Daughter of Satan (10 page)

‘Good people,' he said, ‘the Devil has taken this woman. It has pleased him to cheat us of justice.' He turned his eyes on Luce, who was cowering against the wall. He continued to stare at her.

Someone in the crowd peering in at the door began to whisper.

‘Didn't Luce Lackwell . . . you remember . . . Wasn't it said? . . .'

Simon Carter, his ears as sharp as his eyes for the hunting of a witch, had swung round.

‘What was that, dear friend? The woman there . . .'

A woman was pushed forward. ‘Well, 'twas said . . . I couldn't swear to the truth of it . . . but 'twas said . . .'

‘Come. Speak up, woman dear,' begged Simon. ‘Remember your duty to God and your country.'

‘'Twas the woman Luce Lackwell . . .' She pointed at Luce. ‘'Twas said she were took by the Devil . . .'

Simon had turned to Luce, his mouth curved in a hopeful leer.

‘This woman?' He lifted Luce's hair from her face and peered into her eyes. ‘You cannot hide it from me. I have seen it in your eyes. There is the guilt. So 'twas you, woman, witch woman, who raised the spell that sent yon older witch to the Devil her master? Come, my men, search for the mark. I'll warrant you we'll find it in some secret place, for she is a woman of secrets, this one.'

Luce screamed as they tore off her clothes. In a few seconds they had her naked before them.

Tamar could not bear this. She had to get out of the cottage – not so much because escape was imperative to her safety, but because she could not bear to watch her mother's shame.

She sidled to the door, and so intent was the crowd on watching Luce and the prickers that they did not notice who she was or what she was doing until she had broken through them.

Someone said then: ‘That's the girl . . . the result of her mother's evil union. Don't let her go. She should have the test.'

Tamar ran as fast as she could; the thud of footsteps behind her terrified her, but she was fleeter than any of them and no one had any intention of missing the sight to be seen in the cottage.

At length it seemed that Tamar was free of them. The sun beat down on her and she felt sick and faint, gasping as she was to regain her breath. She did not know where to go until she remembered the stream which was in Richard Merriman's private grounds. She thought of this man now in her extreme need. Not that he had taken very much notice of her when he had seen her; but there had been something in his look which made it different from the looks he bestowed on other children of the place. A faint curving of the lips which might have been a smile. She had often been to his house and received food and clothes, and she guessed that Mistress Alton would not have given those to her if she had not been afraid of offending her master by refraining from so doing. She felt that this gentleman was in some way her friend, so she would hide herself on his land while she thought of something she might do.

She lay down by the stream, cupping the water in her hands and splashing it over her heated face. She listened for the slightest sound, but all was quiet, and when it began to grow dark she hid herself among the bushes and slept.

She awoke at dawn and her longing for food was almost more than she could bear. Wild plans for returning to the cottage came to her, but with them came also the memory of those men who had done shameful things to her mother; she saw the lustful faces of the watchers.

She could not go back to the cottage. Then a wild idea came to her.

There were occasions on summer days when Richard Merriman walked in his garden. This was usually in the late afternoon. Once she had climbed the big oak tree against which she now leaned and she had seen him; after that she had often looked for him and seen him – always at the same hour.

If he came today, could she go and ask him to help her? He had saved her life when the children had thrown her into the pond, so perhaps now he would help her to escape from the pricker. Of course it might be that he would hand her to those men, but she did not think so; he hated unpleasantness, and those men, and what they did to women, were unpleasant. She was desperate, for she could not stay here without food much longer, and she could think of no one else whose help she could ask.

How much happier she felt now that she had a plan! First she would wash herself and her garments, for if she were going to ask such a favour of him it would not do to offend him by her smell.

She looked at the sky and guessed that by the time her clothes were dry it would also be the time for him to take his walk. She took off her gown – she wore nothing beneath it – and tried to rub it clean in the stream. It was not very satisfactory, but was the best she could do. She spread it out on the grass and washed herself.

