Saraband for Two Sisters (3 page)

‘And so shall I,’ answered Bersaba equally so.

So we talked of balls and our cousins examined our clothes and the conversation was on a frivolous level, which pleased me, but I was aware that Bersaba thought it rather foolish. She retired into one of her silences which were so maddening because it seemed as though she were despising us all.

We dined in the great hall because we were quite a large party—nine in all, for Bastian and Uncle Connell, who had been out on the estate, came home in the late afternoon.

While we were dressing I said to Bersaba, ‘Let’s wear our blues tonight.’

She hesitated and a slight smile touched her lips. ‘All right,’ she said.

‘We could have some fun,’ I said, ‘pretending I’m you and you’re me.’

‘There are some who’ll know the difference.’

‘Who?’

‘Well, Mother for instance.’

‘Mother always knows.’

So we wore our blue silk gowns with their boned bodices caught at the waist with sashes of a toning shade of blue, and skirts open to our feet showing satin petticoats; they had lovely long hanging sleeves. We had had them last year, and although they had not been in the height of fashion even then they were becoming.

‘We’ll wear our hair piled high,’ said Bersaba.

‘They say it is no longer worn like that.’

‘It suits our high foreheads,’ she answered, and she was right.

So we stood side by side laughing at our reflections. Even though we were so accustomed to the likeness it sometimes amused us.

In the hall Uncle Connell kissed us heartily. He was the sort of man who liked women—all kinds, all ages, all sizes. He was big and blustering, not unlike Grandfather Casvellyn—at least seeing him gave one an idea of what Grandfather Casvellyn must have been like in his youth. Even he, though, sometimes seemed afraid of Grandfather Casvellyn and that made a difference because our grandfather would never have been afraid of anyone. He held us tightly against him and kissed us heartily and he put his hands under my chin and said: ‘Which one are you?’

I said, ‘I’m Angelet.’

He answered: ‘Not such an angel if I know anything about it.’

And everyone laughed.

‘And Bersaba, eh? Well, come here, my girl, and give your uncle a kiss.’

Bersaba went reluctantly, which made Uncle Connell give her two kisses as though repetition could make her like it better.

I had heard it said that Connell was a true Casvellyn and that he had several mistresses scattered around the countryside and more than one of the bastards in the servants’ hall had been sired by him.

I often wondered what Aunt Melanie thought about that, but she never gave any sign that she minded. I had discussed it with Bersaba, who had said that she took it as a way of life and that as long as it didn’t interfere with her household and family she turned a blind eye to it.

‘I should have something to say,’ I declared, ‘if I were in her place, wouldn’t you?’

‘I should find something to
do
about it,’ answered Bersaba.

Bastian came too. I thought he was as handsome as Bersaba drew him—or nearly. He was as tall as his father, and the fact that he had inherited his father’s looks and his mother’s nature made him interesting.

He looked from Bersaba to me and back again.

Bersaba laughed then and he said: ‘Ah, Bersaba.’ And he kissed her first and then me.

Uncle Connell bade us be seated and we obeyed him. He sat at the head of the long refectory table with my mother on one side of him and Melder on the other. Bersaba and I were on either side of Aunt Melanie and Bastian had seated himself next to Bersaba.

They talked mostly about the affairs of the countryside—all that had to be done on the estate; my mother mentioned the growing difficulties the East India Company were having to face and which she hoped would be a little eased if they could build their new Indian factory.

Bastian said: ‘There’s trouble everywhere. People don’t seem to realize it. They shut their eyes to it but one day it will creep up on us.’

‘Bastian’s a proper Jeremiah,’ commented Rozen.

‘There’s nothing so stupid as shutting your eyes to facts simply because they’re unpleasant,’ put in Bersaba, placing herself firmly on Bastian’s side. He smiled at her—a very special smile, and she glowed with pleasure.

‘The King is in disagreement with his ministers,’ began Bastian.

‘My dear boy,’ put in his father, ‘kings have been in disagreement with their ministers ever since there have been kings and ministers.’

‘What other king ever dismissed his parliament and governed—or made some semblance of it—without one for how many years is it? Ten?’

‘We haven’t noticed the change,’ said Uncle Connell, laughing.

