Saraband for Two Sisters Page 8

Then I saw a man riding towards me, and I felt a sudden quiver of alarm because I was doing what was forbidden—riding out alone. I spurred up my horse and, turning off the road, broke into a canter across the meadow. My alarm intensified, for the man who had been on the road was coming across the meadow in my direction.

  There is nothing to fear, I admonished myself. Why should he not come this way?

  I seemed to hear my mother’s voice. ‘I never want you girls to go out alone. It is all right if Fennimore or Bastian is with you. But always make sure that there are two grooms at least.’

  He had ridden past me and was pulling up his horse. Strangely enough my fear had left me; excitement took its place, for the rider was no ruffian. Far from it. He was elegant in the extreme and a stranger, for we did not often see such gentlemen in the country.

  I noticed his hat first because he swept it off and turned to me, waved it in his hand as he bowed his head; it was of black felt, broad-brimmed, and adorned with a beautiful white feather which trailed over the brim. His hair—light brown, almost golden, curled at the tips—fell to his shoulders. We did not wear our hair like that in the country, yet I had heard that it was the latest fashion. Fennimore had laughed at the time and said he would never wear his hair like a girl. But I had to admit that if the face it framed was manly enough the effect was not effeminate. His doublet was black, with wide sleeves caught in at a cuff with lace edges; his breeches were of black material that had a look of satin; and he wore square-toed boots fitting up to his leg to just below his knees. I suppose I noticed his appearance so minutely because I had never seen anyone like him before.

  ‘Your pardon, mistress,’ he said. ‘I would ask your help. Do you live hereabouts and know the country?’

  ‘I do,’ I answered.

  ‘I am looking for Trystan Priory, which I believe is in this neighbourhood.’

  ‘Then you are fortunate to have met me, for I live there and am returning there now.’

  ‘Is that truly so, then this is indeed a happy meeting.’

  ‘If you ride beside me I will take you there,’ I said.

  ‘That is kind of you.’

  Our horses walked side by side as we crossed the meadow to the road.

  ‘I think you may wish to see my father,’ I said.

  ‘I have business with Captain Fennimore Landor,’ he answered.

  ‘He is away at this time.’

  ‘But I had heard his voyage was ended.’

  ‘Yes, it has. He is only gone to Plymouth and will be home within a few days.’

  ‘Ah, that is better news. I shall not be too long delayed.’

  ‘I dare say it is business concerning the East India Company.’

  ‘Your assumption is correct.’

  ‘People often come to see him. But you have come far.’

  ‘I have come from London. My servants are at an inn. I left them with my baggage and rode out to see if I could find the Priory. You have made my quest easy.’

  ‘I am pleased. My brother will talk to you. He knows a great deal about the Company.’

  ‘That’s interesting. May I introduce myself? I am Gervaise Pondersby.’

  ‘I am Bersaba Landor. I have a twin sister, Angelet. She and my brother will be very pleased to see you.’

  I pictured their astonishment when I rode in with this elegant stranger. I was grateful to him, for he had made me forget temporarily the hurt Bastion had inflicted on me.

  The Priory came into sight.

  ‘A charming place,’ said Gervaise Pondersby. ‘So this is the Landor home, is it? And how far from the sea?’

  ‘Five miles.’

  ‘I had expected it would be nearer.’

  ‘Five miles is nothing much,’ I answered. I told him that the house had been built with stones from the ruined priory as we rode up the slight incline and into the courtyard.

  We had been seen, and I imagined the consternation that had caused: Bersaba arriving home with a gentleman from London!

  I shouted to a groom to take our horses, and when we stepped into the hall Fennimore was already there with Bastian. I would not look at Bastian but spoke to Fennimore.

  ‘I met this gentleman on the road. He was looking for Trystan Priory. He has business with Father.’

  The bow was elegant as he said: ‘Gervaise Pondersby at your service.’

  ‘Why, Sir Gervaise,’ cried Fennimore, ‘my father has often spoken of you. Welcome to Trystan. Alas, my father is not here at this time.’

  ‘Your sister told me so. But I believe he is not far from home.’

