There was truth in this for my mother wrote that she had heard from London that those who persisted in begging were hanged by order of the magistrates.

So we did not go to Lyon Court, though my mother made the journey to us. When she came she brought a bodyguard of servants and any robbers would have had short shrift from them. I suggested to Colum that I travelled likewise protected, but he would not hear of it.

That Christmas, however, he agreed that we should go to Lyon Court and we travelled there with the three children, Jennet and two other women and about four grooms.

My father was home and delighted to see us, particularly the children. He was greatly attracted to Connell and loved to see my son, legs apart, imitating his grandfather and father. I sighed to myself because I knew that he was going to be such another as they. They sensed this too but it delighted them.

My father took him on his ships and was eager to make a sailor of him. I encouraged this. I would rather he followed my father’s trade than that of his own father. Tamsyn was my mother’s favourite and I was so pleased that my little daughter was determined that Senara should not be left out. Not that my mother would have attempted to do that, but wherever Tamsyn was, there was Senara.

The child was three years old, rather precocious and undeniably beautiful—quite the beauty of the family. My father studied her closely and nodded at her. I could see he thought that she was one of Colum’s bastards.

He listened attentively to the story of Maria’s being washed up on the shore and brought to the castle to bear her child. I could see the twinkle in his eyes as he surveyed Colum. It meant, he understood. This was Colum’s way of introducing his child into the castle.

He would not have thought so if he had seen that poor half-drowned woman I had found on the shore. His connoisseur’s eye was quick to note Senara’s appearance.

“She’ll be a little beauty, that one,” he commented, and choked with laughter. He liked to think of other men’s misdemeanours. I supposed that made his own seem in the natural course of events.

I remember the fierce arguments that Christmas. My father raged against the Spaniards as he used to in the days of my childhood. He choked with rage when he talked about the descent they had made on Penzance that July.

“By God, the Dons have raided our coast. Have they forgotten we have driven them off the seas?”

“Have we?” said my mother. “If that is so, how did they get to Penzance?”

“Our own coast!” spluttered my father. “What say you, son-in-law? Do you not think we should take out ships and harry them?”

“I do indeed,” said Colum.

“Trade,” spat out my father. “’Tis fair enough when we have done for the Dons. But while they show such impudence and raid our coasts, there’s only one thing to do. Raid theirs.”

“You disconcert them more by taking their trade,” said my mother.

“Disconcert them!” stormed my father. “I’d murder the lot of them. I’d wipe them off the seas.”

He was all for diverting his ships from their trading ventures and putting them in action against Spain.

“We haven’t finished with the Spaniards yet,” he growled. “By God’s teeth, will they never learn their lesson?”

Colum and my father talked of the Spaniards with loathing. My father was pleased with Colum, except that he could not understand why Colum did not go to sea.

“I would,” said Penn, “that I could discover a gold mine, like Sir Walter Raleigh.”

“He has not discovered it yet,” my mother reminded him.

“He will,” cried Penn. “I know he will.”

“He has to,” put in my mother, “if he is to regain the Queen’s favour which he lost through seducing one of the maids of honour.”

“Poor Raleigh!” said my father. “I doubt not she asked to be seduced. No woman is taken against her will, to my mind.”

“You men imagine you are quite irresistible, I am sure,” said my mother, “but you have unwilling victims now and then.”

My father’s eyes were on my mother, suppressing his amusement. I looked up. Colum was watching me.

I thought: I wish I could stay here with my mother, and my children with me always. Here I feel safe.

Edwina and her son were of course with us. Carlos was at sea and at such times she more or less lived at Lyon Court. My mother knew how anxious she could be and with that strange gift of hers my mother was always afraid that she would see some disaster.

Edwina talked with me during that visit when we were alone.

She said: “I feel happier about you now.”

“Were you unhappy before?”

“I had an uneasy feeling that there was something evil at the castle. You remember I told you.”

“Yes, I remember. It had something to do with Maria. She disappeared, you know, as suddenly as she came.”

“It was a strange feeling … vague, insubstantial. That’s how it is often. Now I feel … much happier.”

“So, I’m safe,” I said rather lightly.

She answered: “It is as though the evil which threatened has receded. I can’t explain more than that.”

It was clearly the influence of Maria. I often wondered what became of her. She went away taking nothing with her. It was all very strange.

Edwina embraced me. “Take care, Linnet,” she said.

And I wondered whether she was still a little uneasy about me.

That year slipped away almost unnoticed. I was glad that Maria seemed to have been forgotten; I felt that was better for Senara’s sake. The Red Room was still the haunted room, but Maria’s name was only occasionally mentioned.

Senara was growing up to be a normal little girl and the only difference between her and the others was her exceptional beauty. The devotion between her and Tamsyn had not diminished but was even more marked. Senara who had a tendency to naughtiness could be called to order immediately by Tamsyn.

I spent a great deal of time in the nursery. I was teaching the children so this was necessary. I dare say I was prejudiced, but my daughter’s quick mind was a delight to me. Her affectionate nature charmed me and perhaps most of all that protective streak which was so marked in her relationship towards me and towards Senara.

I tried to shut out my doubts and fears about Colum. I had my children; and my mother was not so very far away. I knew that she had suffered a great deal because such a long distance separated her from her mother, so I told myself I had much to be thankful for.

If I had never discovered the nature of Colum’s business, I could have been very happy during those years. There were to be two more of them before I realized that they were but a lull, a waiting period, and that the storm which had begun to gather about me had merely receded and could return and break over my head.

During those years the country remained at peace although there were skirmishes with Spain, the perennial enemy. The defeat of the Armada had saved us from invasion but it had not completely eliminated the enemy.

It was a sad day for the country—and particularly for the West Country—when we heard that Sir Francis Drake was dead. He and Sir John Hawkins had set out with a fleet of men-of-war to attack the Spanish settlements in the West Indies. Both of them had died. If they had but stayed at home, both of these men would have lived. It seemed a pity that Sir Francis who had done so much good should have gone away to die. He had brought water to the town through the river Meavy and had built six mills for the grinding of corn. He went into Parliament—representing Plymouth, naturally—and he had organized the building of walls and fortifications there.

My mother was sadly angry. “So much good he did in peace, why did he have to go on this expedition? What did it matter that the Spaniards had a treasure store in these places? Let them keep it. Better so than that a great man should lose his life in attempting to take it.”