Homecoming
THE FAMILIAR CREAKING OF timbers, the rolling and pitching of a ship at sea—it came back to me so vividly. Jake Pennlyon’s cabin was not unlike that of the galleon’s Captain. It was less spacious and the deck head was lower. The same kind of instruments were there. I saw the astrolabe and the cross staff, the compasses and hourglasses.
We were taken to his cabin, Honey, Jennet and I with the children. Edwina clung to her mother as Roberto did to me but Jake Pennlyon’s boys were examining the cabin; they were into everything, trying to understand how the astrolabe worked and chattering in a kind of half English and half Spanish language of their own.
Jennet was smiling to herself. “Wel, fancy, ’twere the Captain himself,” she kept murmuring.
Honey sat limply staring in front of her as though she were in a trance. I knew how she felt. She had lost a husband whom she loved—even as I had. Hundreds of memories must be crowding into her mind as they were into mine.
Felipe, I thought, I loved you. I never let you know how much because I didn’t realize it myself until I saw you lying there.
Then it was back in my mind—that hideous memory. I could see the blood staining his jacket, making a pool about his body. I could see the blood on the walls and Jake Pennlyon’s dripping sword.
I must try to shut that terrible picture out of my mind.
“The children should be sleeping,” I said.
“Oh, Mistress, do you think they could after such a night?” asked Jennet.
“They must,” I replied. I was thankful that at least they had not seen the murders. I wondered what was happening now. How many of the servants had survived, what they would say in the morning. Pilar at the Casa Azul would cry out that it was the witch’s work—the English witch who had fascinated the Governor and brought him to his death.
The door of the cabin opened and John Gregory came in.
“Well,” I said, “here is the double traitor.”
“Did you not want to go home?” he demanded. “Was it not what you hoped and prayed for?”
I was silent. I was thinking of Don Felipe. I could not stop thinking of him.
“You are to be taken to a cabin where you will sleep. I will show you.”
We followed him along an alleyway and into a cabin which was considerably smaller than the one we had left. There were blankets on the deck.
“You may all rest here. Captain Pennlyon will see you later. He will be busy for some hours yet.”
I followed John Gregory into the alleyway.
“I want to know what happened in England,” I said.
“I left in good faith,” he said.
“Did you ever know good faith? Which master did you serve?”
“I serve Captain Pennlyon who is my true master and was ere I was taken by the Spaniards.”
“You betrayed him once.”
“I was taken and submitted to torture. I was made to obey but when I saw once more the green fields of home I knew where my loyalty lay. I never want to leave my country again.”
“You found my mother? You gave her my letter?”
“I gave her your letter.”
“And what said she?”
“I never saw such joy in any face as when I placed your letter in her hands and told her you were well.”
“And then?”
“She said you must be brought home and she bid me take a message to Captain Pennlyon, your betrothed husband, to tell him where you were. She said I must take him to you and that he would bring you safely home.”
“And this you did. You were a traitor to him and to your new master. And now you have returned to the old. How long will you be faithful to him, John Gregory?”
“You are sailing for home, Mistress. Are you not content to do so?”
I said: “There was bloody murder in Trewynd Grange on that night when we were taken away. There was bloody murder at the Hacienda. These murders are at your door, John Gregory.”
“I understand you not. I have expiated my sin.”
“Your conscience must trouble you,” I said. I asked myself: How near had I come to loving Don Felipe? I did love him. Surely this emptiness I now feel, this numbed despair was due to love.
I went back to the cabin. Roberto was looking anxiously for me, so I took him in my arms and soothed him. Edwina was fast asleep. Carlos and Jacko were whispering together.
I said: “We should all lie down. Though I do not expect we shall sleep.”
In a short time Jennet was breathing noisily. I looked at her contemptuously and asked myself of what she dreamed. Of further tumbling with the Captain? How wantonly her eyes had shone at the sight of him.
Honey lay still.
I whispered: “Honey, what are you thinking?”
She answered: “I keep seeing him lying there. A man who has slept at your side … in whose arms you have lain… There was so much blood, Catharine. I can’t forget it. I see it wherever I look.”
“You loved Luis?”
“He was gentle and kind. He was good to me. And you Felipe, Catharine?”
“He took me against my will, but he was never brutal. I think he soon began to love me. Sometimes I think I shall never be loved as I was by Don Felipe.”
“Jake Pennlyon…” she began.
“Do not speak of him.”
“We are in his ship. What will happen do you think?” I shivered. “We must wait and see,” I said.
We must have dozed a little, for it was morning. The ship rocked gently, so the weather was calm. There was food for us—beans and salt meat with ale. It was brought by John Gregory. As on that previous occasion he had been given the task of guarding us.
“All’s well,” he said. “There is a fair wind and we are on course for England. The crew have had a double ration of rum for last night’s work. The Captain has promised them a share of his booty when we’re safe in the Hoe. He wishes to speak with Mistress Catharine when she has eaten.”
I was silent and in no mood for food. Roberto said he did not like the food, but I noticed Carlos and Jacko ate heartily. Edwina ate some beans and Jennet did justice to her share, but Honey could not eat. We drank a little of the ale, which tasted bitter, but at least it was cooling.
John Gregory conducted me to the Captain’s cabin.
Jake Pennlyon roared, “Come in,” when he knocked.
I stepped inside.
“Come and sit down,” said Jake Pennlyon.
I sat on the stool which was fixed to the deck. He said: “This is your second sea voyage. A little different from the first, eh?”
“The galleon was a finer ship,” I said.
He pursed his lips contemptuously. “I’d like to meet her. Then I could show you who is master.”
“She had an armament of eighty cannon. I doubt you could match that.”
“So we have become a sailor, since we sailed with the Dons! You’ll never see that one again.”
I shuddered. Once more I saw him clearly there on the floor, his blood mingling with the mosaic tiles.
“John Gregory told me you had been questioning him.”
“Do you expect silence from your captives?”
“Captives! Who speaks of captives. I have rescued you from God knows what. I am taking you home.”
I said: “Don Felipe Gonzáles was my husband.”
The color flooded his face.
“I know he got a Spanish brat on you.”
“We had a son,” I said.
“Married you!” he spat out. “That was no marriage.”
“Solemnized according to the rites of the church,” I went on.
“The Catholic Church. How could you sink so low!”
I laughed at him. “You are a very religious man, I know. You lead a life of piety. All your actions are those which one would expect of a holy man.”