Witch from the Sea

“Yes. It is a quiet household. Of course Fennimore is away at sea a great deal, as your father, Carlos and Jacko are too. Romilly misses Penn a great deal, for he sails now with your father.”

“I am glad,” I said, “that the trading business is proving successful.”

“You are lucky to have a husband who does not go to sea, Linnet. Always when they set out one wonders when and whether they will return.”

I was silent, thinking of Colum battling with the waves in his small boat, luring men to their deaths for the sake of their cargo.

I was on the point of telling my mother, but as was to happen so many times, I did not.

Time was passing and Maria was hardly ever mentioned now. I often wondered whether Colum thought of her. There were my mother’s visits, but Colum raised objections when I wished to go and stay with her. I had the feeling that he believed I should never come back. There would always be an excuse when my mother wanted me to go. He had heard that there were robbers on the road and could not himself spare the time to take me. He wanted to take Connell with him somewhere and he was not sure which day he was going. How could I travel with three young children? There was always some excuse. I must wait until he could travel with me.

“Vagabonds and robbers are being driven out of the big cities,” he told me. “And where will they come? Into the country! There are so many of them in the cities that the mayor of London and the Star Chamber are determined to rid the capital of them. They beg constantly and make a nuisance of themselves, and because they persist they are hanged on the gallows in London as a warning for all to see. And what will they do? Come to the country. They will beg by the roadside and if you do not give they will take—and like as not murder you for good measure. Do you think I am going to allow my children to make a journey in such conditions!”

There was truth in this for my mother wrote that she had heard from London that those who persisted in begging were hanged by order of the magistrates.

So we did not go to Lyon Court, though my mother made the journey to us. When she came she brought a bodyguard of servants and any robbers would have had short shrift from them. I suggested to Colum that I travelled likewise protected, but he would not hear of it.

That Christmas, however, he agreed that we should go to Lyon Court and we travelled there with the three children, Jennet and two other women and about four grooms.

My father was home and delighted to see us, particularly the children. He was greatly attracted to Connell and loved to see my son, legs apart, imitating his grandfather and father. I sighed to myself because I knew that he was going to be such another as they. They sensed this too but it delighted them.

My father took him on his ships and was eager to make a sailor of him. I encouraged this. I would rather he followed my father’s trade than that of his own father. Tamsyn was my mother’s favourite and I was so pleased that my little daughter was determined that Senara should not be left out. Not that my mother would have attempted to do that, but wherever Tamsyn was, there was Senara.

The child was three years old, rather precocious and undeniably beautiful—quite the beauty of the family. My father studied her closely and nodded at her. I could see he thought that she was one of Colum’s bastards.

He listened attentively to the story of Maria’s being washed up on the shore and brought to the castle to bear her child. I could see the twinkle in his eyes as he surveyed Colum. It meant, he understood. This was Colum’s way of introducing his child into the castle.

He would not have thought so if he had seen that poor half-drowned woman I had found on the shore. His connoisseur’s eye was quick to note Senara’s appearance.

“She’ll be a little beauty, that one,” he commented, and choked with laughter. He liked to think of other men’s misdemeanours. I supposed that made his own seem in the natural course of events.

I remember the fierce arguments that Christmas. My father raged against the Spaniards as he used to in the days of my childhood. He choked with rage when he talked about the descent they had made on Penzance that July.

“By God, the Dons have raided our coast. Have they forgotten we have driven them off the seas?”

“Have we?” said my mother. “If that is so, how did they get to Penzance?”

“Our own coast!” spluttered my father. “What say you, son-in-law? Do you not think we should take out ships and harry them?”

“I do indeed,” said Colum.

“Trade,” spat out my father. “’Tis fair enough when we have done for the Dons. But while they show such impudence and raid our coasts, there’s only one thing to do. Raid theirs.”

“You disconcert them more by taking their trade,” said my mother.

“Disconcert them!” stormed my father. “I’d murder the lot of them. I’d wipe them off the seas.”

He was all for diverting his ships from their trading ventures and putting them in action against Spain.