Read Online Daughter of Satan by Jean Plaidy - Free Book Online Page B

the ants in the long grass and the spiders in their web. Sometimes she would dabble her feet in the water. It was a pleasant spot for a hot day such as this had been.
    But as she came under the trees she heard a sudden whoopabove her, and several small figures – some smaller than herself – dropped from the trees. The children of the neighbourhood were upon her.
    She was felled to the ground at once, and although she kicked fiercely and tried to free herself, they were too many for her – and some were quite big boys. While they had her on the ground they blindfolded her by tying a piece of rag about her eyes, and she knew then that they were afraid that she would recognize them. She exulted in that because it showed that they were afraid of her.
    â€˜Let me go!’ she cried. ‘I’ll curse you. You’ll be sorry. I know who you are. I don’t have to see you.’
    They said nothing. One of them kicked her; another punched her back. She felt sick and faint, for although she had often witnessed physical violence she had never before experienced it.
    She kicked and screamed, calling: ‘You’ll be sorry. I know you. I know you all.’
    Still her tormentors did not speak. They forced her to sit on the grass, and when they seized her hands and tied them to her ankles she knew what they planned to do to her.
    Many hands touched her, scratching her, tearing her skin. She expected some power to come to her aid, but she had nothing . . . nothing but the strength of a ten-year-old girl to use against them.
    A great shout went up from their throats and she felt herself thrown; the waters of the muddy pond splashed about her and she was sitting on its weedy bottom. They had not been able to throw her very far in, and she was only waist-high in the water.
    The children on the edge of the pond forgot that she must not hear their voices and they began to shriek:
    â€˜She’s sinking.’
    â€˜She’s
not
!’
    â€˜She’ll float all right. She’s the Devil’s own daughter. He do look after his own.’
    One of the boys jabbed at her with a long branch of a tree; the skin of her leg was torn as he tried to push her farther out. She was past feeling pain, for she believed she was going todie, since, trussed as she was, she could no nothing to help herself, and the rag about her eyes – now wet and most foul smelling – prevented her from seeing about her.
    The shouts went on.
    â€˜She’s a witch all right.’
    Someone threw a stone at her. It missed and splashed into the water. More stones came and some of them hit her. She felt herself sinking into the mud. She was half fainting, yet her anger and her belief in herself kept her from doing so. To faint would be to drown, unless the children became frightened and pulled her out. But they would not be frightened, for there was no one to care if she was drowned. Old Granny might care; but the old woman was near death and hardly counted. Her mother ? Perhaps she would be a little sorry, but mostly relieved; she would not have to watch her as she did now, waiting for some outward sign of the devil in her daughter. Everyone else would be glad. So there was no one at all who would be really sorry.
    And as she gasped and spluttered, she was suddenly aware of silence. The children had stopped shouting.
    Then a voice said: ‘You . . . you . . . and you there, go in and bring the girl out.’
    She was seized and pulled to the bank. She lay there gasping.
    â€˜Take that rag from her eyes and untie her wrists.’
    Black spots were dancing before her eyes now. The darkening sky seemed to sway above her.
    A cultured voice said: ‘It’s the Lackwell girl.’
    Then Tamar turned over and was violently sick. She groaned and tried to stand up. She saw that the children had scattered but that the man remained. She knew him for Richard Merriman, who lived in the big house.
    â€˜You’re all