Daughter of Satan

by Jean Plaidy

  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.’

  They led their horses into the courtyard, where Clem Swann and Ned came to take them; then they went into the house. Richard rang the bell, which Luce answered. He asked for cakes and wine.

  Mistress Alton brought the refreshment, with Luce in attendance. Mistress Alton’s mouth seemed firmer since the adventure of Whit Sunday night; there was a faint disapproval in her eyes, and Richard guessed that was for himself because of his leniency towards God’s enemies. He smiled at her sardonically. Then his attention went to the girl, and fleetingly he wondered if her back still smarted from the whipping she must have received that night.

  Sir Humphrey’s attention went immediately to the women, for it was natural for him to assess women as he assessed his horses. He knew the Alton type; she hated the thought of other people’s love-making because she had missed having any of her own. A stick of a woman. No good, no good at all. But the girl? He had not noticed her before; she had always run at his approach, he believed . . . a shy, slip of a girl, hardly ready till now to satisfy his purposes. She was still young, but not too young. Rather like a comely boy with her hair short like that. Sir Humphrey decided to keep an eye on Richard’s serving wench. Not that he would go out of his way . . . but if the opportunity came . . . well, he’d be ready for it. And Sir Humphrey was the kind of man whom opportunity invariably favoured.

  When the servants went out, Bartle sat entranced, listening to the conversation of his elders.

  ‘By God,’ Sir Humphrey was saying. ‘Drake is straining at the leash, man. Of course he is. Does he want to wait in harbour, cowering from the gale like a child behind its nurse’s skirts? No, sir. He should out and at ’em! There’s restiveness aboard. I know. Drake says, “We’ll go and tackle the Spaniard in his own seas.” But “No!” says the Queen. And “No!” says her Council. “Stay close to the land and protect us,” By God, sir, that’s not Drake’s way. First to the attack; that’s our Admiral. And he’s right. By God, he’s proved it. He’s proved it a thousand times.’

  The boy jumped up and down in his chair.

  ‘It would seem,’ said Richard, ‘that it is no good thing to have men of theories impending men of action. Had he been given his head, I am inclined to think our danger would be past ere this. Sir Francis is manacled by instructions from London. He knows the course he wishes to take. Fortes fortuna adjuvat.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Sir Humphrey.

  ‘Bartle will tell you,’ said Richard; ‘or he should be able to.’

  But Bartle could not tell his father, and Sir Humphrey was not greatly disturbed on that score.

  ‘Alas! Bartle, it would seem you are a sad pupil. I asked your tutor how you did, and he shook his head in a most melancholy fashion. You dream too much of adventure, of the sea, of bringing home treasure. Is that not so?’

  ‘Then he dreams a man’s dreams,’ said Sir Humphrey.

  Bartle said: ‘The coming of these ships will mean that our fleet will sail to the attack.’ His face fell. ‘They will fight away from-our coast . . . along the coast of Spain, mayhap in Cadiz Harbour. The Spaniards will see the fight instead of us.’

  Sir Humphrey let out a roar of laughter. ‘They’ll never make a scholar of you, boy. He’d rather see a fight than know the meaning of a Latin tag, wouldn’t you, son?’ Sir Humphrey looked into his wine. ‘There’s something that bothers me, Richard. You know . . . you shouldn’t have stopped ’em the other night. Witches is witches, and the sooner we find out who among us is with the Devil, the better for us all.’

  Richard looked at Bartle. ‘You may find a peach or two in the gardens,’ he said.

  ‘Nay!’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘Let the boy stay. I don’t want him made into a mincing dainty who mustn’t hear this and who mustn’t hear that. He knows there are witches, don’t you, boy? And he knows what it’s our bounden duty to do to them.’

  Bartle nodded. ‘I wish I’d been there,’ he said. ‘Why did you stop them, sir? The old woman is a witch.’

  ‘Utterly distasteful!’ said Richard. ‘Good God, we must keep law
and order in these parts. It is not for our yokels to take the law into their hands. She is just a foolish old woman who brews herbs and gives charms to lovesick maidens. I heard the shouting and went out. A most disgusting spectacle.’

