A woman in a blue gown, over which she wore a green apron of the same shades as James’s livery, was waiting for us, and I recognized her at once as Ana who had accompanied Carlotta to Cornwall.
‘Our guest has come,’ said James. ‘Take her and her maid to their rooms and make sure that everything Mistress Landor needs is available.’
Ana nodded, less overawed, I fancied, than we were by the dignity of James.
‘If you will come with me I will take you to your rooms,’ she said, ‘and when her ladyship returns I will inform her of your arrival.’
We followed Ana up a staircase which led from the hall to a gallery. Along this we went and mounted another staircase. On this landing were our rooms. A large one for me and a small one leading from it for Mab. I had a window not unlike that of the hall—only much smaller with a window-seat and my panes of glass were uncoloured. My bed was a four-poster, and several mats, of the same tones as the blue of the drapes at the window and the curtains of my bed, covered the wooden floor.
I said: ‘It’s luxurious, isn’t it, Mab?’
‘’Tis certain surely so,’ replied Mab.
‘I will bring you hot water,’ said Ana, and did so.
I washed, and in a short while two menservants—in the usual livery—brought up my baggage.
I asked Mab what she thought of it.
‘It be very grand, Mistress Angelet,’ she said.
‘Yet it’s not much different from home,’ I pointed out.
‘Oh, there be grandness in the air, mistress.’
That was it. Grandness in the air. I looked down at my dusty boots. They looked out of place in this room and I dare say I looked the same.
Mab unpacked my clothes, and as I watched her their glory seemed to diminish before my eyes. I knew instinctively that they would look most unfashionable here.
It was late afternoon when Carlotta came in. She had been riding and I heard her voice as she walked across the forecourt.
I looked down at her. How elegant she was! Her habit was of pale grey and she wore a hat with a curling feather.
‘They are here then?’ She laughed as though there was something amusing about my being there.
She came up to my room and stood on the threshold looking at me.
‘Angelet!’ she cried as she came forward and, taking my hands, drew me to her. It was scarcely a kiss she gave me. Rather did she knock her cheek against mine—first on one side and then on the other.
‘A pity your sister couldn’t come with you.’ Her mouth twisted slightly, and I knew then that she really would have liked to have Bersaba here. I remembered how she had taken Bastian and upset Bersaba quite a bit—although she had pretended not to be—and I thought that perhaps because of that she had a special interest in my sister.
‘Has there been news of Trystan?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘It’s hardly likely. You’ve only just arrived.’
‘I thought it might have come ahead of us.’
She shook her head. ‘How was she when you left?’
‘Very sick.’
‘Some recover,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t brood. Where are your clothes?’
‘Mab has hung them in the cupboard.’
She went there and, looking at them, groaned.
‘Don’t you like them?’
‘They are a little old-fashioned. You will need new things here.’
‘They’re all I have.’
‘We’ll remedy that. I foresaw this so I’m prepared. Ana has already started a gown. She’ll fit you and it will be ready tomorrow. I shall take you into London and buy some fripperies for you … a fan, some patches and some rouge and powder.’
‘Patches and powder!’
‘Yes, we must subdue that blooming country complexion somehow. It will make you look such a bumpkin.’
‘But … isn’t that what I am?’
‘Assuredly you are. That is why we shall have to work hard to make you otherwise.’
She sat down on a chair and laughed at me.
‘You look startled. You are in London—where society is smart. I can assure you it is a little different from Cornwall.’
‘I am sure it is. Perhaps …’
‘Perhaps what?’
‘As I am so unsuitable I should go back.’
‘We’ll make you suitable. It’s just a matter of time. And you can’t go back. Your sister is ill. That’s why you’re here. I doubt your mother would ever have submitted you to the wicked ways of the world but for that.’
She laughed again and I said coldly, ‘I seem to amuse you.’
‘Oh, you do. And you’ll amuse yourself. In a month’s time I’ll remind you of what you are like now and you’ll laugh like mad.’
‘I’m sorry I’m so unsatisfactory,’ I said.
‘Never mind. It’s a challenge. You’ll soon grow up here. That’s the difference really. You are young for your age.’
‘I shall not be eighteen until next birthday.’
‘But eighteen in your dear old Priory is not quite the same as being eighteen in the outside world. You’ll see.’
I said: ‘Where is your mother?’
‘She is on a visit at the moment. She’ll be delighted that you’re here. She always wanted to do something for Tamsyn’s girls and said it was a pity you were condemned to life in the country.’
‘And your husband?’
‘Gervaise is at Court. We have a residence close to Whitehall and I am there often. We are not so far from Whitehall here, so it is not really like being in the country.’
‘Are you happy in your marriage?’
‘Life has been amusing,’ she answered.
‘Is that the same as being happy?’
‘I assure you, my little country mouse, it is the essence of contentment.’
I was uneasy. I disliked being talked down to. Bersaba would have known how to deal with the situation much better than I did. Oh, how I missed her. I was realizing more and more how much I had always turned to her when I was not sure how to act.
Carlotta was aware of my discomfiture and seemed to enjoy it.
