Saraband for Two Sisters (17 page)

We kept to the byways as much as possible, for the groom in charge believed that there was less likelihood of meeting road robbers that way. He said that highwaymen haunted the main roads because more travellers used them, and although there might be rich people on the byways, robbers might have to hang about in wait for a whole day and meet no one, so they preferred the more regular traffic on the highways.

This seemed to me logical and I suppose we had our share of thrills, but nothing seemed to touch me because I wasn’t so much on the road as in that bedroom at Trystan Priory with my sister. When the rain teemed down I scarcely noticed it; when the roads were impassable and we had to retrace our way I accepted it stoically.

Mab said to me: ‘You’m not here, Miss Angelet. That’s what ’tis.’

And I answered: ‘I can’t be anywhere, Mab, but back at Trystan Priory with my sister.’

And I kept blaming myself in a way because I had so wanted this and it had come about in this strange uncanny way, for I knew my mother would never have consented to our going to London together; she would have thought of all the dangers on the road her darlings would have to face, and perhaps too of other dangers in London society. But there was no danger as great as that which now threatened my sister Bersaba, and my mother would agree to anything that took me out of its path.

So the journey progressed. We crossed the Tamar at Gunislake and travelled across Devon to Tavistock and thence to Somerset and to Wiltshire, where carved on the hillside I saw the strange white horse which was said to have been done in the era before Christianity came to England. As we came to Stonehenge, that impressive and most weird stone circle, I thought vaguely of the rites which were doubtless performed there long before the Romans came to Britain, and was reminded of the strange murmurs there had been about Carlotta and wondered whether she really had been a witch. It was very strange about the toad which had been found in her bed. My mother, who hated talk of witchcraft because she said people were so cruel to innocent old women and worked themselves into a frenzy through their imagination, pretended that there was no such thing. ‘It is in the minds of their accusers,’ she said. As for the toad, her explanation was that it had got into the house in some way, that was if Mab had really seen it. She may well have imagined the whole thing, said my mother, and the girl believed it because that was what she wanted to believe. At least she was allowing me to go to Senara and Carlotta, so she must have been sincere in her disbelief.

And so Stonehenge and on through Basingstoke to Reading, when I found myself a little excited and being ashamed of it, hastily sending my thoughts back to that sickroom in Trystan Priory. I caught a glimpse of Windsor Castle through the trees.

It looked magnificent with its grey towers and battlements and the Great Park which surrounded it; and I thought of history lessons in the Priory schoolroom where I had sat beside Bersaba and we had learned of how Edward the Third had picked up the lady’s garter there and created the motto ‘Evil be to him who evil thinks’—a story which we both loved to hear repeated; and how King John stayed there before signing the Magna Carta at Runnymede, and Henry VIII hunted in the forest. Seeing the very castle of which we had heard so much aroused my interest and excitement, but it was overshadowed by memories of my sister.

I thought then: She will always be there. I shall never escape from Bersaba. It seemed strange to use the word ‘escape’, for that sounded as though I were in some sort of captivity from which I wanted to get away.

We were drawing nearer and nearer to London and my thoughts were not: What is awaiting me in London, but any day there might be news of Bersaba.

And so we came to Pondersby Hall, the residence of Sir Gervaise, which lay not far from the village of Richmond close to the river—the river on which craft of all sizes and shapes sailed in and out of the city of London.

It was a magnificent house but I was accustomed to great mansions, having been brought up between my father’s priory and my grandfather’s castle, and there is nothing quite so inspiring as a castle with its grey battlemented towers and fortress-like exterior, dating back to the Norman era. But Pondersby Hall had a different personality from either the priory or the castle. It was haughty—if one can apply such a term to a house—but it was the word which occurred to me. It had a well-cared-for look which the houses of Cornwall lacked. I supposed that situated in the more cosy south east corner of England it escaped the gales to which we were subject, and the colder drier climate had not played such havoc with its walls. It was not old as houses go. It must have been built round about 1560, so it was less than a hundred years old and it had an air of modernity which the castle certainly lacked.

