Witch from the Sea

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 England fails to give them.”

“There must be many of them.”

“So much the more reason to care for them,” said my father, his face scarlet with righteous indignation. “It has come to my ears that Philip of Spain has set aside 50,000 scudi for the relief of his wounded. Should the defeated be so well cared for and the victors dependent on their own poor sailors to help them?”

It was true of course that the Queen who loved to adorn her person with extravagant jewelled garments was often averse to spending money on her subjects who had given all but their lives to keep her on the throne.

“You may rest assured,” said my mother, “that any poor sailors who come to Lyon Court shall be fed.”

“We will see to it,” affirmed my father, for once in agreement with her.

I could see that the Landors were pleased to turn the conversation to other matters. Whether it was because they realized how unwise it was to criticize the Queen, even faintly, or whether they were so eager to talk of their future plans, I was not sure, but soon they were discussing the possibility of getting more ships afloat and what commodities could be picked up in the various ports of the world.

And so those pleasant days passed and it was time for us to return home. Before we did so my parents insisted that we return the Landor’s hospitality. They thought it would be an excellent idea if they visited us to celebrate the New Year.

NIGHT AT CASTLE PALING

WE SPENT OUR FIRST night at The Traveller’s Rest. My mother and I had debated whether to do this. It was hardly likely that we should meet the obnoxious Colum there again; and to avoid such a good and tried inn because we feared to, did not appeal to either of us.