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Authors: Jean Plaidy

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When she left them, Betsy said, smiling secretly: ‘I could tell 'ee, Luce Martin, where she be going.'

‘Where?' demanded Luce.

Betsy continued to smile. ‘Have you ever thought that there might be witches among us?'

‘Witches!' whispered Luce.

‘And living close to us. Do you know what witches can do, Luce? They can do anything . . . just anything at all.'

Luce did not want to talk about witches; she wanted to continue with the thoughts which had been with her ever since she had seen Sir Francis come out of church. Listening to Betsy's continual talk of men and their ways had aroused Luce's curiosity; and there were things she wished to know and experience. She did not care to make herself understood to Betsy. Better for Betsy to think her cold and prim than that Betsy should know the real reason why she hated it when she was teased about Ned Swann, who stank of the stables, and Bill Lackwell, who stank of fish. She did not like Ned Swann;
still less did she like Bill Lackwell, whose grandmother was a witch. No; Luce's lover must not be as these. She wished for someone great and noble, someone handsome with a lace ruff and a jaunty beard – not Sir Francis, of course, but someone very like him.

Betsy went on with her talk of witches.

‘They can rouse a tempest. They can strike down a man or woman with the pox or an ague. They can do devils' work. You're not listening. Why,
you
should listen. Bill Lackwell's got his eyes on you, and if he was to set his heart on 'ee, he'd get you. ‘Course he would. Ain't his grandmother one of
them
?'

‘I'd have nothing to do with Bill Lackwell.'

‘That's what you do say now. But what if she was to get to work on 'ee, eh? Witches can do anything. Then there's devils that can creep into your bed at night, and no bolts on doors and windows is going to keep them out. They can come in all shapes. Some come handsome – just the way a woman would look for handsomeness; some comes as toads and hares and cats and dogs. Some comes as the Devil himself.'

Betsy's voice had risen to a shriek, and she paused for breath before hurrying on: ‘I'll tell 'ee something else. I'll tell 'ee why we've been spared the cane. It's because they're going off . . . They're meeting tonight. Charlie . . . he told me. They're going to take old woman Lackwell and look for the Devil's mark . . . teats where she feeds her familiar . . . and then they'll tie her up and duck her. 'Twill be the end of old Granny Lackwell, for if she do float then she be a witch and they'll take her to Witches Gibbet and hang her up by the neck; and if she do sink, well then, she'll be no witch, but she'll be drowned all the same.'

Luce began to shiver.

‘Don't I wish I were there!' said Betsy. ‘Why, if we've got one witch among us, then we may have others, and if we have, then we should look for them. It don't do to have witches round us. No wonder Charlie's father lost a whole litter of pigs last month. He says 'twas witches' work, and we ought to find them, if they do be among us.'

They were silent.

Darkness fell and the stars came out; there was a thin rind
of moon to shed a little light through the diamond panes of the window. They could not sleep, and at last Betsy began to talk of the Spaniards.

‘They come to the towns and burn down the houses and ravish the maidens. Well, we couldn't be blamed for that, could we? But some says they ain't human. ‘Tain't whores they do want to make of us girls, but Catholics. They give you the scourge and put on the thumbscrews and hang you up by your wrists; and if you was to turn Catholic before they burn you, they strangle you first. If you don't, they just roast you alive. Listen. Can you hear those voices? That's them with Granny Lackwell.' She leaped up and went to the window. ‘We couldn't climb out of this window, could we? But if that door was unlocked, I'd be out. I'd be down them stairs. Wouldn't you, Luce? Wouldn't it be worth a bit of trouble to see what they're doing to old Granny Lackwell?'

Luce nodded and Betsy began to giggle. She danced to the door.

‘Why,' she said, ‘if that door was unlocked, I'd open it and walk out . . . right down them stairs . . .'

She broke off. She had turned the handle and the door opened, for Mistress Alton had forgotten to lock it.

Half a mile or so from the big house and the cottages of Pennicomquick some fifteen men and ten women were gathered around an old woman. The light from a flare or two showed the clearing among the trees, and in this clearing was a pond of stagnant water. The faces of these people looked fantastic in the glow; lust of the hunt burned in their eyes, and mingling with it was a gleam of righteousness which made them enjoy their cruelty the more. The Church of England no less than the Church of Rome denounced all witches and sentenced them to ignoble death.

