“She loved it and so did I and it’s for remembrance.”
“Will you plant a bush on his grave?”
“Of course.”
“An unknown sailor. Who knows where his family is? Plant the rosemary and it will be as though you plant it for my father. Will you do that for me, Tamsyn?”
“You may trust me to.”
He stood up and took my hands in his. Then he kissed me lightly on the forehead.
I was blissfully happy because that kiss while he stood close to my mother’s and the unknown sailor’s grave was a symbol. It was like plighting my troth. I knew that I loved Fenn. I was not sure whether he loved me but I thought he did.
Fenn left next day but not before I had planted my rosemary bush. I saw how pleased he was.
“I know you are the sort of girl who would keep her promises,” he told me.
Before he left he said that he wanted me to come and stay with his parents. He would arrange that they should soon invite me.
I waved farewell to him and then went right up to the ramparts so that I should see the last of him.
Senara came and stood beside me.
“You’re madly in love with him,” she accused me.
“I like him,” I admitted.
“You show it. You shouldn’t do that. You should be aloof; it is for him to fall madly in love with you. Now I suppose he will ask for your hand in marriage and then you will go away to that place of his and I shan’t see you any more.”
“What nonsense!”
“It’s not nonsense. I shall be left here and I don’t like it.”
“When I marry—if I do—you shall come and stay with me.”
“What’s the use of that? We’ve always been together. We’ve shared a room. You’ve been my sister ever since I could remember.”
She was pouting and sullen. Then her eyes were suddenly mischievous. “What if I made an image of him and stuck pins in it? Then he’d die because I’d pierce his heart. No one would know how he died … except me.”
“Senara, I hate to hear you talk like that. It’s all such nonsense.”
“People do die … cows die, sheep die … as well as people. No one knows what killed them. There is no sign at all … They just die. It’s the evil eye. What if I put it on your precious lover?”
“You couldn’t and you wouldn’t … even if he were my lover, which he is not. He is merely a good friend. And, Senara, I beg of you do not say such things. It is dangerous to talk so. People hear it and take it seriously. You mustn’t say it.”
She dodged back from me and put out her tongue. A favourite gesture of hers which was meant to irritate.
“You are no longer a child, Senara,” I said. “You must be sensible.”
She stood still, her arms folded, mocking me.
“I am sensible. They are always saying my mother is a witch. Well, I’m a witch too. Nobody knows where we came from, do they? How do I know, how do you know, who my father is?”
“Senara, you are talking dangerously. Your mother had the misfortune to be wrecked at sea. My mother saved her life. You were about to be born. It is all easy to understand.”
“Is it, Tamsyn? Is that what you really think?”
“Yes, it is,” I said firmly.
“You always believe what you want to. Everything is good and nice, according to you. Other people don’t always think so. And one thing, don’t imagine you are the only one who has a lover.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know?”
I very soon did know. It suddenly occurred to me that Senara had inherited that indefinable quality from her mother. In the days which followed she seemed to grow more beautiful; she was passing out of her childhood and she was of a type to mature early. Her body had become rounded, her long eyes languorous and full of mystery—so like her mother’s. When she danced with Dickon she was so lovely that it was impossible to take one’s eyes from her.
Dickon adored her. When he danced with her there was such happiness in his movements that it was a joy to watch them. He would sit and play the lute to her and sing songs of his own composing. They seemed all to be about the charms of a dark-eyed maiden, who tantalized him and tormented him while she enchanted him.
Enchantment! Bewitchment! These were words which occurred again and again in his song. She beguiled his senses; she had this elusive quality which he could not define.
One day in the music-room Maria discovered her daughter in the arms of Dickon, the music teacher. Senara told me about it afterwards. She was hysterical, half defiant, half fearful.
“Dickon always wants to make love to me,” she had said. “He has a passionate nature and so have I. You wouldn’t understand, Tamsyn. You are so calm and dull about these things. I love Dickon. He is beautiful, do you not think so? And the feeling he puts into his songs … and when we dance together, I seem to melt in his arms. I am ready to grant any request he might make of me. That’s how Dickon affects me, Tamsyn.”
“It sounds a very dangerous state of affairs,” I had replied with trepidation.
“Dangerous? Of course it’s dangerous. That’s why it’s exciting. When I am going for my lesson I make Merry curl my hair and I choose my ribbons very carefully to match my gown. Merry laughs. She knows.”
Merry was the maid who had been given us now that we were growing up. She worked for us personally, looked after our clothes, did our hair and was in fact a lady’s maid whom we shared. She was youngish—a little older than I was in fact, and she was in love with Jan Leward, one of the menservants who lived in the Seaward Tower. They were going to marry one day, she had confided in us, and she was very pleased with life because of this. Senara tricked her into giving confidences about the progress of her love-affair with Jan.
“Oh Senara, take care,” I had begged.
“That is something I prefer to leave to others,” she had retorted. “Care! It’s dull, and I hate dull things. No, I shall never take care. I shall be bold and reckless. That is how I intend to live my life. I think Dickon is handsome. More so than your Fenn Landor and I tell you this, Tamsyn, you are not going to be the only one with a lover.”
“What other people have has nothing to do with loving.”
“So wise,” she had mocked me. Then came this indiscretion. She told me about it. “The door of the music-room opened and my mother stood there. We were seated at the table. My lute lay on it and Dickon had his arms about me. He was kissing me and suddenly we knew that we were not alone. You know how silently my mother comes into a room. She stood there and looked at us. She said nothing. It would have been better if she had. Dickon started to tremble. You know how they can all be so afraid of her. Then she walked to the table. We both stood up. Dickon’s face was scarlet. He has such beautiful fair skin. Mine doesn’t change colour like that. But I was as frightened as he was. She picked up my lute and gave it to me. ‘Play,’ she said. ‘Play a love song, a sad one, for love songs are often sad.’ I took the lute and she said ‘Play “My love has gone and forever more I mourn”.’ I did and she sat there listening. Then she looked at Dickon and said; ‘How well have you taught my daughter?’ He stammered that he had done his best and that I was an apt pupil. She sat there for a while. Then she got up and went out. We don’t know what will happen but Dickon is afraid.”
We soon discovered what had happened.
Dickon did not appear in the music-room again. He had been sent away.
Senara was violently angry and quietly sad in turns. She used to cry at night and talked constantly about Dickon. I had thought her feeling for him superficial, but this did not seem to be so, for as time went on she continued to remember him and speak of him with bitter and sorrowing regret.
Senara changed after that incident. She seemed always to be trying to score over me. I think there was a streak of envy in her nature and particularly where I was concerned. I used to remind myself that in the early days of her life she had been the waif about whom so little was known. Her very name betrayed that. The admiration she had had from Dickon had softened her considerably and when it was snatched from her she had really suffered.