Saraband for Two Sisters

by Philippa Carr

  My father nodded, but I could see that he was uneasy and I wondered what had happened to make him say that Senara had not been good to them.

  Bersaba asked her when she was alone with her and she told me that my mother replied: ‘Oh, she tried to stop your father and me marrying. She was jealous, that was all. She did not want me to go away from her. She was very fond of me. She confessed and then everything was all right. That was all, but your father has not forgotten.’

  My brother Fennimore wanted to go to sea with my father, but my father thought he should stay at home and look after the estates but most of all my mother.

  My parents used to talk about it at length. I would see them in the garden, arm in arm, in earnest conversation and I guessed what it was about. My brother Fennimore was like them in that he wanted to do the best for the family, but it is not easy to be denied what you really want to do in life.

  My mother knew this and she tried to persuade my father to let him go. She was perfectly safe, she declared; she had good servants and Fennimore’s heart was with the Company just as his was.

  While my father was home many people came to visit us. There were men in the Company who never went to sea but took part in its management from their offices in England. Some came from London to see us and those would be days of great excitement. The servants would be busy in the kitchen baking pies of all descriptions—all our old Cornish ones would appear, to the delight and amazement of the visitors who had never heard of taddage pies, which contained prematurely born sucking pig, and muggety, the entrails of sheep and calves. My mother wondered whether such food would appeal to the fine folk from London, but they seemed to eat it with relish and were not told until afterwards what the pies contained. Then, besides our old Cornish dishes there would be beef, mutton, boar’s head, duck and snipe, partridge, pigeon and fish like lampreys, sturgeon and pike, with fruits—mulberries, apricots, medlars and green figs—to follow. My mother was a devoted housewife and herself supervised the making of many of the dishes, so eager was she to welcome all our father’s business colleagues.

  There came the day when we heard that our father had relented over our brother Fennimore and he was to go to sea with him when he next sailed. Fennimore was going round in a state of quiet pleasure because of this. He was so like our father and he did not shout with joy or say very much, but we were all aware of his contentment.

  A week had passed since our return—a week of meals eaten in the great hall, for there were these constant visitors and we never knew when more would arrive. Most of the rooms in the Priory were now occupied and Bersaba and I recalled that this was how it always had been when our father was home.

  ‘I wonder what Carlotta is doing at Castle Paling?’ I said one day.

  Bersaba answered: ‘They will not come here until Father has gone. I heard Mother say she would ask them not to, making the excuse that every room was occupied by Father’s business associates.’

  Bersaba always seemed to get such information. Once I accused her of eavesdropping and she did not deny it. But I have to admit that I was always glad to receive the information she was able to give.

  There was a good deal of talk at the table and we learned that these men from London were disturbed by the influences at work in the country. The King’s popularity was fast waning. He had, it seemed, not the gifts to make him a darling of the public. He was a good and faithful husband—rare in kings—but he did not know how to govern, and his wife, Henrietta Maria, frivolous and strictly Catholic, did nothing to endear herself to the people.

  That he had dismissed Parliament and governed without one was an indication of the King’s determination to be accepted as the ruler selected by God. He was implying that he did not need a parliament, when he was quite capable of making laws. The people had accepted so much from him, but, it was the general verdict, they were getting restive and they would not go on in this way.

  He was alienating the people not only through religion but through irresponsible taxation, which was a direct threat to property.

  One of the main topics was, of course, ship money, of which we had heard so much. Fearful of war with the Spaniards or Dutch or both, Charles had commanded that the main ports supply ships for the defence of England. To build these ships money was needed and ship money was invented.

  A rumbling protest broke out throughout the land. The Puritans, the Protestants and the Catholics all felt themselves persecuted and stood against the King; Charles had alienated Scotland when he allowed himself to be crowned in Edinburgh by five bishops in white rochets and copes of gold, a ceremony which was attended by much pomp, for this offended the plain Scots and diverted their sympathy from him.

  I remembered vividly the conversation at dinner one evening when they talked about the frivolity of the Queen and the King’s growing love for her.

  My mother thought that it showed goodness in the King and she said that a monarch’s happy family life would be an inspiration to the families of the country.

  My father smiled at her tenderly and replied: ‘There have been happy families before this King came to the throne, my love. To have found the ideal companion, to have learned the true secret of living, which is to give happiness to others when happiness will come to the giver unasked, is something which we all may have if we are determined to get it.’

  ‘But it is so easy to lose the opportunity to gain that happiness. What if I had lost you?’

  There was a sudden shadow between them and I knew instinctively that it was the return of Senara which had reminded them that their happiness might not be secure.

  One of the gentlemen from London said: ‘It would be well for the country if the King were less under the influence of his wife. It was the greatest mistake to deal with William Prynne as they did.’

  ‘What happened to William Prynne?’ asked Bersaba.

  ‘I forget that remote in the country as you are you miss these things,’ replied the gentleman. ‘Prynne wrote a book against stage plays.’

  ‘Why should he be against such plays?’ demanded my mother. ‘What harm do they do?’

  ‘It was Prynne’s opinion that plays are unlawful, because they engender immorality and have been condemned by the scriptures.’

