Philippa Carr - Saraband for Two Sisters

‘Mrs Cherry, please, I don’t want to hear any more. Please go now.’

‘Drink up this posset, my lady. I’d like to see you drink that before I go.’

‘No, later. Not now. I don’t want to sleep. I want to think and think …’

She went out and I lay on my bed, staring wild-eyed at the ceiling.

Bersaba came in. I was so relieved to see her.

‘What on earth has happened?’ she cried.

I told her that I had been through the tunnel into the castle and that I had seen Richard’s son. ‘He’s an idiot,’ I said. ‘That’s the secret of the castle. That’s why we are not to go there.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘You knew?’

‘Yes, I knew.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Richard told me.’

‘He told you, but not me!’

‘He was afraid that it would upset you, that you would be worried about having children.’

‘He was right. I am …’

‘You must not think of it,’ she said. ‘It does not mean that because one was born like that … others will be.’

‘Why should a child be born like that?’

‘Something goes wrong …’

‘But it could be something in the parents.’

‘Why should it necessarily be in Richard? It might have been some fault in his wife.’

‘Yet he kept it a secret. How could he have done that to his own son!’

‘How can you judge what other people should do? How could he have that boy in this house? He did the next best thing. He put him in the castle, built the wall and gave him a good guardian. What else could he do?’

‘You defend him.’

‘I’m trying to see his point of view. The boy has been cared for all these years.’

‘It must be fifteen years …’ I said.

‘What made you go through that cupboard door?’

‘Because I was curious.’

‘So that was why you kept talking about it.’

‘You wouldn’t go with me. I know now why. You knew what was there.’

‘I wish you hadn’t found out now … at this stage.’

‘What worries me, Bersaba, is this … what if my child should be …’

‘Put such thoughts out of your mind. It’s folly to think like that.’

‘How can I put thoughts out of my mind when they persist in being there? How would you feel if you were in my place? I keep thinking of that … boy. His face haunts me. I’m terrified, Bersaba. If it happened once …’

‘It was so foolish of you to go exploring now. Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?’

‘The Cherrys have kept the secret. Just think of it. Everyone in this house knew except me. I was the only one in the dark.’

‘It was important that you should be in the dark.’

‘I … Richard’s wife … closer to him than any … and not to be told!’

‘Be reasonable. You were going to bear his child. It was sensible not to tell you. Look at you now … Look at the effect it has had on you. Now you are going to fret and fume …’

‘Mrs Cherry suggested … that it could be stopped …’

‘What!’

‘She says that even now …’

‘You are mad. Mrs Cherry is mad. I shall speak to her. How dare she say such a thing!’

‘I am mistress of this house, Bersaba, though sometimes I think you fancy that you are.’

She turned and went out of the room.

I could not sleep. How long the night seemed. I dared not sleep; if I did I knew my dreams would be terrible. All the fears of the last months had been nothing compared with those which beset me now. I pictured my child being born. I could hear Richard’s saying: ‘He … or she … must go to the castle.’

There was no hot milk by my bed on this night, but Mrs Cherry’s posset was still there, untouched.

I almost decided to drink it, but I knew it would send me to sleep and I did not want to sleep because of those nightmares I feared.

My door was being opened very slowly. I felt my heart begin to pound. Was this the one I was waiting for, the one I had promised myself I would try to catch?

Bersaba came and stood by my bed.

‘You are awake, Angelet,’ she said.

‘How can I sleep with so much to think of?’

‘You are still worrying about the child?’

‘Would you not in my place?’

‘You have it in your head that Richard cannot father a normal healthy child.’

‘If you had seen that … creature. He reminded me of the man on the grass.’

‘Angelet, I have been thinking all day whether I should tell you. It may be a shock to you but I have come to the conclusion that it will be less harmful for you to know than fear for the child. What is important to you now … more important than anything … is the child. Is that not so, Angel?’

‘Of course.’

‘Richard can have a healthy child. He has.’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘Arabella is his daughter.’

