Saraband for Two Sisters (42 page)

‘Hearts mend quickly when there is someone to apply the healing. You will heal each other.’

He held me close to him and I cried out: ‘No. I
must
go away. I should not be here … like this. You see how dangerous it can be.’

‘I cannot let you go,’ he said simply.

‘And I cannot stay,’ I answered.

‘Please, Bersaba, promise me this. Do not go yet … Wait a while. Let us think how best to handle this.’

‘If I stay … this can happen again.’

There was silence and I knew that he was trying to control his rising emotions, as I was. I had to be calm. I had to think of Angelet.

‘I don’t think I could bear to lose you now. You know what my marriage has been like. When you came life changed … it became exciting … I was lifted out of my despondency … ’

‘I understand that,’ I answered. ‘But now we are overwrought. I must go now.’

I saw his face in the candlelight, desperate, yearning, so that he seemed younger and so vulnerable. I longed to comfort him, to make promises which I knew would be a betrayal of Angelet. God knows I had done her enough injury already. I must stop thinking of myself and Richard.

‘Promise you will not go yet,’ he insisted.

And I gave him my promise. Then I pulled myself away. I almost ran from the room and hastened to my own bedchamber. I looked in at Angelet. She was sleeping peacefully with a look of satisfaction and relief on her innocent face.

It was not easy to face Angelet but I managed better than he did; and when a messenger came that very afternoon with despatches from the camp he seemed relieved to go.

I saw him alone before he went. He said: ‘We will work out a solution.’ But I knew there was no solution.

Angelet waved farewell and, turning to me, said in a voice glowing with pride, ‘He is in such an important position. He is in constant consultation with the King.’

As for myself, I wanted to be alone to think, and I walked in the grounds and sat in the pond garden, from which I could get a glimpse of the castle walls, and I thought of his anguish and that monster child who was incarcerated there, and I wondered what would become of us.

We were in December and Angelet talked a great deal about the coming Christmas and Christmases at home. Our father was still there. Our mother wrote that the setting up of the company offices in Plymouth demanded a great deal of their time and she would be happy to have them with her for Christmas. All that she regretted was the absence of her daughters. I thought of them bringing in the Yule log, and the carollers and mummers coming and performing. The family were going to Castle Paling for a week or two. Grandfather Casvellyn was ailing. He was always excited at the end of October because Hallowe’en brought back memories, and he used to get so excited about witches and wanted to go out himself to find them and hang them, that he was always weak for some time afterwards.

‘You see, my darlings,’ wrote our mother, ‘nothing is changed. I am so glad that you are together. Angelet must persuade Richard to bring you all here. Of course, I know the times are bad and that a soldier has to hold himself in readiness. I do hope all these troubles will dissolve and life be peaceful. We shall be thinking of you on Christmas Day.’

We should certainly be thinking of them.

It was mid-December when a suspicion which had come to me some time before was confirmed. I should perhaps not be surprised that I was going to have a child.

I came to the conclusion calmly enough and with a sort of exultation. That was before I would allow myself to contemplate all the difficulties involved. What was I thinking of? I was happy because I was to have Richard’s child. But in what position was I to bear it?

Phoebe was watching me closely. I believe she knew more than I realized. She had always watched over me and I had suspected that she was aware that I had not returned to my bed in the early hours of morning on more than one night.

As I lay in my bed I faced the truth. I asked myself what I was going to do. I would tell him and what would his reaction be? In a way he would be delighted, but then the enormity of the difficulties which were before us would rise up and he would, as I was now, search wildly for some way of dealing with the matter.

I could go to my sister and say: ‘I am to bear your husband’s child. You did not want him so I took him and this is the result.’

Even for myself, who knew her so well, it was difficult to imagine what Angelet would do.

I knew the solution Richard would offer. He would want to take me away. We would have to think up some reason for my going. He would want me to bear my child in secret and he would come and visit us sometimes.

But how? That would have to be decided.