  ‘But is this so?’ asked my mother.

  ‘Prynne produced evidence to prove his case.’

  ‘He is a killjoy,’ said my mother. ‘Miserable himself and wanting everyone else to be the same!’

  ‘That may be,’ put in my father, ‘but every man should have the privilege of stating his views.’

  ‘That is what many think,’ put in our guest. ‘A man may be wrong or right but he must be given leave to air his opinions. Those who don’t agree snap their fingers at him; those who do applaud. There are certain to be those who are ready to take sides.’

  ‘On what grounds was he sent to the Star Chamber?’ asked my mother.

  ‘This is where the King is foolish in his fondness for the Queen,’ was the answer. ‘Prynne attacked the women who appeared on the stage, for in his opinion although stage plays in themselves are wicked, the greatest sin of all is for a woman to appear on the stage. Now the Queen loves the play—to witness it and to take part in it—and she and her ladies have recently performed William Montague’s Shepherd’s Paradise, so the attack appears to be on her personally and on the King too for that matter, for he took great pleasure in watching and applauding the play. And for this Prynne is sent to prison, but first set in the pillory and deprived of his ears.’

  ‘His ears!’ cried my mother, deeply shocked.

  ‘Ah madam,’ said our guest, ‘you live in this peaceful spot. Pray God it may always remain so. But there are changes creeping over our country and they are such that the people will not endure.’

  I was trying to imagine what a man looked like without his ears, and I felt a sudden pain and fear such as I had never known before.

  When I rode out I noticed that the people of the countryside see
med thoughtful. It was as though a cold wind had started to blow across the country from Whitehall, so steadily, so relentlessly that we were even feeling it at Trystan Priory.

  We had been home for two weeks when my father was called to Plymouth to discuss the next voyage. My mother begged to go with him, leaving our brother Fennimore in charge of the household.

  ‘We shall not be away long,’ my mother assured us, and when they rode off together I thought she looked like a bride setting out on her first journey with her new husband. The house seemed different without her. We were accustomed to my father’s absences so that did not affect us so much—but the house without her seemed somehow bereft.

  After we had bade them farewell in the courtyard, Bersaba and I climbed to the turrets and watched them from there until they had disappeared from sight.

  ‘When I am married I shall be just like our mother,’ I told Bersaba.

  ‘You will not,’ answered my sister, ‘because you are not like our mother.’

  ‘I mean I shall have a husband who thinks I am as young and beautiful after thirty years of marriage as I was on the day he first saw me.’

  ‘You are not going to marry a blind man?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Father thinks that of our mother.’

  ‘There are not many like them.’

  Sadly, I agreed with her.

  ‘Mind you, it would be dull if they were. I want my marriage to be different from that. Theirs is hardly exciting.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone could ever have a more exciting moment than our mother when she hears his ship is sighted.’

  ‘It would greatly depend on what excitement meant to you,’ Bersaba pointed out.

  ‘Oh, you can never accept things as they are. You always have to probe and dig about and spoil them.’

  ‘I like to know the truth,’ observed my sister. ‘I wonder what’s happening at Castle Paling?’

  ‘It’s odd that we haven’t heard.’

  ‘Do you think they will be asked here?’

  ‘Not until Father goes. He clearly didn’t like Senara. She tried to stop his marrying our mother. She was jealous … She didn’t want anything to come between her and our mother. She loved her so.’

  ‘I’ll suggest that she wanted to be the one to marry first.’

  ‘It must have been exciting then. I wish we could read our mother’s journal. It will be all about Senara and her mother and Grandfather when he was young. Have you started writing, Bersaba?’

  ‘No,’ said Bersaba shortly.

  ‘Are you going to?’

  ‘When I’ve something that’s exciting enough to put down.’

  ‘Well, don’t you reckon Senara’s return with Carlotta is?’

  ‘It remains to be seen.’ She hesitated. Then she said: ‘I’ll tell you something. I swear someone from Paling will be over soon.’

  ‘Who’s coming over from Castle Paling then?’

  She smiled secretly. ‘Bastian perhaps,’ she said.

  It was not Bastian who came. It was Senara and her daughter. I wondered if they knew that my father was absent.

  Senara cried: ‘So your mother is not here—’

  We told her she had gone with our father to Plymouth.

  ‘Who is in charge?’ asked Senara.

  ‘My brother Fennimore,’ I answered. ‘And Bersaba and I are the hostesses.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to welcome us,’ said Carlotta with a sly smile, reminding us that we had done nothing of the sort.

  Bersaba told them that Fennimore was out on the estate and we hastily ordered the grooms to take the horses while we brought them into the hall.

  ‘It’s a lovely old place,’ said Serena. ‘I always thought so. The castle is so much grimmer.’

  ‘But grander,’ added Carlotta.

  ‘Our mother will be so sorry not to be here,’ said Bersaba.

  I could not imagine my mother’s being in the least sorry while she was with my father. In fact, I thought she would be rather pleased not to be here, since he would not want these visitors.

  ‘We’ll have a room made ready,’ I said, and went away to give orders.

