That made her laugh, implying I supposed that she who could charm away other people's disabilities should certainly not be expected to have any of her own.
"And what can I do for a young lady like you?" she asked. "Tell me that. Do you want the cards read, would you like me to look into the crystal ball or would you be wanting me to read your palm?"
"You gave me a very good fortune last time I saw you," I replied. "I'll be content with that one—after all, what you see today might not be so good."
That seemed to amuse her. "Ah, I see you was well content—and not you only."
"I want you to tell me about someone else."
"Oh?" She cocked her head on one side and looked like a mischievous monkey. "No, Malken," she went on, addressing the cat. "We ain't used to that are we, my poppet?"
The cat mewed as though to answer her.
"It's someone who may... or may not be dead," I said.
"Ghosts don't have futures," she retorted sharply.
"But if you can see into the future perhaps you can also see into the past. I want to ask about my half sister Silva."
"Oh you do, do you? Poor maid! Hers was a sad life."
"Did she ever come to see you?"
"She often came. Especially at the end. She had reason to then."
"What reason?" I asked excitedly.
"She was anxious about the future."
"People don't seem to want to talk about her."
" 'Tis natural. . . where she be. She could be lying at the bottom of the sea, the fishes her only companions. Poor maid, poor sad maid!"
"Can you see her at the bottom of the sea?"
She looked at me shrewdly. "I might see her there one day and I might see her somewhere else the next."
"But if you can really see what you say you can, you must know whether she's dead or not."
"There's many as swear they can hear her crying when the wind do howl."
"Are you telling me she was really drowned?"
"The boat came in, didn't 'un? Where could she be if the boat she went in come in empty?"
"So you don't know," I said.
"I didn't say that, Miss. I said there's some as hears her ghost, and the boat came back without her."
"Why did she visit you?"
"To see into the future."
"What was she like? Did she look like me?"
"Different as chalk from cheese."
"They can sometimes look not unlike."
"Nay, she had a lot of yellow hair. She took after her mother. There was nothing of the Kellaway in her."
"Did she come to you because she was unhappy?"
"She was born to be unhappy perhaps and knew it."
"Why should she be?"
"Can 'ee keep a secret?"
"Yes," I said eagerly, "I promise to."
"Her mother come to me afore she was born. She wanted to do away with her."
I caught my breath. "Why?"
"I reckon she had her reasons."
"What was her mother like?"
"Oh, Madam Effie didn't belong to these parts. Your father always chose them from far afield . . . leastways your mother didn't belong here either. Then he'd wonder why they was always pining for somewhere else. He went away a lot on business. The sort of business Mr. Jago does now. And she came to me and she said: 'Tassie, I'm with child. I can't bear this child.' And I looked at her and I said: 'You'm too late, Madam Effie. Should have come to me two months ago. I dursen't do anything for you now.' "
"Poor child! So even her mother didn't want her."
" Tis sad to be an unwanted child. She knew it from the moment she knew anything."
"You must remember me as a baby."
"Oh, I remember you all right. Sun shone right out of your eyes for Madam Frances."
"Was it a happier family then?"
"There's some as is doomed never to be content. Your father be one of them, me dear."
"Tell me what happened during the days just before Silva went away."
"She came to see me ... twice she did ... in the week before she went away."
"Did she seem unhappy?"
"You could never be sure with her. She laughed and laughed and you could never be sure whether her laughter was tears. She said: 'Everything's going to change now. I shan't be here much longer, Tassie.' Then I talked to her and she wanted me to read her palm and I could find little for comfort there. But I didn't tell her that. Sometimes I don't tell the bad." She stared over my head as though she were watching something. "If I see darkness hovering there, I don't always say so. What I say is: 'You be watchful.' For who can say when the dark shadow of danger ain't hovering over us all, me . . . you. . . yes, you, Miss Ellen. That's what I say."
I looked uneasily over my shoulder and she laughed at me. Then she said: "That's what I tell 'em to be, me dear. Watchful. . . ever watchful. And there's nothing more I can tell 'ee about Miss Silva."
It was the signal to go. I had, however, gleaned just a little more about my half sister.
I put several coins into the bowl on the table and, as when Jago had done the same, her shrewd eyes watched and counted.
"Come to me again, me dear," she said. "Come whenever you do feel the need."
I thanked her and went on into the sunshine.
Two days later, as it was calm, I rowed over to the mainland once more. On this occasion I intended to go to the inn for a glass of wine and to look at some of the shops, for Christmas was not so very far off and if I were to be on the Island during that season I should need to find some presents for everyone.
I should not stay long this time, I promised myself, and being near the coast would be watchful for a change in the weather.
After having tied up the boat I went