I lay still not comprehending. Then I said slowly: ‘Arabella. Your Arabella. She is Richard’s daughter!’

‘Yes,’ said Bersaba defiantly.

‘You and he …’

‘Yes, he and I. Did you ever see a more perfect child? I never did. Nor did anyone.’

‘Oh, Bersaba,’ I cried, ‘you and Richard.’

‘You didn’t love him,’ she accused. ‘Not really. You were frightened of him.’

‘And you loved him, I suppose.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And that was why you married Luke, so that no one would know you were going to have Richard’s child. And Luke, what did he think?’

‘He knew and helped me.’

‘You think the world belongs to you, Bersaba. You always did. Other people didn’t matter very much, did they?’

‘You matter to me now, sister. You are going to be well and your child will be strong and healthy.’

‘And when Richard comes home,’ I said, ‘what then?’

‘You will have a healthy child to show him.’

‘You have already shown him yours.’

‘That is over, Angelet. When your child is born and Richard comes back, I am going home to Trystan Priory.’

‘Richard won’t let you go. He loves you, doesn’t he?’

‘He is a man who will love his wife and his children. Good night.’

She stooped over me and kissed me.

I lay there thinking of them. Lovers in this house … and I was here. Why did I not know? Then I remembered. She had insisted on my taking the soothing draught. ‘This will make you sleep.’ I pictured her, the sly smile about her mouth. So they put me to sleep while she went to him.

How could she? I remembered my fear of the great four-poster bed and how I could never reconcile myself to that relationship; and she had revelled in it. She was all that I was not. I remembered how Bastian’s eyes had followed her and how angry she had been when Carlotta took him from her. Then Bastian had wanted to marry her, she had told me, and she would have none of him. And then she came and took Richard and then Luke wanted her so much that he would take another man’s child for her sake.

Oh, Bersaba, my twin sister! What did I know of her? She had become a stranger to me.

A terrible thought came into my mind. She loved Richard; she loved him so much that she could forget that I, who had believed myself to be close and dear to her, was his wife.

Memories stirred. I was back in my room in Pondersby Hall and Ana was standing beside me. What had she said? It was something which had seemed strange at the time. ‘It would be a mistake to think she had all the good points … if the occasion should arise …’

What should Ana have known of Bersaba? But the fact was that she warned me to beware of my sister.

I had imagined someone had put poison into my milk. Who had given me the milk? Who had given me the sleeping draught so that I should not be disturbed while she went to my husband?

I had never been so frightened or so horrified in my life.

Could it really be that my sister wanted my husband so much that she was trying to kill me?

IT WAS ALMOST A relief when the soldiers came. It was after Christmas—a travesty of the festive seasons we had known. I made a half-hearted attempt to deck out the house with holly and ivy for the sake of the children and to make something of the day for them, but as soon as they had been put to bed gloom descended on the house.

Mrs Cherry had lost her benignity; if ever I went to the kitchen I would find her seated at the table staring into space. Cherry said very little; I knew he could not forget the memory of the son he had killed. Nor could Mrs Cherry. And Cherry’s burden of guilt lay so heavily upon him that it overshadowed the entire household.

Grace and Meg tried to be cheerful. Phoebe sighed for Longridge Farm where she had been happy with her husband, and I knew she wondered, as we all must, where this was going to end. Most hard to bear was the restraint which had grown up between Angelet and myself. She could not forgive me for taking her husband and I could not forgive myself. She could scarcely bear to be in the room with me, and she had found a key to the door of the Blue Room which she had never thought of locking before. I was afraid that she would need something in the night.

I knew that she was suspicious of me and believed that I wanted her to die so that if Richard came back he would be free to marry me.

Whenever possible I assured her that I was going to Trystan Priory. I even made preparations.

‘This war can’t last forever,’ I used to say. ‘Something must happen soon.’

After that sad Christmas followed by Twelfth Night, which we did not celebrate, Angelet spent a long time in her room with Grace.