Love and History

To Catch a Demon

In the year 1649 King Charles I is beheaded at Whitehall Palace in London and for a year afterwards, Diana and her parents, a loyal royalist family, live quietly in their remote manor house.  Then Jasper Philbert and his band of roundheads arrive and turn Diana's world upside down.  Having murdered her parents, Philbert forces Diana into marriage with him in order to own her property.  After ten years of violence and sexual abuse at his hands, Charles Stuart returns to England to reclaim his throne and capture the traitors who murdered his father.  Jasper is one of those traitors and he flees, giving Diana a long awaited chance to escape. 

After reuniting with Peter Spicer, her childhood sweetheart, Diana's taste of freedom is short lived when it becomes clear that the new King believes her guilty of helping and supporting her husband.  Peter must hunt down and recapture the traitor in order to free the woman he loves from her stinking prison.

Set in England after the civil war between Cavaliers and Roundheads, this is a story of loyalty and devotion in the face of injustice.


"Charles Stuart is back in England!" Jasper shouted frantically, his voice bellowing up the stairs and making Diana shudder at the prospect of his presence.  "Quick.  We must leave at once."

"Leave?  To go where exactly?"

His face was crimson and sweaty from the unaccustomed exertion of dragging his bulk up the oak staircase at such a rapid pace.  His hair was wet along his receding hairline from the excessive perspiration to which he was prone.  His stomach hung over his grey flannel breeches and swayed as he moved, making Diana grimace with distaste.

He called to the maid as he came through the door.

"He has sworn to capture and execute anyone who had anything to do with the old king's death.  That means us."

He strode to his chest and began to pull open the drawers, yanking out his belongings and discarding them onto the bed.

Diana shook her head and stared at him defiantly.  This was the moment for which she had waited ten years, the moment she could finally free herself from this man who had forced her into marriage, had imprisoned and abused her.

She had almost lost hope of ever seeing this day. When Cromwell finally died she had thought the monarchy must surely be restored, but it was not to be.  The country had suffered two years of his son, 
Richard, before parliament finally invited the rightful King to return to his throne.

Now the words she had longed to hear for ten years had been uttered by the foul mouth of Jasper Philbert, arch traitor, 
sadist, sexual deviant, puritan and her lawful husband.  Charles Stuart is back in England.

"No," she answered.  "That means you."

"Me, you, what's the difference?  You are my wife."

The flustered maid arrived and gave a quick curtsey.

"Get Mistress Philbert's things packed.  We are leaving within the hour."

Diana watched as he left the bedchamber, then her eyes wandered around the familiar walls at the delicate plasterwork, at the beautiful mahogany furniture.  Was it possible that she 
could at last get her house back, that after all these years she could at last get her life back?

The maid began to open drawers and pack things into boxes.  She did not look up, did not raise her eyes to her mistress.  Jasper returned, still hurrying, with his valet keeping pace behind him.  The young man started to open the drawers in Jasper's chests and pack the contents into similar boxes, while Jasper scooped his things up from the bed where he had tossed them and packed them into a smaller box.

Diana made no move to help the maid.  She stood in silence watching the urgent activity, a little smile forming on her lips. She was busy planning the best way to escape, the best place to hide.

Finally, Jasper straightened up and stared angrily at his wife.

"Why are you just standing there, Madam?"  Jasper demanded.  "I have booked passage on the Henrietta; it sails for the Americas in two hours time."

"I am not coming," Diana replied.

He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at her angrily.

Of course you are coming," he declared.  "What else do you think you are going to do?  I realise you are not very bright, Madam, but even you must be able to work out that Charles Stuart will be reclaiming his throne and all my property along with it.  This house will be forfeit."

"This house is not your property," Diana retaliated. "It is mine."

He scoffed.

"It became mine when you became mine, make no mistake about that.  You will have nothing; you will be on the streets and you cannot earn a living there.  That is one skill you will never master."

He said that last with a contemptuous sneer and she bit her lip.  He did not have the power to hurt her, he never had, but if she lacked the skill to earn a living on the streets, she knew who to blame.

"Come, hurry," he said urgently.  "This is no time for your histrionics."

"I told you.  I am not coming."

