The Coven's Daughter

by Lucy Jago

  “Desire! I don’t feel any desire for him!” exclaimed Cess.

  “He makes my flesh crawl. He is a cold-hearted snake.”

  “Come, Cecily, do not close your mind to uncomfortable things. You have a connection with him that none of us shares—no one else has seen him returning, and many amongst us are experienced scriers.”

  “Then maybe I am wrong. Maybe it is just my fears.”

  “What do you feel?”

  “He is coming to kill me.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Very little,” said Cess.

  The old man who had started the debate stood, and Cess’s heart flew into her mouth. Their fate rested on the coven’s resolve: to hide or to fight?

  “We have come to a unanimous decision.” He spoke gravely, looking at Cess. “We will fight.”

  C H A P T E R 22

  William waited. It was late afternoon when the chance came. Alathea called the coven, Cess, and Jasper to enter the woods for a ceremony before the fight. He was left alone, in feigned sleep, with Edith’s body. He looked dubiously at the mouth of the tunnel that led downhill. It went near the priory cellars, and William decided that he could not face that. The tunnel sloping upward, he guessed, went to the chapel, and that was blocked. He had no choice but to go up the ladder.

  Gingerly opening the hatch, he listened and looked around but could hear and see no one. He climbed out, shut the hatch, and set off downhill. He felt dizzy and unsure on his feet, but he stumbled along, choosing a route that took him due south. Through the canopy of trees he could see that the sun was already dipping to the west and that he had very little time.

  No one would miss him; he was just a hindrance to them, even to Cess. He knew he was considered too weak to play an active role, for they had not asked him to take part. He was to be left out, this time by the person he loved and who he had thought loved him. It was not entirely her fault. That ringlet-headed ass was to blame. Without Jasper, she would have loved him; she was beginning to, before all this happened.

  If she did not love him, then there had been no point enduring the torture in the cellars. He could not bear seeing her with someone else. Her plans were too risky, and that knave Jasper was allowing her to put herself in terrible danger. She had to be stopped.

  He muttered to himself, wondering whom he could persuade to believe him and his account of all he had heard in the hideout. His father might be so grateful to Cess and Jasper that he would join their fight. Anne Perryn could do nothing. The parson would not believe a word he said and would never act against Drax Mortain.

  The shadows were lengthening, and Amelia was anxiously twisting the gold chain of the pendant around her thin fingers, pacing up and down the chamber she shared with her siblings. There had been no message from the House. She did not understand it. She had delivered Cess to Drax, but now she had no idea what was happening. Amelia felt angry that she was being excluded from something that she had, after all, initiated. But she was also nervous. She had wanted Drax’s attention but had not expected the hunt for Cess to become so hostile. She was realizing that Drax was a powerful man but not a kind one, attractive but not lovable.

  She was fed up sitting around indoors, so she threw on her cloak and left the house. Not feeling like talking, Amelia avoided the main street and headed for the stile where Cess had been caught. Perhaps she could find something out.

  As William came to the bend in the hedge just above the stile, he collided with someone coming the other way.

  “William!” cried Amelia. She seemed astounded by his reappearance. William cursed his bad luck to bump into someone so soon. He had not yet formulated a plan. “Where have you been?

  You look awful!” said Amelia.

  “I was kidnapped. I have only just escaped.”

  “You were really kidnapped?” said Amelia, her mouth slack with surprise. “People said you were taken by witches.”

  “Not witches. Torturers and murderers. They tried to kill me.”

  “Who are they? Are they close by?” asked Amelia, looking around anxiously.

  It was beginning to dawn on William that Amelia might just be the person to stop Cess’s dangerous plan to blow up the cellars. Amelia was the daughter of Richard Perryn, the most important yeoman in Montacute, with influence among the villagers. Amelia was so vain that she would love to be the one who persuaded her father to take some villagers up to the hideout to stop Cess. He had to think swiftly, though. If the Perryns knew that Drax Mortain was involved, they would be much less willing to act.

  “Amelia, I need your help. To save Cess.”

