The Witch from the Sea (7 page)

I would go back to the inn and there I should wait throughout the night; and if his servants succeeded in finding my mother, then I must be forever grateful to him and heartily forgive him his churlish behaviour on our first meeting.

We went along at a steady trot side by side. I wondered what the time was. It must have been more than two hours since I had lost my mother. How far had I ridden from that spot? I was beginning to get frantic.

We came out of a dark road into the open. Before me was a sight which would have been inspiring had it not filled me with apprehension. Dominating the moonlit scene were the stark grey machicolated towers of a castle rising high on the rocky cliffs … and beyond, the sea.

I stared at the lofty square-shaped structure with its towers on each corner. It was a fortress built for defence, with the protection of the sea on one side and the battlemented towers facing the land.

“Welcome to Castle Paling,” he said softly.

I turned to him sharply. “I understood you were taking me to the inn.”

“Nay,” he said. “This is better. I was unsure of the way, and I do not believe your mother would wish you to spend a night at an inn unguarded.”

“But …” I began.

“Come,” he said, “my servants will look after you. We cannot go on riding aimlessly through the night.”

“Aimlessly? We are certainly not doing that. We are looking for my mother.”

“My dear young lady, what more can you do? You have no idea where your mother went to. I have promised you that I will send servants to scour the countryside. Meanwhile you shall be given refreshment and a place in which to rest while they do so. As soon as she is found I shall take you to her.”

“Why should you do so much?”

“It is the only way a gentleman can behave to a lady in distress. Moreover, I am heartily ashamed of my conduct in the inn. Fate has given me an opportunity to remove the bad impression I gave you. Will you deny me the opportunity?”

“You have already made up for it. But I would prefer to stay at the inn.”

“It shall of course be as you wish. Believe me, I shall do nothing that is against your desire. What should we do then? Ride back to the inn? It would take us time to find it. And I could not permit you to stay in such a place unguarded. Your mother would never forgive me. Nor your father. Nay, fate sent me along at an opportune moment. I had the chance to save you from villains, of whose intentions I have no doubt, and in such cases they can end in murder. There are robber barons abroad, who take unprotected women—men too—to their strongholds and often make sport with them. It was a recognized custom in early times and such customs live on. Here I offer you hospitality. You will be safe here. My servants will care for you. And I promise you that I shall without delay send a number of them off in different directions. I doubt not in a short time they will bring news of your mother. They can escort her here to Paling. That will set her mind at rest and yours. And as soon as it is light you can start for home.”

Still I hesitated. I looked at that grim, grey fortress. I could hear the faint murmur of the sea. What could I do? It seemed I had no choice. I saw a light moving across what must have been a courtyard. Then I saw another in a window. There were people there. I must go with him. It was the only way. I could not roam, as he said, aimlessly through the night, searching for my mother.

He saw that I was relenting. “All will be well,” he said gently.

We climbed the incline to the castle.

“I would welcome the pleasure of showing you my home in happier circumstances,” he said.

I tried to draw my mind from thoughts of my mother.

“You are kind,” I answered perfunctorily.

“I am glad to be of service. Come, stop fretting. This night will soon be over and by daylight everything will seem different. Paling has long withstood the force of the elements. It is as strong as it was when the first stone was laid. It needed to be. It had to hold off intruders, and fight the weather. It is of Cornish stone—hard and strong, and has provided a home for my ancestors for generations. The foundations were laid years ago during the reign of the Conqueror but later on castles had to be made habitable, something more than just walls in which to protect oneself and one’s family. But you are not interested in architecture. You think only of how we shall find your mother. I understand. I talk but to ease you, if that be possible.”

We were approaching the portcullis. The cool wind fanned my cheeks and I could smell the fresh clean smell of sea air. I was aware again of that sense of being warned. It was as strong now as it had been at the burned-out inn. What was I doing, trusting this man who had behaved so badly at The Traveller’s Rest? Oh, when would this nightmare end!

Once more an impulse came to me to turn my horse and gallop away, and I restrained it. What could I do? I had told him that I had wished to go to the inn and he had brought me here. He was a man who would do what
he
wished. I knew that. He alarmed me, yet excited me in a strange way. I was not sure of my feelings for him. He gave out an aura of immense power, which at this time I needed. I could not help feeling that if he were sincere in his desire to help me in this frightening predicament, he could do it.

I went forward simply because I did not know what could happen to me if I went back.

We had passed under the portcullis.

“Quite a climb,” he said. “But you see how strong we are. A look-out on the tower could see people approaching for miles. No one can come near from the other side … except by boat of course, and that would not be easy.”

Colum Casvellyn started to shout and there was an immediate response. Several men came running.

He leaped from his horse and one of them took it. He turned to me then and helped me out of the saddle.

He took my arm and led me across the courtyard.

A door opened. A woman appeared with a lantern. She bobbed a curtsy and he said: “Gemma, we have a visitor. Let a room be prepared for her and some hot food be brought.”

She was off and he took me through the great hall to the guard-room.

I had a sudden feeling then that he intended to make me his prisoner. On the walls were spears and halberds and at the four corners of the room suits of armour.

“Sit down for a moment,” he said. I sat on a chair which seemed to have been made for a giant, so heavy was it.

He leaned towards me and taking my hands in his, patted them gently. “You are cold,” he said. “And so pale. You look different from the spirited young lady of the oaken chamber. It grieves me. How I should have enjoyed receiving you here with your parents in all honour. But let us forget the unfortunate circumstances.”

“I find that impossible.”

“Indeed you do and most understandably. Here you are, you see, in the castle’s guard-room. This is where we kept our prisoners in the past before taking them to the dungeons. Oh yes, we have dungeons. You see this trapdoor, that is one way to them. There is another. A staircase leading down and a strong iron-studded door which they tell me is impregnable.”

