Daughter of Satan (17 page)

She was trembling, for the guests were arriving, and among the first were Sir Humphrey and Lady Cavill with their son Bartle.

Sir Humphrey's eyes admired Tamar; Lady Cavill kissed her in that half fearful way which Tamar was accustomed to; Bartle bowed over her hand, his eyes brilliant, shining with that blue fire which lit them whenever they fell upon her.

Haughtily she turned from him and talked to Sir Humphrey.

Other guests were arriving – all the gentry within riding distance. Richard had decided that Tamar's first ball should be worthy of his daughter.

When the guests had danced and were eating the rich foods which had been prepared for them – venison and pies with clotted cream, roast meats of all varieties, to be washed down with wine and ale – morris dancers appeared with gay ribbons in their garments and bells attached to their legs, and they performed before the guests to the playing of musicians in the gallery.

Tamar was gay that night. She told herself it would have been a perfect evening but for the presence of Bartle. When he tried to speak to her she eluded him, and it delighted her to see how this angered him. Deliberately she coquetted with a tall and handsome young man whose large estates lay alongside the Plym. That young man was so fascinated by his beautiful hostess that he asked her to marry him. Then she
was immediately sorry, for she had not wished to tease him – only to escape from Bartle.

But close on midnight, when the great fire in the centre of the hall had burned low and some of the guests were half asleep on their stools, indolent with too much rich food and wine, Bartle cornered her. She leaned against the oak panelling of the wall and studied him insolently. He was handsome enough in his swaggering way; his face was red and his eyes had never seemed so blue.

‘What Devil's game do you think you're playing with me?' he demanded.

She lifted her hand to brush his aside, but he caught her in a grip which hurt.

‘Release me at once or I'll have you thrown out,' she retorted.

‘It would be wise if you did not goad me too far, as you have been doing this night,' he warned.

‘I . . . goad you? I can assure you that no one could have been farther from my thoughts this night . . . than you!'

‘That's a lie and a poor one.'

‘You have a high conceit of yourself.'

‘I wonder, does it match yours?'

His eyes explored her face and rested on her bare bosom. She flushed hotly.

‘Tamar,' he said, ‘why put off what must certainly come to you?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You surely have not forgotten that I made a vow concerning you?'

‘Alas for you and your vows! I am not a poor child whom nobody cares for now. You would have to answer to Richard.'

‘Not if you came to me of your own free will.'

‘You would wait a long time for that!'

He brought his face close to hers.

‘My dear Tamar, I do not intend to wait. I shall be leaving England in a week. Before that day I shall have what I have long desired.'

‘You talk without sense.'

‘We shall see.'

‘If you dared to try to do to me what you tried once before, I would have no hesitation in killing you.'

‘But how would you manage that?'

‘I should find myself unable to surprise you if I told you that.'

‘I believe that you have the Devil in you.'

‘That is the first thing of sense you have said to me tonight.'

‘But,' he went on, ‘there will be no forcing. It shall be of your own free will – I promise you that.'

‘Oh? And have you fixed a day for this voluntary surrender?'

‘The day – or night – does not matter, but it shall be before I leave. That I have determined on.'

She tried to remain calm, but she was uneasy, and she knew that he was aware of it. She forced herself to laugh, but her laughter was stilled abruptly when he said: ‘Simon Carter is in Plymouth. The witch-pricker has returned.'

‘Well?' She knew she had turned pale.

‘That frightens you, does it not? Well, it might! What if I go to him? What if I tell him that I have seen you making spells? What if I tell him I have seen you changing to a hare?'

‘You would be a liar, and that would not help
you
, would it?'

‘He would come to you, Tamar. Nothing Richard could do would prevent your being searched. Remember when you were on the point of being searched and pricked before, the only charge against you was your mother's statement that the Devil was your father. Richard declared
he
was, and therefore there was naught against you. But if you had been seen weaving spells . . . consorting with your familiar . . .'

‘You . . . beast!'