Women were whispering together: ‘I did see the smoke coming out of her chimney today. It did rise in shapes like serpents. 'Twas no ordinary smoke. 'Twas evil she was brewing in her cauldron, I'm sure.'

‘That cat of hers, 'tis no ordinary cat. 'Tis her familiar and she suckles it. We'll see her float, mark my words.'

‘And if her floats, what then?'

‘What the law won't do for us we must do for ourselves. To the gibbet with her.'

They were tying up the old woman now in the traditional manner – her wrists to her ankles; they were attaching a rope about her waist so that they could pull her out of the water and if possible prevent her drowning. They were eager to prove her a witch and hang her on the gibbet.

The poor old creature was moaning softly; a trickle of saliva ran from her lips; she was bemused with fear. She crouched on the grass, stark naked, her withered body seeming inhuman in the light from the flares. They had found a big wart on her back and had declared this to be the Devil's mark, so that there was ample justification for putting to the test one so branded.

The old woman's cat was mewing piteously. They had intended that he should follow his mistress into the water, and a stone was being tied about his neck; he scratched and clawed at his tormentors with what they were certain was more venom than could be displayed by an ordinary cat.

‘Send the cat off first,' cried a man. ‘Who knows? It might have powers to help the witch.'

This the crowd agreed to do, and the cat was flung into the pond. It went to the bottom immediately.

‘Now,' cried Mistress Alton, who was well to the fore. ‘No more delay. Now for the witch. Tom Hurly, you'd better say a word or two before we does it, to show the real reason why we feel we've got to act.'

Tom Hurly, a talkative man, was quite prepared to speak.

‘We'll ask the blessing of God,' he said, ‘for we know, every one of us, that 'tis His will we should down the Devil and all his friends. Oh Lord, let not this witch escape Thy Vengeance. Let her be shown for what she is by the test of water. Let not the work of Thine enemy Satan come to her aid. If she floats, then Lord, we'll hang her – with Thy help – on the witches gibbet. If she sinks we'll know her for innocent. In Thy Name we seek Thy Help in purging this our land from the Evil One.'

Mistress Alton cried: ‘Come on, friends. In the Name of the Lord.'

With a howl of triumph, her persecutors crowded in on the
old woman, trying to hustle her to her feet. She could not stand, trussed as she was, and could only crouch on all fours, like an animal in pain.

And then, suddenly, into their midst came Richard Merriman. His presence was so unexpected that the men stopped what they were doing to take off their caps or pull their forelocks, while the women curtsied.

Richard looked with distaste at the naked woman and from her to her persecutors.

‘You were making such a devil of a row,' he said. ‘So it's a witch hunt.'

‘Well, sir,' said Tom Hurly the spokesman, ‘this Granny Lackwell, she be a witch, sir . . .'

‘Oh come, Hurly – just a wretched old woman, I am sure.'

‘No, sir. Not she . . .'

They all began to talk at once.

‘My little Jane was took sick with fits, sir, when the old woman looked at her.'

‘Every pig in a litter lost . . .'

Richard stood there; very elegant he looked in his elaborate breeches slashed and puffed and decorated with gold lace; his doublet was cut in the Italian fashion – dazzling in its richness.

‘You disturbed me,' he said, ‘with your howling and shouts. As for the woman, she is no witch. I tell you she is a helpless old woman. Does anyone of you dare to contradict me? Let me tell you that it is not for such as you to take the law into your hands. Untie the ropes, Tom, and one of you take off your gown and wrap it about her. Mistress Alton, I would have thought you might have been looking to your duties rather than mingling with such fools. The two girls should not be allowed to creep out at this hour to witness such things. I am sorry that you do not take better care of them. The rest of you . . . have done with this folly. Take the woman back to her home. If you look for occupation, some of you might keep watch on the sea. What if the Spaniards should land while you waste your time tormenting an old woman?'

They obeyed him, since it would not have occurred to them to do otherwise. They had always obeyed Mr Merriman as their forebears had obeyed his.

