France and that there was a price on his head. Others said he
himself had been executed, though the stories differed as to
whether he died in Scotland or in France or even in Yorkshire.
Still others believed he had taken ship for the New World, or that
he became a missionary to the Dark Continent. But whatever the
truth, all agreed on one thing - if his name was never heard again
in England it would be the greatest blessing God could give his
children.
Something to remember me by ...
Something to remember, something that no one could ever hope to
forget... or my name isn't Matthew
Hopkins .
Harriet felt a chill run down her spine and numb her
legs. Matthew Hopkins! That was the name of the madman who had killed scores of
innocents in the name of God, the name that the sane and civilised
world had thought never to hear again, and now...
Surely not , she thought desperately.
Yet had she not heard it from his own lips? She was certain now it
had been no dream. Jacob Crawley and Matthew Hopkins, the hated and
feared persecutor of innocents, the man who had put a rope around
the necks of old women and children alike... Jacob Crawley and
Matthew Hopkins were one and the same person, and now the rope was
about to go round Harriet's own neck!
Ellen Grayling lay back against the pile of pillows at the
head of her bed and grinned at Jane Handiwell. 'Janey, my dear,'
she drawled, 'you look so impressive in that darling outfit, but
what say you do catch one of the birdies? You aren't exactly equipped for the
ritual stuffing.'
Jane, who was
dressed in a black leather jerkin, breeches and boots, and who was
now in the process of pulling a matching hood over her head,
grinned back at her aristocratic young friend. 'Ellie dear,' she
replied smoothly, 'there is more than one way to skin a cat, and
certainly more than one way to stuff a bird, as I thought you
should know well enough by now.'
'Of course, my
darling,' Ellen replied, 'but not down in the main hall, and not in
front of all those beastly friends of Roddy's. It might suit for
one of those great sweaty men to stick his cock into a slave in
public, but we're supposed to be ladies.'
'The rules
don't say the bird has to be stuffed in public.' Jane smiled and
peered out from two narrow slits angled to give the mask an almost
oriental appearance. Only her mouth and chin remained uncovered.
'Besides,' she added, 'I can let Oona do the public show. I always
find it so amusing when those silly birds realise her little
secret.'
Ellen gave a
visible shudder. 'That creature makes my skin crawl. She's not
human, I'm sure of it, and one of these days she'll end up killing
someone. I do wish Roddy wouldn't put those claw things on her
hands; she's dangerous enough without them. Have you seen those two
fangs up close?'
'I think she's
a handsome specimen,' Jane retorted. 'She has the most beautiful
body, so strong and athletic, and her features beneath all the
paint and the masks... well, there's something very individual
about her.'
'Thank the
Lord for that!' Ellen exclaimed. 'To think there could ever be
another like her!'
'Perhaps, if
Roddy would permit us, we should try to tame her a little?' Jane
suggested.
For a moment
Ellen could not be sure her friend was serious, and when she
realised she was, her expression became even more horrified. 'You
can't mean that? Why, Jane Handiwell, is there no shame in you? You
look at that demented half-human creature and all you see is an
adventure in your bed. Shame on you!'
'Why, Ellie, I
do believe you might be jealous.' Jane's thin lips curled back in a
spiteful grin. 'The thought of my little pussy taking any cock is
too much for you to bear, isn't it? Well, I doubt it would ever
happen anyway. Even I would be wary of Oona when her shaft appears,
for the lust in her eyes signals danger, to be sure. No, Oona can
sate herself on the slaves. But today I shall be her handler, so I
shall need to scent myself heavily. You know what she's like
himself had been executed, though the stories differed as to
whether he died in Scotland or in France or even in Yorkshire.
Still others believed he had taken ship for the New World, or that
he became a missionary to the Dark Continent. But whatever the
truth, all agreed on one thing - if his name was never heard again
in England it would be the greatest blessing God could give his
children.
Something to remember me by ...
Something to remember, something that no one could ever hope to
forget... or my name isn't Matthew
Hopkins .
Harriet felt a chill run down her spine and numb her
legs. Matthew Hopkins! That was the name of the madman who had killed scores of
innocents in the name of God, the name that the sane and civilised
world had thought never to hear again, and now...
Surely not , she thought desperately.
Yet had she not heard it from his own lips? She was certain now it
had been no dream. Jacob Crawley and Matthew Hopkins, the hated and
feared persecutor of innocents, the man who had put a rope around
the necks of old women and children alike... Jacob Crawley and
Matthew Hopkins were one and the same person, and now the rope was
about to go round Harriet's own neck!
Ellen Grayling lay back against the pile of pillows at the
head of her bed and grinned at Jane Handiwell. 'Janey, my dear,'
she drawled, 'you look so impressive in that darling outfit, but
what say you do catch one of the birdies? You aren't exactly equipped for the
ritual stuffing.'
Jane, who was
dressed in a black leather jerkin, breeches and boots, and who was
now in the process of pulling a matching hood over her head,
grinned back at her aristocratic young friend. 'Ellie dear,' she
replied smoothly, 'there is more than one way to skin a cat, and
certainly more than one way to stuff a bird, as I thought you
should know well enough by now.'
'Of course, my
darling,' Ellen replied, 'but not down in the main hall, and not in
front of all those beastly friends of Roddy's. It might suit for
one of those great sweaty men to stick his cock into a slave in
public, but we're supposed to be ladies.'
'The rules
don't say the bird has to be stuffed in public.' Jane smiled and
peered out from two narrow slits angled to give the mask an almost
oriental appearance. Only her mouth and chin remained uncovered.
'Besides,' she added, 'I can let Oona do the public show. I always
find it so amusing when those silly birds realise her little
secret.'
Ellen gave a
visible shudder. 'That creature makes my skin crawl. She's not
human, I'm sure of it, and one of these days she'll end up killing
someone. I do wish Roddy wouldn't put those claw things on her
hands; she's dangerous enough without them. Have you seen those two
fangs up close?'
'I think she's
a handsome specimen,' Jane retorted. 'She has the most beautiful
body, so strong and athletic, and her features beneath all the
paint and the masks... well, there's something very individual
about her.'
'Thank the
Lord for that!' Ellen exclaimed. 'To think there could ever be
another like her!'
'Perhaps, if
Roddy would permit us, we should try to tame her a little?' Jane
suggested.
For a moment
Ellen could not be sure her friend was serious, and when she
realised she was, her expression became even more horrified. 'You
can't mean that? Why, Jane Handiwell, is there no shame in you? You
look at that demented half-human creature and all you see is an
adventure in your bed. Shame on you!'
'Why, Ellie, I
do believe you might be jealous.' Jane's thin lips curled back in a
spiteful grin. 'The thought of my little pussy taking any cock is
too much for you to bear, isn't it? Well, I doubt it would ever
happen anyway. Even I would be wary of Oona when her shaft appears,
for the lust in her eyes signals danger, to be sure. No, Oona can
sate herself on the slaves. But today I shall be her handler, so I
shall need to scent myself heavily. You know what she's like
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