Witch from the Sea

“We shall soon know who it is,” I said.

And so we did.

I believe now that meeting Fenn Landor at that time helped me far more than anything else could. He too was ten years old—a few months older than I was. A good-looking boy with deep blue eyes; he was very serious. Perhaps because we were of an age, he singled me out for a special companion—Senara was too young, Damask too old, and through him I began to be interested in life again as, in my ten-year-old ignorance, I had thought I never could be.

He liked us to be alone so that he could talk. He chafed against his youth and longed to be a man. We would go off together and lie on the cliffs looking over the sea; or sometimes we would ride together. My grandmother, watching us closely, allowed this. I realized that she thought that Fenn could do more for me than perhaps anyone. He was not part of my old life as the rest of them were. He was someone entirely new and when I was with him I could cease to think of my tragedy for half an hour at a time.

He told me about his father, who according to him had been the finest man in the world. “He wasn’t rough and swaggering as so many men are,” he told me. “He was good and noble. He hated killing people. He never killed a man in his life. He wanted to bring good into people’s lives.”

“When did he die?”

“People say he is lost but I don’t believe it. He’ll come back one day. He was due to come home. We watched for him every day. Every morning when I wake up I say to myself: ‘This will be the day.’ And it goes on and on …”

I could see a look of blank despair in his face and I longed to comfort him. I knew that although he said he believed his father was alive, he feared that he was not.

“His ship was the Landor Lion. It was a joint venture—the Pennlyons and the Landors, you see. My family and your grandfather’s.”

“Ships are often delayed for months.”

“Yes, but you see this one was sighted off the coast in October and there was a great storm.”

“I remember the great storm.”

“So you see …”

“Go on hoping,” I said. “Strange things happen to ships. It might not have been his ship that was sighted. You can’t be sure.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You can’t be sure.”

Then he told me about the new East India Company which had been founded and he talked glowingly of the progress it had made, and how his father had been instrumental in making it great.

“It was his idea really, you see. It started long ago before I was born. It was after the defeat of the Armada. My father believed that peaceful trading was the answer to our problems.” I noticed with a touch of sorrow that he talked of his father in the past tense and I knew that in his heart he could not help thinking he was dead.

“How old will you have to be before you join your father?” I said deliberately, to restore his belief.

He smiled suddenly, dazzlingly; he had a beautiful face when he was happy.

“Sixteen perhaps. Six whole years.”

I was able to tell him about my mother’s death and that was the reason I was at Lyon Court with my grandmother. I found I could talk to him of that sad event more calmly than with anyone else. It was because he too had lost a deeply loved one. The bond was instantly formed between us. I knew he had loved and admired his father more than anyone, just as I had loved and admired my mother.

Thus we could comfort each other.

I made him tell me about ships and the company. His father had talked a great deal to him. I could imagine the sort of father he had been—a father of whom his children need never be afraid and for whom they had the utmost love and affection and above all respect. An ideal father. To have had such a father was a great blessing, but alas, to lose him must be the greatest tragedy.

Once he said to me: “Why is it that we have never met before? We often come here. You must do too, for this is the home of your grandparents.”

I admitted it was strange, for we had come frequently.

“We must just have missed each other.”

There was no doubt that Fenn and I did a great deal for each other and my grandmother was pleased about this.

There was one strange incident which happened during that visit and which I could never forget.

Senara, Damask and I shared a room at Lyon Court. It was a big room and there were three beds in it. One night I lay sleepless, for I had not slept well since my mother’s death. I dreamed a good deal about her and I would wake up suddenly and imagine she was calling to me to come to her for she was afraid of something. This dream was a recurring one. In it I was always fighting to get to her and was unable to reach her. I would call out in my despair and then I was awake.

This is what happened on that particular night. I woke up wretched and sat up in bed, being unable for the moment to realize where I was. Then out of the gloom the familiar objects took shape—the planked hutch, the table with the carved panels and the two other pallets on which lay Damask and Senara.