Saraband for Two Sisters (46 page)

‘Well, you might say that was putting it mild like. Cherry thinks the world of him. Served with him. Would be with him now if he was fit and well … like the rest of them. And all the time I’ve been here … well, I’ve got to look on him … more than a mere master.’

‘He is a man who inspires great respect.’

She lowered her eyes to hide her emotion, I guessed. Then she said brightly: ‘Well, if you was feeling a bit under the weather you come to me, my lady. I reckon you won’t be scorning my herb-twopence once you’ve felt its effects.’

When she left me I went to Bersaba and told her that Mrs Cherry thought I ought to try some of her cures.

‘Do you remember Mrs Cherry’s soothing mixture?’ I asked.

‘It sent you to sleep, didn’t it?’

‘I don’t sleep very well now,’ I told her. ‘Sometimes I have strange dreams. I told you how once I went to the Castle Room and saw a face there … or thought I did. I’m sure I did. It was at night and I took a candle. Mrs Cherry came and found me there. She thought I was walking in my sleep.’

‘Were you?’ asked Bersaba.

‘No. I’m sure I wasn’t. I saw a light in the castle from my room and then I went up and saw the face. I thought it was Strawberry John … a man I once saw in the woods. But they didn’t believe me any of them, and after that I lost the baby.’

Bersaba said: ‘And you think the two incidents were connected?’

‘They all said so. I had a fright, you see, and that can bring on a miscarriage, can’t it?’

‘Tell me exactly what happened,’ said Bersaba. And I told her.

‘Did Richard know?’

‘Oh yes. He thought with the rest that I’d had a nightmare.’

‘It was all connected with the castle. Did he ever talk to you about the castle?’

‘No. There are some things one can’t talk about with Richard. He withdraws himself, as it were, so that you know you mustn’t talk about it any more.’

‘You should not allow yourself to be dominated, Angelet.’

‘You don’t know Richard.’

She smiled at me, rather tenderly, I thought.

Then she said: ‘Stop thinking about the castle. Stop thinking about anything but the baby. Just imagine how overjoyed Richard will be when he knows and how happy you will be when you have your little baby to care for.’

‘I do try, Bersaba, but then all sorts of thoughts come into my mind. I wonder about Richard, where he is, whether he will ever come back … whether like Luke … and so many others …’

She gripped my hand so tightly that I winced.

‘Don’t,’ she commanded. ‘He’ll come back. I tell you he’ll come back.’

That was typical of Bersaba. Sometimes she appeared to believe that she could work miracles.

Then she started to talk about babies and she said we would make the clothes ourselves as we should never have a seamstress in these days.

It is wonderful having Bersaba with me.

It was hot that August. The wasps were thick around the plum trees; the children were tanned by the sun; we could always hear Arabella’s imperious voice above the rest. When I watched them at play I would forget the war, forget my fears for Richard, forget everything but that early next year my child would be born.

For days I lived in contentment and then I awoke one night in a state of uneasiness. I couldn’t explain what it was but it was just a strong sense of warning. It was almost as though something was warning me of danger, and the first person I thought of on waking was Magdalen—Richard’s first wife.

It may have been because she had been in the house as I had expecting a child as I was; and then she had died. Deep within me I suppose there was a fear here that because it had happened to her it could happen to me. But why? It was something in the manner of Mrs Cherry and Cherry (although he was a man of very few words), of Jesson, Grace and Meg … Yes, the attitude of every one of them had changed towards me since it had become known that I was to have a child. It was almost as though they were watching me, looking for a sign of something.

I got out of bed and went to the window. I couldn’t see the castle because I was in the Blue Room. I had not wanted to go to the bedchamber I had shared with Richard; this was more cosy. Bersaba was in the Lavender Room, very close, and all the children slept in a room with Phoebe which was immediately next to hers—so we were all together. I looked out on the peaceful lawns and thought of what had happened to Longridge Farm and how at any moment soldiers could advance and lay waste my home.

But it was not such thoughts which made me uneasy. It was something that overshadowed me alone—it was a personal fear which of course is so much more frightening than those which are shared by others.