Richard had no doubt that his orders would be carried out. He walked away.

Poor old woman! he thought. A witch? Well, he had saved her life tonight, but he doubted not that they would murder her one day. She was marked as a witch and it was a sad fate that awaited such a woman. He had been watching them tonight for longer than they realized. They interested him with their superstitions and their cruelty; it seemed to him that the two went often hand in hand.

He smiled, thinking of the two girls. They would be severely punished for this, and so they should be. But he suspected Betsy was the ringleader in this little adventure. Luce had not enjoyed it as her companion had. There was a different quality about Luce.

The uneasy weeks were passing. June had come, bringing with it the fiercest winds that could be remembered for the time of year. Southwesterly gales were keeping the English fleet laid up in harbour, and the stores promised by the Queen and her Council in London had failed to arrive.

Sir Humphrey rode over from Stoke with his son Bartle to call on his friend in Pennicomquick.

Sir Humphrey was the acknowledged father of one boy – Bartle, who was six years old – and was the suspected father of many another child who pulled a forelock and scraped a leg or bobbed a greeting as it stood back from the pounding hoofs of Sir Humphrey's mare. Sir Humphrey was not displeased by the numerous progeny which were put to his account; and if his lady had given him only one son, that was surely a fault to be laid at her door, not his.

He enjoyed life; he was afraid of nothing so long as he understood it – and war, bloodshed and violence he understood perfectly; it was the supernatural which alarmed him. He would face any man with a sword or a blunderbuss; but witches worked in the dark; they attacked a man with a plague or a pox. He was talking of witches to Bartle as they rode over.

Bartle – even at six – was a boy of whom a man such as Sir Humphrey could be proud. He was tall for his years, fair-haired, rosy-cheeked and blue-eyed. He had his mother's looks
and his father's spirit. He would be one for the women and the wine of life which was adventure.

Bartle could never hear enough of his father's exploits at sea. He would run his hands over the golden ornaments which his father had brought back from Peru and Hispaniola. He would wrap about him the rich cloth filched from the Spaniards, and he would strut. He was a man in the making.

There was no danger of the boy turning out to be a scholar; his blue eyes were already turned towards the sea.

They had passed the Lackwell cottage and Sir Humphrey had called out to the boy not to look that way.

‘That old woman could put a spell on you, boy. She could turn you from the healthy man you are going to be into a poxy go-by-the-ground . . . or even into a womanish scholar like our friend Merriman.'

‘I wouldn't mind that, sir, for I should then be able to please my tutor. I'd get through my tasks and not waste so much time on 'em.'

‘Don't say that, boy. That's tempting the Devil. Stay as you are, and don't give too much thought to your tasks. Just get the way to read and write, and the manners of a gentleman. That's all such as you and me want, boy.'

‘Look!' cried the boy. ‘There are ships in the Channel. Over there . . . Bolt Head way . . .'

Sir Humphrey drew up his mare. She stood obedient while he strained his bloodshot eyes, cursing them because they were not so sharp as the boy's.

‘There, Father, look! One . . . two . . . three . . . Oh, sir, the Spaniards have come. Let us go to the town. I could do something. I could . . .'

‘Be silent, boy. Come on.'

They galloped, their hearts beating fast – relief, even joy, showing in their faces.

‘The Spaniards have come!' shouted Sir Humphrey. ‘Out of your houses . . . you oafs . . . you lazy dogs! Now you will have a taste of a fight. By God, my sword will be red before this day is out.'

Men, women and children came running from their cottages. Sir Humphrey pointed seawards and rode on.

Richard had come out to meet them. His face was calm and he was smiling in what Sir Humphrey often referred to as that ‘plaguey superior way of his'.

‘The Spaniards!' cried Sir Humphrey. ‘By Christ, man, they're here at last.'

Richard continued to smile. ‘Nonsense, Cavill. It is only the victualling ships from Tilbury.'

‘By . . . God!' cried Sir Humphrey.

‘'Tis so, sir,' shouted Bartle. ‘I can see the red cross of England.'

Richard laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. ‘So eager, then, for bloodshed? Come into the house for a glass of wine.'

BOOK: Daughter of Satan
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