Daughter of Satan

by Jean Plaidy

  It was unfortunate that the Elder, misunderstanding Tamar’s meaning, should have sent James Milroy along to make an offer for her hand, and that he should have arrived just as Bartle and Tamar were making their announcement.

  Tamar smiled pertly at the man, disliking him through no great fault of his own but because he reminded her of Humility.

  Bartle’s eyes, as they fell on the man, were full of malice.

  ‘Here comes Master Milroy to have a word with you, Richard,’ he said.

  ‘Pray, sit down,’ said Richard. ‘You must drink with us.’

  ‘I wish to speak to you in private,’ said James.

  ‘Can it be,’ said Tamar, ‘that you have come to ask my father for my hand in marriage?’

  The Puritan flushed.

  ‘Ah! I see that is so. I have been told of your desire to guide me, to save my soul and to make my body fruitful. You are too late with your offer, sir. I have decided to marry Sir Bartle Cavill.’

  There was silence in the little room. Richard looked with dismay from the newly affianced couple to the Puritan. The latter, poor man, was very shocked, and the colour stayed in his face. Bartle and Tamar looked completely mischievous. Ah! thought Richard. This then is the end of another phase in Tamar’s life. She is no longer going to be a Puritan; she is now going to be herself.

  Dick was so excited by the great news that he forgot the presence of the Puritan. ‘Sir Bartle, I shall call you Father from now on. I shan’t wait.’

  ‘I shall call you Father too!’ declared Rowan.

  ‘Lorea too!’ said Lorea.

  And the children seized Bartle’s hands, and danced round him as though he were a pole and they Maytime revellers.

  James Milroy looked on the scene with horror.

  He rose and said calmly: ‘I beg your pardon. I have made a mistake.’

  And as the door shut behind him, Bartle swept Tamar into his arms and kissed her hungrily, while the children applauded.

  But Richard looked on uneasily.

  Their house was made ready for them. They had declared their desire to be married before the magistrate, and the simple Puritan ceremony was over.

  Tamar no longer thought of being a Puritan; she only thought of being happy. This, she realized, was what she had been wanting all through the years. It did not matter now that it had come late; it was never too late. She had almost forgotten that a man named Humility Brown had ever existed.

  They lay in their small room in their tiny cottage, and both of them thought of another room, with a curtained bed and a wide open window. But never had they known such happiness as this.

  In the bitterly cold first weeks of their marriage they were snug in their little house. There was no need to think beyond the winter. They were happy now. In the spring the Liberty would return to England and Bartle would take Tamar with him, for they had agreed that never again would they be parted for long.

  There were times when Bartle went off on a hunting expedition into the forest. Once he was away two days and a night. Those were the longest hours she had known since her marriage. But home he came safely, with meat for the settlement.

  It was pleasant for Tamar to slip into Annis’ cottage and sit by her fireside and see her contentment, enjoying contentment herself.

  ‘Ah!’ said Annis. ‘You be happy now. At last you be happy . . . happy as you never were before. Sir Bartle, he be the man for you; and ’tis right and proper that you should be Lady Cavill. I always knew he were the man for you, wild though he be, for you be wild too, mistress my lady.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I was wild, Annis. I have changed. I want quiet happiness and peace now and for evermore.’

  Annis did not speak, but she knew that peace was not what Tamar would find with Sir Bartle. He wasn’t the one for peace. Humility Brown was the one for that.

  ‘Don’t mention his name to me!’ cried Tamar.

  Annis trembled. She was always frightened by Tamar’s way of reading her thoughts.

  ‘He were a good man,’ said Annis, ‘and happy he’ll be at this moment, I’ll be ready to swear, to look out through the golden gates and see you happy.’

  ‘I said don’t speak of him!’ cried Tamar; and she got up and went home.

  Then for a while it seemed that Humility Brown was in the cottage. She was happy, yes. But she had bought this happiness with the death of Humility Brown. He would always be there, she believed, to mock her at odd moments, ready to spoil her pleasure in the new life.

