A Witch's Spell

CHAPTER ONE 1818-2

If she was muttering, as she usually did, to herself, they were quite certain that she was casting a curse on those she did not like.

There was also a story about another girl who had gone into the woods night after night and finally had been spirited away so secretly that she was never seen again.

Hermia’s father had given the explanation that, as a visitor to the village who came from London had disappeared at exactly the same time, it was quite obvious what had happened.

But the villagers were convinced that the girl’s fate was the same at Betsy’s. She had joined in the Devil’s revelries and he had made her one of his own.

It seemed unlikely, Hermia thought, as she neared the village, that the Devil would ride such an outstanding well bred horse or would be dressed by the tailors patronised by the Prince Regent.

These were, Peter assured her, the only cutters who could make a man’s coat fit as if he had been poured into it.

Thinking of Peter made Hermia wish that he was at home. He would certainly think her experience amusing, but not even to her adored brother, to whom she confided almost everything, would she admit that she had been kissed by a stranger, Devil or no Devil.

‘Peter would laugh at my being so foolish,’ she told herself, ‘while Papa would be furious!’

It was not often her good-natured, happy-go-lucky father was angry about anything.

But she had become aware this last year since she had grown up that he disliked the compliments that the gentlemen who came to the Vicarage paid her, although there were not many of them.

She had heard him say to her mother that it was a great impertinence and he was not going to tolerate it.

Although she knew it was very reprehensible, Hermia had waited outside the door to overhear her mother’s reply.

“Hermia is growing up, darling,” she had said, “and, as she is very pretty, in fact lovely, you must expect men to notice her, although unfortunately there are not many eligible bachelors around here to do so.”

“I will not have any man, whoever he may be, messing about with her,” the Honourable Stanton Brooke said sharply.

“Nobody is likely to do that,” Mrs. Brooke replied soothingly, “but I wish your brother and his wife would be a little kinder in asking her to some of the parties they give at The Hall. After all, she is the same age as Marilyn.”

Hermia listening outside the door had given a little sigh and did not wait to hear any more.

She was well aware that her mother resented the fact that the Earl of Millbrooke, her father’s brother, and his wife had almost ignored her since she was eighteen.

Not once had she been asked to any of the parties they gave at The Hall for her first cousin and Hermia knew even better than her mother the reason for it.

Marilyn was jealous.

During the last year when they had done lessons together, as they had ever since they had been small children, she had grown more and more resentful of her cousin’s looks and never missed an opportunity to disparage her.

Because she could not find anything unkind to say about her face, she concentrated on her clothes.

“That gown you are wearing is almost in rags!” she would say when Hermia arrived at The Hall early in the morning. “I cannot think why you are content to make a scarecrow of yourself!”

“The answer is quite simple,” Hermia would reply. “Your father is very rich and mine is very poor!”

She had not spoken resentfully, she had merely said it laughingly, but Marilyn had scowled and tried to think of another weapon she could hurt her with.

It did seem to Hermia very unfair, even though her mother had explained it to her, that it was traditional for the oldest son of the family to have everything and the younger sons practically nothing.

“By why, Mama?”

“I will explain it to you,” her mother had replied quietly. “Large estates like your Uncle John’s must be passed intact from father to son. If they once started to divide up the land and the money amongst other members of the family, there would soon be no great landlords in England, but only a lot of smallholdings.”

She paused to see if her daughter was listening to what she was saying before she went on,

“That is why in all the great aristocratic families the oldest son inherits everything, including the title. The second son generally goes into the Army or the Navy, while the third son becomes a Clergyman because there are always livings of which his father is the patron.”

“So that is why Papa became a Parson!”

Her mother had smiled.

“Exactly. I think in fact, if he had had the choice, he would rather have been a soldier. However, as you know, he is just a poor Parson, but a very very good one.”

That was true, Hermia knew, because her father for all his easy-going nature was extremely compassionate and had a real love of his fellow men.

He wanted to help everybody who came to him with their problems and enjoyed doing so.

He would listen for hours, which she knew was something her uncle would never do, to the complaints of some poor old woman about her health or to a farmer who was having difficulties with his crops.

If a young man found himself in trouble and did not know how to get out of it, her father would advise and help him, often financially.

“I never realised until I took Holy Orders,” he had said once, “how many dramas take place in even the smallest village. If I was a writer, I could fill a book with the stories that I listen to every day and sometimes that is what I think I will do.”

“A very good idea, darling,” his wife answered, “but, as you spend all your free time at the moment riding, I think you will have to wait until you are too old to get on a horse before you start using your pen!”

