Daughter of Satan by Jean Plaidy Page A

grass?’
    That made Granny choke with laughter.
    â€˜Speak, Granny, speak! I shall be angry if you laugh. I want to know.’
    Granny sat very still; then she turned her head to look at the child.
    â€˜On the grass,’ she said.
    â€˜Why?’
    Granny shook her head.
    â€˜They like doing that, I think,’ said Tamar gravely, for she could see that she must continue to prompt the old woman if she were to get her to reveal anything. ‘It was because they liked it,’ she went on. ‘And then my mother grew big and I came out. But . . . why are they afraid of me?’
    Granny shook her head, but Tamar lightly slapped the old woman’s arm. ‘Granny, I must know. You are afraid of me. My mother is afraid of me. Even Lackwell is afraid of me. He is big and strong; he has a belt and hard hands, and I am little – see how little I am, Granny! – and he is afraid of me. They are afraid of you too, Granny. It is something you have given me.’
    Granny shook her head. ‘I didn’t give ’ee nothing. ’Tweren’t me.’
    â€˜Then who was it, Granny? Speak . . . speak. I’ll hurt you if you don’t tell me.’
    Granny’s eyes grew frightened. ‘There now . . . there, little beauty. Don’t speak so.’
    â€˜Granny, it was the man on the grass. He gave me something. What is it?’
    â€˜He did give you fair looks.’
    â€˜â€™Tain’t hair and eyes, Granny. Lackwell wouldn’t care about they. Besides, they’re afraid of you, Granny, and you’m ugly. You’m terrible ugly.’
    Granny nodded. She signed, and the black cat at her feet jumped on to her lap. She stroked the cat’s back. ‘Stroke it with me, child,’ she said; and she took Tamar’s little hand and together they stroked the cat.
    â€˜You’re a witch, Granny,’ said Tamar.
    Granny nodded.
    â€˜Granny, have you seen the Devil?’
    Granny shook her head.
    â€˜Tell me about being a witch. What
is
being a witch?’
    â€˜It’s having powers as others ain’t got. It’s powers that be give to the likes of we. We’m Satan’s, and he’s our master.’
    â€˜Go on, Granny. Go on. Don’t stop.’
    â€˜We’m devil’s children. That be it. We can heal . . . and we can kill. We can turn milk sour before it leaves the cows and goats, and we can do great things. We have Sabbats, child, Sabbats when we do meet, and there we do worship the horned goat who be a messenger from Satan. There’s some as say he be one of us . . . dressed up like . . . That may be so, but when he do put on the shape of a goat he be a goat . . . and we do dance about him. Ah! I be too old for dancing now. My days be done. I’m good for naught but to tell others what to brew. ’Twas the night I was took for the test. They’d have done for me then . . . but for a gentleman that stopped ’em. I’ve been sick and ailing since. But I be a witch, child, and there’s none can deny me that.’
    â€˜Granny . . . am I a witch?’
    â€˜Not yet you ain’t.’
    â€˜Shall I be a witch?’
    â€˜Like as not you will . . . seeing as you come into the world the way you did.’
    â€˜How did I come into the world? On the grass, was it? Was my father a witch?’
    Granny was solemn. ‘They do say, child, that he was the greatest of them all . . . under God.’
    â€˜An angel?’
    â€˜Nay. Put thy hand on Toby’s back. Come close to me, child . . . closer . . .’
    Tamar stood breathless, waiting. ‘Tell me, Granny. Tell me.’
    â€˜Your father, child, was none other than the Devil himself.’
    The hot sultry July was with them and Tamar was scarcely ever in the cottage, coming in only to snatch a piece of rye bread or salted fish. But if the old woman was alone she would sit with her and they would talk together, for Tamar wished to know all