The Witch from the Sea by Philippa Carr Read Free Book Online Page A

she was not meant for childbearing and when she told me that yet again … a terrible cold fear came over me. It was as though the angel of Death had entered. It was here in this room. I can see her now, the fear in her fair young face and I wanted to … to … But never mind. I shouldn’t be talking like this to you.”
    “Please talk if you want to. I will respect your confidence.”
    “She was different from you. She hadn’t your strength. She wasn’t meant to bear children. She should never have married. If only I could go back … I would never have allowed it. And so we lost her.”
    She put out a hand and I took it, holding it firmly.
    “I wanted you to know,” she said, “because … because … you … you seem like one of us.”
    It was almost as though she were proposing marriage to me on behalf of her son.
    My father arrived that day. The house suddenly seemed more noisy. He was impressed with the Priory and slightly smug because it did not seem quite as grand to him as Lyon Court. Meals had become more elaborate and were taken in the great hall instead of the winter parlour. We dined at the fashionable time of eleven in the morning and supped between seven and eight. There was a great deal of talk at these meals and my father was often in conference with Fennimore and his. I believed that they were getting along very well and that my father was becoming more and more interested in the project.
    He had no intention of staying long though. He was eager to be off. Each morning he rode down to the coast and went on his ship. He was going on round Land’s End to the north coast and would be away some weeks before returning home. My mother and I were to travel back the way we had come.
    Neither of us had said anything about our adventure on the way. The man had, after all, allowed us to have the better room, my mother pointed out, so we could not complain about his taking it from us. “Your father would make more out of it than was actually there. You know how he loves a fight,” she said. “Moreover, we should never be allowed to travel on our own again.” So we did not mention it, and it was arranged that we should return as we had come, with Jennet and the two grooms.
    Each day my father was being drawn to the idea of trade. It was, after all, a battle of sorts—the fight for supremacy on the sea. He had no doubt as to who would win that battle, and as the days passed he was more and more eager to begin it.
    There was still news coming in of Spanish disasters, of ships being washed up along the coast, of men who had come to our coasts at dead of night and wormed their way into our villages pretending to be anything but Spaniards. My father could never hear enough of them, and in his opinion no fate was too bad for them.
    I could see that the Landors thought him too extreme but they accepted that a man whose fame was known through the West Country for a valiant seaman and servant of the Queen, must be allowed to express his opinions.
    He had a soft spot for all seamen and was faintly critical of the Queen’s parsimony towards her sailors. It was the first time I had known him to do anything but praise her.
    “By God,” he said, “these are the men who helped to save our country. Are they to go hungry now their task is done?”
    “The Chest is better than nothing,” said Captain Landor.
    “Not good enough for these valiant men,” stormed my father. “And why should every seaman have a bit taken from his pay to help those who were wounded in the great fight? Nay, sir. It is the bounden duty of the Queen and this country to care for those who suffered. They gave for England. It is England’s turn to give to them.”
    He was referring to the fund known as the “Chest at Chatham” which had been set up to compensate those who had suffered during the fight with the Armada.
    “Any seaman who comes to my house,” declared my father, “will be cared for. They will find at Lyon Court that sanctuary