Daughter of Satan by Jean Plaidy

into the cottage Betsy looked at her daughter and turned pale. ‘Annis!’ she cried. ‘What are you doing in here, then? I’ll take you home and tan the hide off ’ee.’
    Annis got up from the floor and ran out of the cottage. Tamar watched her, then started up. ‘She’s got my stone. Give it back. Give it back.’
    Betsy was out of the door; she had Annis by the shoulder; she shook her until the child’s face was red. ‘Drop it. Drop it quick.’
    Annis dropped the stone and in triumph Tamar seized it.
    â€˜Take that!’ said Betsy, and slapped her daughter’s face. ‘And now come home.’ She pulled at the child’s arm. ‘Good day to you, Luce.’
    â€˜Goodbye, Betsy.’
    Tamar looked at her mother, but Luce would not meet her eyes.
    I’m different, thought Tamar. Nobody slaps my face. Nobody talks of tanning my hide. I’m different. I’m Tamar. They’re afraid of me.
    Down at Sutton Pool people stood about on the cobbles watching the departure of Sir Walter Raleigh and his five ships which were going to explore the Orinoco in the hope of bringing back gold for the Queen.
    There was less enthusiasm at such spectacles than there had been a few years ago. Plymouth could not forget the horriblesight of those brave seamen, the heroes of the defeat of the Spanish Armada, now starving in the streets, begging their bread – some cruelly wounded – their services ignored, and what was more important to them, unpaid for by an ungrateful Queen and Council.
    These men would have long since died but for men like Drake, Hawkins and Frobisher, who had provided much out of their own pockets, starting a fund for mendicant seamen, building a hospital for mariners; and Sir Francis, when he had left his house in Looe Street to live in Buckland Abbey, had continued with his scheme for bringing water to the town. Now it was conveyed there from the west stream of the River Plym. No wonder they worshipped this man. It was already said – in spite of the digging operations which were to be seen – that Sir Francis had gone to the river and, bidding it follow him, had galloped into Plymouth. They preferred to think of their benefactor not only as a good brave man, but as a wizard.
    And now, with the departure of Sir Walter, there was not the same enthusiasm as when Sir Francis sailed. Adventure was in the blood of these people who lived along the seaboard, but they hated injustice, and they could not forget – being constantly reminded by the sad sights about them, as they were – the callous behaviour of their Queen.
    Tamar was there by the Pool. The noble ships rocking so proudly on the water delighted her and she wished that she were sailing with the expedition. It even occurred to her to hide herself in one of the ships. Then she remembered that old Granny Lackwell would be in the cottage alone today. Tamar was impulsive, and once an idea had hit her she was eager to put it into practice. She pushed her way through the crowd and ran all the way home.
    The old woman was sitting in her accustomed place. Tamar went close to her and shouted in her ear.
    â€˜Granny, it’s Tamar.’
    Granny nodded.
    â€˜Granny, I’ve come to ask you things.’
    She nodded again.
    â€˜Why are they afraid of you and me?’
    Granny laughed, showing black stumps which fascinated while they horrified the child. ‘Why are your teeth black?’ she asked; but she realized at once that that was a question which could wait, for it had nothing to do with the mystery she was so eager to uncover. ‘How was I born?’ she said quickly.
    Old Granny became excited. Her hands were shaking. Tamar looked anxiously about her, for she knew that whatever revelations might take place could only do so if the two of them were alone together.
    â€˜Did a man lie with my mother, as Bill Lackwell does under the rags . . . or was it on the