It began in Vauxhall Gardens

by Plaidy, Jean, 1906-1993

  "Tell, my handsome. Tell Wenna. Caroline, my darling, tell Wenna."

  "You know everything, Wenna, don't you?" said Caroline.

  "Everything that concerns my lamb."

  "Wenna, there's no one else I could talk to about this."

  "Course there ain't. But there's Wenna. There's always Wenna. You'll be happier telling. What happened, dearie ? What happened, my queen?"

  "She wants him, you see, Wenna. She's doing all she can to get him, and he . . ."

  "Well, my little queen, there's things I could say about him, but let's admit betwixt ourselves he's like all the men . . . perhaps no better . . . perhaps no worse."

  "And she, Wenna, she's very pretty. She's more than pretty."

  "There's the devil in her."

  "Let's be fair. I don't think she means ..."

  "Not mean! She's been working for it. She looks at any, who'll be duped, with those great big eyes of hers. I never did like green ones. There's something of the devil in green eyes. I never yet knew any green-eyed person that hadn't got wickedness in them ..."

  "No, Wenna. That's not true."

  "You're too soft, my precious. You're too good and kind. You're like your mother."

  "I don't know whether she planned it, but he did . . . from the moment he saw that they could get away."

  112 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

  "What did happen? Tell Wenna."

  "There was trouble in Liskeard. It was outside Anna Quale's cottage. The mob was there and she took it upon herself to interfere with them."

  "She would!"

  "They didn't like it, Wenna, she being a foreigner."

  "The impudence! I wonder they didn't tear her limb from limb."

  "They might have done. But he was watching her and I was watching him. He was off his horse before any of us could do anything . . . and he looked as if he would have killed anyone who laid a hand on her. He got her on to her horse and they galloped away. It seemed some time before John and I realized what had happened. It could only have been for a second or two though. Then John said: 'We'd better go. . . .' And the people just parted and made way for us ... looking ashamed of themselves. It was because they knew who we were, I suppose. In any case, there was never any question of their touching us. We couldn't find those two, Wenna. We didn't know where they'd gone."

  "They gave 'ee the slip then. They gave 'ee the slip on purpose."

  "That was his intention."

  "Hers too. Depend upon it."

  "Then we came home and they came home. At least they came home not much more than half an hour after us."

  "Half an hour be long enough for mischief, and they wouldn't want to call attention to themselves."

  "Oh, Wenna, I'm so unhappy."

  "There, there, my dearie. Why don't 'ee tell him you've done with him?"

  "I can't, Wenna. I'll never be done with him."

  "Why, you could stay here and there'd be Wenna always to look after and comfort 'ee."

  "Wherever I go you'll be there to look after and comfort me."

  "I know. Bless 'ee for that. We'll never be parted, my little love. But he's not the one for you."

  "He is, Wenna. He is. There's one thing that frightens me. What if he is so much in love with her that he wants to marry her!"

  "Not he! Who be she then? Somebody's bastard! Oh yes, you can be shocked, my pretty, but that's what she be. I know it. Some light o' love had a baby she didn't want, and she be it. Master Fermor's a proud man. So be his family. They don't marry the likes of her, no matter how green their eyes be."

  "That sort of marriage has happened."

  "She'd need the devil and all his spells to bring it off. He ain't given no sign that he's thinking of backing out of marriage with you?"

  "No, Wenna."

  "Well, don't 'ee fret about that. You'll marry him, my love; and to my way of thinking, one man ain't much worse than another. You'll have trouble with him . . . like this day. You'll always have that sort of trouble. But we'll fight trouble when it comes. We'll fight it together. Wenna would die for you, my precious. Wenna would kill for you. If I had her here now I'd take her throat in my two hands and wring it like I would the neck of a chicken for the boiling pot."

  *'Oh, Wenna, you're a comfort to me."

  "Don't 'ee fret, my dear. Wenna's beside 'ee."

  Caroline was quiet then. She lay still with her eyes closed while Wenna thought of the slender neck in her strong hands, and the green eyes, wide with horror, staring dumbly, asking for mercy which should not be given.

