Текст книги "Witch from the Sea"
Автор книги: Philippa Carr
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
I found his parents delightful and so did my mother. His father was undoubtedly a man of the sea and that meant that he shared certain characteristics with my own father. He was not the roaring ranting man that Jake Pennlyon was. In any case there could only be one Jake Pennlyon; but he had clearly had bloodthirsty adventures on the high seas and they must have left their mark on him. Fennimore had inherited something of his mother’s more gentle nature. It had made him more thoughtful and introspective than most men of his profession. He was rather studious; more logical than most and with that ability—which I was not sure was an asset—of being able to see many facets to one problem.
I suppose when two families are of a similar kind and each has a young member of it and these are of the opposite sex there must inevitably be some speculation as to whether or not they might marry. I knew this was in the minds of my mother and Fennimore’s parents. Every mother wants to see her son or daughter married; grandparents long for the marriage of their children to be fruitful. I knew what was going on in my mother’s mind. She liked Fennimore and would welcome him as a son-in-law. I became certain that the Landors would have offered me an equally warm welcome.
And Fennimore? Was it in his mind too? I believe it was. He was not an impulsive man, however; he would wish us both to grow accustomed to each other and the idea of marriage. To him there would be many sides to marriage, and of course he was right.
It seemed to me in those first few days at Trystan Priory that there was a very good chance that one day I would be mistress of it.
Fennimore’s mother was eager to talk about the household and during the second day she asked me to come to her room. She wanted to show me the tapestry on which she was working. She showed me the design which was to depict the glorious victory over the Armada and she herself had composed it. It would take her years to complete, she told me.
The canvas was set up on a gigantic frame and on it was sketched the picture she would work. It was attractive. There were the little ships and the great Spanish galleons. There was the King of Spain in his gloomy Escorial and the Duke of Medina Sidonia with his ships. And on the other hand we had our own Queen at Tilbury and Sir Francis playing bowls on the Hoe. And the battle—the fireships which caused such havoc and the broken galleons drifting out to sea.
“Why,” I said, “it is almost a life work.”
“I shall start it … as indeed I have,” she said. “It will be for future members of my family to finish it.”
It was almost as though she were putting a needle into my hand and telling me to begin.
“It will be wonderful when it is completed.”
“I hope to see it finished,” she said.
“But of course you must.”
“I have hundreds of skeins of silk stored away.” She talked of the colours she would use. Reds, scarlets and gold; black for the costume of the King of Spain; scarlet and gold for our Queen. “Oh my dear Linnet, what a terrible time that was. I hope never to live through such a time. I have never known such a time of wretchedness … except …”
She stopped and bit her lip. Then she brightened; “But it is over now. There are still dangers at sea … but the Spaniards can do us little harm now. I was always terrified of them … terrified that they would come here. And of course when the men sailed away I used to shut myself in my sanctuary—” she inclined her head towards a door leading from her room—“and there I used to pray that they would come back safely. But you are a sailor’s daughter. You know.”
I considered this. It had never occurred to me that my father would not come back. There was something invincible about him, and he always had returned. Though there had been a time when he was gone so long that it had seemed that it was for ever.
“If I had lost them,” she went on, “that would have been death to me. I should have had no one left … no one. After Melanie …”
Her face puckered suddenly and she seemed to come to a decision. She said: “Come with me.”
I rose and she went to the door I had seen. She opened it.
I followed her into a room. It was rather dark as there was only one small window, lead-paned. In this room I noticed a crucifix and before it a table on which were candle sticks. It was like an altar.
“Sometimes,” she said, “I come in here to be alone and pray.”
Then I saw a picture on the wall. It was of a young girl about fifteen, I imagined. She had fair hair which fell about her shoulders and blue eyes. She was remarkably like Fennimore.
“She is beautiful, do you agree?” said Fennimore’s mother.
I did agree.
“My daughter. My Melanie.”
“I was not aware that you had a daughter.”
“I had a daughter. Alas, she died.”
“How sad.”
She lowered her head as though she could not bear to go on looking at that lovely young face.
“I had the picture brought in here. I could not bear to see it every time I passed it in the gallery. I wanted it where I could see it in private, where I could weep over it if I had to, and look at it and remember.”