Her defiance enraged him and he took one long stride across the room to where she stood.  His hand reached out and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh and pinching painfully, while his other hand rose high above her head to come down on her face with a hard slap which snapped her neck around.  The two servants looked up sharply, the woman blushed, then they continued with their tasks.  The scene was a familiar one and they had learned to ignore it.

"Now," Jasper said, his hand still firmly gripping Diana's upper arm. With his free 
hand he began to unfasten his leather belt. "Are you going to get yourself ready, or will a good thrashing make you move faster?"

He did not complete the task of unfastening his belt; he did not have time but it would not have been the first time he had beaten her with his belt.  He released his grip and shoved her against the wall, bouncing the back of her head against the solid oak panelling.  Diana's eyes moved to the embarrassed maidservant as she resisted the need to nurse her injured cheek or to hold her aching head.  She would not give him the satisfaction.  She finally made up her mind and drew a deep breath as she made toward the door.

"Where are you going?"  He demanded


He frowned suspiciously and for one horrifying moment she thought he would insist 
on going with her, but at last he turned away and began to pack his jewellery into his pockets.  He would not want all those rings on display on a ship.

"Get on with it then!"  He shouted.  "If you make me miss the tide I shall see that you suffer for it."

If he missed the ship, he would be the one to suffer for it.  She would make quite sure that the returning king knew precisely who and where he was.

She hurried downstairs and outside toward the outhouse.  She opened the door and glanced back at the house, at the upstairs windows, to be sure no one was watching.  Once she was sure she was unobserved, she closed the door and sped along behind the outhouse to the barn, where she climbed the ladder to the hay loft and burrowed her way beneath the broken bales of hay.

She had no idea what was going to happen when her husband left; he would have no choice but to continue on to the Americas alone if he could not find her.  He had been one of Cromwell's close advisors and his signature was there, for all to see, on the old King's death warrant.  Those were the men that the returning King would hunt down, those were the ones whose heads he wanted on London Bridge and he would not rest easy on his throne until he could count each one.  They would each suffer the most horrendous death a man could face, and Jasper had to leave England before the ports were 
alerted, before his escape route was closed to him.  He would not wait for Diana.  Without her property she was nothing to him, just an unwilling vessel for his lust and an object on which to ease his temper.

She may have nothing, but she would rather live on the streets than spend the rest of her life on the other side of the world with him.

She could have saved herself a lot of pain and humiliation over the last ten years had she meekly obeyed his wishes, but she felt compelled to resist him at every opportunity.   She would not let herself be afraid of him, refused to be cowed by his sadism.  She was a noblewoman and she would behave as such, no matter what he did to her.

The civil war had disrupted the lives of everyone, but none more so than Diana and her parents, Sir William and Lady Ferguson.  Diana had been betrothed as a child to Peter, the son of Sir Edward Spicer, and he, along with the Fergusons, supported the King.  They believed that everyone would support the rightful king and the war would be a mere skirmish when Cromwell learned that he had little allegiance.  After all, whatever one's beliefs, to raise arms against the King was high treason and not many would have the stomach for that.

eventually it became clear that many people no longer trusted their King.  His son, Charles fled to France, along with some of his loyal followers, among them Sir Edward and his family.  That was the last Diana saw of Peter and she was no longer certain if he were alive or dead.  They had not been able to correspond as both their fathers deemed it too dangerous.

She was only fifteen then but she loved Peter and had anticipated a happy life with him.  When he went to France, Diana thought it was the worst thing that could happen to her.  She knew better now.

She had missed Peter so much and each night she would imagine that the King had returned, bringing Peter with him.  They would be married and make love and have babies and live happily ever after.

Then Jasper came and stifled her imaginings for good.

After the execution of the King, Diana and her family had kept to themselves, thankful for the remoteness of their small mansion.  It was out in the English countryside, many miles from the nearest town or village, and if they grew their own vegetables and raised their own livestock for meat, nobody would remember that they were there.

The civil war had been bitter and violent, and Diana's father had lost many friends who had fought for the King and the royalist cause.  But inevitably the battle had been lost to Cromwell's new model army and since then until his death, he had ruled England as Lord Protector.  His laws were based on his strict puritan religion and England had become a dismal place with no inns, no theatres, no dancing or even bright colours for the ladies.  Everyone went about in black or grey, women were forced to cover their hair with dreary white caps, as showing long hair to the world was a sign of a loose woman.