I went to the Lavender Room and, opening the door, looked in. Bersaba was asleep. She lay on her back with her hair falling on to the pillow, showing clearly the scars on her forehead. She had always tried to disguise them, but they had not prevented Luke’s falling in love with her and loving her in his Puritan way much more fervently than Richard had ever loved me. How odd that Luke, a Puritan, should love like that. But was it something in Bersaba?

I turned away and quietly opened the door of the nursery. Moonlight showed me Arabella and Lucas on their child’s pallets and Phoebe sleeping quietly with little Thomas in his crib.

All was well. Why should I have awakened with these fears on me? And as I stood there I knew that I was being watched and I felt my nerves tingling just as they had that night in the Castle Room when I had thought a ghost was behind me and had turned to find it was Mrs Cherry.

I felt limp with terror and afraid to turn round. Then I heard Bersaba laugh softly.

‘Angel, what are you doing?’

‘Oh!’ I turned and there she was, my sister, her eyes wide with something like amusement. ‘I … I couldn’t sleep,’ I stammered.

‘You’ll catch cold wandering about like that.’

‘It’s a warm night, and what of you?’

‘You came and looked at me.’

‘So you were awake?’

‘Not completely. But I looked up and there was my sister looking at me in a very odd sort of manner.’

‘What did you mean an odd sort of manner …?’

‘As if you … suspected me of something. Do you?’

‘What should I suspect you of?’

‘You tell me.’

‘You say strange things, Bersaba.’

‘Mrs Cherry is an old gossip,’ said Bersaba. ‘Has she been talking to you?’

‘Well, only to offer me herb-twopence. She seems concerned about me.’

‘Come into my room,’ said Bersaba. I went in and we sat on her bed.

‘Everyone seems concerned about me,’ I added.

‘Well, it’s because you’re in what they call an interesting condition. They want everything to go well.’

She was looking at me intently. ‘Tell me why you thought it necessary to come looking round at us.’

‘I woke up.’

‘Not that old tooth again?’ There was a faint hint of mirth in her voice which I didn’t understand.

‘No. It was withdrawn. I was just unable to sleep.’

‘You need your sleep now.’

‘Do you think I ought to take some of Mrs Cherry’s soothing cure? I always remember how you used to give it to me. You were so determined that I was going to sleep.’

‘Was I?’

‘Oh yes. You used almost to insist that I took it and pour it out yourself.’

‘It made you sleep long and deep. You didn’t go wandering about in the night when you took it, did you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Well … it served its purpose. I think you should have a drink at night, warm milk is good for slumber. Ella used to give it to me when I was carrying Arabella and Lucas. I found it good. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to see that you have it every night.’

‘It’s nice to have you looking after me.’

‘And don’t listen to any tales the servants might tell you …’

‘Tales, Bersaba?’

‘You know what servants are. Do they ever say anything about … the castle?’

‘No. They haven’t talked of it for a long time.’

‘Servants get ideas. Don’t worry. I’ll look after you.’

‘As you used to over my toothache. I’ll never forget how anxious you were for me then, Bersaba.’

She rose suddenly and said: ‘I’m going to take you back to bed. Come on.’

And she tucked me in and kissed me lightly on the forehead.

I wished I could get rid of the idea that they were all watching me. It was unnerving in a way. They say that women get strange notions during pregnancies. Was that what was wrong with me? Grace was with me a good deal, for she seized every opportunity to take Meg’s place, and she gave me the impression that of all the cases she had attended mine was the extraordinary one, the one which needed extra care.

I used to go up into the Castle Room where Magdalen had sat and stitched at her embroidery. I would look out at the castle turrets and remember the night I had seen the face there. Why should I come here when it was due to what had happened here that I had lost my child before? That must not happen again.

What if I saw that face again looking out at me from the turrets? I wouldn’t be frightened this time. I would make sure that it was a real face. The idea came to me that there was someone living in the castle. Was it Strawberry John who had found a way in and used it as a sort of headquarters for his poaching expeditions? That could well be the answer.

