The cargo he carried was one of the richest he had ever handled. Gold, ivory and spices from Africa.
He sat drinking with my father all through the day and he announced that he was sending several barrels of finest Malmsey for the enjoyment of my father’s servants.
When I thought about it I realized that I had been the one to light the lanterns. I couldn’t resist telling Senara about it. Merry came in while we were talking.
“It’s a wonderful feeling,” I said, “to have saved that ship. Someone forgot to light the lanterns that night. I thank God that some instinct sent me up there at the right moment.”
Senara and Merry were looking at me intently.
Merry said: “So it was you.”
“Why,” cried Senara, “the Malmsey should be yours.” She added: “If you mention it there would be trouble.”
I thought I knew what she meant. Of course there would be trouble. The fact that I had found the lanterns unlit meant that someone had failed in his duty. A slip like that could have cost many lives.
We wanted no more whippings in the courtyard.
A week or so later there was news from Lyon Court. My grandmother was ailing and it seemed long to her since she had seen me.
My father said I might go to see her and for once Senara did not insist on accompanying me. I believed this was due to the fact that if she did she would not be able to pay her now regular visits to Leyden House and so miss seeing Dickon.
I found my grandmother frail but she seemed to revive a great deal when she saw me.
Spring often comes early to Devon and we were able to sit in the gardens. I was happy to be with her but sad to remember how my mother had loved to feed the peacocks and how they used to come to her with a sort of disdainful air to take the peas she offered them.
My grandmother wanted to hear about life at the castle and I happily told her of how I had found the lanterns unlit in the tower and my action had saved the ship. She thought that was a wonderful story and made me repeat it many times. She asked about my father and my stepmother and whether they seemed happy together.
I supposed they were. My father was not the kind to suffer in silence and my stepmother was difficult to know but she was as she had always been.
And Senara?
“Senara is interested in a puritan family who have come to live nearby.”
“Senara and puritans! That’s incongruous.”
“Senara is so strange. Sometimes I feel I don’t know her.”
“Yet you are fond of each other.”
“Yes, as sisters.”
“You are closer to her than you are to Connell.”
“I suppose it is because Connell is a boy. He and I have never had anything in common.”
“And Melanie?”
“I am growing fond of her. She is so kind and gentle always. I hope Connell will be good to her.”
“Is he not?”
“They are rarely together. Connell hunts and is with my father a great deal.”
“And is there any sign of a child?”
“I have not heard.”
“I expect Melanie is hoping. And what of Fenn Landor?”
I was silent.
“Has he not been to the castle?”
I looked beyond my grandmother to the tall hedge which shut in her pond garden.
“No,” I said, “he has not been to the castle.”
She was frowning. “There must be a reason.”
“Oh, I think there was some speculation. He did not like it perhaps.”
“Speculation?”
“Yes,” I said boldly, “about me. It seemed to be in everyone’s mind that we should marry … everyone’s except Fenn’s.”
“Something must have happened,” said my grandmother. “I’ll swear he was in love with you.”
I shook my head.
“Let us not speak of it, Grandmother,” I said. “I would rather not.”
“No good comes of brushing something aside because it is hurtful to look at.”
“What is this?” I cried. “It has happened so many times. Two people become friendly and those around them think they must be going to marry.”
“Did you think it, Tamsyn?”
I could not find the words to explain and it was so hard not to betray my emotion.
My grandmother went on: “I wanted it to happen. To me it would have meant such compensation. I wanted your mother to marry his father and when young Fenn appeared and you and he seemed so suited …”
I said in a cool voice, “He went away to sea without letting me know. He has come back without seeing me. It’s clear, is it not?”
“No,” said my grandmother firmly. “There must be a reason.”
“It is all clear to me,” I said. “Fenn has been deterred by all the hints of marriage.”
“I shall send a message to ask him to come to see me,” she said.
“If you do,” I retorted, “it will be necessary for me to go back to the castle before he arrives here.”
She could see I meant that. So we sat and talked of old times. She spoke of my mother when she was a little girl, and when she was very tired she would doze off. She liked me to sit beside her so that I was there when she woke up and often in those first moments when she was coming out of her sleep I knew that she confused me with my mother.
I think during my stay she tried to make me interested in other young people. She gave several dinner parties to which she invited eligible young men. One or two of them were engaged in the Trading Company and knew Fenn. His name was mentioned more than once. It was very clear to me that he was a highly respected member of the company, as I would expect him to be.
There were several older men there, seamen mostly who had worked for my grandfather in his various ships in the days before he had become a trader.
I was amazed how these people enjoyed talking of the old days.
“Life has become tame,” said one of them who was seated next to me at dinner. “The days of the old Queen was the time to be alive.”
Another of his age put in: “And that was the days before the Defeat of the Armada.”
“We were in a very dangerous position then.”
“That was good for us. Every man ready to do his best to ward off the foe. People are not like that now. They’re selfish, looking for their own gain.”
I could not help commenting that they had always been like that.
They talked with great affection of the old Queen, of her vanities, her temper, her injustice and her greatness.
“There has never been so shrewd a monarch and there never will be,” was the verdict.
It was true that they had not the same respect for our reigning king. He was dirty in his habits; unkempt in his appearance and ill-mannered at the table. He had the disadvantage of having been brought up by Scotsmen, they said.
“Though his mother,” said my old gentleman, “was said to be one of the most elegant and beautiful women the world has ever known.”
Then they started to talk of old times and how the Queen of Scotland had been the centre of plots to put her on the throne and our Queen had always been one step ahead of the scheming Mary.
“Mary was an adulteress,” said one.
“And a murderess,” said the other.
They discussed the murder of her second husband, Lord Darnley.
“He was to have been blown up in Kirk o’ Fields, and we know who planned that. But it went wrong, and he was found in the grounds … dead … but without a sign on his body of how he died.”
I found I was suddenly listening attentively.
“There was nothing to show …”
I felt my heart begin to beat faster and I said: “How could that be possible?”
“Oh, it is possible,” was the answer. “There is a method and these villains knew it.”
“What method?” I asked earnestly.
“I believe that if a wet cloth is placed over the mouth and held firmly there until the victim is suffocated, there will be no signs of violence on his skin.”