Why had I not thought of this before? Why had not he? Our passion seemed to have blinded us to everything but the need to satisfy it.

It was characteristic of me that when a possible solution suggested itself I did not hesitate. I had always acted too quickly and my mother had often chided me for it. I was impatient, impulsive by nature. Perhaps it was due to this that my conduct so often brought me into situations from which I found it difficult to extricate myself.

Indeed I should have considered this possibility. Why should not I, a passionate woman, also be a fruitful one? I had not thought beyond the intrigue and immense delight of those occasions, or perhaps I had subconsciously refused to look at a likely result.

The fact remained that I was pregnant and in due course my condition would be known, so I had to do something.

I rode over to Longridge Farm. I sat with Ella talking in the farmhouse until Luke came in. His pleasure in seeing me was apparent and I made up my mind that I would speak to him and when he came to take me back to Far Flamstead I did.

I came straight to the point. ‘You asked me to marry you. Is that offer still open?’

He drew up his horse and looked at me. I returned his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Because if it is,’ I went on, ‘I accept. I will marry you.’

‘Bersaba!’ There was no mistaking the joy in his voice.

I held up my hand to ward him off. ‘You must know the reason,’ I said. ‘I am with child and in the circumstances a husband is rather necessary to me.’

I could see that he was finding it difficult to follow my meaning. He clearly did not believe what I was saying could be true.

‘It is true,’ I said. ‘When you asked me I refused you because I did not know then. I like you. You interest me. I enjoy our discussions, but I want you to know the reason why I will accept your offer. Of course you may change your mind now. You, a gentleman of the Puritan persuasion, would not want a woman such as I am for a wife. I am really most unsuitable and we both know it, but you told me that you loved me and I am now in this somewhat embarrassing position. I have to consider how I can act in a manner calculated to bring the least difficulty to others and of course to myself. Marriage is the obvious answer. That is my proposition.’

He was still silent and I went on: ‘Ah, I have your answer. It is what I expected. Think no more of it. You now know that I am a woman of loose morals and I understand completely—and agree with you—that such a woman is unsuited to be your wife. Your silence answers me. There is no need of words. What I have suggested is preposterous, insulting and I deserve never to be allowed again to call you my friend. Goodbye.’

I turned my horse and was preparing to gallop off when he called my name.

I stopped and looked at him.

‘You … you bewilder me,’ he said.

‘I realize, of course, that I have behaved most unconventionally. Goodbye.’

‘No. Give me time. I want to think.’

‘The more you think the more you will realize how impossible my suggestion is. I made it because you told me you loved me. You spoke with some vehemence, and as marriage with you would provide a way out for me I suggested it. But at the same time I see that it is out of the question. Goodbye.’

I heard his words as I galloped away.

‘Give … me time.’

That afternoon he came over to Far Flamstead. Phoebe came to tell me that he had called and was asking to speak to me. Once again we went into the garden. It was not the weather for walking and there was a hint of snow to come in the darkening clouds.

‘Bersaba,’ he said, ‘I want you to marry me.’

A warm glow of something I could not understand came over me then. I almost loved him, for I knew how my condition must appear to a man of his Puritan outlook. He must indeed love me; or was it that potent attraction I had which was a kind of promised passion and which I was discovering men were aware of?

‘And you would be father to another man’s child?’

‘I would, since it is yours also.’

‘Luke,’ I said, ‘you are either a very noble man or you love me very much.’

‘I love you very much,’ he said.

‘Is it a tender love or is it an irresistible desire for me?’

‘It is both. Whose child is it?’

‘Do you think you should know?’

‘I know already. There seems only one whom it could be. Your sister’s husband.’ I saw his lips turn down with anger. ‘Why?’ he cried in anger. ‘How could you … How could he?’

‘For the same reason that you, the Puritan, will go against your principles. You will marry a woman such as I am. Would you have believed it of yourself … before you met me?’

He shook his head slowly.

