But that was the way of such men. “He died as he would wish to die,” growled my father.

Then there was the apprehension when he heard that the Spaniards had taken Calais. Did this mean that our enemies were rising again? The Queen entered into an alliance with the French, but they were not liked much more than the Spaniards.

There was great rejoicing when Admiral Howard plundered Cadiz. My father talked of it for a whole year. “The Spaniards’ losses amounted to twenty million ducats,” he gloated.

We would hear such news and then there would be silences of months. What happened in the capital affected us little.

I was now visiting my mother often. The more I made the journey, the less arduous it seemed. The children were getting a little older and that made it even easier.

My relationship with Colum was changing. I was no longer so necessary to him. There were occasions when the passion flared up between us, but at others he seemed almost indifferent to me. He was away a great deal more than he had been. I had learned that it was unwise to ask where he had gone. Nor did I wish to know. I shut myself away. I could see no way out of my situation. I must accept Colum and what he did or refuse to and leave him. To leave him meant leaving my children. That I could not do. So I did what seemed to me the only thing I could do. I shut my eyes to what I did not want to see and I stayed.

My visits to my mother were my salvation. Sometimes my father was there; sometimes he was not. The Landors I knew were frequent visitors but they were never there when I was. It was not only due to my earlier relationship with Fennimore but to the fact that I had married Melanie’s husband. My mother, with her extreme tact, arranged that our visits never coincided.

I heard that the trading company was doing well. It now owned a fleet of ships. Trade was proving very profitable, and there was an amalgamation of several trading companies who could well be incorporated under a charter.

“Of course,” my mother said to me on one occasion, “it is Fennimore Landor who is at the heart of the business. Your father is enthusiastic at times and then his enthusiasm wanes. His heart is really in buccaneering, but I tell him that more good will come to our country through trade than all the fighting. He won’t agree and then he instances the case of the Great Defeat. I know it had to be and I know it was glorious, but the expense almost crippled this country as well as Spain. How much better it would have been if they had gone about their peaceful ways.”

I knew she was right and I knew also that my father would never agree with her. And how I wished that Colum would join them instead of plying his horrible trade!

There was one matter which surprised us both. Since the birth of Tamsyn I had not conceived. Sometimes I thought that this was something to do with my state of mind. I was willing myself not to have another child. I might say that I did not want a murderer of men and women to be its father. Yet how many of us could say that we were not the children of such? Not I, certainly. My father had killed many men for the simple reason that they were Spaniards or because he wanted something they had. That somehow seemed different. He risked his life in the killing. Colum lured men to their death simply that he might salvage their cargoes. Deep within me I could not reconcile myself; I think too that I believed that some opportunity would arise and then I would escape.

If I could be free of him, if I could take my children away, if I could go back to my old home, could I start afresh and be happy?

I did not know. I sensed somehow that this was a waiting period. My children were no longer babies. They were growing up fast. Later on, I promised myself, I shall make a decision.

Then the strange thing happened.

I had been to Lyon Court for several weeks and returned home.

It was a hot still day. The children were pleased to be back home as they always were, although they enjoyed Lyon Court. Looking at the castle Towers as I rode up, I felt the thrill I always did when I had been away for some time. The first that came into view were Ysella’s and Seaward Towers, and I could never look at Ysella’s without thinking of that day when I had been shut in there. I could still smell the musty damp smell of stale sea water. I thought too of the ridiculous legend of the two wives who lived so close to each other and never knew of the other’s existence. It would always be with a kind of apprehensive fascination that I returned home.

Connell was eager to see if Jerry the groom had looked after his dogs and falcons during his absence. Tamsyn, Senara and I went to my bedchamber, and Jennet and the little girls went off to their own room together.

I looked about that bedchamber of many memories. There was a strangeness about the place on this day. Was that so, or was I imagining it? When I came back after an absence the antiquity of the place forced itself upon me. Lyon Court was modern in comparison and modern houses seemed less touched by the past.

I don’t know what took my steps to the Red Room on that afternoon and so soon after my arrival. It may have been that I was simply overpowered by the difference in the place from my old home. The little chambers, the short spiral staircases, the unexpected nooks, all these things had the effect of taking one out of this world into another era. I almost felt on that afternoon that I was impelled towards the Red Room.

I went along and stood for a few moments outside the door. Edwina would have said some uncanny force had sent me there.

As I opened the door, I felt a shiver run down my spine and the hair really did rise from my scalp. It was not a bright room—perhaps it would never have acquired its reputation if it had been—for very little light came in from the long slit of a window, but my eyes accustomed to the gloom saw clearly and I am sure did not deceive me. I knew as soon as I opened the door that someone was in the room. Then as I stood there, the shape took form, emerged as it were from the hangings on either side of the window.

I caught my breath. I felt my knees tremble.

Then she came towards me—gliding slowly. The smell of musk scent enveloped me. She brushed past me and went into the corridor.

For a few seconds I could not move. I was too shocked. I just stood still, that unmistakable scent assailing my nostrils.

Then I said: “Maria! What are you doing here?”

There seemed to be a terrible silence, and then my limbs suddenly regained their bones.

I ran from the room. There was no sign of her.

“I have seen a ghost,” I said aloud.

Where was Maria? No one knew. I could not keep my vision to myself.

I told Colum. “I saw her, Colum. I saw her as clearly as I am seeing you now.”

“How could you have done so? Where is she?”

“I swear I saw her. She came towards me and walked past me. I smelt her scent.”

“Then why did you not take hold of her? Wouldn’t that have been the reasonable thing to have done?”

“I was so taken by surprise. I just stood there.”

“And let her pass you!”

“You don’t understand how shocked I was.”

He took me by the shoulders and shook me, in an exasperated way.

“You’re as fanciful as the servants. If she had been here, how could she have got away without someone’s seeing her? Be reasonable, wife.”

I was certain … and then not so certain.

Where did she go? I had been as though rooted to the floor, it was true. I had given her a few seconds to escape, but, as Colum said, where could she have gone to?

I told no one but Colum what I had seen.

Jennet volunteered the information though that the servants were more convinced than ever that the room was haunted.

“Have any of them seen anything, Jennet?” I asked.