The Lion Triumphant (60 page)

Jennet sat on the bed and held out the posset to me.

“There, Mistress Linnet, you drink that. It’ll give you a nice sleep and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Thank you, Jennet,” I said.

She brought her face close to mine and looked at me searchingly: “Mistress Linnet, there’s nothing
wrong
?”

“Wrong?” I said. “What do you mean.”

She blushed. She had always had a habit of blushing if her thoughts were indelicate and although she had been the mistress of many men she had the air of a virgin. I think that was probably what attracted them.

“Oh … nothing, Mistress. There was that gentleman at the inn.” She giggled. “My dear life, I remember when he came into the inn and would have his way. You could see he was that kind. Reminded me of the Captain, he did.” She used my father’s name with reverence. She was more proud than anything else that once he had got her with child. Jacko was the result. Jacko was her only child in spite of her numerous lovers. She went on giggling about the man at the inn and watching me covertly. “And then he rescued you. When I watched you being made off with and him after you … my dear life!”

I said: “I’m going to try to sleep now, Jennet.”

“Yes, Mistress.” She looked down at me. “And then he took you to his castle. ’Tis like an old tale of knights and ladies that the minstrels do sing of, I do declare.”

There was a dreamy look in her eyes which yet held a certain astuteness. I thought: She knows what has happened. Is it possible then? And the niggling fear was with me.

Twelfth Night came. This was the culmination of the festivities. The following day the holly and the ivy would be taken down and solemnly burned in the meadow. It was unlucky to leave it up after that.

We had the Twelfth Night cake and there was a great deal of speculation as to which of us would find the silver penny.

Fennimore was the lucky one. My father as head of the house announced: “I crown you Lord of Misrule till the midnight hour.” And the crown which we used every year was placed on his head.

My father, Captain Landor and two of the tallest of the menservants carried him round the hall and he chalked crosses on the beams wherever he could reach them chanting: “Protect this house from the curse of devils and evil spirits and of all conjuring and wicked charms.”

We played games. My mother had hidden treasure and we were to hunt for it in pairs. I was pleased when Fennimore, Lord of Misrule, chose me as his companion; and I could not refuse him if I had wished because he was King for the night.

We went off hand in hand, Fennimore holding our candle high, and I was aware that the eyes of my parents followed us with approval. I was sure that they had decided this would be a fitting time to announce our betrothal. Family ties would cement the business ones. I had to lead the way because naturally he did not know the house as I did.

My mother had devised the clues and the finding of one led us on to the next. It was a game we had played all our lives; and the treasure hunt was considered to be the highlight of any of our gatherings. It showed how they trusted Fennimore to allow me to go off with him as they did; for usually young people were paired off by their elders. Of course Fennimore was the Lord of Misrule and was supposed to have his way, but if someone like Colum Casvellyn had been in his place they would never have allowed it. Why did I have to think of that man so constantly? What a question to ask myself! How could I ever forget him? What a fateful, evil trip that had been for me. It would affect my whole life. How strange that one night could do that.

Fennimore said: “Are you cold?”

“No, no. It was just a passing shiver. Someone walking over my grave, as they say.”

And I thought: The grave of my innocence which is now dead but not buried deep enough.

He took my hand.

“Are we going to find the treasure?” he asked.

“That depends on how clever you are.”

“You are the clever one.”

“I? Whatever gave you such a notion?”

“I suspect it. You are a very unusual girl, Linnet.”

“Surely not.”

“I think so,” he said.

We had crossed the hall and mounted the dais. There was a door there which led into the small dining-room and sitting-rooms which we used when we were alone, for fashions were changing and in households like ours only on special occasions did people dine in the hall with all the servants seated below the salt.

We looked into these rooms and we were not very successful with the clues. I think our minds were not on the treasure hunt.

We mounted the staircase and went along the gallery. Fennimore sat down in one of the window seats and drew me beside him. He lifted the candle and looked into my face.

Then he set it down and said: “Linnet, there is something I have to say to you.”

My heart began to beat very fast because I knew what he was going to say and I wanted to stop him. I wanted him to wait until I had grown farther away from that night at Castle Paling. I wanted to know whether it would be possible for me to cast it right out of my mind, to forget it so completely that it would seem as though it had never happened. Until I knew, I did not want Fennimore to say what was in his mind.

He went on: “I am so happy that your parents and mine are going to work together. I admire your father so much although I am so different from him and I think he would rather I was more like he is.”

“Why should he wish that?”

“Because he is so adventurous and has led a life of great daring.”

“I gather he has not always acted admirably.”

“He is a bold captain. The Queen has complimented him. He is the kind of man who has saved this country from the Spaniards. That is why it seems so wonderful to me that he should now be ready to fight another campaign … a campaign of peace.”

“It is not necessary surely to be aggressive to succeed.”

“I do agree with you. But what I want to say to you is this. Our families will work together. Linnet, from the moment we first met I felt drawn to you. If your father had not joined with us, it would have made no difference to my feeling.”

I must stop him quickly. He must not go on and ask me to marry him … yet.

I put out a hand helplessly and he took it.

He raised it to his lips. Memory stirred within me. I could feel hot hard lips on my skin. Was I ever going to forget?

How gentle he was, how tender. I needed tenderness. What would I not have given if I could go back two months … My mother had said: “We will go by road, it is not such a long journey.” And I had been excited at the prospect. Then the scene in the inn and that nightmare moment on the road and later … that oblivion which was not quite complete and the experience which I had had no will to resist.

If only it had never happened.

He kept my hand in his. “Our families wish it, Linnet. That makes me so happy. It will be so right for us … You will not be far away from your home. Your mother will visit us. So you will not be parted. I know your love for each other.”