‘It’s coming,’ replied Bastian. ‘The King believes he governs by God’s right and there will be people in the country to disagree with that.’

‘Kings … parliaments,’ said Uncle Connell, ‘they seem to have one motive, and that is to pile tax upon tax so that the people can pay for their fancies.’

‘I thought that when Buckingham was murdered that would have changed the situation,’ said my mother.

‘No,’ said Bastian. ‘It is the King himself who must change.’

‘And will he?’ asked Bersaba.

‘He will … or be deposed,’ Bastian replied. ‘No king can continue to reign for long without the goodwill of his people.’

‘Poor man,’ said my mother. ‘How sad his life must be.’

Uncle Connell laughed. ‘My dear Tamsyn,’ he said, ‘the King cares little for the approval of the people. He cares little for the approval of his ministers. He is so sure that he is right, guided by God. Who knows, perhaps he is.’

‘At least his home life is happier now,’ said Aunt Melanie. ‘I believe it was far from that in the beginning. He is a good man and a good father whatever kind of king he is.’

‘It might be more important for him to be a good king,’ murmured Bastian.

Rozen said: ‘They say the Queen is very lively. She loves dancing and fashions.’

‘And meddling,’ added Bastian.

‘She is after all the Queen,’ I said.

‘Poor child,’ put in my mother. ‘It must be a terrible ordeal to be sent away from home at sixteen—younger than you twins.’ She smiled at us. ‘Imagine it … sent to a foreign land to a strange husband … and she a Catholic and he King of a Protestant country. No wonder there was discord and misunderstanding between them. If they have at last come to understand each other, let us be thankful and wish them happiness.’

‘I do with all my heart,’ Melanie supported her.

‘They won’t find it until the King listens to his ministers and we have a parliament to make our laws,’ said Bastian.

‘We are so far from the Court,’ said Melanie, ‘that what happens there hardly touches us. Why, we don’t even hear of it until months after it has happened!’

‘Like the ripples on a pool, in due course they reach its edge,’ Bastian reminded us.

‘How is Grandfather Casvellyn?’ asked my mother, changing the subject.

‘As usual,’ answered Melanie. ‘He knows you are coming, so I suggest when we have finished at the table you go to see him. Otherwise he will complain that you have slighted him.’

My mother nodded and smiled.

‘Melder will go up with you and she will see that you don’t stay too long.’

‘He has been rather fractious today,’ said Melder.

‘Isn’t he always?’ asked Connell.

‘More so than usual,’ answered Melder. ‘But he will be pleased to see you.’

I smiled faintly and saw that Bersaba was doing the same. Neither of us could recall any occasion when our grandfather had shown his pleasure in our presence.

Bersaba and my mother and I went out with Melder, and as we passed through the narrow corridor to the door which led from Nonna’s Tower to Seaward, my hand was gripped in a firm grasp and my fingers pressed warmly. I turned. Bastian was beside me. There was some meaning in the pressure of his fingers.

Grandfather Casvellyn glowered at us as we entered. Although I was prepared for him and knew what he looked like, I always experienced a slight shock when I came face to face with him. His legs were always covered with a rug and I imagined that they would be terrible to behold, mangled as they had been. His shoulders were so broad and from his waist up he looked so powerful, which made it more of a tragedy. I often thought that if he had been a little man it wouldn’t have seemed so bad. He had the fiercest eyes I had ever seen. They seemed to start out of his head and the whites all round the pupil were visible. When he turned them upon me I felt as though I were facing Medusa and should not have been surprised to feel my limbs turning to stone. I would always think of the night he had gone out in a boat—strong and well—and been caught in those cruel Devil’s Teeth which had made of him the man he was.

He turned his chair and wheeled it towards us.

‘So you’re here,’ he said, looking at my mother.

‘Yes, Father,’ she answered. She did not seem in the least afraid of him, which always surprised me in someone so mild and peace-loving. The thought occurred to me that she knew something … something he would rather she did not know and that gave her power over him. Being our mother she would only use that power not to be afraid.

‘And these are your girls. Where’s the boy?’

‘He has work at home. His father may be arriving home and someone must be there to greet him.’

A sneer curved Grandfather’s lips. ‘On East India business is it?’

‘But of course,’ said my mother placidly.

