Saraband for Two Sisters (32 page)

My brother Fennimore embraced me and so did Bastian. I felt myself flushing with bitter anger, wondering how much of the change he noticed.

‘Let us get back to the house,’ said my mother. ‘I can only think that you are back … safe and well.’

So we rode back to Trystan Priory—myself between Fennimore and Bastian.

I told them as briefly as I could. I contracted smallpox; Angelet was sent away to stay with Carlotta and there had met her husband. We had recently had the news that she had married and everyone seemed pleased with the match.

‘Bersaba,’ cried my brother Fennimore. ‘You have had smallpox. But it is a miracle!’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘The miracle of love, I suppose. You can imagine what Mother did for me. And there was Phoebe to help her. The blacksmith’s daughter, you know. Her father turned her out and I brought her to the Priory. She seems to think that makes her my slave for life.’

Bastian said nothing, but I could sense his emotion and I felt elated. It was at this moment that I started to come alive again.

There was the well-remembered atmosphere of festivity about the Priory. My father was delighted to be back, so concerned about what had happened in his absence. As we came into the house he had me on one side of him, my mother on the other, and he kept pressing my arm against him and I knew how thankful he was that I had survived.

Everything had to be told him in detail. Angelet’s letters had to be produced. He wanted to hear how I had gone to the midwife and how my mother had nursed me. He sent for Phoebe and thanked her for what she had done, and she said it was nothing to what I had done for her and she’d give her life for me.

There were sentimental tears in their eyes and I felt like an outside observer looking on at the scene; and all the time I was conscious of Bastian.

We supped in the hall that night and it was like long ago days, for the servants were at the table too. The only thing that was missing was the massive old salt cellar which a hundred years ago used to stand in the centre of the table, dividing the members of the household and their guests from the menials. It now stood in the kitchen as a sort of ornament and memento of other days. My father sat at the head of the table and Mother beside him, with Fennimore on my mother’s left hand and I on my father’s right. Bastian sat next to me.

Everyone was happy, for the servants loved my father and regarded him as the best of masters. I once remarked to Angelet that their regard for him was due in part to the fact that they saw him rarely, and it is so much easier to love someone who is not always there to irritate and inspire something less than loving. I remember how horrified she was and how we argued about our father and the servants and our different characters, hers and mine. ‘You’re a sentimentalist, Angelet.’ I clinched the discussion with that remark—for I invariably had had the last word. ‘And I am a realist.’ I could always nonplus her with words, but now of course she had escaped from me. She was the one who had had the fine adventure; she was the one who had made the good marriage.

So that was a merry meal except for the fact that my father regretted the absence of my sister. He would have liked to have had her living a few miles away and to be here with her new husband on this occasion.

I asked Bastian how he had liked voyaging and he replied that it had been a great adventure but he was not sure that he wished to go again.

He looked at me earnestly and said: ‘I want to stay here. There is so much to keep me.’

I wondered if he noticed those hideous pockmarks. My hair hid them on my brow where they were at their worst and I kept my left cheek turned away from him.

He said: ‘To think that you were so ill, Bersaba, and I knew nothing of it! You might have died.’

‘It is considered a miracle that I did not,’ I answered.

My mother said that she supposed he would like to go soon to his family and he replied that he would be very happy to stay at the Priory for a few days if she would allow it.

She reproached him warmly for asking, for she hoped he regarded the Priory as his second home.

My father said there were business matters in progress and he would want to discuss them with my mother, Fennimore and Bastian.

Bastian looked contented and I knew that he was watching me.

The next morning he asked me to ride with him and we went out together.

It was a beautiful morning, or perhaps it seemed especially so to me because I was regaining an interest in life. I was beginning to feel well again perhaps, or it might have been because Bastian was here and clearly in love with me that I noticed afresh the beauties of the countryside to which for so long I had been oblivious. I was struck by the bright yellow flowers of the vetch, which we called lady’s fingers and which grew on the hillside, and the pale blue of the skull-cap close to the streams. There also grew the woody nightshade—yellow and purple—the flower which always seemed to me to be of special interest because it could look so pretty and yet could be deadly. We were always warned not to touch it and we called it bittersweet.