  There was quietness throughout the house. In half an hour it would be midnight.

  In her room, Melisande waited, her cloak wrapped about her, her shoes in her hand.

  A board in the corridor creaked. Melisande was tense, listening.

  Cautiously she opened her door and a small plump figure glided in.

  Peg said: "Be you ready then, Mamazel?"

  "Yes, Peg."

  Peg whispered: "The back door be unbolted. Mrs. Soady said not to forget to bolt it when we did come in. We'll pick up- the food as we go out. 'Tis all ready. Come."

  They tiptoed downstairs, every now and then pausing to make sure that no one in the house was stirring; down the back staircase, through to the servants' hall, where they could breathe more freely, for if they awakened any of the servants that would be of no great importance as the adventure had the blessing of Mrs. Soady.

  Into the great stone kitchen they went, where two neat packages lay on the table.

  " 'Tis roast fowl," whispered Peg. "Tamson Trequint be terrible partial to roast fowl. Mrs. Soady said she'd give a beautiful spell for a wing or a bit of the breast. Now then ... be you ready?"

  "Yes," said Melisande.

  1(14 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

  "Then come on."

  Out through the back door they went.

  "Keep close to the house," whispered Peg, "just in case someone has heard and looks from the windows."

  But they had to cross the park.

  "Hurry," said Peg. "We must be there by midnight. That be terrible important. A midnight spell be the best you can have. More like to work ... so says Mrs. Soady; and her'd know, being a pellar."

  When they reached the high road, Melisande turned to look about her. The country was touched with the white magic of the moon; it cast a light path on the waters. The rocks looked like crouching giants; on the water there gleamed an occasional phosphorescent light, ghostly and fascinating.

  "What be looking at?" demanded Peg. "What be over there by the sea?"

  "It's so beautiful."

  "Oh, 'tis only the old sea."

  "But look at the shadows there."

  "Only they old rocks."

  "And the lights! Look! They come and go."

  "'Tis mackerel . . . nothing more. Them lights do mean we'll have mackerel the next few days . . . like as not. Come on. Do 'ee want a midnight spell, Mamazel, or did 'ee come out to look for mackerel?"

  It was eerie in the woods. Some of the trees gleamed silver like ghosts from another world, others were black and menacing like grotesque human shapes. Now and then there would be a movement in the undergrowth.

  "What be that?" cried Peg.

  "A rat? A rabbit?"

  "I've heard of people what comes out alone at night being carried off."

  "We're not alone."

  "No! I wouldn't have come out alone . . . not for a farm . . . not for roast fowl every day of my life. That I wouldn't. The Little People don't carry 'ee off in twos, so 'tis said. All the same, I be scared. Better say Jack o' lantern."

  Peg began in a trembling voice:

  "Jack o' Lantern, Joan the Wad, Who tickled the maid and made her mad, Light me home; the weather's bad ..."

  "But we do not want to be lighted home and the weather is not bad," pointed out Melisande.

  "Well, we dursen't say 'Light me to the witch's cave.' I don't know that piskies be terrible fond of witches. I do reckon we
might get pisky-led if we was alone. I'm terrible glad we'm not."

  They pushed on, and Peg screamed when a low branch caught her hair and she could not immediately extricate herself. They both felt that at any moment they would see hundreds of little figures making a ring round them, tickling them until they were mad, leading them away to regions below the earth. But Melisande was able to release Peg, and after that, they took to running; and they did not stop until they reached Tamson's hut.

  Wenna had heard the creaking of the stairs. Wenna slept lightly.

  Someone was creeping about the house, she decided.

  Wenna had her own ideas. She thought she knew. Wouldn't it be just like him? She reckoned that the wicked Mamazel, the daughter of Babylon, was creeping up to his room. She pictured the terrible deeds they would perform.

  What if she caught them together? That wouldn't do though. It would only bring sorrow to Miss Caroline. No! But she could go to the master with her tales.

  She went to the door of her room. She slept in the room next to Caroline's.