  When I came back Bersaba was taking the visitors into the intimate parlour, and one of the maids had brought the wine and cakes with which we always refreshed travellers on their arrival.

  ‘I was surprised,’ Senara was saying, ‘that your mother did not insist on our coming before.’

  ‘It was because our father was home,’ Bersaba was explaining. ‘When he comes they have so much to talk of because he has been away so long. They just have to be together. It has always been like that.’

  ‘Your mother fell in love with him when she was nothing but a girl … younger than you are,’ said Senara.

  ‘And she has stayed in love with him ever since,’ I said defiantly, as though there was need to defend her.

  ‘We were not all destined to find such happiness in married life, alas,’ commented Senara. She smiled at Carlotta and went on: ‘Let us tell the twins your news. I suppose I should be right to wait until your mother returns. She should be the first to know. But I can see you are all agog with curiosity.’

  ‘What news is it?’ asked Bersaba.

  ‘Carlotta has already had a proposal of marriage.’

  ‘Already … but from whom?’ My mind went over the people we knew. The Krolls, the Trents, the Lamptons … Surely one of those young men would not be considered good enough by Carlotta, who had gone to great pains to make us aware of her almost royal lineage.

  ‘She has to consider it, have you not, Carlotta? It is not the match she would have expected had she stayed in Spain, but it will bind the families closer, and I have never forgotten all through my life the days I spent here in my childhood.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Bersaba almost sharply.

  ‘It is your cousin Bastian. He has asked Carlotta’s hand in marriage.’

  Because I am close to Bersaba I felt the shock which ran through her. It numbed me as it numbed her and instinctively I knew that she was deeply disturbed.

  I began to talk rapidly to save her the necessity of doing so. I said: ‘So soon? How can you be sure? How can Bastian? What do Uncle Connell and Aunt Melanie say?’

  ‘They say it is a matter for Bastian to decide. He is of age. He is his own master and there is no doubt how strongly he is involved. Is that not so, Carlotta?’

  ‘He is determined to marry me.’

  ‘And you to marry him?’ I asked faintly.

  A smile flicked across her lips. ‘I am not sure. He must wait for his answer.’

  ‘We left Paling so that Carlotta could have time to think of this in peaceful surroundings,’ Senara explained.

  ‘I wanted to know what you felt about it here,’ said Carlotta. ‘Would you be happy to have me in your family? I wanted the twins to tell me.’ She was looking at Bersaba, who stood still, her eyes downcast, saying nothing. ‘Of course,’ went on Carlotta, ‘I shall not listen to what you tell me. I shall make up my mind whether or not I shall marry Bastian.’ Again that look at Bersaba. ‘And something seems to tell me that I shall.’

  The atmosphere had grown tense with secret feelings. It affected me strongly because it came from Bersaba. I could see Grandfather Casvellyn’s wild eyes, hear his accusing voice: ‘They’ll bring trouble here if they stay.’ Was that prophecy already coming true?

  BERSABA

  The Toad in the Bed

  I AM DESOLATE SO I am taking up my pen. I had said I would only do so when there was something interesting to write about. I did not think it would be heartbreak. I am so hurt, so humiliated and I think above all angry. My anger is none the less fierce because I hide it from the world; it is like a fire inside me, a banked-up fire which is waiting for the moment to burst forth, and when it does I believe I should be capable of killing the one who has brought me to this state.

  I put down my pen then and wrung my hands together; I wished that it were her neck I had
in my hands. They are very strong, my hands. I could always do things with them that Angelet could not attempt.

  At this time I am only half believing it. I say to myself: It can’t be true. But in my heart I know it is. Grandfather was a prophet when he said she would bring disaster to us. He was thinking of me, I know, because Grandfather has a special feeling for me. There is a bond between us. I think I know what it is, for it is a need, a desire, which he himself possessed and which came down through him to me. I appear outwardly quiet … quieter than Angelet, but internally I am not.

  If I had not been as I am, this would not have happened to me. I should not have lain with Bastian in the forest and have revelled in that wild exultation which I could no more resist than he could. I used to think that if we were discovered they would blame him; they would say he had seduced me; he was older than I and I was little more than a child. But it would not be true. I was the one who had tempted him—artlessly, subtly, it was true. He used to kiss me and be frightened by the kisses I gave him in return; I would caress him in such a manner as to arouse his desires. He thought it was innocence which made me do these things. He didn’t understand that virgin though I was, at that time I was possessed by a raging desire to be possessed.

  When I was fourteen years old I knew that I wanted Bastian to be my lover. He had singled me out as his favourite and this endeared him to me, for although we were so much alike people were more comfortable in Angelet’s company. She was not prettier than I … how could she be when most people did not know which of us was which? It was something in her manner. When I pretended to be her—it was our favourite game to delude people into thinking one of us was the other—I could assume her nature: open, thoughtless, chattering without thinking very much what she was saying, light-hearted, believing the best of everyone, and being easy to deceive because of that. I just had to think of Angelet’s ways to be her. But she never really succeeded in being me, because if she lived to a hundred she would never know this deep sensuality which was the strongest force in my nature and which was why Bastian and I had become lovers when I was but fifteen years old and he was twenty-two.