  ‘He will be back in a few days. May I present my cousin, Bastian Casvellyn.’

  Bastian bowed. I thought: he seems awkward beside this man, and I exulted in the fact.

  ‘I pray you come into my father’s private parlour. I will send for refreshment.’

  ‘I will take a little wine and perhaps you can give me more exact information as to when your father will return.’

  ‘I can send a messenger to Plymouth to tell him you are here,’ said Fennimore. I was rather proud of my brother because he did not seem in the least overawed by the stranger.

  As Fennimore led him away I ran upstairs. Bastian ran after me but I was fleeter than he.

  ‘Bersaba,’ he whispered.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you,’ I hissed over my shoulder.

  ‘I must explain.’

  I sped on, but he came after me, and caught up with me in the gallery.

  ‘There is nothing you can say to me,’ I told him. ‘It is I who must say to you congratulations.’

  ‘You must understand, Bersaba.’

  ‘I do understand. You have asked Carlotta to marry you. That’s clear enough, is it not?’

  ‘I can’t think how it happened. Bersaba, I love you.’

  ‘You love me so much that you are going to marry Carlotta. Oh, that is perfectly clear.’

  ‘It was a moment of madness. I don’t know what came over me … I was sort of bewitched. That’s how it is, Bersaba. You must understand. When she is there …’

  Every word was like a knife in my heart. I wondered how such a simple man as Bastian could inflict such pain.

  I pushed him from me. ‘Go to her then. Go to your witch. I promise you this. You’ll be sorry … sick and sorry …’

  Then I turned and ran and I reached our bedroom. I was thankful that Angelet was not there. I locked the door. He was outside tapping on it, whispering my name.

  ‘I must explain, Bersaba …’

  Explain. What was there to explain? Only that she was irresistible. He wanted her. He was ready to thrust me aside for her.

  ‘Go back to her,’ I whispered venomously. ‘Go back to your … witch.’

  Fennimore immediately sent a messenger to Plymouth to tell my father of Sir Gervaise’s arrival, and while he was taking wine my brother persuaded him that he would be more comfortable at Trystan Priory than at the inn, and he begged him to come with his personal servants and baggage, and rooms would be made ready for him.

  Sir Gervaise graciously accepted the invitation, but would not come until my father returned.

  At supper everyone was talking about Sir Gervaise, and I explained how I had discovered him when out riding and was immediately reprimanded for riding alone. ‘You know our mother says you are always to have the grooms with you,’ said Fennimore. ‘It was wilful of you to do that while she was away.’

  ‘I’m not a child any longer, Fennimore,’ I said sharply.

  I knew Bastian was looking at me and that he blushed a little, remembering our unchildlike behaviour, I was sure. He sat next to Carlotta and I was aware of the spell she had laid on him. He was hurt and bewildered by what had happened to him, which was just the way he would be if he were bewitched. But he could not keep his eyes from her; I saw his hands reach out to touch her. How I hated them both; and I must sit there and pretend that nothing was wrong.

  Carlotta said: ‘He seemed a very courtly gen
tleman. I saw him when he left—but from a window.’

  ‘He will return when my parents are here,’ said Fennimore, ‘and then I expect he will stay for a few days.’

  How I lived through that meal I did not know. Bastian must go home or I would break down. I could not bear to see him and Carlotta together. It was asking too much of me.

  After supper the minstrels played soothing music from the gallery, and Thomas Jenson, who taught us music and had a beautiful voice, sang madrigals with us. Of course there was the inevitable one about the faithless lover, which did not help me.

  As soon as I could I said I was tired and I would go to my room, but my sister had to come up with me and to tell me that I looked pale and strained and that I had been very wrong to ride out alone. Chiding me with this tender scolding was more than I could endure, and I begged her to leave me alone that I might close my eyes and try to sleep.

  Sleep! As if I could sleep.

  I lay there for half an hour when there was a knock on the door. I closed my eyes, thinking it was Angelet returning, but it was not. It was the maid Ginny with some posset Angelet had sent up for me.