‘I would be kind, if you would but be kind to me. Tamar, why should I want to betray you? It would not be once or twice with me. I know that. To look at you tells me that.'

‘So,' she said, her lips trembling, ‘you can pick a bedfellow as Simon Carter can pick a witch!'

‘Leave your window open. I know which room is yours. I will come to you when the house is quiet. Then you need
have no fear. If any attacked you, if any said a word against: you, my sword would be ready to defend you . . . for ever, Tamar.'

She was staring at him in silent horror, and he went on insolently: ‘Why, I might even marry you. Richard thinks it is time you married, and he is prepared to be very generous towards the man who marries the witch he is pleased to call his daughter.'

‘I would rather die than marry you.'

‘You talk too lightly of death.'

‘Please let me go. I never want to see your face again.'

‘You have grown haughty. How will you like the indignity of the search? How will you like to have those foul men exploring your body? How will you like to hang on a gibbet?'

She said coldly, her eyes glittering: ‘I would prefer torture and death to what you suggest.'

He released her then.

His eyes followed her wherever she went for the rest of that evening; when he took his leave they mocked her. She saw his swaggering confidence; he was certain that she would give in to him.

He whispered to her: ‘Two days in which to come to a decision. No longer, I warn you. Time is precious.'

When Annis helped her to undress she made the girl talk of her love affair with John Tyler. She listened with close attention and plagued Annis into giving details which made the girl hang her head and blush.

Then she laughed aloud, dismissed Annis and, throwing herself on the bed, she drew the curtains, shutting herself in.

But she could not shut out the image of Bartle's blazing eyes. And when she slept she dreamed of his pulling aside the curtains and forcing himself upon her. Humility Brown too was in the dream: she forgot what part he had played in it.

A hundred times Tamar relived that day when she had heard the shouts of the people, with Simon Carter at their head, as they came to the house to take her.

Surely Bartle would not betray her to that man. Once he had helped Richard to hide her. But that was only because he
wanted her for himself. He was without pity; he was graceless; he was a boorish lecher; and how she hated him! He wished to treat her as he treated the native girls in those towns which he pillaged and burned. He was a buccaneer, a pirate, for all that he was considered one of King James' brave seamen.

Annis brought her a letter from him. Annis was all secret smiles. ‘Mistress, I have something for 'ee. 'Tis a note from a gentleman. He bid me give it to you and lose no time. He said 'twere important. Oh, mistress, what a handsome gentleman he be! The sort a woman would be powerless to resist. He gave me a kiss and said he'd warrant I was a pretty bedfellow to some lucky shepherd. I did feel myself shake, mistress, when he did lay his hands upon me.'

‘Be silent!' cried Tamar shrilly. ‘You are nothing more than a slut, Annis. If John went with another, you'd be to blame. And it would not surprise me greatly.'

‘Oh, mistress, you'll not take off the spell!'

‘Unless you mend your ways, I swear I will. Now give me the note and leave me. I wish to be alone.'

She read it through as soon as Annis had left her.

‘I must see you at once,' he had written. ‘It is important. Come to the garden and talk to me. I will wait in sight of the house, so, my chicken-hearted virgin, you need not be afraid. If you ignore this summons, you will be very sorry indeed. I am waiting now and it will not be wise to keep me waiting long. From him who is soon to be your lover.'

She went to her window. He was down there, and he looked up and waved impatiently. She saw Humility in the distance.

Hastily she went down.

Elegantly dressed, Bartle was strolling about the gardens. As she approached, he hurried towards her, bowed and kissed her hands.

‘Come into the enclosed garden,' he said. ‘That fellow will hear everything if we do not.'

She followed him, for she did not wish Humility to know of her predicament. Doubtless he would be pleased if he learned that the witch-pricker was about to be set on her trail.

The garden was secluded, surrounded by a high hedge, and bordering the paths were evergreens cut into fantastic shapes. Soon it would be spring and the first shoots in the flower beds were beginning to show themselves.

Bartle smiled at her mockingly.