Perhaps this impression was strengthened by the fact that everything was in such good condition. The grass in the forecourt was neat and looked as though it had been freshly cut that morning. The grey walls looked clean as if they had just been washed—a silvery grey rather than the darker shade of Castle Paling. I was immediately aware of the ornamental scrolled gables with carved masked corbels at their bases. There was a projecting porch, and on the right of this an enormous window, mullioned and transomed, contained panes too numerous to count. The glass of those panes was of blue and red and green and very effective.

I thought, as I was to think so often during the next weeks: I wonder what Bersaba would think of that.

As we came into the forecourt a manservant appeared. He was in green and blue livery which I was soon to learn were the Pondersby colours.

He presented himself to me and, bowing, said: ‘Good afternoon, m’am. We have been expecting you since yesterday. Orders are that you are to be welcomed and taken to your apartment. I will call the grooms and your servants shall be told where to go.’

I thanked him and asked his name.

‘James, m’am. I am the major-domo. In any difficulty if you will acquaint me of it I will endeavour to remedy the fault.’

I wanted to laugh and thought how amused Bersaba would have been by his dignity.

I dismounted, stiff from so long in the saddle, and I immediately felt at a disadvantage. I had an idea that the impeccable James was inwardly raising his eyebrows and asking himself what this was which had arrived to sully his beautiful Hall.

Mab dismounted and took her place behind me. The men followed the groom, I presumed to the quarters assigned to them.

James led us up the two steps to the projecting porch with all the dignity of a man performing a most important ceremony; I was soon to realize that he brought that attitude to everything he did, for whatever it was it had to be shown to be worthy of the attention of James.

We followed him into the hall, where the coloured glass threw a flattering light on to our faces, and I looked up at it admiringly, at the same time taking in the fine plaster ceiling decorated with scrolls, and the minstrels’ gallery at one end of the hall.

A woman in a blue gown, over which she wore a green apron of the same shades as James’s livery, was waiting for us, and I recognized her at once as Ana who had accompanied Carlotta to Cornwall.

‘Our guest has come,’ said James. ‘Take her and her maid to their rooms and make sure that everything Mistress Landor needs is available.’

Ana nodded, less overawed, I fancied, than we were by the dignity of James.

‘If you will come with me I will take you to your rooms,’ she said, ‘and when her ladyship returns I will inform her of your arrival.’

We followed Ana up a staircase which led from the hall to a gallery. Along this we went and mounted another staircase. On this landing were our rooms. A large one for me and a small one leading from it for Mab. I had a window not unlike that of the hall—only much smaller with a window-seat and my panes of glass were uncoloured. My bed was a four-poster, and several mats, of the same tones as the blue of the drapes at the window and the curtains of my bed, covered the wooden floor.

I said: ‘It’s luxurious, isn’t it, Mab?’

‘’Tis certain surely so,’ replied Mab.

‘I will bring you hot water,’ said Ana, and did so.

I washed, and in a short while two menservants—in the usual livery—brought up my baggage.

I asked Mab what she thought of it.

‘It be very grand, Mistress Angelet,’ she said.

‘Yet it’s not much different from home,’ I pointed out.

‘Oh, there be grandness in the air, mistress.’

That was it. Grandness in the air. I looked down at my dusty boots. They looked out of place in this room and I dare say I looked the same.

Mab unpacked my clothes, and as I watched her their glory seemed to diminish before my eyes. I knew instinctively that they would look most unfashionable here.

It was late afternoon when Carlotta came in. She had been riding and I heard her voice as she walked across the forecourt.

I looked down at her. How elegant she was! Her habit was of pale grey and she wore a hat with a curling feather.

‘They are here then?’ She laughed as though there was something amusing about my being there.

She came up to my room and stood on the threshold looking at me.

‘Angelet!’ she cried as she came forward and, taking my hands, drew me to her. It was scarcely a kiss she gave me. Rather did she knock her cheek against mine—first on one side and then on the other.

