Witch from the Sea

In a few days she was able to get up. It was astonishing how a woman in her condition could have come through such an ordeal. I sent for the midwife who had attended me at the birth of my children and asked her to examine our patient. The verdict was that she was in a good condition and that her ordeal appeared to have had no ill consequences for the child.

She spoke a little halting English. She was Spanish, as I had thought, a fact which would not help her, for the hatred of that race persisted in our country although we had beaten the Armada.

She could tell us little. When I asked questions she shook her head. She could not remember what had happened. She knew that she had been in a ship. She did not know why. She could remember nothing but that she had found herself in Castle Paling.

I asked her what her name was, but she could not remember that either.

During the first week in November when the sea was as calm as a lake I made one of the men row me out to the Devil’s Teeth. It was perfectly safe, for those men knew every inch of that stretch of sea; they knew exactly where the treacherous rocks lay hidden beneath the water.

I saw the ship caught there on the rocks, a pitiful sight. She was broken in half; the sharp rocks must have been driven right through her; and I read on her side the words Santa Maria.

I wondered why that woman had been on the ship. She must have been travelling with her husband; perhaps he was the captain of the vessel. How strange it was that she could remember nothing. She would in time. Such a shock as she had experienced could rob a woman of her memory.

Perhaps, poor soul, it was as well that she could not remember; perhaps it would stop her grieving too much until she recovered a little.

Her child was due towards the end of December, the midwife told me. I think that perhaps the fact that she was pregnant was the reason for her serenity. I imagined that the greatest importance to her was the welfare of her child, and I determined to make her as comfortable as I could for I felt a great responsibility towards her. There was one picture which kept coming into my mind and which I could not dismiss. It was that of the men returning to the Seaward Tower with their donkeys and lanterns. Where had they been? I had an idea but I would not face it. I could not bear to because I thought that if I did I could not stay here.

The woman had to have a name and because the name of the ship was Santa Maria I called her Maria. I asked if she would mind if I called her by that name.

“Maria,” she said slowly and shook her head. I did not know whether she meant we could call her by that name but we did. And very soon she was known throughout the household as Maria.

By December it was clear that the birth of her child was imminent. My mother came to spend the Christmas with us and Edwina and Romilly accompanied her. Penn had gone to sea. He had been so excited to be allowed to join one of the ships. The cargoes that had been brought back after the first voyage had proved valuable and they were eager to repeat their success, although not their losses.

We did not talk very much about the voyage because it always meant a certain anxiety; and I wanted them to enjoy the festivities.

It was a week before Christmas and I was expecting Maria’s child to be born any day. I had insisted that the midwife stay at the castle, for I still feared that Maria’s adventure when she was so advanced in pregnancy might have had some effect which was not apparent. I was frantically anxious that nothing should go wrong. It was not that I had any great affection for Maria. She was not an easy person to know. Her aloofness might have been due to her ignorance of our language, but it was certainly there. She accepted our concern and help as though it were her right and she never seemed over grateful for it. I felt however that her child must be born and live. The uneasy thoughts which had come into my mind on the night when the Santa Maria had sunk, persisted, and I could not dismiss them.

When my mother was introduced to Maria she was clearly surprised. I had mentioned her in a letter but only briefly; and I had discovered that everyone who met Maria was astonished by her. It was something more than mere beauty but I could not yet quite understand what.

“What a beautiful woman,” said my mother when we were alone. “So she is the lady of the shipwreck. And she cannot remember who she is. One thing is certain. She is of high birth, patrician to the fingertips. Where will she go when the child is born?”

“I don’t know. She cannot remember whence she came.”

“And she was on the ship. How very strange.”

“I think she must have been the wife of the captain, and I think too that after the child is born her memory may return.”

“Then she will wish to go to her family, I doubt not.”

“If she is Spanish that could be difficult.”