“And a good Protestant,” said my grandfather, “in spite of his Papist mother.”
So died our great Queen, she was seventy years of age and had reigned for forty-five years.
We had a new monarch. King James I who had been the James VI of Scotland.
“I wish my mother had lived to see this day,” said my grandmother. “This union between England and Scotland is bound to bring peace. Peace was what she wanted all her life—and although she came to find it in her own household, all through her life there was conflict throughout the country—religious conflict.”
“Do you think that is over now, Grandmother?” I asked.
She looked at me and a sad look came into her eyes.
She shook her head slowly.
There was a great deal of talk about our new King and Queen. At the beginning of a new reign everyone was full of hope. They believed that the old evils would disappear and be replaced by blessings. The news we heard regarding our new King was mixed. He was said to be very clever and wise—and was known as the British Solomon; it was believed that the harsh laws against Catholics would be modified. After all, had not his mother been one of the greatest Catholics of them all? We had to learn what manner of King we had but when he came to England with his Queen there was a great revival of the scare of witches.
Although it had happened some thirteen years before when the King’s Queen, Anne of Denmark, had come to England from her native land, the story was recalled.
She had been married by proxy to King James of Scotland (as he was then) and a great fleet had been prepared to take her to her husband. In September of the year 1589 she set out with the Earl Marshal and eleven ships to accompany her. As they neared the coast of Scotland such a storm arose that they could make no progress against it and were very soon in danger of drowning. There was nothing to be done but to allow themselves to be blown on to the coast of Norway. Oddly enough, although they waited there until the storms had abated, when they set out again, no sooner had they sighted the coast of Scotland than the storms arose once more and drove them back.
Peter Munch, the Danish admiral, had no doubt that the repetition of this disaster was due to witchcraft. He took Queen Anne back to Denmark and there began to cast about in his mind for anyone who might bear him a grudge. There were several people he suspected. As these were men and witchcraft was usually attributed to women, he arrested the wives of these men, put them to such torture that they broke down and confessed and they were then burned alive.
The party then set out once again for Scotland, and again no sooner had the coast of the Queen’s new country been sighted than the storms blew up again and they were driven back to Norway. By this time winter had set in and the admiral dared not undertake the journey yet a fourth time.
Another incident occurred. Jane Kennedy, who had served Mary Queen of Scots with great devotion, married Sir Andrew Melville, another loyal supporter of the late Queen, and these two were greatly favoured by James. He immediately appointed Jane chief lady of the Queen’s bedchamber in readiness for her arrival. The new Lady Melville made her way immediately to the palace, but in doing so she had to cross Leith Ferry. No sooner had she begun this brief journey than a storm arose and the boat in which she sailed was crushed by another and she drowned.
This was considered to be too much of a coincidence to be natural and witchcraft was again blamed. There was a hunt, in Scotland this time, which resulted in the torture and burning of old women. The King in due course had gone to fetch his bride and did succeed in bringing her to Scotland; but that period had become known as The Time of the Witches; and now that James had become King of England and travelled south with his bride, it was remembered that they had been the victims of witchcraft, and the interest in and persecution of witches was revived.
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.