‘You will soon fall into our ways,’ she said, ‘and how glad you will be that you have escaped the dull life. Now let us be practical.’
Later she showed me the house, introduced me to some of the servants, examined my wardrobe in detail and discarded most of it.
She said I would be tired after my journey, that I should retire early and tomorrow I could start my new life.
We ate together in a small room off the main hall as we did at home when we were just the family, and she talked all the time about her life, how exciting it was and how different I was going to find it, behaving all the time as though she were my benefactress.
As soon as supper, was over she said I should go to my room and sleep, for she was sure I was tired out. I was certainly glad to escape.
Mab came in and helped me get to bed, but when I lay there I could not sleep. I kept thinking of how Carlotta and Senara had arrived at the Castle and how Grandfather Casvellyn had looked like an angry prophet when he had said no good would come of their return into our lives.
Now Bersaba was ill and perhaps I should never see her again. I felt bereft. We were as one. How could I go on living without her?
I could not stop thinking of her lying in that room we had shared for so many years while the dread disease afflicted her. Bersaba tossing in fever, delirious … no longer my calm self-possessed sister—the clever part of us, the one whom I had thought I should never have to do without.
A few days passed during which I did not go far afield. Carlotta was anxious that I should not until I was adequately dressed and, as she said, had cast off some of my country manners, which she made me feel would be despised in London. I must learn to walk with more dignity, hold my head high, to move with grace, to bow, to curtsey and to overcome a certain accent which would not be acceptable in London society.
I all
owed myself to be primed and took an interest in it, largely because it turned my mind from brooding on what was happening at home. I had to shut out the thought of Bersaba’s face on the pillow—fevered, her eyes wild, and the horrible signs of her illness upon her. I kept telling myself that I could do no good by dwelling on it, so I meekly allowed myself to be turned into a copy of a town-bred girl.
Carlotta was certainly enjoying the operation. I wondered whether she enjoyed scoring over us for some reason. Although I was parted from Bersaba I still thought of us together, and I asked myself now whether Carlotta had taken up Bastian as she did because she knew of Bersaba’s fondness for him. It seemed that that might be characteristic of her.
On the third day after my arrival Senara returned. She embraced me warmly and seemed really pleased to see me, and asked a good many questions about Bersaba. I had the impression that she really cared about my mother.
‘Poor Tamsyn,’ she said. ‘I can picture her distress. She was always more like a mother to me than a sister, though she was but a year older. She mothered everyone … even her own mother. I know she will be in great distress. I am glad to have you here with us and I shall write to your mother and tell her so.’
She was more sympathetic and understanding than her daughter, and I was able to talk to her and tell her how homesick I was and how I was wondering whether I ought to go home as Carlotta did not seem to think I fitted into the London scene.
She shook her head. ‘You have a certain charm, Angelet, which is appealing and I am sure many people here will appreciate it. Your fresh country innocence will seem charming to people who are weary of the society ways which are often false.’
‘Carlotta wants to change me.’
‘We must see that she doesn’t succeed too well.’
Senara certainly comforted me, particularly when she talked about her childhood and how she and my mother had been as close as sisters. ‘I know how you feel about Bersaba,’ she said. ‘Of course your mother and I were not twins, but the manner in which I came to the castle made her feel she had to protect me, and I always enjoyed that motherly security she threw around me. She does it to many. It’s her way.’
So I felt better when Senara returned, and when I went riding with her and we passed along by the river I was temporarily forgetful of everything but the wonder of it, for as we approached the city the boats on the river were so numerous that they almost touched each other.
Senara was pleased at my wonder. She told me that I was in the greatest port in the world and that ships came here from every place I could imagine. I was excited and comforted to see some of the ships from my father’s East India Company because that made me feel that I was not so very far away. How wonderful they looked! How powerfully built! They were equipped to face the storms they would meet at sea as well as armed against pirates! Then I began to wonder what my father was doing now—and Fennimore and Bastian—and fear touched me that some ill might befall them and if Bersaba were to die …
Senara, glancing at me, saw the misery in my face and she said kindly: ‘Everything will come out well, I promise you.’
‘How can you know?’ I asked.
‘I know these things,’ she told me. I thought: She is a witch, and I wanted to believe she was so that I could assure myself that she was right.
She showed me the wharves where goods were being unloaded—some by the Company’s ships and others from Amsterdam, Germany, Italy and France. I could not help being enthralled, and after that a little of the burden of fear lightened. Senara had said that all would be well and that meant that my family would be safe. I believed Senara. As a witch she could have special knowledge of these matters.
The days which had seemed endless by the end of the first week began to fly past. I had a new wardrobe now and I was pleased that my clothes were looser than those we had worn in the country. Ana, who was a good seamstress, told me that the stiff fashions which had once come from Spain were quite outmoded now. Farthingales were never worn and one did not put stiffening under skirts to make them stand out. Ruffs were completely of the past, so were high collars, and it was smart and becoming to wear low-cut dresses. The wrists and arms were often shown and some of my new gowns had sleeves which came only to the elbow. When I wore these I had long gloves and a great deal of attention was paid to getting the right ones.