“Please don’t go on, Fennimore,” I said.

“Why not, Linnet? Surely you know that I love you. I believe you care for me …”

“I cannot say,” I stammered foolishly. “I must have time. It is too soon … I am not ready.”

“I should have waited awhile. You are so young and so innocent …”

I was glad that he could not see the deep flush in my cheeks. I was trying to suppress those flashes of memory. Had I been doing that ever since?

He was contrite, eager not to distress me.

“My dearest Linnet, we will say no more. I have been too rash. I should have waited, prepared you. I did not realize how little you had understood. We will leave this matter and I will return to it later on. But I have made my feelings known to you. I should have prepared you. I will ask you again soon,” he went on. “And Linnet, will you promise me to think about this?”

“I will think about it.”

“You see, my dearest, you and I could be so happy together. We shall have this wonderful project in common. I remember how it excited you when I first talked of it. Our families will work together. We shall be together. You see how it is.”

“Yes, I see how it is. Fennimore, you are so good and kind. Give me time.”

“You shall have time, my love,” he said.

“I promise you I will think about this, but as yet …”

“Of course,” he said, “as yet it is too soon. I have been foolish, Linnet. I have hurried you. Never mind. Think of what this could mean. I swear that I would do everything in my power to make you happy.”

I stood up. “Please, Fennimore,” I said, “let us now play this game and try to find the treasure.”

He said softly: “Our treasure will be in each other, Linnet.”

I shivered again because I was afraid. I longed to be the girl I had been before I had spent a night at Castle Paling. I wanted to be young and innocent and in love with Fennimore. But I was unsure how to act—unsure of everything, of whether I loved Fennimore, of whether I could marry him, and most of all what happened that night when Colum Casvellyn had half-drugged, half-awakened my senses and made a woman of me while I was still a child.

I tried to think of the treasure; I succeeded a little since I was able to solve some of the clues.

We almost won, but Carlos and Edwina who had chosen to hunt together were the victors.

My mother was watching me intently.

I knew she was disappointed that she could not announce my betrothal on that night.

The next day we took down the decorations, carried them out to the fields and ceremoniously burned them. Christmas and New Year celebrations were over for twelve months. This time next year, I thought, I shall be so far away from the night at Castle Paling that it will be no longer constantly on my mind.

The whole household was present at the burning. It was a custom that everyone should have a part in it for to stay away could bring ill luck. It was when the blaze was dying down that we heard shouting in the distance and one of the servants said: “’Tis old Maggie Enfield. They be hanging her this day.”

I knew Maggie Enfield. She was a poor old woman, almost blind, and her face was disfigured by numerous ugly brown warts. She was known as a witch in the neighbourhood and lived in a tiny cottage which was little more than a hut. We used to take food and leave it outside her door. My mother sent this not because she was afraid of what might happen to her if she did not but because she had real sympathy for the poor old woman.

A few years ago she had been known as a white witch. She grew certain herbs in the patch of land round her cottage and brewed concoctions which had cured many a sickness. She had produced love potions too; and she did what was called the “fast”. If she fasted for several days and sat silent in her cottage she brought all her powers to bear on a certain object. She had been known to discover lost articles. If a sheep or a cow strayed away people went to Mother Enfield and paid for the “fast” and almost always she could discover the spot where the animal could be found.

But witches—be they white or black—lived dangerously, for they could never be sure when people would turn against them. Farmers who suffered a run of ill luck with their stock, parents whose children died unexpected and unexplained deaths, women who were barren, any could be put down to a witch’s actions; and when people raged against their own ill fortune it seemed to soothe them to wreak the anger they felt towards fate against some human victim.

So it had come to this for poor Maggie Enfield. I had heard whispers. Jennet had told me. Somebody’s baby had been born dead; someone else had a disease among his cattle. Maggie Enfield had been seen passing the cottage where the baby had died and had been caught looking at the cattle.

And now they decided that she was a black witch and that she had sold herself to the Devil for these special powers, and Maggie Enfield was being dragged from her cottage by those who were determined on vengeance.

They would hang her on one of the trees.

I shivered. I would not go down Gibbet Lane for a long time. I remembered vividly the first time I had ridden down that grim thoroughfare. There were two trees there suitably shaped to form a scaffold. There could scarcely be a more terrifying sight than a body hanging helpless, lifeless, swaying on a tree.

And now the celebration of burning the Christmas decorations had been spoilt by the thought of old Maggie Enfield in the hands of her executioners.

My father was for going to join in the macabre proceeding but my mother stopped him.

“I will not go,” she said quietly, “nor will you, Jake. What will our guests think?”

“They’ll think that another of Satan’s brew has met her just deserts.”

“They are gentlefolk, remember. Such a spectacle will disgust them.”

“Justice should disgust no one.”

My mother looked impatient and she turned away from him. She went over to the Landors and told them that we should return to the house without delay or she feared that the meat which was turning before the spit would be burned to a cinder.

My father, amused, as he often was by my mother’s defiance, refused to be done out of what he would consider a treat, and rode off in the opposite direction.

He was going to give his approval to the ceremony of hanging the witch.

The subject of witches came up over the meal and Father was vehement.

“The woman was guilty and had her just reward,” he said. “Those marks on her face proved it. Her succubus visits her nightly. The marks were found all over her body.”

“Oh come,” said my mother, “they were warts. Many have them.”

“Then tell me why she can cure them in others and not in herself.”

“I am not skilled in these matters,” retorted my mother.

“So it doth seem,” replied my father. “Well, Mother Enfield has now joined her master. There she will rot in hell.”

“Why should she?” asked my mother. “If she has served her master well perhaps he will reward her.”

“If I had my way this country would be purged of witches. I’d ferret them out. I’d have the gibbets busy.”