  “She needs saving?” said Amelia—rather calmly, in view of her previous anxiety, William thought. “Where is she?”

  “She’s with some idiot called Jasper, and she has a stupid plan to blow up the cellars of the priory. They stole fireworks from the great house to do it with.”

  “What?!” William was confused by Amelia’s reactions. “But…she was with…I mean…”

  “Will you help?” said William, frustrated by Amelia’s bewilderment.

  “Why does she want to blow up the cellars?” asked Amelia, mystified.

  “There are men living in the cellars. They are doing evil things and she wants to stop them,” said William, being careful not to mention Drax or his page, “but she never will; it is too dangerous. She must be stopped and then a proper plan worked out, perhaps with your father in command? It will bring great rewards to your family to expose what is happening down there. It is a plot to kill the Queen!”

  “No!” cried Amelia, her eyes glistening. “Is that true?”

  “I promise it is all true, and if you don’t help, Cess might get there first and get killed .. . or get all the glory.”

  “Of course,” said Amelia, hanging on William’s every word in a way she had never done before. “Tell me everything. How can I help?”

  “I shall go and say good-bye to William,” said Cess, opening the hatch and descending the ladder. She returned almost immediately.

  “Alathea, have you sent him somewhere for his safety?”

  “No.”

  Cess felt her stomach flip over. “He’s gone. Alathea, I am a fool!” she cried. “William was angry with me. I never dreamed he would do something like this, but now I can see it was obvious. He will betray us. We must catch up with him.”

  Alathea rapidly called out four names, and the witches quickly gathered.

  “You must find a boy called William Barlow. He was here when you arrived, lying on the pallet. You will recognize him by his clubfoot.”

  The witches stood quietly in a tight group, eyes shut. One by one they opened their eyes, and each spent a few moments looking intently at the other, as if testing that they could hear each other without speaking. Then they were gone.

  “If they don’t catch him, perhaps he will tell only those who will be favorable to us,” said Alathea doubtfully.

  “No, Alathea,” said Cess quietly. “His time in the cellars has changed him; he is not at all the boy I knew.” She sighed. “Since Edith was killed, I feel like I am standing on the edge of a deep hole, able to fall in at any minute.”

  “You are. So are most of us, once we have experienced deep loss or humiliation, as you have both. Your spirit is strong, but you must train it. Do not give in to fear, self-doubt, or loathing, but seek the path forward. You will become a person of strength and wisdom such that obstacles will be an opportunity to demonstrate your growth. Edith had complete faith in you. Show me that she was right.”

  Amelia left William at his cottage and scurried along the lane to Montacute House. She could hear hooves approaching fast, and turned to see Drax Mortain riding around the bend at full tilt. She raised her hand to wave, but he galloped so close that she was nearly knocked to the ground. She looked down at her patched cloak and muddy hems.

  He must have mistaken me for a peasant, she thought crossly, but hurried on regardless. She had information
that would be worth a great deal to him. Of course it should not be Cess or even her father who led the charge against those evil people in the cellars, but Drax Mortain. If it really was a plot to kill the Queen, then he was the most worthy to foil it. Perhaps he did not even know that Cess had escaped. She had much news for him. He would be very pleased with her.

  As she approached the impressive edifice of Montacute House, she wished she had stopped at home to change and to order a servant to accompany her and knock on the door. It was not seemly for a gentleman’s daughter to knock on doors herself, like a common hawker. As William had told it, however, there was no time for such niceties.

  “Maid Perryn,” said Sir Nathaniel smoothly when the servant showed her into the great hall, “how may I be of service?” He looked pink-faced and disheveled, as if he had dressed hurriedly after a bath. Amelia had to suppress a smile at the thought of this dour man splashing about in a tub.

  “I have an urgent message for His Lordship.”

  “Of course. Come this way,” he said immediately. Amelia was surprised not to be questioned but allowed herself to be led up the grand staircase. The steward ignored the manservant standing by an elaborately carved and beautifully polished door and knocked on it himself. It was an older voice that answered. In a flutter, Amelia grabbed Sir Nathaniel’s arm.