  It was not a good life, she feared. It was gay and full of laughter; full of passion and quarrels too. Bartle was quickly jealous. He even accused her of smiling in too friendly a fashion at James Milroy, which infuriated her while it sent her into mocking laughter, so that he in his turn was infuriated. But such scenes ended in passionate embraces. She herself was jealous at times, accusing him of infidelities, remembering the reputation he had had in England and reminding him of it.

  So after those first weeks of blissful contentment there came those sudden gusts of anger and passion; they were two violent natures let loose and enjoying their anger when they both knew that it would end in passionate reunion.

  Not a tranquil life – a wild and exciting life, even here in a Puritan settlement, just as she had always known it would be with Bartle. Yet how had she ever lived without it?

  Only when there was trouble with the Indians and Bartle went off with some ten men under Captain Standish with muskets and cutlasses – only then did she know the depth of her love for him, only then did she realize that she would rather die than lose him again as she had once before.

  John Tyler was one of the men who went with Captain Standish, and that brought Annis even closer. During those eight days they were together constantly, exchanging confidences, telling each other of their love and the life they led with these men, while the children played noisily outside and only little Lorea sat on a stool listening to them.

  Back came the men, victorious – only one of them, who had caught an arrow in his back, the worse for the expedition.

  She clung to Bartle, and there were many days and nights when they were gentle with one another, all violence forgotten.

  Then she fancied that Bartle was becoming resigned to this life of hunting and protecting the settlement from the native redskins. Why should he not? It was a man’s life.

  She was happy at the thought of their living in the little cottage until they went to their graves – she with her children about her, tending her garden, cooking maize cakes, perhaps learning to spin with the expert touch most women acquired.

  She should have known such a life could not be for her, nor for Bartle. They were not of these people, and they were tolerated only because they were known to be birds of passage. Bartle had never pretended to be one of them. He was Captain of the ship which had brought them; he had built a house, it was true, but when he had gone it would still be a house, and houses were desperately needed in New Plymouth.

  And then occurred an incident which shocked Tamar as she had not been shocked since the day she had found poor Jane Swann escaping from her tormentors.

  It concerned Polly Eagel. Polly’s husband was a quiet man, and Polly would never have thought of becoming a Puritan if she had not married him. Polly was flighty, fond of admiration; and James Milroy for one was deeply aware of sin such as Polly brought into the settlement. It was not the original pilgrims, serious-minded, righteous, ready to die for their faith whom he felt needed supervision; they were as stalwart as ever. But newcomers had emigrated for a variety of reasons – for the love of adventure, to make a change because life was hard at home. The Captain and the crew of his ship were evil men. As for Tamar – and he thanked God nightly that he had been saved from the calamity of marrying her – she was a wanton creature. She had lured him on, he knew now, not because she wanted a good man to instruct and guide her, but that she might tempt him to lust. Much wickedness had come into Plymouth with the Liberty. It must be stam
ped out, and James Milroy was going to do his duty and see that this was done.

  He had been suspicious of Polly Eagel for some time. She was a pretty, fluffy-haired little woman, for ever fingering her hair and letting it peep out from under her cap as if by accident. He had set a watch upon Polly Eagel and – glory be to God! – he had himself been led by divine guidance to discover her immorality with one of the sailors from the ship.

  Now the sailors did not come under Puritan law. Their souls were their own, which meant that they were the Devil’s. Eternal damnation was to be their lot in any case. But Polly Eagel was a member of the Puritan Church, and as such must suffer the necessary correction.

  Annis came bursting into Tamar’s cottage to tell her the news.

  Annis was excited. This was like something that might have happened at home.

  ‘Mistress, have ’ee heard? Have ’ee heard what Polly Eagel have been up to? Caught she were . . . by Master Milroy. Caught right in the act, so I did hear. Oh my lady, he has told the Elders, and Polly have been taken off. It seems that one thing she’ll have to do is to confess her sin before us at the meeting house. Then she’ll take her punishment. My dear life! The shame of it would wellnigh kill a woman! Not that Polly Eagel’s the sort to die for such. She’s a brazen piece and no mistake. It’s poor Bill Eagle I’m sorry for.’

