Philippa Carr - Witch from the Sea

“It is only because I would serve my husband that I wish to learn his habits.”

“He will keep you acquainted of the best way to serve him. Now I must leave you for a while so I will take you to the Oak Room and then you will go to bed. You may be sure that the moment I have completed my business I will be with you.”

He took me to the Oak Room and left me there. I sat on the bed and thought of him down there transacting his business. What business? The men had arrived with the pack-horses. I wondered what they had brought. It was strange for the squire who owned a castle and was the lord of his neighbourhood to barter over merchandise. I wondered again what it was, and why he should be so reluctant to discuss this with me. There could be two reasons. The first was that wives were not supposed to share in their husband’s business affairs. They were not supposed to understand them. That was something I would not accept, as my mother would not either. I knew that Colum, while delighting in my spirited nature, was also determined to subdue it. He wanted me relegated to what he would call a wife’s place. He seemed to ignore the fact that if he ever did he would lose interest in me. Perhaps deep down in his heart he wanted to. Perhaps he wanted to keep me as the mother of his children and go off in search of erotic adventures with other women, I was sure that was what he did before we had married. In a way he chafed against this passion between us. Once he had said with a sort of exasperated anger: “None will satisfy me now save you.” He was a strange man. He hated above all things to be shackled. It might well be that he wished to keep his business apart from me because he did not want to share everything. He wanted to exclude me because he feared I was becoming too important to him. The other reason was, of course, that it was something of which he was ashamed. Ashamed! He would never be ashamed. Something that must be kept secret perhaps.

So I pondered and I longed to creep down the stairs and into the room which the host would have set aside for them and listen at the door.

Instead I went to the window and sat there, and thought over every detail of what had happened on that other occasion at the inn. It had been the most important of my life in a way, for had I not come here I should never have met Colum. How easy it would have been for us to have taken another road, to have stayed at another inn. It seemed incredible that life could be affected by so flimsy a chance.

I sat at that window for a long time thinking of this and I was still there when I heard a bustle below. Looking down, I saw the two men who had looked in at the dining-room. A groom was leading two pack-horses. They were not ours. Then came Colum with the two men. I drew back but not so far that I could not see them.

They talked together. Then the men mounted their horses and rode away.

I knew that Colum was coming up now so I left the window and sat on the bed.

In a few minutes he was in the room.

“What!” he cried. “Still up! What do you here? ’Tis time we were abed.”

I could not sleep well that night. I had bad dreams. I was not sure of what for in them events were jumbled, but Colum was there and so were the merchants and the pack-horses, and Melanie too … for my dream had shifted to the Red Room. Melanie was warning me: “Don’t be too curious. If you are, you could uncover something you would rather not know.”

In the morning we rode back to Castle Paling. It was a beautiful morning. There is nothing like sunlight for washing away the fears which come by night. They are exposed as nothing but vague shadows conjured up out of the darkness. I revelled in the green of the conifers and the call of the cuckoo, though he was beginning to stammer now. All was well. In six months’ time my child would be born and now I was going to my home where my son would be waiting for me.

It was August. I could no longer ride and the days seemed long and tedious. One night there was a violent storm and I awoke to find that Colum was hastily dressing.

I sat up in bed, and he told me to lie down and keep the curtains drawn. He was going out because he thought there might be a ship out there in distress.

I said should I not be up in case there was something I could do? He said no, he would forbid it. I had to think of the child I carried.

Nevertheless, I rose and went to look in at the room adjoining ours where Connell slept. He was a year old now. I thought the thunder and lightning might frighten him. Nothing of the sort. He shouted with delight as the flash lit up the room and he clearly thought the violent thunder was part of a game which had been devised for his benefit.

I laughed with him, glad that he was not frightened and because I did not wish him to see that I had expected him to be afraid I left him.

I went back to my bed and drew the curtains around me, and I thought of that other night when there had been a storm and Colum had gone out to see what could be done.

He had told me that on dark nights he caused a lantern to be put in the turret rooms of the towers facing the sea as a warning to sailors that they were close to the Devil’s Teeth.

He said: “It has been the custom of our house to give this service. When sailors see the lights, if they know they are on the Cornish Coast, they will realize that they are near the Devil’s Teeth and keep away—so in the Nonna and Seaward Towers these lanterns shone on all dark nights.”

So I lay in bed and prayed that if any ship was being buffeted by the violent winds it would come safely through.

The storm died down and I slept. It was light when I awoke and Colum had awakened me by coming into the room.

His clothes were sodden with the rain and there was a hot colour in his cheeks.

“Was a ship in distress?”

He nodded. “She’s broken on the rocks.”

“She couldn’t have seen the lights in the tower.”

“She was blown on to the rocks. We did what we could.”

“You are soaked.” I rose and started to dress.

“There is nothing you can do,” he said. “It is over. You’ll see her when it’s thoroughly light. It’s a sorry sight.”

I did see her—poor sad vessel that had once been so proud. I could not stop myself looking at her and I thought of my father who had gone off on a trading expedition to the East Indies. Fennimore had gone with another ship and Carlos was captaining another. This could happen to any of them. It was terrible to contemplate the hazards of the sea.

As I stood by the window Colum came beside me and put an arm about me.

“Do not go out today,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Why must you always question?” he demanded with a touch of irritation. “Why cannot you obey me like a good wife?”

“But why should I not go out?”

“The ground is slippery. I’d never forgive you if aught happened to the child.”

That afternoon Colum went away for a day or two. I watched him go and then because the sun was shining and the sea was calm—only a slightly muddy colour to suggest last night’s trouble—I felt the urge to go out was irresistible.

I would walk with care but I must go out into the sunshine. I would not take the cliff path which could be treacherous but I would just walk in the precincts of the castle.

Thus I came to the cobbled courtyard before Ysella’s Tower. I looked up at it remembering the story and asking myself how it was possible for a man to keep two women in the same dwelling and one not know the other was there. “Preposterous!” I said aloud. But if they were meek women who obeyed without question the husband they shared, it might have been managed. No, I could not believe it. Although with the forceful Casvellyns perhaps anything was possible. Colum would like me to be as docile as Ysella and Nonna must have been.