The great joy of her father, apart from being at home with his wife and family, was to ride his brother’s horses and hunt them in the winter.

The Earl was far more generous than his wife and it was the Countess who made it difficult, after Hermia had ceased to have lessons with Marilyn, for her to borrow the horses that filled the ample stables at The Hall and were usually under-exercised.

Her aunt was a plain woman and that partly accounted for her policy of more or less ostracising her husband’s niece, besides her desire to protect her daughter from what she privately thought of as undesirable competition.

As it happened, Marilyn was quite pretty in a conventional way.

In fact, wearing gowns made by the most expensive dressmakers in Bond Street and having her hair arranged by a very competent lady’s maid, she would have stood out in any ballroom if her cousin had not been present.

It was therefore, as the Countess of Millbrooke saw only too clearly, unlikely that Marilyn would receive the compliments that were her due if Hermia was present.

The first time Hermia realised that she was not to be asked to a ball that was to be given at the hall and to which she had looked forward excitedly, she wept bitterly.

“How can Marilyn leave me out, Mama?” she had sobbed. “We used to talk about what would happen when we were grown up and how we would share a ball together.”

She had given a little sob as she said,

“It all sounded such – fun and we told each other how we would – count our – conquests and s-see who was the w-winner.”

Her mother had put her arms around her and held her close.

“Now listen, my darling,” she said. “You have to face the truth as I had to do when I married your father.”

Hermia checked her tears and listened as her mother went on,

“You may have wondered sometimes,” she began, “why your Aunt Edith, and sometimes even your Uncle John, are so condescending to me.”

“I had noticed that they give themselves airs and graces, Mama.”

“That is because your grandfather had planned that your father should marry a very rich young woman,” her mother explained, “who lived near The Hall in those days and who had made it very clear that she loved your father.”

Hermia smiled.

“That is not surprising, Mama! He is so good-looking that I can understand any woman thinking him fascinating.”

“That is what I found,” her mother said. “To me he is the most attractive and charming man in the whole world.”

She spoke very softly and her eyes were tender as she continued,

“But I was the daughter of a General who had spent his life serving his country and retired with only a small pension which left him very little money for his children.”

Hermia sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Now I understand, Mama,” she said. “Papa married you because he loved you and he was not interested in the girl with lots of money.”

“That is exactly what happened,” her mother said. “Your grandmother and your uncle pleaded with him to be sensible and think of the future, but he told them that was exactly what he was going to do!”

“So you were married and lived happily ever afterward,” Hermia said, her eyes shining.

“Very very happy,” her mother replied. “At the same time, darling, you have had to suffer for it, not only because you are my daughter but also because you are very lovely.”

Hermia was startled. It was something her mother had never said to her before.

“I am telling you the truth and not paying you a compliment,” her mother said. “I believe it was because your father and I were so happy and so very much in love that both our children not only have beautiful faces but beautiful characters as well.”

That was certainly true of Peter, Hermia thought.

He was outstandingly handsome and, because she resembled her mother, she was aware that she was very pretty.

When there had been any sort of parties at The Hall, all the male guests whatever their ages had always seemed to want to talk to her.

“You know,” her mother had gone on reflectively, “we always have to pay for everything in life. Nothing is free and you, darling, while you may find it a great advantage to be beautiful, will have to pay for it by knowing that other women will be jealous of you and will often make your life difficult in consequence.”

That was exactly what Marilyn had done, Hermia thought, when the invitations no longer came from The Hall and her aunt looked at her with an expression of hostility even when they were in Church.

Peter had come down from Oxford – they had made great sacrifices to send him there – and talked not only of the exciting things he did as a student but also of the visits he made to London with some of his friends.

When he was alone with Hermia, he told her how much he resented not being able to afford the clothes his friends had from the best tailors.

“The horses they own,” he went on, “are so exceptional that I will never be able to own anything to equal them!”

He, like his father, was allowed to ride the horses in the Earl’s stables, but he could not take one away with him and all he had at Oxford was what he could borrow from his friends or hire from some livery stable.

“How I hate being poor!” he said angrily the last time he had been at home.

“Don’t say that to Papa and Mama,” Hermia warned quickly. “It would hurt them.”

“I know it would,” Peter replied, “but when I go up to The Hall and find William, with all the money in the world, sniping at me not only behind my back but to my face and making disparaging remarks about me to my friends, I want to even things up by giving him a good hiding!”

Hermia gave a cry of horror.

“You must not do that! If would infuriate Uncle John and he might no longer allow both you and Papa to ride his horses in future and you know that I have been banned from The Hall.”