  On the day of Polly’s confession, the meeting house was full of an expectant congregation. Tamar was there with Richard. Bartle never attended at the meeting house.

  Tamar was struck by the gloating anticipation showing in the faces about her; she felt sickened by the scene. Perhaps that was because she was a sinner herself, and felt she was no better than Polly Eagel. Polly had committed adultery; Tamar was guilty of causing her husband’s death; perhaps that was why she could feel no pleasure in watching a sinner brought to justice, as these righteous people could.

  The Elder talked for a long time. In the front row of seats sat Polly Eagel; her face was white, her head downcast. She did not look the same gay girl who had come out from England, and whom Tamar had noticed during the voyage when she had heard that Bartle had once been interested in her. Now was Polly brought low. In the front row, near her, sat her accuser, James Milroy, his arms folded, his eyes lifted to the rafters of the hall as though he knew God to be up there, smiling down His approval on the acts of James Milroy.

  The Elder preached of sin . . . sin that had crept like a fog into their midst, sin that must be crushed and defeated. Of all the great sins of the world, there were few to be compared with Adultery; and there was one among them who stood guilty of this sin. She had confessed and repented, and that was a matter for rejoicing; but God was a just God, and such sins could not in His name be allowed to go unpunished. It might be that through a life of devotion to duty this miserable sinner would come to salvation. This was for God and herself to decide. Her partner in sin was not here to stand beside her. His was a lost soul. But let no one imagine he would escape the wages of his sin. He would burn eternally in Hell, though he thought here on Earth to continue his evil life. Polly Eagel would now stand forth.

  Polly stood up and turned to face the congregation.

  She was scarlet and pale in turn, and she spoke so low that those at the back of the hall had to crane forward to hear her words.

  She was a miserable sinner; she had defiled her marriage bed. She gave details of the place and occasion when her sin had taken place, as she had been told to do. Eyes glistened. Puritan hearts beat fast. Tamar watching, thought: it would be better if they might dance now and then, or see a play acted. Then they would not be so eager to take their entertainment from another’s misery.

  And suddenly, in an overwhelming pity for Polly Eagel, she hated them all, hated the Elder with his hands piously folded, hated James Milroy with his eyes turned piously upwards, hated all those who stood in judgement, with their sly eyes and their tight mouths. But almost at once she realized that she hated them because she should be standing there beside Polly Eagel, for she was a greater sinner than Polly.

  Polly’s confession was over, but that was preliminary to her punishment. A solemn procession went from the meeting place, led by the Elders and dignitaries of the settlement, Polly among them; other important members of the community followed, and after them came the congregation.

  They went to that raised platform whose significance Tamar had not realized before. The post there was, of course, a whipping post. As for the gallows, she had accepted such an erection as a necessary part of any community; it was just that in such a one as this, it had seemed to have been put there merely as a warning. Gallows and whipping posts were a part of the Old Country; she had thought they had no place in the New.

  Polly’s hands were tied behind her back and she was forced on to a stool. Tamar saw the brazier, the hot irons; she heard Polly Eagel give one wild, protesting shriek before she fainted and fell back into the arms of one of the Elders.

  It was some time before Polly appeared in public, for she had had to serve a month in the house of correction. Tamar had looked once into that poor mutilated face, and she could never bring herself to look again. Clearly she had seen branded on Polly’s forehead the letter A; and the sight of the scorched and tortured flesh had enraged her.

  She was weary and disillusioned. She was like a traveller who thought he had travelled far along a road that was beset with hardship, only to find that he had been walking round in a circle and had moved only a very short distance from the starting point.

  The snows had disappeared and the harsh winds had softened. Spring was coming to New England.