‘A pity your sister couldn’t come with you.’ Her mouth twisted slightly, and I knew then that she really would have liked to have Bersaba here. I remembered how she had taken Bastian and upset Bersaba quite a bit—although she had pretended not to be—and I thought that perhaps because of that she had a special interest in my sister.

‘Has there been news of Trystan?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘It’s hardly likely. You’ve only just arrived.’

‘I thought it might have come ahead of us.’

She shook her head. ‘How was she when you left?’

‘Very sick.’

‘Some recover,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t brood. Where are your clothes?’

‘Mab has hung them in the cupboard.’

She went there and, looking at them, groaned.

‘Don’t you like them?’

‘They are a little old-fashioned. You will need new things here.’

‘They’re all I have.’

‘We’ll remedy that. I foresaw this so I’m prepared. Ana has already started a gown. She’ll fit you and it will be ready tomorrow. I shall take you into London and buy some fripperies for you … a fan, some patches and some rouge and powder.’

‘Patches and powder!’

‘Yes, we must subdue that blooming country complexion somehow. It will make you look such a bumpkin.’

‘But … isn’t that what I am?’

‘Assuredly you are. That is why we shall have to work hard to make you otherwise.’

She sat down on a chair and laughed at me.

‘You look startled. You are in London—where society is smart. I can assure you it is a little different from Cornwall.’

‘I am sure it is. Perhaps …’

‘Perhaps what?’

‘As I am so unsuitable I should go back.’

‘We’ll make you suitable. It’s just a matter of time. And you can’t go back. Your sister is ill. That’s why you’re here. I doubt your mother would ever have submitted you to the wicked ways of the world but for that.’

She laughed again and I said coldly, ‘I seem to amuse you.’

‘Oh, you do. And you’ll amuse yourself. In a month’s time I’ll remind you of what you are like now and you’ll laugh like mad.’

‘I’m sorry I’m so unsatisfactory,’ I said.

‘Never mind. It’s a challenge. You’ll soon grow up here. That’s the difference really. You are young for your age.’

‘I shall not be eighteen until next birthday.’

‘But eighteen in your dear old Priory is not quite the same as being eighteen in the outside world. You’ll see.’

I said: ‘Where is your mother?’

‘She is on a visit at the moment. She’ll be delighted that you’re here. She always wanted to do something for Tamsyn’s girls and said it was a pity you were condemned to life in the country.’

‘And your husband?’

‘Gervaise is at Court. We have a residence close to Whitehall and I am there often. We are not so far from Whitehall here, so it is not really like being in the country.’

‘Are you happy in your marriage?’

‘Life has been amusing,’ she answered.

‘Is that the same as being happy?’

‘I assure you, my little country mouse, it is the essence of contentment.’

I was uneasy. I disliked being talked down to. Bersaba would have known how to deal with the situation much better than I did. Oh, how I missed her. I was realizing more and more how much I had always turned to her when I was not sure how to act.

Carlotta was aware of my discomfiture and seemed to enjoy it.

‘You will soon fall into our ways,’ she said, ‘and how glad you will be that you have escaped the dull life. Now let us be practical.’

Later she showed me the house, introduced me to some of the servants, examined my wardrobe in detail and discarded most of it.

She said I would be tired after my journey, that I should retire early and tomorrow I could start my new life.

We ate together in a small room off the main hall as we did at home when we were just the family, and she talked all the time about her life, how exciting it was and how different I was going to find it, behaving all the time as though she were my benefactress.

As soon as supper, was over she said I should go to my room and sleep, for she was sure I was tired out. I was certainly glad to escape.

Mab came in and helped me get to bed, but when I lay there I could not sleep. I kept thinking of how Carlotta and Senara had arrived at the Castle and how Grandfather Casvellyn had looked like an angry prophet when he had said no good would come of their return into our lives.

Now Bersaba was ill and perhaps I should never see her again. I felt bereft. We were as one. How could I go on living without her?

I could not stop thinking of her lying in that room we had shared for so many years while the dread disease afflicted her. Bersaba tossing in fever, delirious … no longer my calm self-possessed sister—the clever part of us, the one whom I had thought I should never have to do without.