  Pray God, Miss Caroline don't wake, the poor lamb! she thought,

  She waited. There was no sound now. Had she been mistaken? Had she been dreaming? But she would keep a sharp look out, she would. One little slip and she'd be off to the master. He couldn't keep a harlot in his house . . . not one who was going to rob his legitimate daughter of a husband. But perhaps he was shameful enough for that! Hadn't he brought that woman's daughter into the house to live alongside Miss Caroline?

  She went back to her room, but as she was about to get into her bed she heard a sound from without. So, they were meeting out of doors. Why hadn't she thought of that!

  She was at her window. The lawn was bright with moonlight. She listened. Yes. Surely footsteps. If only she were down there! But they were keeping close to the house. Where were they off to to do their wickedness ? On the sweet pure grass! Let them catch their deaths and die.

  Now she saw them—two figures; one was Mamazel, the other was short and squat. Peg!

  And what were they doing, and where were they going? They were making their way towards the woods.

  Suddenly she knew, and the thought filled her with misgiving.

  She knew why girls went out in pairs round about midnight. She knew why they made their way to the hut in the woods.

  She sat at the window, waiting.

  Melisande shuddered as they stepped into the hut. It was dimly lighted by a lamp which hung from the ceiling and smelt strongly of the oil. A fire was burning in a hollow in one corner of the hut. Two black cats lay stretched on the earthen floor. One rose and arched his back at the sight of the visitors; the other lay still, watching them with alert green eyes.

  "Be still, Samuel," said a gentle voice. " 'Tis only two young ladies come to see us."

  The black cat settled down on the floor and watched them.

  On a table several objects lay in some disorder. There were pieces of wax, wooden hearts and bottles of red liquid which had the appearance of blood. There were charms made of wood and metal, a chart of the sky and a great crystal globe.

  About the clay walls herbs were hung. There was a wooden beam across the ceiling of the hut and from this hung dark objects in various stages of decomposition. Two live toads were near the fire; a pot was simmering there; the steam which rose from it smelt of earth and decaying vegetables.

  Tamson Trequint had risen. She was a very old woman whose untidy grey hair fell about her shoulders; her skin was burned brown by the sun and wind and she was very thin. Her eyes were black and brilliant and her heavy lids suggested an eagle.

  "Come in. Come in. Don't 'ee be scared," she said. "Samuel won't hurt 'ee. Nor will Joshua. What have you brought me?"

  Peg was too frightened to speak. Melisande forced herself to say: "We have brought roast fowl for you."

  "So you be the pretty foreign one. Come here, my dear, that I may look at 'ee. You b'ain't frightened, be you? 'Tis the same with all these servant girls. They want my charms; they want their plough-boys and their fishermen. But they'm scared of coming to me

  to ask my help. What do you want, my dear? Speak up. You don't altogether believe in our ways, do 'ee? But you've come all the same."

  "Is it true that you can give charms and potions to make people love," asked Melisande. "Can you make people love those it is good for them to love . . . even though they do not do so?"

  "I can give a charm as will put a bloom on a young girl, my dear. I can smear her with jam like ... so that the wasps come a-buzzing round. Are there witches where you do come from? Are there black witches like some . . . and white witches like old Tammy Trequint?"

  "I do not know of them. I lived in a convent . . . away from such things."

  "I understand 'ee, my dear. You be like a bird as is let free. Mind someone don't catch 'ee and clip your pretty wings. Why do you come here?"

  "I want a charm ... a spell ... a potion ... if you will be so good as to give me one."

  "You want a lover. You should be fair enough without a charm."

  Melisande looked into the hooded eyes and saw that they were kindly for all their strangeness. She said quickly: "I am afraid of. . . someone. I wish his attentions to be turned from me. I wish them to go . . . where they belong. Could that be done?"

  " 'Tis a love token in reverse, so to speak."

  "Can you give me such a one?"

  " 'Twill not be easy. There's some who might come and ask such a thing and I'd know it would be no more than breaking a couple of twigs. But 'tis not so with you, my dear. We'll see. What does the other maiden want?"

  Peg came forward. Her wants were simple. She wanted a love token to catch the young fisherman whom, try as she might, she could not catch without.

