Witch from the Sea

“By God, so it is. Who could have come by it? A case of another second-hand article I’ll swear.”

“I like it,” I said. “It conveys the idea of virtue prevailing over evil.”

“I must find who owns it.”

He put it into his pocket.

“Let me know when you do find the owner,” I said. “I should like to know who would have such a thing.”

I sensed he was faintly disturbed.

Later that afternoon I went down to the shore. It was warm and there was a faint mist in the air. I could see the sorry sight of a vessel caught on the rocks, toppling drunkenly as the waves washed over her. I thought of the people who had confidently set out from some place on their way to a destination which they had never reached and wondered how many had perished in the storm.

Parts of the vessel still floated on the water, useless pieces of wood—the remains of what had once been a stalwart ship; and again I thought of my father, sailing on the treacherous waters which could be so calm and smiling and in a brief hour so cruel. All people who went to sea did so at their own risk, of course. They all knew that they needed good fortune as well as skill to come safely to land. All his life my father had been a sailor and he had come safely through. Men such as he was thought themselves invincible. Even the sea could not tame them.

A piece of wood was being brought in by the tide—in it came and was carried back, in and back, each time a little nearer. I watched it feeling a great desire to hold it in my hands.

Nearer and farther, tossed hither and thither on the waves. Now a big one brought it right to my feet.

I picked it up and I saw that it had letters on it. There they were: San Pedro.

So the ship out there was a Spaniard. A thought flashed into my head then—the amulet which I had found in the courtyard was also Spanish.

There seemed some strange significance in this but I was not sure what.

My time was fast approaching and my mother had come with Damask to stay with us. She brought Edwina and her little boy with her for it was almost Christmas. My father was on the high seas, so were Carlos and Jacko, who was now married.

They had not returned from the East Indies and my mother told me that so much would depend on the success of that first enterprise.

I was always happy to have her with me. I had been so immersed in preparations for the coming of my child that I had not thought very much about the amulet and the locket. Colum said no more to me about the amulet then and I thought he had forgotten them. He went away from time to time on his business and I did not accompany him.

So it was Christmas again and our thoughts were with the men on the high seas. Edwina I could see was anxious; my mother seemed to have a placid belief in my father’s survival through all conflicts.

She did tell me during her stay that Fennimore’s wife had that September given birth to a son who was named after his father.

My mother and Edwina decorated the castle hall. I was too cumbersome, my confinement being hourly expected.

And on Christmas Day of that year 1590 my child was born.

This time I had a daughter. I think Colum was a little disappointed for he would have preferred another son, but it was only a fleeting displeasure. I was twenty years old and already the mother of two healthy children.

My mother was delighted with the child.

“Daughters can be such a comfort,” she told me and kissed me.

Damask loved the baby and in fact when my mother went back to Lyon Court wanted to stay with us. However that was not possible and they left after the New Year.

For some time I was absorbed in my children. Connell was a lively child. I used to tell myself that this was just how Colum must have been at his age. He was going to be tall and strong, I was sure, and fond of his own way. Colum doted on him and was impatient for him to grow up; and sometimes it seemed that the boy was too, for to us in the castle he appeared to be far in advance of his years.

Mothers I know are supposed to love their children equally but I loved my little daughter with a single-mindedness which I believed I could never feel towards any other child I might have. Perhaps it was because her father showed less interest in her than he did in the boy. Perhaps she seemed more vulnerable than Connell ever had. He had appeared to be born with that self-confidence which he had inherited from his father. We called her Tamsyn, the feminine form of Thomas, the name of Colum’s father, and I added Catherine to that for my mother.

Through the rest of the winter, the spring and the summer I felt cut off from the outside world, so completely absorbed was I in my nursery.

Jennet adored the baby and she and I became more friendly than we had ever been and I was glad my mother had sent her to me.