  “No, not him, the young Lord Montacute.”

  “Ah, you mean Viscount Drax Mortain?”

  Amelia nodded vigorously. “I have always called to see the younger, sir. I assumed you knew who I meant,” she stammered desperately, blushing at this show of her ignorance of courtesy. Sir Nathaniel studied her coolly. For a moment, Amelia believed herself to be safe, but even as he smiled, he swept the outer door open.

  “I am sure the Earl of Montacute will be delighted to talk with you. The viscount has just returned from a long ride.” The lesson was lost on the terrified Amelia, who was stuck fast and only moved when Sir Nathaniel opened the inner door and propelled her inside.

  “Nathaniel?” questioned Sir Edward.

  “Maid Amelia Perryn, my lord, cousin to the missing poultry girl, Cecily. She is here to visit Sir Drax, who is changing after a fast ride back to Montacute. It seems he changed his mind about going to London.”

  Lord Montacute’s eyebrows came so low in a frown that they completely obscured his eyes. “Come,” he ordered Amelia. “Stand where I can see you.” Amelia, quaking, felt as if she were being measured for her coffin, but managed an unsteady curtsy.

  “What is that?” asked Sir Edward, seeing the heavy gold chain around Amelia’s neck. It took her shaking fingers a while to locate Drax’s necklace and pull the ruby pendant out of her bodice.

  “A gift, my lord, from your son,” she said, wanting Sir Edward to know that Drax Mortain had encouraged her in her attentions.

  He seemed unimpressed. “Not that one, the other.”

  Amelia thought she would faint. Without touching it, she bowed her head meekly. “A pendant, my lord, recently entrusted to me by a relation.”

  “Let me see.”

  Amelia noticed that the steward also edged into the room. Amelia wished that she had not charged into the house with so little thought. Reluctantly, she walked closer to Sir Edward so that he could inspect the jeweled portrait.

  “A relation gave you this portrait of my late wife?”

  Amelia’s eyes nearly jumped out of her skull in surprise. She had not thought who the woman was, but certainly never dreamed it was Lady Mortain. It was a few moments before she collected herself sufficientlyto reply. “My cousin, my lord. I know not how she came by it, but she swore to me it was not stolen.” She noticed Sir Nathaniel looking rapidly between the pendant, his master, and her.

  “You have seen her recently?” asked Sir Edward.

  “Yes.” Amelia hesitated. How much of William’s tale was it safe to tell? She wanted to be the one to inform Drax, but surely Sir Edward would want to protect the Queen too?

  “She was kidnapped and so was William, but they’ve escaped and…” Before she could say more, there was a knock at the inner door.

  “Come,” said Sir Edward.

  A manservant entered the room. “Viscount Drax’s page requests an audience, sir,” he said.

  “Tell him to wait,” Sir Edward replied decisively, standing. Once the manservant had closed the door behind him, he walked to the corner of his room and opened a hidden door in the wood paneling.

  “Nathaniel, I want you to witness what occurs without being seen yourself. Should you need it, this is the key for the door into the cellars, where you can get out,” he said, pulling a key from his doublet. “Be careful—the floor in that room has collapsed into the foundations of the old house or some ancient cesspit, I am not sure. It is not yet mended.”

  Sir Nathaniel bent down and entered the secret passage, and Sir Edward shut the panel behind him. He then turned and stood so close to Amelia that he towered over her.

  “If you say one word about what you just saw, you will regret it bitterly, do you understand?” Amelia nodded mutely, too scared and surprised by the events unfolding to know what to think.

  Sir Edward was walking to open the door to Bartram Paget, when Drax Mortain swept into the room, still lacing his doublet, followed by his page, who Amelia noticed looked very unwell, pallid and sweaty. Both bowed to Sir Edward.

  “What is the meaning of this intrusion?” said Lord Montacute coldly. To enter a room without being invited was the height of rudeness.

  “Father, there was some urgency,” said Drax, ignoring Amelia.