Until then, uncovered, long hair had been a sign of virginity; now it was just the opposite.

Because of their remoteness, the Fergusons were able to dress in their usual flamboyant manner, with their satins and lace and bright colours, and there was no one to see or object.  They lived quietly with their small staff of servants and had thought to see out the protectorate quietly.  Diana had no hope of a marriage, as there was no one to make a match with her, but she had no desire for one.  She loved Peter and still hoped one day to see him again, to hold him in her arms again.

They had spent many happy hours, planning their future together, deciding the names of their children, holding each other and kissing, longing for the day when they would take their vows in 
church and consummate their love.

Then one day Jasper Philbert and his small army of roundheads had come and realised that here was a house they had missed.  They could easily see that Diana's father was a royalist; they could tell by their clothing, by the bright colours and jewellery they wore.  But he was, like most parliamentarians, a hypocrite.  

Diana was just sixteen years old the day she saw them riding up to the house.  She called to her mother and father and they all ran to hide in the cellar, but they were too late.  Sir William could not run; he had a lame leg which would not bend and which had prevented him from fighting for the royalist cause. He walked with the aid of a stick and because of his hesitant gait, one of Jasper's men had seen them.

The family and their servants sat on the dirt floor among the racks of wine and huddled together, holding their breath in the hope they would not be heard, but the footsteps coming down the cellar steps toward them declared that to be a vain hope and sent shivers of fear tingling through their bodies. 

Diana sat holding her mother's hand tightly, their nails biting into each other's flesh, and she felt her body trembling uncontrollably.

"Say nothing," her father ordered.  "Leave it to me."

They were happy to do so, expected him to be able to talk his way out of their predicament, but it was not to be.

They had their first glimpse of the bloated and ruddy face of Jasper Philbert as he 
leaned over the stair rail and peered at them with a satisfied grin.

They could see the men behind him, their little round helmets reflecting the light from the torches in the hallway above them, their swords held ready.

"This is my house," her father started to talk, but he was cut off.

Jasper made a swift movement of his head and the soldiers rushed down the rickety wooden stairs and grabbed him by the arms, dragging him behind them up the stairs.  Frequently he fell on his face, as they had hold of his arms, preventing him from putting out a hand to save himself.  With his stiff 
leg he had no hope of keeping up with them.

"What are you doing with my husband?"  Lady Ferguson cried in alarm.

"What do you think should be done with traitors, Madam?"

"He is no traitor!  You are the traitors!"

Jasper's fury showed clear in his expression as he hurried down the stairs and 
loomed over Lady Ferguson.  He was a big man, tall and broad shouldered, but there was little muscle to his huge bulk.  It was mostly fat and now he bent and reached out an enormous hand, grabbing hold of Lady Ferguson. He pulled her roughly to her feet, forcing her out of Diana's grasp, not giving her time to put her feet firmly on the ground.  Diana clambered to her feet and lunged forward in an attempt to help her mother, but one of the soldiers grabbed her arms and held her back.  More soldiers held back the servants; they all watched helplessly as their leader pushed Lady Ferguson down on to the impacted dirt of the cellar's floor. One of the soldiers knelt down at her head and held her down, his big hands pushing his weight onto her shoulders to keep her still, as their leader unfastened his breeches, pushed up her skirts and forced himself into her, while she struggled in vain. She twisted violently, trying to free herself from the soldier's grip, but the captain's weight on top of her held her still.  She let out a heartrending scream, bringing quick tears to Diana's eyes.  The rapist made no attempt to cover her screams; he seemed to want everyone to hear and Diana felt compassion for her father who must have heard his wife's scream and wondered what was being done to her.  It was best he never found out.

Diana was crying and struggling with frustration, but when she closed her eyes against the awful sight, the soldier who held her pushed his sword 
to her throat and yelled in her ear.

"Open them!"  He cried out.  "You need to know what to expect."

Diana's heart was hammering as she tried to hold back tears, knowing that these barbarians would find them entertaining.  When the captain had finished, he got to his feet and yanked his victim up with him, then climbed the stairs to the ground floor, dragging the sobbing woman, who tripped over as he gave her no chance to walk at a pace she could manage.  