“Was it long ago?” I asked.
“Three years.”
“So recent?”
She nodded.
I was not sure whether she wanted to talk or not, so I tried to convey my sympathy without seeming curious.
“She was murdered.”
“Murdered!”
“Please, I cannot talk of it. She was too young for marriage. I should never have allowed it and … she died.”
“She was your only daughter?”
She nodded.
“You have your son.”
Her face cleared a little. “He is the best son a woman could have. Thank God we have Fennimore. But we lost Melanie … my little Melanie. I often say to myself: I should never have allowed it. I shall never forget the day she told me she was going to have another child.”
“She had had others?”
“No. Attempts. They all failed. It was clear she was not meant for childbearing and when she told me that yet again … a terrible cold fear came over me. It was as though the angel of Death had entered. It was here in this room. I can see her now, the fear in her fair young face and I wanted to … to … But never mind. I shouldn’t be talking like this to you.”
“Please talk if you want to. I will respect your confidence.”
“She was different from you. She hadn’t your strength. She wasn’t meant to bear children. She should never have married. If only I could go back … I would never have allowed it. And so we lost her.”
She put out a hand and I took it, holding it firmly.
“I wanted you to know,” she said, “because … because … you … you seem like one of us.”
It was almost as though she were proposing marriage to me on behalf of her son.
My father arrived that day. The house suddenly seemed more noisy. He was impressed with the Priory and slightly smug because it did not seem quite as grand to him as Lyon Court. Meals had become more elaborate and were taken in the great hall instead of the winter parlour. We dined at the fashionable time of eleven in the morning and supped between seven and eight. There was a great deal of talk at these meals and my father was often in conference with Fennimore and his. I believed that they were getting along very well and that my father was becoming more and more interested in the project.
He had no intention of staying long though. He was eager to be off. Each morning he rode down to the coast and went on his ship. He was going on round Land’s End to the north coast and would be away some weeks before returning home. My mother and I were to travel back the way we had come.
Neither of us had said anything about our adventure on the way. The man had, after all, allowed us to have the better room, my mother pointed out, so we could not complain about his taking it from us. “Your father would make more out of it than was actually there. You know how he loves a fight,” she said. “Moreover, we should never be allowed to travel on our own again.” So we did not mention it, and it was arranged that we should return as we had come, with Jennet and the two grooms.
Each day my father was being drawn to the idea of trade. It was, after all, a battle of sorts—the fight for supremacy on the sea. He had no doubt as to who would win that battle, and as the days passed he was more and more eager to begin it.
There was still news coming in of Spanish disasters, of ships being washed up along the coast, of men who had come to our coasts at dead of night and wormed their way into our villages pretending to be anything but Spaniards. My father could never hear enough of them, and in his opinion no fate was too bad for them.
I could see that the Landors thought him too extreme but they accepted that a man whose fame was known through the West Country for a valiant seaman and servant of the Queen, must be allowed to express his opinions.
He had a soft spot for all seamen and was faintly critical of the Queen’s parsimony towards her sailors. It was the first time I had known him to do anything but praise her.
“By God,” he said, “these are the men who helped to save our country. Are they to go hungry now their task is done?”
“The Chest is better than nothing,” said Captain Landor.
“Not good enough for these valiant men,” stormed my father. “And why should every seaman have a bit taken from his pay to help those who were wounded in the great fight? Nay, sir. It is the bounden duty of the Queen and this country to care for those who suffered. They gave for England. It is England’s turn to give to them.”
He was referring to the fund known as the “Chest at Chatham” which had been set up to compensate those who had suffered during the fight with the Armada.
“Any seaman who comes to my house,” declared my father, “will be cared for. They will find at Lyon Court that sanctuary England fails to give them.”
“There must be many of them.”
“So much the more reason to care for them,” said my father, his face scarlet with righteous indignation. “It has come to my ears that Philip of Spain has set aside 50,000 scudi for the relief of his wounded. Should the defeated be so well cared for and the victors dependent on their own poor sailors to help them?”
It was true of course that the Queen who loved to adorn her person with extravagant jewelled garments was often averse to spending money on her subjects who had given all but their lives to keep her on the throne.
