Daughter of Satan (28 page)

Humility, who was sharing her room, hoping for a fourth child, begged her to rest; but she would not rest. She paced up and down the room.

In the early morning, as soon as dawn began to show over
Bolt Head, she dressed and went out. That was how it came about that it was Tamar who brought Jane back to the house.

Jane was hardly recognizable as the girl who had left the house yesterday. Her face was red and swollen – blistered and burned. Her bodice had been ripped off her shoulders and there were angry scars on her neck and chest. Across her back were burns which may have been made with a poker or a bar of red-hot metal. Tamar could not believe that this was Jane until the girl spoke.

Feeling sick with anger and indignation, Tamar picked up the girl and carried her back to the house, for Jane was in a state of collapse; she had come within a quarter of a mile of the house, but could drag herself no further.

The gentleness of Tamar's hands were a vivid contrast to her angry, flashing eyes. She knew that a cruel and wicked revenge had been taken on an innocent girl.

Jane regained consciousness only to swoon with her pain. Her fair, once lovely, hair had been burned away at one side of her head. She murmured: ‘They made me say . . . They made me say . . .' And then she would slip into unconsciousness.

Tamar took Jane to her room, and, waking Humility, made him get out of the bed, on which she laid the suffering girl.

Humility stared at Jane. ‘What has happened to her?'

‘They have tortured her. Oh, for the love of God, don't start praying now. Get Richard and get Annis. Tell her to bring warm water . . . and some wine to revive her. Quickly . . . Quickly. This is no time for prayers, but for action.'

Jane was moaning softly in her agony.

‘Oh, dear Jane,' murmured Tamar while the tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I will save you. I will ease your pain.'

Richard came in and stared at the girl. ‘Good God!' he cried. ‘What have they done to her? I will send a groom for a doctor at once.'

‘I have the ointments to heal these burns,' said Tamar. ‘They are as good as any doctor's. Where is Annis? Oh . . . Annis . . . water . . . warm water . . . and my box of ointments.'

‘I will see that the doctor is called at once,' said Richard; but Tamar laid a hand on his arm.

‘We do not yet know the full meaning of this. She muttered something as I carried her in . . . something about a witch. If possible . . . let no one know she is here. I tell you I can do more for her than any doctor.'

Annis, her eyes wide with horror, came in with the warm water and the ointments.

‘She
must
have a doctor,' said Richard. ‘The girl is near death.'

‘I saved Lorea, did I not? I tell you I know more than doctors.'

Richard could see that there was little a doctor could do for Jane except soothe her burns, and that Tamar's ointments and lotions would do equally well. There had been some treacherous work here, and the fact that Jane had mentioned witches gave a clue to what had been done to her . . . and with what excuse.

Jane moaned softly while the wounds were bathed and Tamar applied the ointments. Wine was forced between Jane's lips; and Annis was bidden to tear up linen so that Tamar might bind the wounds.

Tamar and Annis sat up with Jane, for Tamar refused to have anyone with her but Annis. She wanted Annis' absolute belief in her ability to cure the girl – a belief which the others would not feel; and this lack of belief, Tamar felt, might thwart her success. She felt that, given an atmosphere of confidence and her herbs and ointments, together with magical words, she could carry this thing successfully through.

Soon after Jane had been found, a story was circulating about her. Jane Swann was a witch. She had admitted it. The respected merchant, desolate at losing his good name and his position in the town, had, with the concurrence of some of his friends, captured the girl and questioned her. One or two accepted tests were forced upon her, and after a while she broke down and confessed ‘the truth'.