  Sir Humphrey looked at his friend. Damn me, thought Sir Humphrey, if I’d be a friend of his but for living so close. Only half a man. Riding over to see that widow woman every so often. A dried-up old widow woman when there’s a ripe young virgin under his very roof. Reading his books, scratching away with his quill, can’t look on a witch being put to the test without finding it disgusting, distasteful. Give me a man!

  Sir Humphrey said: ‘If there are witches hereabouts, they should be found and finished. We want no trafficking with the Devil.’

  Richard shrugged his elegant shoulders and gave Sir Humphrey another of his superior smiles. Then he turned the discussion back to the Spaniards, and they were on this when Sir Humphrey rose to go.

  When Richard went with his guests to the gate, the girl was in the garden. She had a basket of peaches in her hand, and she coloured and dropped a curtsy as they came out.

  ‘Hey!’ said Sir Humphrey. ‘What you got there, girl?’ Richard watched him pretend to peer into the basket while he looked at the opening of her bodice.

  ‘Peaches, sir.’

  Sir Humphrey took one, and dug his teeth into it. ‘Why they’re better than ours. Send me over a basket by the girl, will you, Richard?’ He gave the peach to Bartle to finish, and slapped Luce’s buttocks as she turned away. ‘Bring them over, girl, and don’t give them to anyone but me. You understand?’

  Luce looked from Sir Humphrey to her master. Richard nodded and she curtsied again before returning to the house.

  When he had waved farewell to Sir Humphrey and his son, Richard came back through the gardens and, as he did so, saw Luce coming out to gather peaches for Sir Humphrey. Richard followed her over to the wall on which the peaches were growing. Luce blushed and fumbled to be so observed.

  ‘Don’t give him of our best,’ he said. ‘Let us save those for our own table.’

  She picked the fruit, and when the basket was full he took it from her.

  ‘Go to the stables,’ he said, ‘and tell Ned Swann I wish him to take these over to Sir Humphrey.’

  She curtsied and he watched her as she went into the courtyard.

  In the harbour torches and cressets lighted the sailors loading ships. The Spanish galleons had not come, but the English were going out to meet them, for Drake’ had won the day. First Howard had agreed to his plan, then the Queen and her Council had followed. Sailors were singing and whistling as they made ready. The suspense of waiting was over.

  Mistress Alton had been taken sick. She lay in her bed, muttering prayers which she believed was the only way to counteract a spell. Old woman Lackwell had fixed her sore eyes on Mistress Alton on Whit Sunday night, and ever since Mistress Alton had been sick. She was certain she had been ‘overlooked’.

  Life seemed good to Luce and Betsy without Mistress Alton to watch them, to complain and to cut them across the legs and arms with her cane.

  Outside the sun was shining and the gardens were filled with the scent of roses and the lavender which was just breaking into bloom. Betsy sang as she and Luce went from the kitchen to the pastry, and from the pastry to the buttery and back to the kitchen:

  ‘Hyle that the sun with his beames hot

  Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain.

  Philon the shepherd late forgot,

  Sitting beside a crystal fountain.’

  She taught the words to Luce and they sang them together.

  ‘Sitting beside a crystal fountain

  In shadow of a green oak tree,

  Upon his pipe this song played he,

  Untrue love, untrue love,

  Untrue love, adieu, love.

  Your mind is light.’

  They danced round the kitchen, curtsying, dipping, touching hands, bowing.

  Charlie Hurly looked through the window and was watching for some minutes before they saw him. Then he clapped his hands, and Luce blushed, while Betsy went to the window and put her hands on her hips, pretending to scold him. But he just laughed and beckoned Betsy out to the shed, for he had something to tell her; she scolded still more and said she would not go, but Luce could not help noticing that she was soon making an excuse to go outside and that she stayed there for a full quarter of an hour.

  They had to take it in turns to go up to Mistress Alton’s room for instructions. She lay on her pallet, her face greenish yellow, her dry lips muttering prayers to ward off evil.

  In the courtyard Charlie Hurly was talking to Ned Swann about what was going on in the harbour; they were nodding their heads, looking grave, looking wise. Charlie would not have dared hang about like that if Mistress Alton had been about. Betsy would not have dared to stay chattering.

  And that night, of course, Mistress Alton was unable to lock the two girls in their room.