“You may rest assured,” said my mother, “that any poor sailors who come to Lyon Court shall be fed.”
“We will see to it,” affirmed my father, for once in agreement with her.
I could see that the Landors were pleased to turn the conversation to other matters. Whether it was because they realized how unwise it was to criticize the Queen, even faintly, or whether they were so eager to talk of their future plans, I was not sure, but soon they were discussing the possibility of getting more ships afloat and what commodities could be picked up in the various ports of the world.
And so those pleasant days passed and it was time for us to return home. Before we did so my parents insisted that we return the Landor’s hospitality. They thought it would be an excellent idea if they visited us to celebrate the New Year.
NIGHT AT CASTLE PALING
WE SPENT OUR FIRST night at The Traveller’s Rest. My mother and I had debated whether to do this. It was hardly likely that we should meet the obnoxious Colum there again; and to avoid such a good and tried inn because we feared to, did not appeal to either of us.
The landlord was delighted to see us. The Oak Room was placed at our disposal; and there was no rude interruption that night. We enjoyed the landlord’s wholesome table and occupied his comfortable bed in the oak-panelled room. It was true I did awaken in the night and found myself half sleeping, half waking, listening for a thud against the window. Nothing happened. How could it? The man was far away.
We left next morning. The weather had changed; a wind had risen dispersing the mist and bringing rain clouds with it. We rode through a fine drizzle, less disturbing than a downpour it was true, but still impeding progress a little. It was dark very early and we decided that we would not delay putting up for the night, even if it meant making an extra day’s journey home.
We were riding through a winding lane—one of the grooms ahead of us and another behind when we heard the sound of horses’ hoofs. We had seen no one for the last two hours. “No one would be out on such a day,” said my mother, “unless it was absolutely necessary.”
The riders were clearly coming up behind us and we drew to the side of the hedge as they came nearer.
They were alongside; they had surrounded us. There were four men … with masks over the faces. Jennet gave a little scream and there was no doubt in any of our minds that they meant mischief for they carried cudgels and immediately began demanding our purses.
One of the grooms, attempting to remonstrate, was knocked from his horse, while a masked man snatched at my mother’s girdle which was of gold. She dealt him a sharp blow across the knuckles with her riding stock and he let out a cry of anger. He was temporarily taken aback.
“You are robbers,” she cried. “What you want is money. If you treat our persons ill it will go hard with you, I promise you. I will give you money if you will allow us to make our journey on in peace.”
The groom who had been thrown rose shakily to his knees and at that moment there was a shout from one of the robbers and again I heard the sound of a horse galloping towards us.
A voice shouted: “What goes?” It was a voice I recognized; I felt an immense relief and excitement. Colum Casvellyn came galloping up.
“By God,” he said, “you ladies are in distress. Get you gone, you villains.”
Although there were four villains and he was alone, yet I could sense their fear. One of them was very close to me … and then in the space of seconds he had seized my horse by its bridle and started off, taking me with him.
I tried to stop, but there was nothing I could do. I was being taken along at a breakneck speed, my horse firmly controlled by my captor, while the other three came thudding behind us.
I screamed out my protests but they went unheeded. The three unencumbered riders passed us, for naturally I impeded the speed of the one who held me. Then I heard the horse coming up behind us. We were being followed and I knew by whom.
My captor was not going to release me easily. We galloped on and on. Colum Casvellyn shouted to the man to stop. He was close behind but he did not catch up. He shouted what he would do to the man if he did not release my horse but still I was firmly held.
It seemed that we galloped for a long time. We went across a plain and along roads. We had lost the three masked men; it was now just a race between the man who had taken me and Colum Casvellyn.
Then my captor made his mistake. We had turned into a road, galloped headlong down it and had come to a wood. Ahead of us the trees started to grow thick and we must either enter the wood or turn and go back. If we did the latter we should be face to face with Colum Casvellyn.
We went towards the wood. Our speed was slowing down. I was released so suddenly that I almost fell and only just managed to pull up my horse. Colum Casvellyn was beside me. The other had disappeared.
“That was a chase,” he said.
“I suppose I must thank you,” I muttered.
“It might be gracious to. I have saved you from that villain. One can guess what his intentions were. I recognize you, of course. You are the lady of the oaken bedchamber.”
