Philippa Carr - Witch from the Sea

“I do not know what else to do with them.”

“I thought perhaps you had some purpose in gathering them together. The servants perhaps would like them. But even they are conscious of the fashion.”

I picked up the things and put them in the chest. Then I shut down the lid and it was turned into a settle.

“It is not an unpleasant room,” she said. “We should use it. Or did you feel that since it was your mother’s …”

“Yes, I do feel I should like it to remain just as it is.”

“It shall be,” she said, and went out.

I wondered if she had been aware of the tension I was feeling.

I went to my bedchamber. I was glad Senara was not there. After a while I felt better. Then I asked myself what had come over me to make me feel so disturbed because my stepmother had discovered me looking into the chest.

Jennet had been gossiping. Poor Jennet, she could never resist it. I heard through Senara.

“Your mother was always writing,” she said. “She wrote in a book she had every day. Did you know?”

“Jennet mentioned it the other day. So she told you too?”

“Not exactly. Merry said she was talking about it in the kitchens. It all sounded rather mysterious.”

“Why should the fact that she was keeping a diary be mysterious? Many people do, I believe.”

“Well, she hid this away, apparently.”

“Who said so?”

“Well, where is it? Have you got it? I believe you have.”

“I haven’t.”

Senara looked at me intently. “If you had it, would you read it?”

“Why do you ask that question?”

“For the reason people usually ask questions. I should like an answer.”

I hesitated and she went on. “People put their secret thoughts into diaries. If she had wanted you to read it she would have shown you, wouldn’t she?”

I was still silent. I was thinking of Jennet’s spreading the news that my mother had written down what happened to her every day and had been so anxious that someone should not see what she had written that she had been very careful to put her writings in some secret place.

I thought of the diary I had once kept when I was a child. It read something like this: “Rained today.” “There were visitors at the castle for my father.” “Hotter today.” And so on, except at Christmas time when there would be a description of the festivities. Nothing to be hidden away there.

Then I thought of my mother stealthily writing and finding some spot where she could secrete her journal for fear it should be read by someone in the castle.

Senara went on: “There was something strange about her, wasn’t there … just before she died?”

“What do you mean … strange?”

“You used to go and sleep with her every night. Why?”

“I just had a feeling that I wanted to.”

“What a baby! Who wanted to be with her mother!”

“Perhaps I did.”

“It wasn’t that. You were playing the mother. You always seem to like it when there’s someone who wants to be looked after. You’re always finding animals to nurse. Dogs and birds, that sort of thing. Do you remember that gull you brought home with the broken leg? The others were pecking him to death and you found him there, making horrid squawking noises. I remember how you brought him home and nursed him but it didn’t do any good, did it? He died in the courtyard. ‘Miss Tamsyn at it again,’ they said. And look how you’re always clucking over the peacocks at Lyon Court. So you went to look after your mother. Why? You would have been there the night she died if I hadn’t been sick. Oh, Tamsyn, do you blame me for that?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t.”

“I did drink too much mulled wine. It was horrid. I shall never forget the feeling. I’ll never do it again. But I wonder why your mother hid away her diary. Wouldn’t it be fun if we found it?”

Then I knew that my stepmother had known for what I was looking when she had seen me at the chest.

We were approaching Hallowe’en, always remembered at the castle with a certain awe because it was on Hallowe’en fifteen years ago that my stepmother had come to us. Jennet remembered it well and while Jennet had a tongue in her head it would not be allowed to be forgotten.

There is something about the autumn which has always fascinated me. Spring was the season my mother had loved because of all the wild flowers she found in the hedgerows. She knew the names of most of them and tried to teach me, but I was not a very apt pupil and tried to learn to please her more than for any special interest. For me the special time of year was autumn when—a little inland—the trees sported their bronzed and golden leaves and there were carpets of them in fields and lanes and the spider’s webs were draped over the hedges. I liked the mists of the mornings and evenings and even the chill in the air. I used to think before my mother died: Soon it will be Christmas, the time of holly and ivy and yule logs, and families being together and forgetting their differences. It was a time to look forward to. Autumn was the looking forward time, and so often anticipation is better than realization.

Jennet told me that in the days before that Hallowe’en when my mother brought the woman who was to replace her into the house, the servants used to make a large bonfire which was said to keep off witches; and when it was burnt out they would scramble for the ashes which they would preserve to keep off the evil eye.

The castle was filled with the autumnal shadows; when I awoke in the morning and looked out to sea there would often be nothing but a wall of grey mist. I pitied sailors in such weather and I thought often of Fenn and wondered when he would be home.

I used to make sure that the lanterns in the Seaward and Nonna Towers were always alight.

The day came bringing with it an air of excitement. My stepmother seemed to glide rather than walk about the castle. There was a secret smile on her face as though she knew everyone was expecting something to happen and she was at the heart of it.

The drama came at supper. Senara was missing. When she failed to appear at the supper table I began to be alarmed. She was often late; but never for meals where my father would be. Unpunctuality infuriated him and anyone who could not be at the table was sent away without food and often cuffed for it.

My father noticed her absence but did not comment. If she failed to put in an appearance she would go without her supper. My stepmother showed no anxiety but then she never did show very much.

After the meal she was still missing and I began to be frightened.

I went up to our bedchamber.

“Have you seen Mistress Senara?” I asked Merry.

She shook her head. “She went off early in the afternoon.”

“Went off,” I said. “Where?”

“She were on her horse, Mistress Tamsyn, Jan saw her riding away from the castle as though she were possessed.”

I wished they would not use such expressions and on Hallowe’en of all times. It was easy to see how their minds worked. For them my stepmother was still the witch to be placated and feared; and Senara was her daughter.

“When was this?” I demanded.

“Early this afternoon.”

“Did she say where she was going?”

“No, Mistress. She just put on her riding clothes and her best hat with the blue feathers and went off.”

“Which of the grooms were with her?”

“Well, Mistress, I did see none of they.”

I thought: She has gone off alone!

Although we knew most of the neighbouring squires, their families and retainers, robbers lurked on the roads and we were forbidden to ride without at least two grooms.

Yet she had gone off alone and on Hallowe’en.