Then there was the occasion when Bersaba and I had explored the kitchens and found that strange cupboard and what was beyond. I thought of that now and then when I was in the kitchen, but the door was always hidden by the coats and aprons hanging over it.

I mentioned this to Bersaba and she showed a lack of interest. ‘It was only a big cupboard,’ she said. ‘A very useful one in fact.’

I supposed she was right.

She was taking great care of me and I must say she made me feel cherished. She wouldn’t allow me to pick up young Lucas because she said he was too heavy and I might strain myself. She watched me all the time—just as they all did—and was always admonishing me to be careful. She used to go down to the kitchens every night and bring up a mug of hot milk. At first I would sip a little and sometimes would leave it by the bed to drink when I awakened, which I invariably did. I had never been a good sleeper and I had often wanted to talk in the old days at Trystan when Bersaba wanted to sleep.

One night I awakened and thought I heard my door close silently. I sat up in bed startled and peered about me.

The moon was on the wane and there were several clouds about, so it was not very bright. I stared at my door which was fast shut. Then I got up, opened it and looked out into the corridor. I went to the door of the Lavender Room. I wondered if Bersaba had looked in at me. Quietly I opened her door. She appeared to be fast asleep so I went back to bed.

It was a dream obviously.

I lay in bed admonishing myself. It was all this watching, all this care of me. Were all women who were expecting a child subjected to such concern? Surely not. It was a fairly commonplace occurrence.

I took up the milk and put it to my lips. Then I decided I didn’t want it. It was cold and it didn’t really make me sleep. In fact I was growing tired of it.

I tried to lull myself into contentment by wondering about the child and planning the little garments I would start on tomorrow. I had always found comfort in my needle.

I smiled to myself, thinking of Bersaba, who showed quite an interest in the clothes we made. In the past she had always been bored by needlework. What cobbles she used to make and then I had to unpick her stitches and do it for her! It was wonderful to have her with me. She never forgot to bring me my hot milk, and though I was growing tired of it I couldn’t tell her not to bring it because she seemed to enjoy doing it for me and was sure it did me so much good.

Bersaba as nurse! That was amusing and touching.

I would always remember her pouring out the dose of the soothing cure and how she used to watch me while I took it. And now there was this hot milk.

I let her bring it and it stood by my bed all night just in case she came in, and in the morning as often as not I would throw it away.

Once a party of Cavaliers came to the house. They were hungry and weary. We fed them and kept them for a night. They had served at one time, they said, with General Tolworthy. They could tell us very little of the war, but they did say it was not easy to know which way it was going. There were defeats in some places, victories in others, but we saw that there was no great hope in them. Bersaba asked if they had encountered the General, but they had not. He had been at Marston Moor, but they could not say where he had gone after that, for the forces were so scattered. They themselves could not stay and their coming had been but a temporary respite.

‘We’re a danger to you,’ they told us. ‘If the enemy were to arrive here and find us, they would destroy the place.’

‘They might do that if you are not here,’ replied Bersaba bitterly.

‘Let us hope that even Roundheads would have some respect for defenceless women,’ they answered. ‘They are supposed to be men of God.’

‘They have little respect for anything but their own righteousness,’ retorted Bersaba, and I explained her bitterness. ‘My sister’s home has been destroyed, her husband and his sister and their servants killed, and she escaped only by the greatest good fortune.’

Bersaba retorted, ‘That is only how any of us escape. I do not want to know who is winning but when this foolish war will be over.’

They left us and the days fell into the old pattern. We sewed, we walked, we played with the children; it seemed incredible that so close to us battles were waging and men were killing each other and dying for their cause.

October came. Jesson went into London to buy food and came back with the news that the Parliamentary forces were having successes which must prove vital. It was largely due to General Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell was instituting a new model army. He was training them, paying them well and above all exerting an iron discipline. He never let them forget that their consciences were concerned; he imbued them with the idea that they were fighting for an ideal, an escape from bondage, and that God was on their side. With such an ally they could not fail to succeed.