The days seemed long. It was late before the sun rose and it set so early. “The darkest days are before Christmas,” my mother used to say.
Into the house had crept something evil. I was sure if Edwina were here now she would warn me again.
I could feel it. It came from the Red Room and it menaced me.
Perhaps it was true that she was a witch. Perhaps she had not really been on the ship. Perhaps she had lain in the sea waiting for me to find her. I began to be beset by fancies.
The fact was that Maria was there and none dared tell her to go. I was aware of her growing power over the household—her evil power. Even Colum was caught in it.
What a beautiful woman she was! Perhaps it was evil beauty but it was none the less seductive for that. She seemed to possess many personalities and she would shed them as a snake sheds its skin. That was how I thought of her—as a beautiful sinuous serpent.
The children were bewitched by her too.
“Does Senara’s mother live with us now?” asked Tamsyn.
I said: “She will perhaps for a while.”
“Most mothers live all the time with their children, don’t they? But Senara’s mother is different from all other mothers.”
Senara said: “You are my real mother. She is my dream mother. I like to look at her. But I like best to know you’re there.”
“I’ll always be here if you want me, Senara,” I told her.
Connell said: “She is the most beautiful mother in the world.”
Tamsyn watched me closely, her face growing red. “That’s not true,” she said, and blushed deeper because she was lying. “My mother is.”
Dear Tamsyn, the protector!
How strange that during those days a thirty-year-old woman should turn to a ten-year-old child for protection. Protection! What a strange word to use.
In the matter-of-fact manner of children they accepted Maria’s visitation as natural enough. That the servants talked of it in their hearing I did not doubt, but there she was and they accepted her.
Senara had a strange, beautiful mother who was above normal rules. She suddenly appeared and became part of the household. After a while that did not strike them as odd. Maria was interested in her daughter now, for Senara was like her; one could see the relationship immediately—the same long eyes, the black hair, the perfectly shaped features. But Senara lacked the mystery; she was an ordinary little girl.
Maria was indeed shedding her skin. She was bringing out a different personality than that we had seen during that long ago year she had spent in our household. She was becoming like a normal woman. She visited the schoolroom and listened to the children at their lessons. She petted Senara and gave her presents, for her belongings had arrived and in them were golden ornaments and rich materials. She instructed the seamstress to make dresses for herself and Senara.
Senara was naturally a little vain. Such a beautiful child could not help but be aware of her beauty. She was naïvely proud of it and my dear Tamsyn, who could be called almost plain in comparison, was proud of it too.
I was pleased to see that the coming of Maria had made no difference to their relationship. They shared a bedchamber and were never really content if they were separated for long.
Maria tried to charm my daughter. Sometimes I had a feeling that she was trying to break the great affection between us. She could not do that in the smallest way and I fancied that Tamsyn had grown even more protective towards me. It was almost as though she were aware of some menace in the house. It may have been, though, that I, being aware of this, had become nervous and showed it.
What was most disturbing was the effect she was having on Colum. I could feel the tension rising. I who knew him so well realized that he wanted her as fiercely as he had once wanted me. I could see the smouldering light in his eyes when he surveyed her. She would join us at our intimate suppers. The three of us would be there at the table, the candlelight flickering on our faces—I knew that mine must have been alert and watchful. I knew too that neither of them paid much attention to me.
I cannot endure this, I thought. I must get away. I must go home to my mother. I should have confided in her long ago. She would have advised me what I must do.
Maria’s beauty was unearthly. Satanic in its way and I could understand that Colum found it irresistible.
Sometimes I thought they were lovers. Then I was not so sure. Those nights when he was not with me, where was he? In the Red Room?
I kept thinking of the time when I had gone into that room and seen a vision of her. That must have been a warning. Why had I not told Edwina? Perhaps she could have advised me.
At night I would lie in my bed unable to sleep. When I did doze fitfully I would be beset by dreams—wild, fantastic dreams of visions. Maria was always in my dreams. And sometimes Colum. I saw them together writhing in an embrace. I would awaken clammy with sweat and fear and believe that there was someone in the room.
Tamsyn said: “You are not well, Mother. Shall I make a brew of the herbs Aunt Edwina gave us? I know how to.”
“What would you give me, Tamsyn?” I asked.
“The pimpernel brings laughter so I would give you that. But it is not the time of year for pimpernel. Poppy brings sleep. But there are no poppies either. But I have an ashen branch and if that is put beneath your pillow it will drive away evil spirits.”
“My dearest child, I am happy just to be with you.”
“I am your dearest child,” she said. “More dear to you than any of the others. I know it. It makes me happy. I will look after you always.”
“Bless you, my darling,” I said.
She was silent for a while. Then she said: “If I were older would you tell me what ails you?”
“Nothing ails me in truth.”
“I think something does. But I will look after you.”
“Then I shall soon be well,” I said; and I held her against me.
Maria came riding into the courtyard. I saw her from my window. She leaped from her horse and a groom hurried to take it away and feed and water it. She came into the castle and, I suspected, went to the Red Room. I sat at my window, wondering about her. Ten minutes later Colum came in.
I said to myself: He has gone to the Red Room.
I knew that he had.
What did he say to her there? There would be no need for words. They were lovers. I sensed it. It was two weeks since he had come to me. I felt a sick resentment against her for being more beautiful than I, more desirable to him.
I hated him; I feared him. There had always been something of these emotions in me. But in a way I yearned for him. It was inexplicable but it was true.
I wished I could have talked of this to my mother. I felt she would have understood. I wished I could talk to her of these sudden bouts of fear which possessed me. There was no one to whom I could talk. I seemed to hear my daughter’s voice. “If I were old enough you could tell me.”
Oh Tamsyn, I thought, if only I could!
They were making love in the Red Room. Afterwards they would talk. Would they talk of me? How did they talk of me? But why should they? Of what importance was I to them—only of course that if they wished for marriage I stood in their way.
He was tired of me. I knew that. He would no longer be indulgent as he once had. I would irritate him. Was this how Melanie had felt? He despised her. Did he bring his mistress of the moment into the castle. Was she of so little account to him that he did not care?
It could never be thus with me. Once he had wanted me so urgently that he had gone to great lengths to get me.
He would not come to me now. Perhaps never again. I had not given him the children he wanted. Only two and one a girl.