‘So,' he said, ‘you spoke the truth. You would rather die than give yourself to me.'

She did not answer, but merely lifted her head and haughtily looked away from him. He took her by the shoulders and forced a rough kiss on her mouth. Her eyes blazed and she kicked him as she had once before. He ignored that, but he released her, though he stood barring her way at the gap in the evergreen hedge which was the only way in or out of the garden.

‘We did not come here to fight,' he said, ‘but to talk. Why, my dear Tamar . . .'

‘Not
your
Tamar! . . . Never yours!'

‘A little too soon perhaps. But this time tomorrow I shall call you my Tamar, and mayhap you will be glad to be so called.'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I can see no object in your detaining me here.'

‘That is because you are so hasty. You never wait to hear: you speak . . . without thinking. You give an opinion on my plans before you have heard them. If I married you, which I have told you I am quite prepared to do and for what reason, I should have to subdue that high temper of yours. I should have to mould you into a meek and loving wife.'

‘Don't dare to insult me thus. I wonder you are not afraid I shall bewitch you.'

‘If it had been possible for you to harm me, you would have done so ere this.'

‘Let me pass, or I shall call to the gardener to come to my rescue.'

‘What! That meek Puritan! If he dared oppose me I'd slit his throat – and he knows it. Listen sensibly, girl, to what I have to tell you. Tonight I shall come to your room. Leave your window open, as I shall come in that way.'

She flashed at him: ‘My window will be barred and bolted
tonight . . . and every night until that happy day when you sail away from Plymouth.'

‘I think, Tamar, that your window will be open tonight.'

‘Why so?'

‘You would rather die than give me what I ask, and you have proved that to me.'

‘And you have proved your words were idle. You were not going to set Simon Carter upon me. If you were, why have you not done so – as you threatened to do – by this time?'

‘Because I have vowed to have you for myself. You yourself are prepared to die rather than concede me what I ask. But are you prepared that others should die?'

‘What others?'

‘He who calls himself your father.'

‘I do not understand you.'

‘Do you not? What if I informed on Richard Merriman?'

‘You are completely mad. How could you? And why?'

‘The witch Luce said that the Devil was her lover. Richard says
he
was her lover. It is possible that he went to the meeting of witches – because it was at such a meeting that Luce was ravished . . . so she said. You, my beauty, were the result of that unholy union, as you know. I might suggest that Richard is a witch. I might suspect him and, having such suspicions, I should do my duty and go to the pricker and tell him of them. Let him find a mark . . . any mark . . . and I'll warrant that will be the end of Richard Merriman.'

‘You are vile and I loathe you!'

‘Yes. I knew you would. But if you will not love me, then must you be taken loathing me. It will be a change. Too many women have loved me to madness.'

‘You are a conceited villain.'

‘I know it well,' he mocked.

‘Bartle, you would not do this. You cannot mean it. He is your friend!'

‘Ah! Now you look at me with soft eyes. Now you plead. Tamar, witch or woman, I have sworn to have you. Never before have I had aught to do with witches, but you have been in my thoughts ever since I found you naked on the grass. I
am ready to do anything . . . anything . . . barter my soul for you if necessary.'

She felt tears starting to her eyes. ‘Let me go!' she cried.

He caught her arm as she tried to run past him.

‘Leave your window open tonight. I promise you such joy as you have never dreamed of.'

She ran past him and into the house.

She had gone to bed early. She had dismissed Annis, who was quite bewildered. Something ailed her mistress, she knew. Annis wondered what could ail one who had all that Tamar had. And now handsome Bartle Cavill was coming to woo her, and with those two, as Annis said to John Tyler, ‘'twould mean a marriage ring and a marriage bed, not a heap of hay in a barn.'

Tamar lay shivering. The door was locked and she had drawn the curtains about her bed; they stirred lightly in the breeze from the open window.

The decision had been made for her. He had threatened Richard, and for Richard's sake she must do this thing which was horrible and loathsome to her. It was worse than rape, because it would be done with a semblance of willingness.