Ana dressed my hair too. She gave me a fringe of curls on my forehead which had to be crimped each day.
Mab, like myself, had to go through a certain tuition. I think she enjoyed it, for she started to give herself airs and talk disparagingly of the poor maids at Trystan who had no idea what fashion meant.
I was beginning to feel that but for the anxieties about what was happening at home and if Bersaba could have been with me, my trip to London would have been a great adventure.
Sir Gervaise appeared a few days after my arrival. He was kind and asked solicitously after my family. He was quite clearly concerned and I thought he was much more kindly than his wife and I wondered if he was happy in his marriage. I believed that Carlotta would be a demanding and not very affectionate wife. Of course he admired her beauty, which was something one could not help but be aware of. When I looked at myself in the mirror with my fashionable fringe and my rather bony wrists I often thought what a contrast I made to the elegant magnificance of Carlotta. She seemed to be aware of it too, for she viewed me with great complacency.
So I began to feel a little happier, for Senara’s certainty that all would be well and Sir Gervaise’s gentleness were of great help to me.
Every day I would hope for a message from home, but Senara said: ‘It is as yet too early. Your mother would wait to tell you until she was certain that the crisis was over. I promise you it will be, but remember it will take a little time for the messenger to get here.’
Sir Gervaise told me that he knew several people who had suffered from the smallpox and survived. Careful nursing, the sickness taken in time … these things worked wonders!
They did all they could to sustain me, and I began to accept their conviction. All will be well, I told myself. It must be. There could not be a world without Bersaba.
I dreamed of her; it was as though she were with me, laughing at my fringe and my shyness with Carlotta. It was almost as though she injected some of her qualities into me. Sometimes I used to think: We are really one person, and I believed she was thinking of me at that moment as she lay on her sick-bed, just as I was thinking of her, so that part of me seemed in that bed of fever and part of her was here in this elegant house learning something of fashions and ways of London society.
I liked to listen to Sir Gervaise talking. He knew that I was interested and seemed to enjoy it when I listened so intently.
He told me that he was rather concerned about the way in which the country was moving. The King could not be aware of his growing unpopularity and the Queen did nothing to help.
‘The people here are suspicious of her,’ he said, ‘because she is a Catholic and she will do all she can to bring Catholicism into England. Not that she could ever succeed. The people here will never have it. Ever since Bloody Mary’s reign they have set their hearts against it.’
I asked about the King and he told me: ‘A man of great charm, of good looks—for all he is of small stature—and perfect manners. But he will never win the popularity of the people. He is too aloof. They do not understand him nor he them. He is proud, with a firm belief that God set the King on the throne and that his right to be there is unquestioned. I fear it will bring trouble … to him and the country.’ He looked at me and smiled. ‘I am wearying you. Forgive me.’
‘Indeed you are not,’ I assured him. ‘I long to learn something of what is happening at Court.’
‘I fear,’ he said ominously, ‘that before long the whole country will be aware of what is happening at Court.’
I gradually began to understand what he meant, and my education began the next day when Carlotta took me into Lon
don to buy lace and other materials such as ribbons, gloves and a fan or two. We went in style, for Sir Gervaise, being a rich and important gentleman, was the owner of a coach, and because Carlotta had the ability to wheedle anything out of him, she persuaded him to allow her to use it. It was grand, like a padded box with seats for two at the back and front and a window with velvet drapes which could be pulled if one wished to shut out the street scene. Sir Gervaise’s family crest was emblazoned on the side and it was drawn by two magnificent white horses. The driver was resplendent in the Pondersby livery and so was the footman mounted at the back.
Thus in state we set off, and as we approached the city I became aware of an atmosphere of bustle and excitement; there were people on horseback and people on foot, all behaving as though their business was of the utmost urgency, matters of life and death. For the first time I saw one of the new hackney coaches which could be hired for short distances; a carrier’s waggon trundled past us and, with a great deal of noise, turned into an inn yard. There were so many barges and other craft on the river that the water was almost invisible; and everywhere people seemed to be shouting, calling to each other, sharing jokes, quarrelling, cajoling, threatening. I saw men and women in the most exaggerated of costumes. The low-cut dresses of the women seemed distinctly immodest to me, but at home we were still in the fashions of twenty years before, I supposed, when even ruffs and certainly the high collars which followed them were still being worn. The men were more surprising than the women, for they wore wide sashes and their garters, just above the knee, were made of ribbon with big bows at the side; and there were rosettes on their shoes.
But this elaborate costume was not general, for there were of course the beggars—ragged, sharp-eyed, darting hither and thither, pleading and threatening, and there was another kind of citizen who by the very sombre nature of their dress called attention to the splendour of others. These were men in cloth doublets and dark-coloured breeches, their collars were plain white and their tall crowned hats were unadorned by feathers; the women who were with them were dressed in plain gowns usually grey in colour, with white aprons protecting their skirts and white caps or plain tall hats similar to those worn by the men. They were like a different race of people; they walked quietly, eyes downcast except when they cast looks of contempt at those who swaggered by in their flamboyant garments.
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