‘Then don’t question these matters. They are … because they are. We are made as we are, and for some of us our natural impulses are too great to be resisted. Mine, his and yours. If I marry you there will be no recrimination. From the day we have taken our vows, this child of mine will be yours and you will think of it as such. Do not think I am not conscious of what you are doing. I love you for it, Luke. I promise you I will be a good and faithful wife and I will give you a son of your own … though you must not mind too much if it should be a daughter …’

‘I want to marry you,’ he said. ‘It shall be as you say. The marriage must take place soon because of the child.’

‘Secretly?’ I said.

‘Without delay. It must be thought that we are already married. I shall have to tell Ella, but she will think the child is mine.’

‘Not only will you marry me but you will tell lies for my sake?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will do this. There has come to me that which I longed for and I must not complain of the manner in which it has come.’

I held out my hand to him. ‘You will be a good husband to me, Luke,’ I said, ‘and I will do my best to be a good wife to you, I swear it.’

It was a simple ceremony in the small parlour of the farmhouse. Ella was a little shocked, for she believed we had forestalled our marriage vows; but the thought of a child was such a delight to her that she was ready to waive her disapproval, and I think she was secretly pleased to have another woman in the household, particularly as she knew I was not of the kind to interfere with the management of it.

After the ceremony I rode back to Far Flamstead. It was two days before Christmas.

‘I have something to say to you,’ I told Angelet. ‘I am married.’

She stared at me in disbelief.

‘To Luke Longridge,’ I went on.

She could not believe it. ‘You’re joking. You … married to a Puritan!’

‘Yes, why not? Puritans are good people. I think they make good husbands. However, we shall see.’

‘When?’ she demanded.

‘Well, I am already with child.’

‘So you married secretly! Why did you not go and live at the farm? Your husband was there and you were here … I don’t believe it.’

‘Don’t ask too many questions,’ I said. ‘I am with child so the marriage must have taken place some time ago.’

‘A child … When?’

‘August perhaps.’

‘Bersaba!’

‘Well, our mother always said I was unpredictable, didn’t she?’

‘What will Richard say?’

It was my turn to flush. What would he say? I felt floods of misery rushing over me. It was over—that wonderful adventure such as I had never before experienced and never would again.

‘It is not his affair,’ I said coldly.

‘He was fond of you. He looked upon himself as a sort of protector. And you married without the consent of our parents … or telling us.’

‘It is done. No one can undo it. And I am going to have a child.’

‘That will be wonderful …’ The cloud lifted from her face and she went on, ‘You will be near me. We shall not be parted. I shall ride over to the farm every day or you will come here. I shall be with you when the baby is born … I shall help you care for it.’

‘Yes, Angelet,’ I said, ‘yes.’

Then she embraced and kissed me. ‘But Luke Longridge … the Puritan! Richard won’t like it.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘He dislikes the Longridges. He says the Puritans are making trouble in the country. There are too many of them in Parliament … and they are always writing those absurd pamphlets. And then they nearly fought that duel.’

‘What a mercy they didn’t, for if they had one of us might have been without a husband.’

‘But Richard likes you, Bersaba. I know he does.’

‘Yes, I think you are right.’

‘He’ll miss talking to you. He loved those battles and the chess and all that. You’re so much cleverer at it than I. But you must come here … often.’

‘I shall have to be with my husband, and we mustn’t forget the animosity between yours and mine.’

‘It will make no difference to us.’

‘None whatever,’ I said.

Then she kissed me again and talked about the baby.

And I told Phoebe to pack my belongings, for we were going to live at Longridge.

What a strange Christmas Day that was. Angelet came to the farm to spend it there. We attended prayers in the morning when the whole of the household assembled and we all knelt while Luke prayed for our souls.

How different it was from those Christmases celebrated at Trystan and Castle Paling. Here Christmas was not a day for frivolity; we were celebrating the birth of the Lord and simply that; constant references were made to his death so there was no real rejoicing in his birth.