Diana yanked her arm forward, trying to free herself from the firm grip of the soldier who held her, wanting to follow her mother.  She had little doubt that this day would be the last for all of them and she wanted to be with her at the end.  But she was held fast.

"Stay put," he told her gruffly.  "The captain has not finished with you yet."

She knew then, she knew that this awful man would do to her the same as he had done to her mother.  Her knees almost gave way beneath her; she was a virgin and this was not how she had dreamed of parting with that treasure. She had always expected it to be Peter, to whom she would give herself willingly, Peter who would take her virginity in love.  It was not something that should be stolen in violence.

She stood trembling, cursing herself for the weakness, as she watched the captain clambering down the stairs again.  There was no sound from the top, no sign of her mother or father.  He turned to the soldiers who remained.

"Take the servants upstairs," he ordered.  "Give them the choice."

Diana was unsure what he meant by that, but she knew she would not have to wait for long to learn the answer.

He grabbed her arm painfully and held fast to her while she struggled, trying to pull herself away from him, and he watched the soldiers take the servants up the stairs and leave them alone.  She turned defiant eyes on him, shuddered as he leered at her with lechery in his eyes.

"Well," she challenged him.  "Is this the wonderful puritans at work?  Persecuting innocent and helpless women?  Degrading us to make yourself feel like a big man?"

His eyes blazed with fury and he slapped her, hard across the face.  That was to be the first of many blows she would receive over the next ten years.

Diana hid beneath the hay in the barn, and tears began to drift down her cheeks as she recalled every ghastly detail of that day, of the last time she had seen her parents alive.  Jasper and his soldiers took them out and hanged them from a tree branch, and Diana awaited the same.  But he had worse in store for her.  After he had raped her on the cellar floor he had locked her in and left her, sobbing hysterically, from pain and bitter disappointment.  Her mother and father were a loving couple and had taught her that the marriage bed was a place of love.  She would never experience that love, not now.  It had been spoiled forever. 

After watching her parents hang, the roundhead captain returned to the cellar.  Diana heard the heavy key turn in the lock and she held on to a scream.  She was sure he would violate her again before he dragged her outside as well and it would not be long before she found herself choking from the end of a rope, a painful death which would no doubt give him great pleasure to watch.

He stood over her while she tried desperately to compose her features, to bring some semblance of dignity to her demeanour then he reached down and grabbed her upper arm in his enormous,
ape likehand, pulling her to her feet.

He looked distastefully at the red stain on the back of her pink, silk skirt.

"A virgin, no less," he muttered.

Diana bit her lip.  She was sore and expected more pain when he did it to her again.

"What do you want?"  She demanded.

He started at her thoughtfully, before he replied.

"A wife," he answered.

She caught her breath in shock.  She had not expected that; she would rather be dead.

His theft of her virginity had been painful and she was bruised and bleeding and wondered if it would be like this every time.  She shuddered with disgust at his large belly and stinking breath and the idea of marriage to him made her want to jump from a high window.

"I would rather hang
like my parents," she protested.

He grinned with satisfaction.

"What would that get me?"  He replied.  "If I hang you, I will get nothing.  If I marry you I will get a ready vessel every time I want it and this house and estate.  It is
time I retired and a lovely young wife is just what I need to settle down with."

He had stolen her life and her property, he had taken and sold whatever he wanted from the house and he had paid a minister to marry them, paid him with her money.  The man ignored her protests and arguments; he had been well paid to do so. So much for being a man of God.  Once married, all her property legally belonged to Jasper. 

She would not flee, even should the opportunity present itself. It was her house, her lands and despite what the law said, one day she planned to get it all back.  The only way to do that was to kill him, but she never found the opportunity.  If she was going to do it, and she would have done so eagerly, she did not intend to suffer for it.  She hated Jasper more than anything in the world, but he was not worth hanging for.  It used to be that a woman convicted of murdering her own husband was subject to death by fire.  Diana was not sure if that still held true, but the idea was to get Jasper out of her life, not to accompany him to hell.  She needed it to look as though it were an accident or natural causes.  She could find nothing that could be used as
poison and he kept her under close supervision the whole time.  She was not even allowed to go to the nearest town without him or to buy from a travelling peddler and he always made sure she had no money, none at all.