  “Indeed? There seems to be a great deal that is urgent just now. This highly adorned young woman is known to you, I understand?”

  Amelia saw Drax’s eyes flicker to the pendants she wore, but his expression did not alter. “Father, Maid Perryn has been most diligent in her service toward us and has been rewarded.”

  Amelia felt as if she had been struck. Drax saw her as a mere servant?

  “She has a message for you.” Sir Edward turned to Amelia. “Please deliver it.” Amelia noticed Drax’s eyes narrow to slits. Bartram Paget looked worried too. Amelia felt like a cornered deer about to be shot with arrows from all directions.

  “My message is unimportant,” she said in her meekest voice, her head lowered. All she wanted to do was go home. Drax had been using her, she knew that now. “Please excuse me, I should not have come.” She curtsied and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” said Sir Edward, glowering at her. He raised his eyebrows, and it took Amelia a few seconds to understand what he wanted. With trembling fingers she took the pendant from around her neck and handed it to him. Strangely, she felt relieved.

  “It surprises me that you have received visits from this girl under my roof without informing me,” said Lord Montacute to his son, a resonant note of anger in his voice. “I hear also that you are betrothed but do not speak of it with me nor seek my permission. These are acts of great defiance, Drax, and need some explanation, as does the fact that my writing box is smashed.”

  The silence that followed Sir Edward’s speech was so thick, Amelia felt her body grow heavy with it. Father and son were locking horns like stags in the forest. There would be blood between them. Amelia could not believe how stupid she had been to get involved in a family battle, as well as everything else. She inched toward the door. But Drax was aware of every movement in the room. He indicated to Paget to stop Amelia.

  “Ah, good Paget,” said Sir Edward with mock friendliness, looking away from Drax. “I am so glad that you are encouraging our young friend to stay—her stories of kidnap and escape promise to be most diverting.”

  Drax spun round to look at Amelia. “What has been said?” he asked her sharply.

  “Her tales were just getting interesting when you arrived,” interjected Sir Edward. “Pray continue, Maid Perryn.”

  “Take her away,” said Drax to Paget.

  “What!” exploded Sir Edward. “You would contrad
ict my orders in my own house?! You insolent…Guar—” A hand clamped over his mouth before he could finish the word, and he was pushed back into the chair by Drax, who unsheathed his dagger and held it to his father’s throat.

  “If you cry out again, you will die,” said Drax, slowly taking his hand from his father’s mouth. “Get something to tie him up with,” barked Drax to Paget, who looked at the table and tapestries doubtfully. Spying Amelia’s tattered cloak, he took it from her and ripped long pieces off the hem. Adeptly he tied Sir Edward to the heavy oak fire chair.

  “What on God’s earth are you doing?” said Sir Edward. “You will never get away with this.”

  “On the contrary, Father.”

  “Preposterous! If you kill me, the Queen herself will have you hung, drawn, and quartered. Don’t be a fool, man!”

  “I have no intention of killing you.”

  “If you ever let me loose, I will kill you!”

  “No, Father, you will not,” said Drax calmly, looking at his father as the old man struggled against his bonds, with a coolness as if he barely knew him. “You will need me. I have deciphered your list of spies, who will soon be, shall we say, out of service. For a long while I had to live in your shadow. After that, I chose your shadow, for it gave me freedom to plan greater things. Now it is your turn to know darkness. Accept it gracefully and we can carry on as before. You will meet the Queen. No one will be any the wiser, but you will answer to me. Resist and I shall have to kill you. I will make your death appear to be from natural causes; you will not be long mourned. Either way, I win. Consider your choice overnight.” Drax turned to Paget. “Gag him. Lock the door. I will tell the servants His Lordship wishes to work undisturbed. The fire should last for a few hours at least,” Drax said, turning back to his father. “I am sorry not to leave a piss pot, but then, you would struggle to use it.”

  Amelia began to inch to the door, but Drax took hold of her hand. She stiffened at his touch. Once she had found it exciting to be near him, now it was terrifying. Having witnessed this scene, she doubted whether he would let her walk out as if nothing had happened.