  "Let me see what you've brought." She unwrapped the parcel of food. She sniffed it. " 'Tis good," she said. "Mrs. Soady have sent you and Mrs. Soady's my good friend."

  She put the food on the table and, picking up a piece of wax, with expert fingers, she forced it into a metal mould. This she put on the fire.

  She said to Peg: "Think of his face, my dear. Think of him. Conjure him up. He's there behind you ... a bonny boy. Close your eyes and say his name. Can you see him?" Peg nodded. The mould was drawn from the fire and left to cool.

  "Sit you on that stool, my dear. Keep your eyes closed and don't for a minute stop thinking of him. When he's cooled down you shall have him. Just sit 'ee still now."

  Peg obeyed.

  "Now you, my dear. 'Tis not the same for you. 'Tis a double spell you need. Now first we must turn his affection from you like. I've got an onion here and I want you to pierce it with these pins. In the old days we'd use nothing but a sheep's or bullock's heart. But onions serve, and they be easy to come by. Now, my dear, take these pins and as you stick them in the onion you must conjure up his image. You must see him standing close behind you."

  "This will not bring a misfortune to him?" asked Melisande anxiously. "There is no harm for him in this?"

  Tamson laughed suddenly. "What be harm? Harm to one be good to another. If he do love you truly he might be happy with you. If he's to love this other, he might find sorrow there. Then that would be harm. So whether harm or good will come of this, I can't tell 'ee. I be a witch but a white witch. And I'll tell 'ee this, because I've took a fancy to 'ee: meddling with fate ain't always a good thing. 'Tis writ in the stars what shall be. Fate's Fate and there's no altering that; and when people come to me for spells they're after altering it. 'Tis devils' work to alter Fate. You got to call in magic. 'Tis more like to be harm that way than good."

  "I know I must turn his thoughts from me. I know it would be a goodness to do so."

  "Then stick in they pins."

  The tears started to Melisande's eyes,

  "'Tis that old onion. But tears be good. Tears never done no harm. Is it ready, well riddled with pins? He's there. He's behind you. He's tall and handsome and gay. He loves many, but not one of them as he
loves himself. Now we'll roast his heart, and as we roast it, you must say with me:

  'It is not this heart I wish to burn, But the person's heart I wish to turn . . .'

  "Then, my dear, you whisper to yourself the name of her who should be his love, and you must see them together, and they must be joining hands while you do say those words. Say his name and her name . . . and see them bound together in love."

  Melisande closed her eyes and repeated the lines after the witch. She tried to see Caroline and Fermor, to see them embrace; but instead she was filled with a passionate wish that she might have been Sir Charles's daughter, that she might have been the one who was chosen for him. Caroline would not stay in the picture. He was there, singing on his horse, leaning over to kiss Melisande, laughing at her, mocking her. And she was there, riding away from him, yet reluctantly, knowing he was gaining on her. Then she thought of the

  nun who had broken her vows all those years ago and had died in her granite tomb.

  "There!" said Tamson Trequint. "That'll do 'ee both. Now, my dear," she went on, turning to Peg, "here be your image. You stick pins in it every night, just where his heart is, and if you've seen him aright and you've done all I told 'ee, he'll be your lover before the coming of the new moon. Get on with 'ee now."

  Peg said breathlessly: "Oh, Mrs. Soady did say she have a stye coming and what should she do?"

  "Tell her to touch it with the tail of a cat."

  "And Mr. Meaker be feared his asthma's coming back."

  "Let him collect spiders' webs, roll them in his hands and swallow them."

  "Thank 'ee, Mistress Trequint. Mrs. Soady said as something would be left for 'ee."

  "Tell Mrs. Soady her's welcome."

  They went out into the woods and the journey back was not so terrifying as the journey to the hut. They were too absorbed in what they had seen to think of the supernatural inhabitants of the wood. Peg was clutching her image and thinking of her fisherman. Melisande was less happy.

  They crossed the lawns to the house.

  "Quietly now," said Peg.

  But Wenna, watching at her window, had already seen them.