On this day it seemed especially significant. For that was my mood—bitter-sweet.

Bastian said: ‘I have thought about you so much, Bersaba. I remember so much of …’

‘Of what should be forgotten,’ I answered.

‘It never will be,’ he answered vehemently.

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘You did forget for a time.’

‘No, I never did.’

I laughed and spurred up my horse. He was after me, beside me, pleading, ‘Bersaba, I must talk to you.’

‘Well, pray talk.’

‘I want to marry you.’

‘Now that your first choice Carlotta is out of reach, I make a good second, is that it?’

‘You are first, Bersaba. You would always be first.’

‘My experiences would suggest otherwise.’

‘I must try to explain.’

‘Everything is clear. No explanations are needed.’

‘When I think of everything we used to be to each other …’

‘That makes it all the more clear,’ I retorted sharply. ‘You knew that and yet you preferred Carlotta. Alas for you,
she
preferred someone else. Poor Bastian! Now you say, “Very well, since I can’t have Carlotta, I’ll take Bersaba.” Alas again for you. Bersaba is not one to be picked up and dropped and then to beg for the return of past favours.’

‘You have a sharp tongue, Bersaba.’

‘It is one of the reasons why it would be unwise for you to marry me.’

‘Your parents would be delighted.’

‘Would they? Have you asked them?’

‘I have spoken to your father.’

‘We are cousins,’ I said.

‘What of it? That didn’t bother you at one time.’

‘I’ve grown up. There is so much you don’t know. I have had a deadly illness, Bastian. I’m changed.’ I had pulled up my horse and dramatically took off my hat and shook back my hair. ‘Look!’ I showed him the scars on my forehead.

‘I love them,’ he said. ‘They make me want you more than ever.’

‘You have strange tastes, Bastian.’

‘Give me a chance, Bersaba.’

‘How? Shall we go to the woods and find a secluded spot and lie there together? Shall you come to my bedchamber this night when the household is asleep? It would be safe, you know. Angelet is no longer there.’

I saw the lights leap into his eyes and I felt a great surge of desire for him, but I held it in check, for my bitterness was as strong as my desire and my pride was as great as my need.

I turned away from him and put on my hat. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘you could enjoy our adventure until someone more desirable came along, someone to whom you could offer marriage.’

I spurred on my horse and galloped away, and as we sped over the soft turf a sudden realization came to me. It was not that I really cared for Bastian, that I needed Bastian, but that I was a sensuous woman who would always need men; I had more than my share of desire than most women, and I wondered then about Angelet and her husband and I knew of course that this was one of the assets—could one call it an asset or a liability?

—of which I had taken the lion’s share.

I knew that I must not be too often alone with Bastian, for old desires would torment me. But I did not love Bastian. I merely wanted that which others could give me, but my need had blinded me to the real reason. As I sped past fields where the rough-headed poppy was peeping out among the corn, as I saw the white flowers of hemlock and the purple bells of foxgloves among the lush grasses, I laughed aloud, because I had reached a new knowledge of myself, and experience had taught me that in knowledge was strength.

My father had decided that the Company would build new offices in Plymouth and Fennimore had expressed a desire to go there and superintend the management of these.

‘Fennimore is not at heart a sailor,’ said my father. ‘I am glad he took this voyage, which has been a revelation to him. He is a Company man. He will be invaluable on land, for that part of the venture is as important as the sea voyages.’

I believe I understood his pleasure. He did not want Fennimore to face the hazards of the sea; he preferred him to remain at home so that my mother did not lose them both now that Angelet had left home, and naturally her place would be with her husband and that was not in the West Country. They were aware of Bastian’s feelings for me, and although the fact of our close relationship may have caused them some qualms as to the wisdom of the match, they could see many advantages. I knew that I only had to say I loved Bastian and their consent to our marriage would be given. Bastian, as he had said, had already spoken to my father.

