Witch from the Sea

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh Senara, take care,” I had begged.

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

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

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

We soon discovered what had happened.

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

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

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

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

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