  Polly mingled with the people, the A standing out clearly on her forehead, her head downcast and all the natural joy drained out of her. Whenever Tamar saw her she averted her eyes. She felt as she did when she was with Jane Swann – poor Jane, who had become vague, hiding in quiet corners, not hearing when spoken to. She sat in her father’s house, spinning. When other women sat at their spinning wheels the sound of their singing would mingle with the hum of the wheel. Jane was never heard singing.

  It was perhaps easier to live a Puritan life in the cold of winter. But when the bluebirds and the robins were building in the forest and their songs filled the air, when the fruit trees were in blossom, the young men and maidens would look towards each other and think that life could not be all work and prayer, as their serious Elders seemed to believe it should be.

  Two young people were whipped publicly for the sin of fornication. They had, they declared, every intention of marrying, but spring had taken them unaware. That was no excuse; so they were punished before they went through the simple marriage ceremony. They were told that their sin merited death, but since they were members of a new colony which needed children, they would be given a chance to regain salvation through a life of piety and devotion to God.

  The Elders were deeply concerned at this time by what seemed to them a hideous menace. It was not fear of famine or hostile Indians that gave them their greatest anxiety; it was a certain Thomas Morton.

  To the Puritans this man was the Devil in person. He was a swaggering fellow very proud of his scholarship, describing himself as ‘Of Clifford’s Inne, Gent’. He had come to New England a few years before with a Captain Wollaston and a company of men, their idea being to start a plantation. This they had set about doing not very far from Plymouth, at a spot which they had named Mount Wollaston. But Wollaston had grown tired of the hardship such a project had entailed and had sailed off to Virginia, in the hope of finding an easier fortune. The same Morton – as the Puritans said – had, by some evil means, ousted those left, in charge by Wollaston, and taken over command of the place himself. And the first thing he had done – and this in the eyes of New Plymouth was an indication of his character – was to rename the place ‘Merry Mount’.

  The state of affairs between New Plymouth and Merry Mount was far from cordial. Morton accused the Puritans of disregarding the laws of England by denying the mar
riage ceremony to the colonists and supplying some simple form of their own. The Puritans retaliated by accusing Morton of selling firearms and strong drink to the Indians and so endangering the lives of all the settlers in New England. The real cause of the trouble was that the people of New Plymouth were Separatist and those of Merry Mount, Episcopalian.

  As the days grew warmer, Bartle made preparations for the journey back to England. All day the small boats were busy, transferring stores from land to the Liberty. Many turned away from the sight of the ship, for it made them think of home. Polly Eagel would shudder when she saw it, and touch the letter on her forehead. Annis took her youngest down to the beach to show her what was going on; but Annis was sad, seeing the ship’s preparations, because her beloved mistress was sailing away on that ship. Tamar had said she would come back, but who could know what might happen to prevent her?

  Yes, indeed, spring was a time of disquiet, for spring was to be enjoyed by youth and lovers. There were many marriages, and it was said that there should have been many a whipping to precede those marriages, if the watchful Puritans could but have found sufficient evidence.

  Mistress Alton and Brother Milroy were friends together; they were of one mind, devoted to the Puritan cause, so eager to bring straying footsteps back to the path of righteousness.

  It was Thomas Morton, the Episcopalian of Merry Mount, who now also took a part in the shaping of many lives.

  The Elders were storming against him at the meeting place, but the young and the lively could not help it if their eyes turned towards Merry Mount; and they whispered together of the goings-on at the ‘Mount of Sin’ as an Elder had called it.

  For Thomas Morton was setting up a maypole on Merry Mount. At home they had danced round the maypole for many years, since it was an old English custom to make merry in the early days of May as a welcome to the spring, a thanksgiving for the burgeon of the year. The master of Merry Mount was a merry man, and there was drinking and carousing in his settlement.

  He had set up an idol, thundered the Elders; year, a calf of Horeb. He would realize he had made a woeful place indeed of his Merry Mount when he felt the vengeance of the Lord.