Once she had found what she thought were toadstools in the woods beside the house and she picked them eagerly. This would be ideal; should anyone suspect poison it could pass for an accident, toadstools confused with mushrooms. She waited until she was alone then took them to the kitchen and prepared and cooked them, mixed them up with the mushroom sauce the cook had left simmering on the fire.  None of the servants cared for him at all and it would likely not trouble their consciences if he died as a result of their negligence.

She waited impatiently for signs that the poison was taking effect but instead of death came hallucinations; he seemed to think she was an angel come to punish him for his evil deeds.  If only!  But once he had recovered, the fear of that avenging angel soon disappeared.  That was as close as she had been able to get to finding anything with which to dispose of him.  She spent a lot of time searching the forest for more poisonous
plants, but found nothing, not even a simple nightshade berry.  She supposed that her father had ordered all such plants dug out and destroyed when she was a child, lest she poison herself with them.

On the night of their wedding, she had run to her bedchamber and slammed the door, but her fingers were trembling and she failed in her attempts to turn the key before she heard him outside the door.  He pushed it open, hitting her hard with it and pushing her against the wall.  He had used his strength to corner her and rip off her clothing and he had pushed her onto the bed and forced her legs apart, forced himself into her, even though she still bled from his attack of the previous day.  She hammered her fists into his shoulders, but it had no effect.  All that had produced was his contemptuous laughter.  She raked her nails down the ample flesh of his cheek which made him lean up and slap her face. 
Still she would not acquiesce, would not give in.  She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked hard, feeling the sparse, grey strands brutally leaving his scalp.

reaction this time was to ball his fist and punch her hard in the face, then he gripped both her wrists together in one strong hand, leaving her helpless.

Each night he would force himself on her while she turned her face away and struggled to be free of his heavy body.  It took a long time before she realised that the struggling was firing his passion, that he enjoyed the resistance.  After that she just closed her eyes tightly and lie rigid; he hated that.  He even slapped her a few times to try to make her resist him, but she was determined not to react and her stillness made the sessions of abuse shorter.  Once he had forced his ugly organ into her mouth, but she bit down hard and drew blood.  He screamed and yanked her to her feet, grabbed his belt from the chair and beat her until she bled, but he never repeated the disgusting act.  It also kept him away from her until he had healed, so she thought it well worth it.

Each night when he had finished with her she would go into her little dressing room where she kept a large bowl and lots of hot water.  There she would douche herself and submerge herself in the bowl in the hope that his seed did not take.

She was unsure whether he wanted a son or not, but she had no intention of breeding one for him if she could avoid it.

The day after their wedding he sent for a seamstress to make some black cotton dresses with white round collars and forced her to cover her hair with the white cap.


Now she spat a stalk of hay from her mouth and held her breath when she heard her name being called from outside
in the grounds.  She had been in the barn for a good half hour and she could hear his harsh voice, yelling angrily.

"Diana!  Get yourself out here!"

She stayed where she was, longing to peer through the slats in the wooden walls but afraid of being seen or even heard.  He yelled again.

"I have no intention of missing the tide for you," he shouted.  "I shall be forced to go without you and you will be left to fend for yourself.  That is not as easy as a spoilt little slut like you might think."  Silence but for his footsteps crunching on the gravel.  "Get out here, you bitch!  Wait till I get my hands on you!  You will regret this, I promise you!"

She heard the carriage wheels, she heard Jasper's angry voice calling again but still she did not move;  her ears were filled with the drumming of her heartbeat as she kept hold of her breath and lay still.

"Very well!  Have it your own way.  Do not think that the King will pardon you; he will assume you supported your husband, which is what a decent woman should do.  But we both know that you are no decent woman."

He was trying to anger her in the hope that she would give herself away to retaliate and she knew it.  It was very difficult for her to keep
silent, when she really wanted to tell him what she thought.  That trait had left her with a lot of scars and caused her a lot of pain over the years, but he seemed to enjoy it.  It gave him an excuse to beat her, which he seemed to savour more than anything else.  She bit her lips to keep them silent and at last heard the carriage roll away, heard the wheels crunching on the gravel.

She stayed still in the hay loft for another hour just in case it was some trick.  If he had spoken the truth, he would have gone by now.  The Henrietta would not wait for him and he could not afford to be left behind.