  I looked at Ginny. She was twenty-one, very wise. She had had a child when she was fourteen and kept him with her in one of the attics, because my mother said that it was not right that a mother should be parted from her child. There had been many lovers since for Ginny but no more children. ‘Foolish girl,’ said my mother. ‘She will find herself in trouble again one day.’ But I understood her. She wasn’t so much foolish as helpless.

  ‘Mistress Angelet said you was to take this, mistress,’ she said now. ‘Her said it ’ud make you sleep.’

  ‘Thank you, Ginny,’ I said.

  She gave it to me. It was hot and soothing.

  ‘Wait a bit while I drink it.’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  ‘Have you ever talked to a witch, Ginny?’

  ‘Oh yes. I went to one when I had my trouble. It was too late, though … she could do nothing for me.’

  ‘That was Jenny Keys, wasn’t it? They hanged her in the lane.’

  ‘Yes, mistress, it were. There was naught wrong with Jenny Keys. She’d helped many a girl from her trouble and it was beautiful to see the way she could charm off your warts. She did good, she did. My granny used to say, “There be white and black witches, Ginny, and Jenny Keys be a white one.” ’

  ‘Some didn’t think so.’

  ‘No, there be some terrible people about. Jenny Keys could turn off a bad spell. Why, when my young brother had the whooping cough Jenny Keys cured him by tying a bag of spiders round his neck. I don’t reckon Jenny Keys ever laid a spell. Some of them do, though, and there’s always them as will tell against a woman who’s a witch. Tain’t safe, being a witch … black or white.’

  ‘What happened to Jenny Keys?’

  ‘There was people who hated her. They started to talk about her, build up against her, like. A cow died in calf … so did the calf, and the cowherd he were so mad he said he’d caught Jenny Keys ill-wishing it. Someone else said she’d gone along for a remedy and had seen Jenny Keys in her cottage with her black cat there at her feet and she was roasting a bullock’s heart stuffed with pins. She was saying:

  “ ’Tis not this heart I wish to burn But Jack Perran’s heart I wish to turn Wishing him neither rest nor peace

  Till he be dead and gone.”

  And when Jack Perran died all sudden in his sleep—people started whispering. They started remembering other witches and how in the times of King James there’d been regular witch baiting. They reckoned a lot of them had been driven under ground at that time but now they was coming out again. They reckoned they ought to make an example of one. They talked … they remembered … they spied on Jenny Keys. Then came the day when they took her and hung her on a tree in Hangman’s Lane.’

  ‘If she was indeed a witch perhaps it was right.’

  ‘Perhaps it were, mistress, but they do say she were a white witch.’

  ‘There was a witch once at Castle Paling. Have you ever heard of her?’

  Ginny was startled. She looked furtively over her shoulder.

  ‘Why yes, mistress, everyone have heard of how she come by the sea. My granny told me. It were always remembered. She came and she went back to the Devil and came back again, and then she went back to him and was never heard of no more.’

  I shivered.

  ‘You be cold, mistress?’

  ‘Someone walking over my grave, Ginny, as they say. You know the ladies here?’

  Ginny was very disturbed. ‘Yes, mistress.’

  ‘Well, the young beautiful one is the granddaughter of that witch.’

  ‘Yes, mistress.’

  I’m going too far too fast, I thought. But nevertheless I went on.

  ‘Do you think the powers are passed down … these dark powers, I mean?’

  Ginny was a conspirator. Her voice sounded hoarse.

  ‘I’ve heard it’s so. Yes, indeed I’ve heard it said.’

  ‘I wonder … Here, take the dish. The posset was good and warming. I feel I could sleep now.’

  She took the dish and tiptoed out. I felt like a gardener who has prepared the ground and sewn the first seeds. Now I could wait and see what crop came forth.

  I felt better because I had a plan. I became obsessed by it and would awake in the night when a wild excitement possessed me and this soothed my hatred and bitterness. I could understand Homer’s saying ‘Revenge is sweeter far than flowing honey.’

  I used to dream of Carlotta’s being dragged by the mob to the tree in Hangman’s Lane, and all the humiliations which would be thrust upon her. I pictured her half-naked body and lewd men watching her, and afterwards Bastian coming to the Lane and seeing her hanging there.