“You have done me a service and I thank you,” I said.
“It makes up perhaps for my recent discourteous behaviour.”
“It does. And if you will take me back to my mother and the rest of my party, I shall be most grateful and so will they.”
“We can try to find them,” he said.
“So you will help me.”
“I am at your service.”
“Thank you.”
He brought his horse close to mine. “You are trembling a little. It was an alarming experience, was it not? The villain! Would to God I could have laid hands on him. I’d have soon had him whimpering for mercy.”
“He has gone now and his fellow robbers with him. My mother will be very, very anxious.”
“That is something we cannot allow. Do you feel ready to ride on now?”
“It is what I wish. I must rejoin my mother quickly.”
“We must try to retrace our way. ’Tis not easy. I did not note the way we came.”
“You were riding when you heard the scuffle? Could we go to where you were then?”
“I cannot be completely sure. I heard the shouting and came across country. But we will try. Come, let us start. We must go quietly for it would not do for me to lose you now, you know. How dark it is. Are you ready?”
I said I was. I felt sick with impatience. I imagined my mother’s horror when she saw me being dragged away. I wondered whether she would have recognized Colum Casvellyn. If she had, I did not think that would have given her much comfort.
It was growing darker. There was a dampness in the air. I was shivering but I was not sure whether it was with cold.
We rode on for a few minutes in silence.
Then I said: “Is this the way?”
“I believe it to be.”
“Let us hurry a little.”
“As you wish.”
On we went. The landscape had changed, there were more hedges, more trees. I knew we had galloped over a plain. Where was that?
I cried: “Are you sure it was this way?”
“I cannot be sure,” he answered.
“I think it be wrong.”
He pulled up.
“We are but a mile or so from Castle Paling,” he said.
“Your home?”
“My home,” he confirmed.
“Then how far from your home were you when you came upon us in the lane?”
“A mile or so.”
“Then we could be near the spot.”
“Do you think they would be waiting there? My belief is that they would go to an inn and there send out men to look for you.”
“Yes, I suppose they might do that. Is there a nearby inn?”
“I know of only two hereabouts.”
“Then let us go to them. My mother will be there. You are right when you think that she would go to the nearest inn and get people to look for me.”
“We will go then.”
The inn was called The Red and White Rose. The signpost creaked in the rising wind and a man with a lantern came out as we approached. The sign depicted the faces of the Queen’s great-grandfather, Henry VII of Lancaster, and his wife, Elizabeth of York. It was strange that I should notice them at such a time.
Colum Casvellyn had leaped from his horse and a groom had rushed forward to take the reins. “Where is the host?” he shouted.
The innkeeper came hurrying out at the sound of that imperious voice.
“Has a party arrived?” said Colum Casvellyn. “A lady with a maidservant and two grooms.”
“But no, my lord.”
“You are sure?”
“I am, my lord. We have had but one visitor. A merchant on his way to Plymouth.”
I felt wretched. I was trying to think clearly. Should I stay here for the night, I wondered. There was nothing much I could do. In the morning I could search for my mother. At least she would be safe, for she had the two grooms and Jennet with her. It was not so much her personal safety that worried me, for the robbers had fled, it was the anxiety she would be suffering at the thought of what might be happening to me.
“There is another place we could try,” said Colum Casvellyn.
“Let us then,” I said, for I dreaded waiting alone in this inn through the night.
“Host,” called Colum imperiously. “If a party such as I have described should come here, pray tell the lady that her daughter is safe and well.”
“I will, my lord.”
“Now,” he said turning to me. “Let us visit the other inn and see if they are there.”
We rode away. He did not speak and nor did I. I felt frantic with anxiety.
We went for a mile or more; then I said: “But how far is this inn?”
“I am not sure but I believe it to be close by. Ah, wait a moment. I am sure this is the road.”
The clouds of the day had completely disappeared now and the moon had emerged; it was not quite full but just on the wane. I was glad of the light it offered.