  The weeks of waiting were not yet done with. The fleet had set out only to be driven back by the gales. Every man and woman of Plymouth shared the impatience of the admirals, and railed against the Queen for her meanness in not sénding more of the desperately needed stores. Rations were short on board the ships, and although Drake and Howard were convinced that the winds which were tormenting them were also plaguing the Spaniards, when the opportunity arose to leave the shpres of Devon and go into the attack, ill-equipped as they were they were unable to do so. The caution of the Queen, and still more the stinginess of the lady, were preventing a quick victory. It was all very well to make fine speeches at Tilbury, but what folly to let her meanness set her throne and her country in danger!

  But in the first week of that July, Howard and Drake could no longer wait; in spite of sickness aboard and shortage of food, they set out for the attack. But before long, back they came dejected and disappointed. The storm-battered Spaniards lay off Corunna, where they would have been at the mercy of the English, but – like a miracle that had worked in the Spaniards’ favour – the north wind had suddenly dropped, and the English, in full sight of their enemy, lay becalmed until a south wind arose. They could return or wait – their food and water low, thanks to their Queen – on the pleasure of the winds.

  Mistress Alton, now recovered from her mysterious illness, was certain what this meant. It was witchcraft. She knew, if others did not, how the tempest and calm could be controlled by witches. She went about muttering prayers all day; the cane was not used so frequently since she had risen from her sickbed, but only because she had not the strength in her arms. She had never seen such an addle-pated pair as the two serving wenches had become. There was Betsy going out to get water without a bucket. As for Luce, you could speak to her and she would not seem to hear. These girls had been up to something, Mistress Alton was quick to note, for she was a woman who recognized sin the moment she saw it.

  She thought of getting Clem Swann to give them a good beating for her; but she did not trust Clem Swann. He would be gloating over their white shoulders or mayhap trying to get them to expose their bosoms. For modesty’s sake, she could not get Clem Swann to punish them; and as for getting him to beat them through their petticoats, that would be just a lark to them. Yet it was a sad thing to let sin go unpunished.

  Sir Humphrey was of the same opinion as Mistress Alton regarding the frustrations at sea. This was witches’ work. How else could it be explained? He wanted to take old Granny Lackwell and make her talk, make her expose her confederates. He argued the point with Richard; and it was maddening how a scholar could tie up a man with words. He was turning over in his mind whether he would not act in this matter in spite of his friend’s disapproval, and one bright Friday afternoon, he decided to ride over to Pennicomquick and tell Richard so.

  He did not, however, reach the house, for as he rode the few miles which separated his house from that of Richard, a rider came galloping towards him, and he saw that it was one of his
own men whom he had sent that morning into Plymouth on an errand.

  ‘Sir Humphrey,’ cried the man, ‘they are coming. Captain Fleming has just come into the harbour. The admirals were at play on the Hoe. The Spaniards are sighted off the Lizard.’

  Then Sir Humphrey forgot the danger of witches. He lost no time in galloping straight down to the harbour.

  The days that followed saw the defeat of what had been believed to be the greatest armada the world had seen. Much of the battle had been witnessed from the Devon and Cornish coasts before the Spaniards fled up Channel towards the Isle of Wight, pursued by English ships in which men counted their ammunition and were close to starvation, living as they were on half rations. News travelled slowly and it was some time before the people of Plymouth knew the story of the fireships which had finished off the fine work of their seamen.

  This was a proud story, but not so proud was the tale of men set ashore to die in the streets of seaports from wounds and starvation. Yet England was saved from Spain and the Inquisition in spite of her Queen, who, now that her kingdom was safe, sat shaking her ginger head at the cost of the operations, and grumbling because an ill wind had arisen and carried the battered and beaten ships with their treasure out of her grasp, so that the sea bed garnered the riches which English seamen had won for their Queen.

  Quiet had returned to the town of Plymouth. Nobody talked of the Spaniards now, except the penniless sailors who, their work done, were having to whistle for their pay. Danger of invasion had gone; danger of starvation was less exciting.

  It was at the beginning of September when Mistress Alton brought the weeping Luce to her master and bade the girl tell him of her shame.

  Richard could see the change in Luce. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her face was set into lines of anxiety.

  She was silent, so Mistress Alton spoke for her.

  ‘I have terrible news.’ The woman’s lips could not hide the savage satisfaction she was feeling.

  Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? I should have thought it was good news by the look of you.’