I felt the fear grip me again.

“I have brought you here,” he said, “before taking you into the castle—for this is but the guard-room. I fear that on our first meeting I made a bad impression on you. It lingers, does it not? Well, I want to say to you if you would rather go from here, I have no wish to detain you. I wish you to think well of me. If you would care to go now, please say so and I shall not attempt to stop you.” He opened the door of the guard-house and left it open. “It is for you to decide,” he added.

I was silent. I could do nothing, I knew, but stay here, rely on his help and long for the morning.

I said, “I will stay.”

He smiled. “A wise decision,” he said. “Now I will have you shown to a room which is being made ready for you. Then you shall be refreshed. You may rest in the room provided for you or where you will. Castle Paling is at your service.”

I thanked him and reproached myself for my churlishness. It was true he had behaved in a swaggering manner, but he had given up the room to us; then he had called me from my bed when he had tapped at the window. Perhaps that was the most disturbing thing of all. But wasn’t it what any high-spirited man might have done? Should I blame him too much? After all, when I had returned to my bed he had gone away and he had amply repaid any discourtesy on this night. It was hard to reconcile this man who was so anxious to calm my fears with the arrogant bully who had come to The Traveller’s Rest. Had I built up an image of him in my mind which was exaggerated and therefore false? I was apt to do that. My mother often pointed it out to me.

“Now we will leave this grim place,” he said, “and I will take you to my sanctum. A small room where I entertain my friends now and then. There food will be brought and we shall eat. But before that I doubt not that you would wish to wash and perhaps take off your cloak.”

He pulled at a bell rope and I heard a clanging. A serving-girl appeared at once.

“Take this lady to the room which is being prepared for her,” he said.

She bobbed a curtsy and I followed her. We went up a staircase and along a gallery. A door was thrown open. Candles flickered in their sconces. There were two women in the room making the bed. They turned and curtsied as I entered.

The room was elaborately furnished. The bed had four posts which were intricately engraved. It was a large bed furnished with heavily embroidered curtains. I wanted to stop them for I had no intention of sleeping there. I should spend the night listening and waiting for some news.

One of the women brought warm water and a basin in which I washed my hands and face.

Removing my cloak and my bonnet-shaped hat I shook out my hair. It was my greatest beauty, my mother said. It was a darker shade than my father’s, a lightish brown with golden tints in it, heavy hair that was difficult to dress and looked its best in disorder.

I was too anxious to be interested in it now but it was a relief to have it loose.

The woman was waiting to take me to her master, and holding high her candle she conducted me to a room which was close by the bedroom. Here candles had been lighted and a table laid.

There was hot soup in pewter bowls, and although I did not feel like eating I realized I was faint with hunger.

He was waiting for me. He bowed and led me to a chair.

“Allow me to help you to this good capon. I am sure you will enjoy it. I can see that you are hungry and thirsty though you feel disinclined to partake of food and drink. Come, there is no good in abstaining. I have already sent men out to scour the countryside, to inquire at inns far and wide. I doubt not that ere long your mother will be here … or at least we shall have news of her. That will satisfy you.”

It did. I found the capon good and there was no doubt that my strength was reviving.

“Here is a good wine which will put heart into you. Drink it. It will make you feel better.”

He helped himself to the great pie which was on the table and ate hungrily. He drank of the wine.

“Now there is some colour in her cheeks,” he said. “Come, more wine. Tell me, do you not feel better?”

I said I did.

“Tomorrow you and your mother will be laughing at this adventure.”

“I think we shall always shudder with horror to recall it.”

“It was a bad moment when that knave galloped off with you. I never doubted that I would catch up with you though. My great regret is that I was unable to give him his dues. I might well yet.”

“You would not recognize him if you met him again.”

“Masked as he was mayhap not. I should know his horse though.”

He filled my glass. “It is enough,” I said.

“Oh come, your spirits must be revived by the time your mother arrives.”

“Do you really think they will find her?”

“How can they fail? There are four of them … all going in different directions … they must find her for she will either be on the road or in one of the inns.”

“But there was only one—the Roses. She was not there.”

“Perhaps she went there later.”

“I should have stayed there.”

“Nay, you are better here …”

I was beginning to feel a little light-headed. It was the shock, I supposed, and then the wine. His voice seemed to grow somewhat faint as though it was coming from a long way off.

He was saying: “Let me give you some of this partridge.”

The room swayed a little. I thought: God help me, the wine was potent.

He was watching me, smiling at me, cutting the partridge with his knife.

I could not see his face clearly. It was becoming more and more blurred. I heard myself say: “I think … I think I should go …”

I stood up. He was there beside me.

I felt the room, everything, slipping away and was only aware of his face near me … his eyes were enormous … there was nothing but those great black pools of eyes … I felt as though I was trying to swim in dark pools and I was sinking.

I felt myself caught up suddenly. And I knew that he was holding me.

I heard his voice, strange, lilting. “All is well. All is very well.”

I started up. Something had happened to me. I did not know where I was. I was shut in a green prison. There was light somewhere shining from outside on the walls. I was different. Something had changed me. I gave a little gasp, for I was naked. There was a light sheet over me and nothing more.

I sat up. I was in a bed … I knew instinctively that it was the four-poster I had seen last night, for in those seconds memory came back. I had come to Castle Paling. My mother and I had been separated. I had sat down to eat and drink and that was all.

But I knew. Horrible knowledge was tapping on my mind. Did I remember something of it? What had taken place during the night? It could not have been. And yet I knew it. Some hazy memory came back to me. It was the wine. It had dulled my consciousness. It had changed me in some way. I knew this was so. Edwina had told me there were herbs which drug your senses and make you oblivious of what was happening … and yet …