlour which was much used during the cold weather. The kitchen was large with its great range and spits and ovens. Fennimore pointed out to me how convenient it was being so near the winter parlour and the main hall. That hall was the centre of the house as it was in Lyon Court and Trewynd, and in it dinner was eaten when there was a large gathering. The family frequently used the winter parlour.
We walked in the gardens which were beautifully laid out. There were fountains and shady walks and several marble statues; the flower-beds were numerous and charmingly bordered with rosemary, lavender and marjoram. He showed me the enclosed garden with the pond in the centre. Most houses had them and they were planned on the style of the famous one made by Henry VIII at Hampton Court. Secluded, surrounded by a tall hedge, here members of the family could come in summer, the ladies to sit and embroider or paint pleasant little pictures; the men to talk with them, to relax, to enjoy the sunshine.
Fennimore and I sat by the pond and he talked to me of his dreams of the future. I liked to listen to him and I encouraged him to talk. There was prosperity as yet not dreamed of, he told me. He had been visiting shipyards in Britain and trying to impress their owners with the need to build ships, bigger ships, ships capable of carrying heavy cargoes and holding their own on the high seas.
“They will have to carry armaments I suppose,” I said.
“Alas, such is the way of the world. There will be battles on the high seas, doubt it not. Where there is prosperity, where there is profit, there will always be those who envy it and seek to take possession of it through force. Rivalry there must be and I would welcome that … good honest rivalry but it can hardly be hoped that men will suddenly become reasonable. They will still seek to take what is not theirs and to believe that there is more to be gained by robbery than by hard work. There should be plenty of trade for all who are ready to work for it, but you will never get men to see this. There are some who must be grander, bolder, richer than all others. There are some who must exert their power over others …”
I immediately thought then of the man at the inn and I was on the verge of telling Fennimore what had happened. I changed my mind. The garden was so pleasant; I was enjoying our conversation so much I did not want to introduce a discordant note. The more I thought of that man—and I had to admit I had thought of him a great deal—the more unpleasant the encounter seemed. He was crude; he was bold; and he had dared awaken me and bring me to the window. Had he really thrown a kiss to me or had I imagined that? Had he really been suggesting that I come down to him? Surely he must have known that was impossible. No, he had merely wished to disturb me. He had certainly done that.
Fennimore went on talking about the boom in shipbuilding which must follow the defeat of the Armada. “The Spaniards were only half aware of what prospects there were,” he was saying. “They were obsessed by making the people of the world conform to their religious doctrines. Therein lay their weakness. Their King is a fanatic. What misery he must be enduring now. I could almost feel it in my heart to be sorry for him.”
“Do not let my father hear you say that.”
“Nor shall I,” said Fennimore. “He would not understand, but I believe it to be a fact that even the most cruel, the most misguided of mankind have some spark of humanity in them and if we could but ignite it … who knows?”
I realized then that he was a very different man from my father. He was gentle and tolerant. A faint misgiving came to me then and I wondered whether the quality needed to succeed in this rough world was that ruthlessness which men like my father possessed, that single-mindedness which could only see one side of a problem. I was aware that Fennimore’s nature made him see many.
But Fennimore certainly talked like a man inspired. He made me see our ports alive with peaceful trading vessels. I could picture the unloading on the Hoe—spices, gold and ivory because he planned that his ships should travel not only in the Baltic and Mediterranean ports but right out to the East Indies.
It was very pleasant on that damp November day to walk through the garden with Fennimore, to listen to his plans, to learn about the estate on which he lived when he was not at sea.