The merchant – according to this story – had not been in the woods that day. His wife had testified to that. There were others ready to testify. It was said that Jane Swann was in the habit of going into the woods, where she behaved in a very
lewd fashion with her familiar – a devil. This devil was at times invisible, but, like all such devils, could change into any shape he chose. One woman swore that on another occasion, as she had walked through the copse, she had seen a girl whom she now believed to have been Jane Swann lying in the grass naked from the waist down, and by her lewd motions it was clear that the girl was having sexual connexion with an invisible creature. The woman had watched, and after a while had seen a shape, formed in smoke above the girl, which disappeared into the sky. The girl then got up, rearranged her clothes most demurely and walked away. On this tragic occasion the two boys had seen what the woman had seen; and the girl, knowing that it was too late to hide herself – she had, of course, been unaware that she had been watched before – had pleaded with her familiar for help; whereupon he had changed himself into the shape of the merchant, and, after he was sure that the boys had recognized him as such, had made off. Then the girl told her tale of force and violence. Of course she had seemed stunned! Of course there were bruises! Was she not, on her own confession, a witch? Why, after the confession, she had flown off on a broomstick. There were many who swore they had seen her flying through the sky.

Such was the lying tale which had been put about, and that had restored the merchant's honour.

Richard had already warned Mistress Alton that she would be turned out immediately if she told anyone of Jane's presence in the house. It was thus possible to keep the whole neighbourhood – with the exception of the girl's parents – ignorant of where she was.

After a few weeks of Tamar's nursing, young Jane had recovered from the terrible shock sufficiently to tell the full story of that night of brutality.

Her enemies had watched her leave the house, had stunned her and taken her to a cottage in the town. Here she was made to sit before a fire; her bodice was torn from her back and a red-hot poker applied while she was ordered to confess the story which had been prepared for her.

She was, in spite of the awful agony, able to withstand the
torture; it was only when they forced her face downwards on to the fire that she had shrieked for mercy and had given way.

There had been a man present who had taken down her confession in writing, which she had had to repeat at the dictation of her tormentors.

She had become unconscious when they had left her lying on the floor. They intended, she had gathered, to take her in the morning to the Hoe, to proclaim her wickedness to the world and hang her. Believing her to be half dead already, they had taken no precaution against an escape; but after an hour or so, Jane's young body had somewhat recovered. She prayed for strength, and, feeling that anything was preferable to the ordeal she would have to face on the morrow if she stayed there, had managed to stumble to the door. She was surprised to find that she only had to unlatch this and walk out. And this she did, for the man who had been set to guard her had drunk heavily and was snoring loudly.

It had taken her many hours to crawl towards Pennicomquick, tortured as she was by the cold air making her wounds smart; and it was only her belief in the divine assistance for which she had prayed that enabled her to cling to consciousness as long as she did.

Tamar's one thought was of revenge. She longed to confront that evil man with his sins. But Richard argued with her until he made her see that her interference could only make matters worse for Jane. To let it be known that Jane was safe was to condemn her to the gibbet.

‘Oh, Tamar,' he said, ‘the times in which we live are dangerous ones . . . violent and dangerous. Think of the injustice of this! A poor Puritan maiden, wandering in the woods . . . and that to happen to her!' He was silent suddenly, staring before him. ‘Your mother . . .' he went on quietly, ‘she . . . wandered in the woods one night; she was seduced by one no better than this merchant . . . and that night her feet were set on a path that led her to the gallows. Who am I to condemn others!'

Tamar went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You were not as this man,' she said. ‘You were thoughtless,
careless . . . He is wicked. I will not have you compare yourself with him. Oh, Richard, when I think of what has happened to Jane . . . I want . . . I want to go away. I think of those men and women who sailed from here on that ship. The
Mayflower
, was it not? Think of the dangers they must have faced. Spaniards . . . pirates . . . violence . . . But Richard, if they reached a new country – a country where this which has happened to Jane could not happen . . . then was it worth while.'

‘Yes,' he agreed, ‘that would be worth while.'

‘Richard, you too are beginning to think of escape. Yes, I see you are. To a land where meeting houses are not burned down, where innocent girls are not treated brutally.'

They said no more at the time; but that tragic affair was the beginning of Richard's change of mind.