  How wicked I am! I thought; but the hurt was so deep that I had to soothe it some way, and at the back of my mind I believed it to be only a fantasy—like a daydream when one receives comfort for indulging in a fancy that one possesses something which is unattainable.

  Carlotta created a good deal of attention in a household like ours. She was so different with her airs and graces; she was exotic, and anything foreign aroused suspicions in the simple. With interest I watched the servants’ behaviour towards her. They were fascinated and a little afraid, and I did all I could to foster this fear in them. I think Ginny had talked and reminded them of that old story of the witch who had come from the sea.

  Once when we were riding I saw a woman hurry away as we went by, averting her eyes from Carlotta, and I exulted because it seemed to me that the seeds I had sown were sprouting.

  Bastian had left the next day. I don’t think he could bear to be in the same house with Carlotta and me together. When he left I did not say goodbye to him but kept out of the way, though I watched him ride off from one of the turret windows and saw how he kept looking backwards, for a last glimpse of Carlotta, I thought angrily.

  Sometimes when I was in my room I would be frightened at what I was doing. I wanted to kill Carlotta but not in a straightforward way, since I planned that others should do it for me. It was cowardly, because I was planning it so that when it happened I could pretend it had nothing to do with me.

  Then when I was with her I would say to myself: She deserves it. There is something wicked about her … something evil. I believe she is a witch, for only a witch could have taken Bastian from me, and if she is, it is better that she be removed.

  Nobody could deny her beauty. It was not beauty which is a joy to behold and is the outward manifestation of inner goodness. I always thought my mother was beautiful in that way. Carlotta’s was a beauty which came from the Devil—meant for the destruction of those about her. At least, that was what I told myself.

  Her mother Senara was proud of her, but I didn’t think she loved her; and I was certain that Carlotta loved no one but herself. Indeed, sometimes I used to think that if Bastian married her that would be sufficient punishment for his treatme
nt of me.

  The servants did not like Carlotta. She was too arrogant with them, reminding them always that she was the great lady and they beneath her notice, except for what they could do for her. She and her mother shared a Spanish maid whom they had brought with them. Ana was a woman in her mid-thirties, dark-haired, with a faint line of black hairs on her upper lip, and deep-set eyes. She was very quiet and I had never heard her speak, but I imagined she was efficient and an excellent lady’s maid, for the manner in which she dressed Carlotta’s hair was a wonder in itself. Silent-footed, almost mouse-like, one was hardly aware of her. She slept in a small ante-room adjoining Carlotta’s bedroom.

  When my parents returned and Sir Gervaise with his manservant and two grooms moved into Trystan Priory, life changed. We were now living in greater style, for to have a man such as Sir Gervaise in the house made that a necessity. His business, he told my father, would take up a whole week, he believed, and if he could intrude on Landor hospitality all that time he would be gratified.

  Of course we welcomed him. My father was delighted, for Sir Gervaise was as deeply involved with the Company as he was himself.

  They rode out together, and were closeted together and talking a great deal. They went down to the sea and inspected my father’s ship; they discussed the cargoes he had brought back and were constantly in each other’s company.

  Meals had become ceremonial occasions. Not only was Sir Gervaise our guest but also Senara and Carlotta, and there was no doubt that our society had become much more grand and sophisticated by these arrivals.

  There was a great deal of talk about the Court, and in this Sir Gervaise, Senara and Carlotta had a good deal in common, since they had all moved in Court circles, and though Sir Gervaise was connected with Whitehall and Senara and her daughter with Spain, there had been a connection between the two Courts when the King—Prince, as he was then—had visited Spain in order to arrange a marriage between himself and the King of Spain’s sister.

  Sir Gervaise told us that as a boy of eighteen he had had a small role in the King’s entourage and it seemed very likely that he and Senara had actually been at the same functions. Senara had met King Charles on one occasion. She said this was before his father’s death when he was but a prince, though heir to the throne, and she had thought him a handsome man, though smaller than was becoming in a king. He had great charm of manner, however, and being young and handsome created quite a good impression.