“This way,” he said. We went up a drive and then I heard his exclamation. “Good God,” he said. We were looking at a ruin … eerie in moonlight. A sudden horror took possession of me. It was as though I were living in a nightmare. What had happened to me? Here I was in such a place with a man whom I had hated on sight and who had filled me with a sense of fear when I had first seen him. For a moment I told myself this could not be happening in reality. I was dreaming. We had gone to The Traveller’s Rest and in the oak-panelled room I was dreaming of the man I had met when I was last there.
How ghostly was that scene! The walls only were standing for it was nothing but a shell. It seemed menacing, haunted by evil spirits as the moonlight cast ghostly shadows on the smoke-blackened walls.
I looked at the man beside me and I felt a sudden fear possess me. A faint moaning in the trees sounded like souls in distress. I seemed to hear a warning in the air. “Get away from here. Find your mother. Go back where you will be safe.”
An owl screeched suddenly and I jumped in terror. I imagined the grim bird swooping suddenly on some unsuspecting prey.
Colum Casvellyn was smiling ruefully.
“Who would have thought it! It must have happened recently. It was a flourishing inn when I last passed this way.”
“Is there anywhere else where my mother might be?”
“I know of none other.”
I said: “I should go back to The Inn of the Roses. I could stay there for the rest of the night.”
“A lady alone?”
“I see no help for it. What else could I do?”
“You could come to Castle Paling.”
“Your home!”
“It is not so far from here. I would send some of my servants out to scour the roads.”
“If I went to the inn, you could still do that.”
“There would be delay. I would have to take you to the inn and return home. Then I would have to give my servants their orders. If we went there now I could have them out on the road in less than an hour.”
I hesitated. “I think I would rather go to the inn.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and we turned our horses. I could not help taking a look backwards at that derelict inn. I wondered how it had happened. I could picture the wood structure blazing for a few minutes. I wondered if anyone had been trapped. I could almost fancy I heard the screaming of people in terror. It was said that when people died violently they came back. That was what haunting meant.
The strong feeling was with me that I should get away from the man who rode beside me. So strong was it that the thought entered my mind that I should attempt to escape. Let him go on ahead a little, then turn and gallop the other way. But where to and would he not soon overtake me? No, he had helped me so far; he had saved me from the robbers and what had their purpose been—robbery and rape? Who could say? I should be grateful to him and yet I did not trust him, and when I was at the burned-out inn I had sensed that something was urgently warning me.
I would go back to the inn and there I should wait throughout the night; and if his servants succeeded in finding my mother, then I must be forever grateful to him and heartily forgive him his churlish behaviour on our first meeting.
We went along at a steady trot side by side. I wondered what the time was. It must have been more than two hours since I had lost my mother. How far had I ridden from that spot? I was beginning to get frantic.
We came out of a dark road into the open. Before me was a sight which would have been inspiring had it not filled me with apprehension. Dominating the moonlit scene were the stark grey machicolated towers of a castle rising high on the rocky cliffs … and beyond, the sea.
I stared at the lofty square-shaped structure with its towers on each corner. It was a fortress built for defence, with the protection of the sea on one side and the battlemented towers facing the land.
“Welcome to Castle Paling,” he said softly.
I turned to him sharply. “I understood you were taking me to the inn.”
“Nay,” he said. “This is better. I was unsure of the way, and I do not believe your mother would wish you to spend a night at an inn unguarded.”
“But …” I began.
“Come,” he said, “my servants will look after you. We cannot go on riding aimlessly through the night.”
“Aimlessly? We are certainly not doing that. We are looking for my mother.”
“My dear young lady, what more can you do? You have no idea where your mother went to. I have promised you that I will send servants to scour the countryside. Meanwhile you shall be given refreshment and a place in which to rest while they do so. As soon as she is found I shall take you to her.”
“Why should you do so much?”
“It is the only way a gentleman can behave to a lady in distress. Moreover, I am heartily ashamed of my conduct in the inn. Fate has given me an opportunity to remove the bad impression I gave you. Will you deny me the opportunity?”
“You have already made up for it. But I would prefer to stay at the inn.”
