Mrs Cherry stood trembling in the doorway. ‘I can’t think how, sir. The bolt had been drawn. Cherry always draws it …’
‘Never mind now, Mrs Cherry,’ said Richard.
I had remained hidden in the shadows, but now the violence was over I was aware of the predicament in which I found myself. I was discovered, exposed. I kept telling myself that this was a nightmare from which I would awaken at any moment, but I knew very well it was real.
As the sounds of scuffling died away Richard shut the door and leaned against it.
I shook out my hair to hide the scars on my brow and involuntarily I covered the one on my cheek with my hand.
‘That … creature is my son,’ he said. ‘You will have to know now.’
I did not answer. I was afraid to speak because even now I was not sure whether he thought I was Angelet.
I felt there was no need for him to explain. I understood so much. This son was an idiot, a monster; he was shut in the castle with strong man Strawberry John to look after him. The Cherrys knew the secret. He was kept in the castle and the door in the kitchen was the way into that sinister place. I had unbolted the door and it had remained so, which gave this boy-monster, whatever he was, the opportunity to come into the house.
I had set the stage for my own betrayal—which I suppose is what happens to wrong-doers.
I had to think quickly. Could I really deceive him? Could I go on pretending to be Angelet? There were only the scars to betray me.
I said: ‘I understand, Richard. I understand it all.’
He came to me, then gently he lifted the hair from my forehead and kissed my scars. A great joy swept over me. There was no longer need for deception. He knew.
‘Did you think I didn’t know?’ he said. ‘Oh Bersaba, why did you do it?’
‘Because I am wicked, I suppose.’
‘Never that,’ he said. ‘Afterwards I went away. I said it must not happen again and then I came back longing for you to come to me.’
‘I thought you would hate me if you knew.’
‘I could never do anything but love you, and I shall always remember that you did this for me. Don’t you see, I shall love you for ever.’
I put my head against him and I felt suddenly weak, wanting to be taken care of.
He kissed my hair. Why had I thought he was a cold and passionless man? I knew that his love for me was as deep and overwhelming as mine for him.
‘As soon as you came into this house,’ he said stroking my hair, ‘it was clear to me that I needed you. Every minute with you is an excitement, an adventure. Why did you not come to London in place of …’
He was a man of strict conventions, a man with a sense of righteousness, and he could not bring himself to say Angelet’s name,
‘You married my sister,’ I said. ‘You must have loved her.’
‘I saw something in her. I thought she was young, fresh, healthy. I thought we might have healthy children. I know it was the shadow of you. You are so alike. Often I have watched you riding out in the gardens and I have not known which was which. It is when you talk, when we are together in love, that there is no similarity whatsoever. There is so much to say to you, I don’t know where to begin.’
He led me to the bed and we sat down on it with his arm about me while the candle flickering on the dressing-table threw an eerie light about the room.
‘First my tragedy. Let me tell you about the boy. He is eleven years old … my son … my only son. His birth killed his mother.’
‘I think I understand it all. I’ve pieced it together. You keep him in the castle and that is why you want no one to go near it.’
He nodded. ‘It became obvious that there was something very wrong with him in the first year of his life. Mrs Cherry nursed him. She insisted and she was good. I owe a great deal to the Cherrys, Jesson and his daughters. They were all here then. They know the secret and they have helped me to keep it. The other servants are old soldiers, and old soldiers don’t talk if they think it would be unwise to do so. There is a strong man—Strawberry John, he is called, because of a birthmark. He is a man who is thought to be a little strange. He is unusual, extraordinary and of great strength, as you have seen tonight. He looks after the boy and has kept him in the castle since he was three years old and began to get violent. No one can control him like Strawberry John. But Mrs Cherry and Cherry are good with him. The boy’s strength is growing. He has the arms of a gorilla and could kill with them.’
‘Can you keep him there for ever?’
‘Such people do not live very long, I have heard. I have investigated and learned something of such cases. They usually die in their mid-twenties or thirties. They have the strength of two men, I have been told, and only half their life span.’
‘It is a long way to go.’
‘We have managed so far. It was thought that he died. Oh, Bersaba, there has been such subterfuge.’
‘And you are a man who hates subterfuge,’ I said with meaning.
‘I opened the castle, built the wall round it, and he has been there since. A child was buried bearing his name. There have been occasions when he has broken out but they are rare.’
‘And this must remain a secret.’
‘This is my son, Bersaba. I am responsible for him. I want to give him the best life I can and I want children … normal children … who will grow up in this house and live here through the generations. I fear what effect it would have on … Angelet … or anyone if they knew. She would be afraid that the children we might have could be similarly tainted. Clearly he has inherited madness from someone.’
‘His mother …’
‘She was a gentle girl of good family. There was no madness in her family. I know you will understand. Don’t you always understand me? I did not want Angelet to know. If she were to have a child her fears could harm it and herself. You understand that, Bersaba.’
He held me against him. ‘What must we do, Bersaba?’ he asked.
‘What can we do?’
‘We can only part and that means that I shall live sadly all the days that are left to me.’
