Although I was young at the time I was struck forcibly and with a kind of horror at the manner in which ugly rumour can arise, seek its victims and destroy them. In that year when our Queen died and we had a new King on the throne I saw my first witch. It was horrible, a poor old woman hanging grotesquely on a tree in a country lane. Senara and I were riding with Damask, her betrothed and his father when we came into a lane.

I stood and stared. At first I did not know what it was. Then I felt a horrible revulsion sweeping over me. I could not believe that poor revolting creature had ever really harmed anyone.

None of us spoke about it; we turned our horses and rode as quickly as we could away from that horrible sight.

Senara had a nightmare that night. She crept on to my pallet. We still shared a room with Damask. She was fast asleep.

“What is it?” I said.

“I dreamed of that witch, Tamsyn.”

“It was horrible.”

“Not just of her.”

“What then?”

“I dreamed it was my mother.”

“It was only a dream.”

“I have heard the servants whispering about my mother.”

“Servants always whisper about the families they serve.”

“There is something strange about my mother.”

“She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw.”

“I’ve heard them say beauty like that comes from the Devil. I used to be proud of her but this afternoon …”

“People will always be envious of those who have what they have not.”

“It was so clear. We were riding … just as we were this day and I felt myself forced to go and look at her … and when I got close it was my mother.”

“It could never be.”

“But it could, Tamsyn.”

“Nay, nay, she is much too clever ever to be caught …” I was amazed by what I had said and added quickly, “Even if she were a witch. But how could your mother be that?”

Senara said: “She’s your stepmother, Tamsyn.”

“And my father’s wife, so you see …”

“It’s just servants’ talk. It is because she is so much more beautiful than anyone else.”

We were silent for a while. Then Senara said: “Tamsyn, even if she were … it wouldn’t make any difference to us, would it? We’d still be as now.”

“Nothing would ever make any difference to us,” I promised her.

That seemed to satisfy her. But she was shaken and would not go back to her own pallet.

When I was fifteen there was a great scare throughout the country concerning Catholics. The new King had been on the throne for two years and to us far from the Court the new reign had brought little change in our daily life. There was perhaps one difference. We had always been conscious of the existence of witchcraft and at Hallowe’en a special atmosphere seemed to pervade the castle. Everyone would seem to be very much aware of my stepmother then. She knew this and I imagined she was secretly amused by it.

But I was not really thinking of what was happening in our castle but outside. More witches seemed to be discovered; there were constant rumours of old women being taken and put to the tests and having been examined, their bodies revealed certain marks which proved they had intercourse with the Devil and because of this acquired special powers for evil. Sometimes when riding we would come upon a group of shouting people. I always turned and went off as quickly as I could because I knew that somewhere in their midst would be a poor old woman; and I could not rid myself of the thought that she had only to be old, ugly, squint or have a humped back to be accused, and once named as a witch it was almost impossible to prove this untrue. The new King had a special abhorrence for witches and this sharpened everyone’s interest in them.

When I watched my stepmother—and it was a pleasure always to watch her because she moved with a grace I never saw in any other person—I used to think how different she was from the old women who were suspected, tortured and killed.

But witchcraft was a subject which always made me uneasy which might have been due to the effect I knew it had on Senara. She could be really frightened by it. I would see the shadow pass across her face and then she would get out her lute and play a gay song and ask Dickon if we could practise some new dance. I knew her better than anyone else did and that her nature was—as it had always been—to thrust aside unpleasant things and behave as though they had never happened.

I thought afterwards how like the coming of a storm it was because there is so often a first faint rumble of thunder in the distance and you scarcely notice it. Perhaps you say: “Oh there is thunder about.”

So at this time when I was fifteen years old, there was Witchcraft “about”.

The Catholics seemed a greater menace and when a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament was discovered, the whole country was agog.

I was allowed to sup in the great hall when there were guests coming, and because I was given this privilege so was Senara. We used to enjoy these occasions. We would listen avidly to the conversation and afterwards watch the dancers. Dickon was brought in to give displays which were always highly applauded and several times Senara had danced with him for the company. She loved these occasions for she yearned for admiration; she had to be continually assured that she was beautiful, attractive and desirable. I who was given to looking for a reason for everything, had convinced myself that she had become like this during the years when her mother had not been at the castle. But now of course, her mother was the Châtelaine and it was I who was often set aside for her. I didn’t mind this; I saw that it was natural for a mother to love her own daughter more than a stepdaughter, and I often wondered whether I was a constant reminder of my mother.

I remember at this time how the conspiracy which was called the Gunpowder Plot was discussed.

When my father talked his voice boomed down the table and most people stopped their private conversations to listen. My stepmother sat beside him and on either side of them were the important guests. The servants no longer sat below the salt—that was an outmoded custom.

My father said: “Guy Fawkes talked when racked. He has betrayed the whole party of them and they will lose their heads for this.”

Senara listened, eyes wide. It seemed that a William Catesby with his accomplices Sir Everard Digby and Francis Tresham were the leaders. They were joined by a relative of the great Percys of Northumberland and a soldier of fortune, Guy Fawkes. Tresham, whose brother-in-law was Lord Monteagle, wrote to Monteagle and warned him against going to the Houses of Parliament on a certain day. The letter was shown by Monteagle to Lord Cecil who had the vaults searched and there were found two hogsheads and barrels of gunpowder. This was at two in the morning. The man Guy Fawkes was discovered when he arrived to ignite the gunpowder. He was seized, and only after severe torture did he betray his accomplices. However, the Houses of Parliament were saved and throughout the country the people marvelled at the miraculous chance which had led to the discovery.

Everywhere throughout the country people discussed the Gunpowder Plot. It was something which must never be forgotten.

And so at our table the Catholic menace was discussed.

“We’ll never have papists here,” cried Squire Horgan, one of our neighbours, his face flushed with wine and fury. “Depend upon it.”

My stepmother smiled in her strange mysterious way and I wondered whither she had come when the sea had thrown her up that night long ago before Senara was born. There was an aloofness about her as though she were despising these people at her board. She was, it was said, from Spain. She certainly had Spanish looks. My grandmother said there was no doubt of her origins and she would know because before she had married my grandfather she had been married to a Spaniard on the island of Teneriffe. Spaniards were Catholics, very staunch ones. But I suppose witches had an entirely different religion.