She lay in the sun, her wet hair spread around her, and thought of what she would say to him. Perhaps she would hide behind the bushes in his garden and call to him and, when he was close, whisper: ‘I am in danger. The witch-pricker is after me. You saved me once. Will you save me again?'

She was sure he could hide her if he wished to, because he was more powerful than anyone she knew; and she believed that he would help her because of the way his lips curled when he glanced at her.

And sitting there, ruminating, she did not hear footsteps approaching until it was too late; then turning she saw, with a horror that numbed her, that between her and her gown spread out on the grass stood Bartle Cavill.

She felt her heart stop and go racing on. There was something in his look which horrified her even as she had been horrified when those men had laid their hands on her mother. Lust had shown in the faces of those men who had looked on her mother's nakedness; the same lust was looking out of those dazzling blue eyes now.

‘Well met!' said Bartle with a mocking bow.

She did not move; she tried to cower behind the covering of her hair.

He took a step towards her, the lust deepening in his eyes.

‘I have just visited my neighbour – rather a prosy bore. I did not know that such a charming encounter awaited me.'

‘Keep away!' she said.

‘That I declare I won't. It's Tamar, is it not? The witch's girl! By God, you are a beauty without your rags, Tamar.'

‘Stay where you are . . . or I will put a spell on you.'

‘If you have such powers, why are you so scared, Tamar?'

He caught her arm and she tried to spring up; but he pulled her down and they rolled over and over on the grass. He was panting and laughing.

‘You were waiting for me!' he said. ‘Yes, you slut, you were. I declare! What immodesty! You trespassed on Merriman's land. Do you know you could be hanged for that?' He tried to kiss her, but she was wriggling madly. ‘Damn me, if I won't have you hanged for trespass. But no! You waited for me. That was a pretty thing to do. And you took your clothes off. Really, Tamar, it was no use trying to hide yourself with all this beautiful hair . . . You have been a most immodest creature . . .' He yelled suddenly, for she had dug her teeth into his hand. ‘So you would bite me, eh? It will be the worse for you if you try those tricks . . .'

She spat out his blood.

‘I hate you . . . I hate . . .'

‘Keep still, you little Devil's imp. Keep still.'

With all her strength she kicked him wildly, but the kick went home; she scratched his face and, seizing his nose, she twisted it as though she would wrench it off.

He cursed her, but momentarily she had the advantage, for her violence had had the effect of making him loosen his hold
of her. She was up. He caught her ankle, but she swung herself free. Her chance had come. She picked up her gown and sped across the grass in the direction of the cultivated gardens. She had had a good start and she reached them first. Relief filled her heart then, for there, examining his shrubs, was Richard Merriman.

Panting, she threw herself against him.

‘Save me!' she cried. ‘Save me!'

Bartle had pulled up and stood still, breathing heavily and looking like an angry and frustrated bull, while Tamar buried her face in Richard's coat.

‘What the devil's this?' began Richard. But there was no need of explanations. One look at Bartle was sufficient to see what he was after, and the child was none other than Luce Lackwell's girl, for whom the witch-pricker was making a search.

‘Don't let him . . . get me . . .' panted Tamar. ‘Don't let him . . . please . . . Hide me.'

‘Why have you come back, Bartle?' said Richard, trying to gain time, wondering what he was going to do with the child.

‘I found her on your ground . . . trespassing, the young devil! She was lying naked on the grass. She saw me come here and she knew I'd go back that way. She was waiting for me.'

‘I wonder why she took such pains to wait for you and then run away?' said Richard lightly.

‘He lies!' cried Tamar.

‘Put your gown on, girl,' said Richard; and he put her from him.

She blushed and stood behind him while she put on the damp gown.

‘Pray, sir,' said Bartle with an attempt at a swagger, ‘there is no need for you to look so shocked. I doubt if I'd have been the first.'

‘You lie!' flashed Tamar.

‘The girl repulsed you – that much is evident,' said Richard. ‘I wish you would not bring your buccaneering manners into my gardens.'