‘You have your profession,’ I said, ‘and it seems that in the next years you will be occupied with that. And I must go away.’
He turned to me and held me close to him. ‘The moment I was beside you I knew, Bersaba.’
‘And gave no sign.’
‘I dared not.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘because you are a righteous man. You were like Adam. The woman tempted me. Oh, don’t protest. She did. You see, I am not good, Richard. You must realize that. Angelet is like my mother—gentle, kindly, eager to do right. I am not gentle, I’m kind only when I love, and I am anxious to do the right only if it gives me pleasure and you see I will willingly do the wrong for that same reason.’
‘I never met anyone like you.’
‘You should pray that you never do again.’
‘It would be an impossibility, and having known you, I have learned this. If you could have been my wife I would have asked nothing more of life.’
I touched his hair with my fingers. ‘What now, Richard?’ I did not wait for him to answer. ‘I must go away. It is what I came to tell you tonight … and then I gave way to the temptation to be with you once more …’
‘Oh God, Bersaba, what are we going to do?’
‘There is only one thing to be done. I must go away.’
‘No.’ He spoke quietly. ‘I can’t let you go.’
‘We have to think of Angelet,’ I went on.
He nodded.
‘You must try to understand her. Be patient with her. In time perhaps …’
‘She will never be you.’
‘But you married her, Richard.’
‘Why did you not come in the first place?’
‘It’s no use railing against fate, is it? This has happened to us. We must accept it. She admires you. She loves you. She can’t be blamed for her nature any more than we can for ours.
’
‘Having known you, I could not live without you.’
‘You can and you will. For that is how it must be.’
He looked at me desperately. ‘We might … think of some way.’
I shook my head. ‘I am not a good woman, Richard, as you have discovered, but this is my sister … my twin sister. This must be the end. I must make some excuse to go.’
‘You will break her heart and mine.’
‘Hearts mend quickly when there is someone to apply the healing. You will heal each other.’
He held me close to him and I cried out: ‘No. I must go away. I should not be here … like this. You see how dangerous it can be.’
‘I cannot let you go,’ he said simply.
‘And I cannot stay,’ I answered.
‘Please, Bersaba, promise me this. Do not go yet … Wait a while. Let us think how best to handle this.’
‘If I stay … this can happen again.’
There was silence and I knew that he was trying to control his rising emotions, as I was. I had to be calm. I had to think of Angelet.
‘I don’t think I could bear to lose you now. You know what my marriage has been like. When you came life changed … it became exciting … I was lifted out of my despondency … ’
‘I understand that,’ I answered. ‘But now we are overwrought. I must go now.’
I saw his face in the candlelight, desperate, yearning, so that he seemed younger and so vulnerable. I longed to comfort him, to make promises which I knew would be a betrayal of Angelet. God knows I had done her enough injury already. I must stop thinking of myself and Richard.
‘Promise you will not go yet,’ he insisted.
And I gave him my promise. Then I pulled myself away. I almost ran from the room and hastened to my own bedchamber. I looked in at Angelet. She was sleeping peacefully with a look of satisfaction and relief on her innocent face.
It was not easy to face Angelet but I managed better than he did; and when a messenger came that very afternoon with despatches from the camp he seemed relieved to go.
I saw him alone before he went. He said: ‘We will work out a solution.’ But I knew there was no solution.
Angelet waved farewell and, turning to me, said in a voice glowing with pride, ‘He is in such an important position. He is in constant consultation with the King.’
As for myself, I wanted to be alone to think, and I walked in the grounds and sat in the pond garden, from which I could get a glimpse of the castle walls, and I thought of his anguish and that monster child who was incarcerated there, and I wondered what would become of us.
We were in December and Angelet talked a great deal about the coming Christmas and Christmases at home. Our father was still there. Our mother wrote that the setting up of the company offices in Plymouth demanded a great deal of their time and she would be happy to have them with her for Christmas. All that she regretted was the absence of her daughters. I thought of them bringing in the Yule log, and the carollers and mummers coming and performing. The family were going to Castle Paling for a week or two. Grandfather Casvellyn was ailing. He was always excited at the end of October because Hallowe’en brought back memories, and he used to get so excited about witches and wanted to go out himself to find them and hang them, that he was always weak for some time afterwards.
‘You see, my darlings,’ wrote our mother, ‘nothing is changed. I am so glad that you are together. Angelet must persuade Richard to bring you all here. Of course, I know the times are bad and that a soldier has to hold himself in readiness. I do hope all these troubles will dissolve and life be peaceful. We shall be thinking of you on Christmas Day.’
We should certainly be thinking of them.
It was mid-December when a suspicion which had come to me some time before was confirmed. I should perhaps not be surprised that I was going to have a child.
I came to the conclusion calmly enough and with a sort of exultation. That was before I would allow myself to contemplate all the difficulties involved. What was I thinking of? I was happy because I was to have Richard’s child. But in what position was I to bear it?