This amused me very much because I was aware that everyone was waiting for us to announce our betrothal. My mother was in a state of contentment. Her husband was home and it seemed as though his stay would be longer than usual, for he had this matter of the Plymouth office to concern himself with. Fennimore was not to go to sea with him when he next went; Angelet, though sadly missed, was satisfactorily and, it seemed, happily married; and I, Bersaba, had been snatched from what had at one time seemed like the tomb itself and was clearly regaining my health and strength, being only mildly scathed by the experience.

All my mother needed for her personal happiness was that of her family. Each day she looked for letters from Angelet, and when they came she read them aloud and then we all read them separately. I had letters from her too and I could sense something in mine which the others failed to see.

Angelet was holding something back. My sister had a secret, and I longed to know what it was.

Meanwhile I amused myself with Bastian. It was an interesting game I played and I had to be careful too, which added to my zest; for I had to guard my own nature. It would have been so easy to give way, for with my returning health I realized that my desire for a certain kind of pleasure had increased rather than diminished and that, I supposed, was something to do with the matter of growing older.

I would allow Bastian to think I was relenting. I would smile at him beguilingly and suggest we rode out together. Then I would torment him—and myself as well, which was by no means unpleasurable—and I used to feel so proud of myself when I resisted temptation that it was worthwhile having placed myself in a position to feel it. Often when the household was asleep he would slip out of the house and stand beneath my window and throw up soft clods of earth to attract my attention. Sometimes I would pretend not to hear; at others I would open my window and look out.

‘Go away, Bastian,’ I said.

‘Bersaba, I must see you. I
must.’

‘I am not Carlotta, you must remember,’ I retorted, shutting my window.

Then I would laugh and feel very excited.

Once he came to my bedroom door, but I had been expecting this and had pulled the bar across.

‘Go away!’ I hissed. ‘Do you want to waken the household?’

It occurred to me that it would be most amusing to let him in and pretend I would allow him to stay and then deny him. But I was afraid of my own reactions and the last thing I wanted to do was to give way.

‘Bastian seems not in the least anxious to go to Castle Paling,’ said my mother. ‘I have sent a message to Melanie to tell her they are back and that Bastian is well. I have told her that there is much to do about this office in Plymouth.’ She smiled at me. ‘But somehow I don’t think that is the only reason.’

How she would have liked to think of her dear daughter only a few miles away at Castle Paling, for if I married Bastian I should one day be the mistress of that castle. She wouldn’t think of that, though. She wanted her brother to live for years and years and she wanted me close to compensate for the loss of Angelet.

So I amused myself during those weeks while Bastian stayed on and I became alive again. My disfigurations had not detracted from that certain allure which people like myself seem to have for the opposite sex. I began to realize that life was becoming exciting again and I thought a good deal of Angelet.

Her General sounded rather stern and old too. Playing games with soldiers—how odd! And chess. Well, poor Angelet had never been very good at that. One of our governesses had said, ‘You have a grasshopper mind, Angelet. Try to concentrate as Bersaba does.’ Dear Angelet! She could never concentrate for very long … not long enough to win a game of chess.

I should like to see her and this stern old man; and I wondered very much about their lives together.

Then there came the letter from Angelet. She had miscarried and had been so excited because there was to be a child, but had hesitated to tell us as she was not entirely sure. It had all happened so quickly and she would very shortly be well, for the miscarriage had taken place only about two months after conception. Still, she had felt unwell and her husband had thought it would be a good idea if her sister could pay her a visit. His profession made it necessary for him to be away from home a good deal, and although Far Flamstead was not a great distance from London it was still in the country.

There was a letter from Angelet to me.

‘Do come, Bersaba. I can’t tell you how often I have thought of you and longed for you to be here. There is so much to tell you. Strange things happen sometimes and I want someone to talk to. Someone who understands me …’