“It shall of course be as you wish. Believe me, I shall do nothing that is against your desire. What should we do then? Ride back to the inn? It would take us time to find it. And I could not permit you to stay in such a place unguarded. Your mother would never forgive me. Nor your father. Nay, fate sent me along at an opportune moment. I had the chance to save you from villains, of whose intentions I have no doubt, and in such cases they can end in murder. There are robber barons abroad, who take unprotected women—men too—to their strongholds and often make sport with them. It was a recognized custom in early times and such customs live on. Here I offer you hospitality. You will be safe here. My servants will care for you. And I promise you that I shall without delay send a number of them off in different directions. I doubt not in a short time they will bring news of your mother. They can escort her here to Paling. That will set her mind at rest and yours. And as soon as it is light you can start for home.”
Still I hesitated. I looked at that grim, grey fortress. I could hear the faint murmur of the sea. What could I do? It seemed I had no choice. I saw a light moving across what must have been a courtyard. Then I saw another in a window. There were people there. I must go with him. It was the only way. I could not roam, as he said, aimlessly through the night, searching for my mother.
He saw that I was relenting. “All will be well,” he said gently.
We climbed the incline to the castle.
“I would welcome the pleasure of showing you my home in happier circumstances,” he said.
I tried to draw my mind from thoughts of my mother.
“You are kind,” I answered perfunctorily.
“I am glad to be of service. Come, stop fretting. This night will soon be over and by daylight everything will seem different. Paling has long withstood the force of the elements. It is as strong as it was when the first stone was laid. It needed to be. It had to hold off intruders, and fight the weather. It is of Cornish stone—hard and strong, and has provided a home for my ancestors for generations. The foundations were laid years ago during the reign of the Conqueror but later on castles had to be made habitable, something more than just walls in which to protect oneself and one’s family. But you are not interested in architecture. You think only of how we shall find your mother. I understand. I talk but to ease you, if that be possible.”
We were approaching the portcullis. The cool wind fanned my cheeks and I could smell the fresh clean smell of sea air. I was aware again of that sense of being warned. It was as strong now as it had been at the burned-out inn. What was I doing, trusting this man who had behaved so badly at The Traveller’s Rest? Oh, when would this nightmare end!
Once more an impulse came to me to turn my horse and gallop away, and I restrained it. What could I do? I had told him that I had wished to go to the inn and he had brought me here. He was a man who would do what he wished. I knew that. He alarmed me, yet excited me in a strange way. I was not sure of my feelings for him. He gave out an aura of immense power, which at this time I needed. I could not help feeling that if he were sincere in his desire to help me in this frightening predicament, he could do it.
I went forward simply because I did not know what could happen to me if I went back.
We had passed under the portcullis.
“Quite a climb,” he said. “But you see how strong we are. A look-out on the tower could see people approaching for miles. No one can come near from the other side … except by boat of course, and that would not be easy.”
Colum Casvellyn started to shout and there was an immediate response. Several men came running.
He leaped from his horse and one of them took it. He turned to me then and helped me out of the saddle.
He took my arm and led me across the courtyard.
A door opened. A woman appeared with a lantern. She bobbed a curtsy and he said: “Gemma, we have a visitor. Let a room be prepared for her and some hot food be brought.”
She was off and he took me through the great hall to the guard-room.
I had a sudden feeling then that he intended to make me his prisoner. On the walls were spears and halberds and at the four corners of the room suits of armour.
“Sit down for a moment,” he said. I sat on a chair which seemed to have been made for a giant, so heavy was it.
He leaned towards me and taking my hands in his, patted them gently. “You are cold,” he said. “And so pale. You look different from the spirited young lady of the oaken chamber. It grieves me. How I should have enjoyed receiving you here with your parents in all honour. But let us forget the unfortunate circumstances.”
“I find that impossible.”
“Indeed you do and most understandably. Here you are, you see, in the castle’s guard-room. This is where we kept our prisoners in the past before taking them to the dungeons. Oh yes, we have dungeons. You see this trapdoor, that is one way to them. There is another. A staircase leading down and a strong iron-studded door which they tell me is impregnable.”
I felt the fear grip me again.
“I have brought you here,” he said, “before taking you into the castle—for this is but the guard-room. I fear that on our first meeting I made a bad impression on you. It lingers, does it not? Well, I want to say to you if you would rather go from here, I have no wish to detain you. I wish you to think well of me. If you would care to go now, please say so and I shall not attempt to stop you.” He opened the door of the guard-house and left it open. “It is for you to decide,” he added.