Phoebe was watching me closely. I believe she knew more than I realized. She had always watched over me and I had suspected that she was aware that I had not returned to my bed in the early hours of morning on more than one night.
As I lay in my bed I faced the truth. I asked myself what I was going to do. I would tell him and what would his reaction be? In a way he would be delighted, but then the enormity of the difficulties which were before us would rise up and he would, as I was now, search wildly for some way of dealing with the matter.
I could go to my sister and say: ‘I am to bear your husband’s child. You did not want him so I took him and this is the result.’
Even for myself, who knew her so well, it was difficult to imagine what Angelet would do.
I knew the solution Richard would offer. He would want to take me away. We would have to think up some reason for my going. He would want me to bear my child in secret and he would come and visit us sometimes.
But how? That would have to be decided.
Why had I not thought of this before? Why had not he? Our passion seemed to have blinded us to everything but the need to satisfy it.
It was characteristic of me that when a possible solution suggested itself I did not hesitate. I had always acted too quickly and my mother had often chided me for it. I was impatient, impulsive by nature. Perhaps it was due to this that my conduct so often brought me into situations from which I found it difficult to extricate myself.
Indeed I should have considered this possibility. Why should not I, a passionate woman, also be a fruitful one? I had not thought beyond the intrigue and immense delight of those occasions, or perhaps I had subconsciously refused to look at a likely result.
The fact remained that I was pregnant and in due course my condition would be known, so I had to do something.
I rode over to Longridge Farm. I sat with Ella talking in the farmhouse until Luke came in. His pleasure in seeing me was apparent and I made up my mind that I would speak to him and when he came to take me back to Far Flamstead I did.
I came straight to the point. ‘You asked me to marry you. Is that offer still open?’
He drew up his horse and looked at me. I returned his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Because if it is,’ I went on, ‘I accept. I will marry you.’
‘Bersaba!’ There was no mistaking the joy in his voice.
I held up my hand to ward him off. ‘You must know the reason,’ I said. ‘I am with child and in the circumstances a husband is rather necessary to me.’
I could see that he was finding it difficult to follow my meaning. He clearly did not believe what I was saying could be true.
‘It is true,’ I said. ‘When you asked me I refused you because I did not know then. I like you. You interest me. I enjoy our discussions, but I want you to know the reason why I will accept your offer. Of course you may change your mind now. You, a gentleman of the Puritan persuasion, would not want a woman such as I am for a wife. I am really most unsuitable and we both know it, but you told me that you loved me and I am now in this somewhat embarrassing position. I have to consider how I can act in a manner calculated to bring the least difficulty to others and of course to myself. Marriage is the obvious answer. That is my proposition.’
He was still silent and I went on: ‘Ah, I have your answer. It is what I expected. Think no more of it. You now know that I am a woman of loose morals and I understand completely—and agree with you—that such a woman is unsuited to be your wife. Your silence answers me. There is no need of words. What I have suggested is preposterous, insulting and I deserve never to be allowed again to call you my friend. Goodbye.’
I turned my horse and was preparing to gallop off when he called my name.
I stopped and looked at him.
‘You … you bewilder me,’ he said.
‘I realize, of cou
rse, that I have behaved most unconventionally. Goodbye.’
‘No. Give me time. I want to think.’
‘The more you think the more you will realize how impossible my suggestion is. I made it because you told me you loved me. You spoke with some vehemence, and as marriage with you would provide a way out for me I suggested it. But at the same time I see that it is out of the question. Goodbye.’
I heard his words as I galloped away.
‘Give … me time.’
That afternoon he came over to Far Flamstead. Phoebe came to tell me that he had called and was asking to speak to me. Once again we went into the garden. It was not the weather for walking and there was a hint of snow to come in the darkening clouds.
‘Bersaba,’ he said, ‘I want you to marry me.’
A warm glow of something I could not understand came over me then. I almost loved him, for I knew how my condition must appear to a man of his Puritan outlook. He must indeed love me; or was it that potent attraction I had which was a kind of promised passion and which I was discovering men were aware of?
‘And you would be father to another man’s child?’
‘I would, since it is yours also.’
‘Luke,’ I said, ‘you are either a very noble man or you love me very much.’
‘I love you very much,’ he said.
‘Is it a tender love or is it an irresistible desire for me?’
‘It is both. Whose child is it?’
‘Do you think you should know?’
‘I know already. There seems only one whom it could be. Your sister’s husband.’ I saw his lips turn down with anger. ‘Why?’ he cried in anger. ‘How could you … How could he?’
‘For the same reason that you, the Puritan, will go against your principles. You will marry a woman such as I am. Would you have believed it of yourself … before you met me?’
He shook his head slowly.
‘Then don’t question these matters. They are … because they are. We are made as we are, and for some of us our natural impulses are too great to be resisted. Mine, his and yours. If I marry you there will be no recrimination. From the day we have taken our vows, this child of mine will be yours and you will think of it as such. Do not think I am not conscious of what you are doing. I love you for it, Luke. I promise you I will be a good and faithful wife and I will give you a son of your own … though you must not mind too much if it should be a daughter …’
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