Witch from the Sea

But how different was Leyden Hall from Lyon Court, with its ornamental gardens where peacocks strutted symbolically. My grandfather and his father had loved ostentation. It always seemed to me that everything at my grandfather’s home was meant to impress. I was immediately struck by the simplicity of Leyden Hall. I had been to this house when it belonged to Squire Northfield. What a different place it had become. There were no pictures on the walls, everything that was decorative had been taken away. I met the mistress of the house, Priscilla Deemster; her gown was of a simple calico material which came from Calicut in India—clean and neat without lace or ribbons. She greeted me with a show of friendship plainly expressed. I felt that I was in the kind of household I had never seen before.

The Deemsters had two sons who were both married and lived with their wives at Leyden Hall. They were all dressed in the same simple manner. Among them Senara looked like one of the peacocks of Lyon Court in her blue riding habit. I had rarely seen her as lovely or as excited as she was then. Her beauty was as breathtaking as that of her mother.

“We were so anxious about you,” I told her.

“It was the mist,” she said and there was a lilt in her voice. “It has been a wonderful experience for me. I have been so comforted in this house.”

Her voice had taken on a tone unusual with it and which somehow belied the sparkle in her eyes.

“I am so sorry to have caused you anxiety,” she said. “Master Deemster out of the goodness of his heart so kindly offered to let you know.”

“It was indeed kind,” I said.

As it was nearly noon I was invited to dine with the family and I gratefully accepted this. I was very interested in this household and I particularly wanted to know why Senara was so pleased with her adventure.

The table was set on trestles in the great hall which I remembered as being so grand in the time of the Northfields. The food on it was simple. It mainly comprised vegetables which were grown in the gardens—and there was salted pig. Here the whole of the household congregated—every man and woman in the household—and then I understood Senara’s elation, for seated at the table was Richard Gravel, Dickon, her one time music master.

Senara looked at me mischievously.

“You remember Dickon.”

He smiled at me. He had changed as much as this house had. He had been rather dandified, delighting as he did in his music and dancing. Now he was dressed in a plain jerkin, short trunks of a brown material and his long hose were of the same shade. His hair which had been wonderfully curling was now cut short and flattened about his head as though he were ashamed of its beauty. He had been fun-loving and bold; now his eyes were downcast and there was an air of modesty about him which I could not entirely believe in.

We sat down and grace was said. It seemed a long time before our host finished his exhortations to us to be grateful.

The pork was not very appetising and I secretly was not all that grateful for it. We ate very well at home and always in the most tasteful manner, and there was invariably a variety of dishes to choose from.

Dickon told me during that meal what he must already have told Senara.

When he had been turned out of our house, “and rightly so,” he said in his new-found humility, “for I ill repaid my master, I knew not where to go. For two days I trudged the countryside and had but a crust all that time. I was wondering where I should find another bite to eat, and feeling faint and hungry I settled into a hedge and there awaited some evil fate to overtake me. As I lay there, unkempt and famished, a man came along the road. He too was without means of sustenance; hungry and footsore. He told me that he was going to call at Leyden Hall for the gentleman and lady who now lived there would never turn any away. I said I would perforce go with him and so I came.”

Senara was watching him with an intentness she rarely displayed.

“When I felt the goodness, the serenity of this household which was unlike anything I ever knew before, I asked if I might stay here in any capacity whatsoever,” went on Dickon.

“You do not teach dancing and singing?”

“Nay, nay. That is over. It is all part of my sinful past life. Such frivolities find no favour in the sight of heaven. I shall never sing and dance again.”

“That’s a pity! You did them so well.”

“Vanities,” he said. “Here I tend the gardens. The vegetables you are eating have been grown by me. I work with my hands for the good of the house.”

“You see,” said Senara, “Dickon has become a good man.”