‘It was just a bit of sport,' said Battle sullenly.

‘And after you had had your sport, I suppose you would have handed her over to the witch-pricker.'

‘Good God, no! I should naturally have hidden her.'

‘Providing she had been your willing slave! That was your noble plan, I doubt not.'

‘Oh, she would have been well enough. If she is a virgin, as she protests she is, that state would not have lasted long. And why should not I have been the first?'

Richard looked down at Tamar. ‘Do not tremble so,' he said.

‘Give her to me, sir,' said Bartle. ‘I swear I'll hide her. I'll put her somewhere where she can't be found till Simon Carter has gone.'

‘
No!
' cried Tamar.

‘She seems to be as much afraid of you as of Simon Carter. You have been guilty of most discourteous and ungentlemanly behaviour.'

‘Damme, sir, the girl would have been all right. A little reluctance at first is natural. Many's the time I've found it so, and then it's all hell let loose to turn them off.'

‘I repeat that you have been unmannerly. Would you like a chance to mend your ways? You know how distasteful to me is the violence of low-born creatures such as this man Carter. Moreover, this one is only a child. I do not think she should be handed over to the pricker.'

‘I have no wish to hand her over.' His mouth curled as he gazed on Tamar's flushed face. ‘I can think of more pleasant ways for dealing with such a little beauty.'

‘Don't be afraid,' said Richard, looking down at Tamar. ‘He is a strutting coxcomb who has recently discovered that he is a man and yearns to prove it on every conceivable occasion. Let's, forgive him, for now we need his help. Go to the front door, Bartle, engage Alton in conversation and see that you keep her so engaged while I slip up the back staircase with the girl.'

‘With all my heart, sir.'

‘And in five minutes come to my study.'

Bartle swaggered off, but not before he had thrown a sly
glance at Tamar which seemed to say, ‘You have not seen the last of me!'

‘Now,' said Richard, looking down at her, ‘do not speak. Walk behind me, try to make sure you are hidden. Let us hope none from the house has seen this pretty scene from a window.'

She followed him to a door at the back. He looked inside, turned and nodded; then swiftly and silently he led the way through a dark passage to the back stairs; they mounted these and were soon in his study.

There was kindness in his eyes as he looked at her.

‘You are exhausted, child,' he said. ‘When did you last eat?'

‘It was before the pricker came to the cottage.'

‘Don't be afraid. I will ring for my personal servant. Josiah Hough is a good and obedient man. You need fear nothing from him.'

She watched him with wondering eyes as he pulled the bell rope. He seemed godlike to her, all-powerful, kind but in an aloof way, completely incomprehensible.

Josiah appeared; he made no show of surprise at the sight of Tamar in his master's study.

‘Bring food and wine at once, Josiah,' said Richard. ‘If any should ask whom it is for, say it is for me. But be quick.'

‘Yes, sir.'

The door .shut on him and Richard turned to Tamar. ‘You are in grave danger, child. I will not attempt to minimize it, because you know full well what it means if this witch-pricker gets you. I am going to hide you.'

‘You are a good man,' she said.

He laughed. ‘Nay,' he said; ‘that is not so. It is not kindness in me. No matter. You tremble still. It is because you think of that young oaf. Think of him merely as a lusty young man – that is all. He can be trusted not to betray you. I shall not leave you alone with him. I trust his honour in all things but those in which his manly lusts are concerned. If he gives a promise, he will keep it.'

Josiah came in with the tray, and when he had gone Richard made her sit at the table. She had never sat at such a table before, and she rubbed her finger wonderingly along its
smooth surface. She stared about the room and dropped her eyes to the carpet. She had never imagined a carpet, though she had once heard her mother talk of carpets. Everything was strange, like a daydream, but she was not afraid; as long as he was near her she would not be afraid.

There was a knock on the door and Richard let in Bartle.

Bartle looked at her, but she kept her eyes downcast and began ravenously to eat the food; she found that once she had started she could not care for anything else – not even if the witch-prickers were at the door or Bartle in pursuit.