Saraband for Two Sisters Read online

  ‘And therefore take the present time With a hey and a ho and a hey nonny-no

  For love is crowned with the prime

  In spring time …’

  My mother smiled at me as though she shared my thoughts and she joined in the song and told the servants to do the same. Then we all took turns to sing the first line of a song of our choice and the rest of us would come in, but when it was Bersaba’s turn she sang alone because no one joined in with her. It was Ophelia’s song:

  ‘How should I your true love know From another one?

  By his cockle hat and staff

  And his sandal shoon

  He is dead and gone, lady

  He is dead and gone;

  At his head a grass green turf,

  At his heels a stone.’

  Bersaba had a strange haunting voice, and when she sang those words I imagined her lying in the stream with her long dark hair floating round her and her face white and dead. There was something strange about Bersaba, something I didn’t understand, for all that she was said to be part of me. She had that quiet personality which seems not to intrude and yet can change the mood of all those around her.

  She had made us forget the June morning, the sun, the flowers and the joys of living because she had reminded us of death. We stopped singing then and silently we rode on until the towers of the castle came into view.

  The sun picked out the sharp points in the granite and made them glisten like little diamonds. It was indeed an impressive sight which never failed to thrill me. Defiant, bold, arrogant, the castle always seemed like a living thing to me, and I never failed to feel proud to be connected with it. Our house was mellow in a way, although its stones might well be as old as those of the castle—or almost; but Trystan seemed gentle, homely, when compared with Castle Paling. Its four battlemented towers proclaimed it for what it was, a fortress which had remained impregnable for six hundred years, for it had been built in the days of the Conqueror although it had been added to over the passing centuries. My imagination went into action every time I beheld it, and I could picture the defenders of the castle pouring boiling oil and arrows down on those who would assail it. There were marks on a heavy oaken door with its iron bands—the one which was below the gatehouse—which I was sure had been made by battering rams.

  Approaching from the west, two of the towers were hidden from us—Ysella’s, which used to be said to be haunted, and Seaward, which was now haunted by Grandfather Casvellyn. I glanced at my mother. She had grown serious and I wondered what pictures the sight of that castle conjured up in her mind. One day I would read of her life there, which must have been very adventurous and unhappy too, for this must be the reason why she was so contented with the present.

  Bersaba’s expression had changed too. Her profile was clear-cut; she had high cheek-bones and long eyes with golden lashes tipped with dark brown at the edges. I often looked at her and thought: in describing her I am describing myself, for I look the same—or almost. It was only our expressions which could change our faces, for the bone structure and the shape of our features were identical. Our mother had once said: ‘As you grow older you will look less alike. Experience changes faces and it is hardly likely that you will share the same.’

  Now, I thought, we may be looking different because she changes when we are at Castle Paling. She is more remote and I almost feel she has succeeded in doing what she is always trying to—move away from me. There used to be times when I had known what she was thinking, but now she could shut me out, and when we went to Castle Paling it was almost as though she let down some sort of shutter. I often wondered what it was at Castle Paling that made her do that.

  As we were riding under the portcullis and into the courtyard I heard Rozen’s voice shouting: ‘They’re here!’

  And then there was Aunt Melanie with Melder and Gwenifer coming out of a side door of the castle. There followed the usual bustle while our horses were taken by the grooms and the maids took our baggage and we were embraced by everybody.

  Then we went through the guardroom to the great hall on the stone walls of which were crossed halberds and pikes and several suits of armour which had been worn by our ancestors.

  ‘Come first into my parlour,’ said Melanie, ‘and then when you are refreshed you can go to your rooms. It is good to see you all. The twins look well.’ She smiled at us and I could see she did not know which of us was which.

  Wine and cakes were already there in that chamber which she had made like the one at Trystan. I was always intrigued when I saw her and my mother together to contemplate that Aunt Melanie’s present home was my mother’s old one and vice versa.

  We all seemed to talk at once and it was just like any other reunion.

  We went to our rooms—Bersaba and I sharing as we always did, and Rozen and Gwenifer coming to help us unpack. Gwenifer talked a great deal about the balls that she had attended last season, for although she had not yet reached eighteen, as her elder sister was ‘out’ it was decided that she should join her. Rozen believed that George Kroll was going to speak for her, and although it was not a grand match it was one well worth considering.

  ‘There are so few people here,’ pouted Rozen. ‘How I wish we could go to Court!’

  Court! The very word set us all dreaming of balls and banquets or glittering state occasions and elaborate costumes trimmed with exquisite lace.

  Rozen had dressed her hair with a curled fringe which we all admired, and she told us that she had heard it was a fashion set by Queen Henrietta Maria. Rozen was very gay and she quite liked George Kroll, although he was not the gallant she had hoped for.

  ‘There’s a lot of trouble brewing in Court circles,’ said Bersaba.

  Everyone looked at her. How like Bersaba to say something serious when we all wanted to be frivolous.

  She went on: ‘Father is disturbed about the ship money.’

  ‘Ship money!’ cried Rozen in dismay. ‘We are talking about fashions!’

  ‘My dear cousin,’ said Bersaba in one of her superior moods, ‘if there is trouble between the King and his Parliament there could be no more fashions.’

  ‘Which one are you?’ said Rozen quite angrily. ‘Bersaba, I’m sure.’

  ‘Of course,’ I answered for her.

  ‘Oh, Angel, do make her shut up,’ said Rozen.

  I folded my arms and smiled at my twin. ‘I have no control over her,’ I reminded them.

  ‘It’s silly not to face up to what’s happening,’ said Bersaba crossly. ‘You know very well, Angel, that the people who come to see Father are very anxious.’

  ‘They’re always anxious,’ said Gwenifer. ‘The East India men have always complained about something.’

  ‘They’re doing wonderful work for the country,’ I supported my twin.

  ‘Oh, you two and your saintly parents,’ said Gwenifer. ‘Let’s talk about something interesting.’

  ‘So George Kroll is going to speak for Rozen?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s almost certain,’ replied Rozen. ‘And Father will say yes because the Krolls are a good family and Mother will say yes because she thinks George will be a good husband.’

  ‘That’s one ticked off the list,’ said Bersaba.

  ‘What a way to look at it,’ I cried.

  ‘Well, that’s what it is,’ insisted Bersaba. ‘Our turns will come.’

  ‘I shall choose my husband,’ I said firmly.

  ‘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 looke
d 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.’