There was continual talk of witches now. Someone saw old Sally Martin at her cottage door talking earnestly to her cat; another saw Maddy Barlow suckling a rabbit. Smoke was seen coming from chimneys, forming itself into shapes of devils. No one dared pick any wild grasses and plants which were well-known remedies for certain ailments. If they were seen picking these things it was very likely that they would be accused of witchcraft. There were furtive glances everywhere. No one was safe from suspicion – neither men, women nor children. Tom Lee, the blacksmith's boy, said, after he had recovered from a fit, that he had been walking in the copse near the Hurly farm when he met an old woman who cursed him before she turned into a dog and ran away. He had clearly been overlooked, said his parents. By whom?

‘There is a big witch community among us,' it was whispered. ‘Who knows who these witches are? Children are not safe from their parents, parents from their children; husbands and wives may have the Devil between them.'

One day Betsy Hurly, coming to see her daughter, with whom – now that Annis was a wife and mother – she had become reconciled, saw Jane Swann at the window of Tamar's room. Betsy slyly said nothing of what she had seen, but went out of the house and spread the story all round the place.

The news spread like fire in the wind. Jane Swann was at the
house of Richard Merriman. She was in that room which was occupied by Tamar Brown.

Betsy could not stop talking. ‘My dear, she couldn't hide that she was a witch. Awful she looked. I see her yellow hair showing from under a bandage. Nobody ain't got hair quite Jane Swann's colour. There she was at the window. And what's more . . . I did see
her
. . . Tamar herself . . . gathering herbs . . . her hair wild like as she do love to show it. Muttering she were as she picked the devil's plants.'

It was felt that something had to be done and, once more, as had happened years ago when Tamar was fourteen years old, a group of people marched on to the house of Richard Merriman to take a witch. And once more Richard spoke to them; but on this occasion Humility Brown stood beside him.

‘Good people,' said Richard, ‘it is true that Jane Swann is here. We have nursed her back to health. You know she was forced in the copse, and you know by whom. She was then taken and most cruelly tortured. We are trying to nurse this poor sick girl back to health. I beg of you to go away and leave us in peace.'

They murmured together.

‘How do we know he ain't a witch? There be witches among gentry . . .'

‘Where be the other one, the black-haired witch? She be the one we ought to be bothering ourselves with.'

Then Humility spoke: ‘Friends, I see among you some who have prayed with me. I have prayed with this poor girl and I believe her story to be true. You know, my friends, that if there were a witch in this house,
I
should know it, and know also my duty, which would be to hand this witch over to you. And do you doubt that, however painful my duty, it would be done?'

There was a short silence. Then a voice said: ‘You be bewitched, minister. You married a witch.'

Humility's eyes flashed wrath. ‘Purge yourself of your desire to see violence!' he cried, pointing to the man who had spoken. ‘Ask yourselves this: “Does the sight of blood please us?” If you look into your hearts and answer that question truthfully, then, friends, you will know that your chances of
salvation are slight indeed. I would beg of you to pray with me . . . to ask that your sins may be forgiven. This girl, Jane Swann, was cruelly handled by her ravisher. I saw her with my own eyes when she was brought in by the boys. Peter! George! Stand forth and bear witness. You saw the girl bruised and stunned. Did you not?'

The boys came forward. They said: ‘Yes, Mr Brown, we saw her.'

‘Thank you, George. Thank you, Peter. And these good people think you were deceived, boys. But
I
saw also. That is what they forget. The Devil might deceive
you
into thinking you saw bruises, but would God allow His servant to be so deceived? Nay, the Devil has power, but he is like a man in chains before the strength of Almighty God. If any of you think aught evil goes on in this house, then take me, for I have deceived you, friends. Take me and crucify me on the nearest tree. Drive the nails into my flesh . . . into my hands, through my feet. Cry, “Crucify him!” And give me vinegar and gall to drink. Ah, my friends, would that I were worthy of such a death!'

He went on weaving spells through his words, at which the crowd grew quiet, and some wept, while others fell on their knees. And what had begun by being a demand for a girl's life had by his magic oratory been turned into a prayer meeting.