‘And these are the girls … two of them … like as two peas in a pod. It was like you to get two girls. We need boys. There’s your brother with all those girls and only one boy to show for years of marriage.’

‘It’s a custom in the family. You had but one, Father, so you can’t complain of Connell.’

‘We’re let down by our wives. We can get boys but not on them.’

‘You have little to complain of. Melanie has been a good daughter to you and Melder looks after you well.’

‘Oh yes, I must count my blessings in my own home. I must be grateful because I am allowed to live under my own roof. What do those girls think they’re doing standing there like dummies? Come here and let me look at you.’

Our mother drew us forward.

‘Do they need you to hold their hands while they beard the old lion in his den?’ shouted Grandfather. ‘Don’t get too near, my children. I might eat you.’

He was terrifying close. His brows grew thick and bushy and under them his eyes were piercing. He stretched out a hand and gripped my arm.

‘Which one are you?’

‘Angelet,’ I answered.

‘And this one?’

‘Bersaba.’

‘Outlandish names,’ he said.

‘Good Cornish names,’ answered my mother.

‘One named for the Angels and one after a woman who was not such an angel. Bathsheba, that’s the origin.’ He was very interested in origins of words and old customs of the countryside. Linnet, his wife, had been from Devon, but he was proud of his Cornish blood. He peered at Bersaba and his eyes travelled all over her as though he were assessing her capabilities. She returned his gaze fearlessly. Then he gave my sister a little push. ‘Growing up,’ he said. ‘Marry well and get sons.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Bersaba.

I could see that he liked her and that she interested him more than I did, which was strange because he seemed to sense some difference in us which others couldn’t see.

‘And don’t take long about it. Let me see my great-grandchildren before I die.’

‘The twins are only seventeen, Father,’ said my mother.

He gave a long throaty chuckle and stretching out a hand gave Bersaba a push.

‘They’re ready,’ he said. ‘Ripe and ready.’

Bersaba blushed bright red.

My mother said: ‘We’re staying here for a few days, Father. We’ll come and see you again.’

‘One of the penalties of calling here,’ said our grandfather. ‘You’re expected to take in the old ogre while you enjoy yourselves with the rest of the family.’

‘Why, you know one of our reasons for coming is to see you,’ protested our mother.

‘Your mother was always one for observing the conventions,’ said my grandfather, ‘but I doubt you’ll follow in her footsteps.’ He was looking at Bersaba.

Melder said: ‘Well, we’ll go down now.’

‘Oh yes,’ cried Grandfather. ‘The watchdog thinks it time you left before I show my fangs. She’d draw them if she could. She’s the worst sort of female, your cousin Melder. Don’t grow up like her. A shrew, she is. She’s a woman who takes sides against a man. She’s got a grudge against us because no man wants her as a wife.’

‘Now, Father,’ protested my mother, ‘I am sure …’

‘You are sure … There’s one thing I can be sure of where you’re concerned. You’re going to say what you think is the right thing no matter if it means turning your back on the truth. That creature there is scarce a woman, for woman was brought into the world to please man and be fruitful …’

Melder showed no sign that she was hurt by this tirade, and indeed he was not looking at her; his eyes were on us and particularly, I fancied, Bersaba.

He started to laugh suddenly and his laughter was as frightening as his anger.

Melder had opened the door.

‘Well, we’ll be along to see you tomorrow,’ my mother said as though it had been the most pleasant of visits.

He was still laughing when the door shut on him.

‘In one of his bad moods today,’ commented my mother.

‘He’s in them every day,’ answered Melder in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘The sight of some young girls sets him off on those lines. He seems to find some consolation for his immobility in abusing me. It’s of no account … if it eases him.’

‘There’s no need for you to take us in tomorrow,’ said my mother.

I smiled inwardly. I knew she did not like us to hear that talk about women’s function in life which the sight of Melder seemed to arouse in him.

She wanted to protect us from the world for as long as she could, but as for us, like most children, we were far more knowledgeable of such things than our mother realized. How could we help it? We had heard the servants talk; we had seen them go off into the woods together; we knew that Bessie Camus had become pregnant and our mother had arranged for her to marry one of the grooms. We knew that babies were not born under gooseberry bushes.