Saraband for Two Sisters

So the days passed and I had been in the house a month. Angelet still professed herself to tire easily, but I knew that this was to excuse herself from sharing the big four-poster bed with her husband. He was never insistent, I was sure. She was always hoping that she would become pregnant, though. She did want a child. She would make a very good mother I was sure, and I fancy too that she believed that if she conceived she could reasonably hope to escape from those nightly embraces. Then temptation came suddenly and without warning.

During the day a messenger came for Richard and he left for Whitehall immediately, telling us that he thought he might well be back the following afternoon. I felt depressed because the day would be empty without him, and I wondered how I would get through it. I could not sit as Angelet could for hours over a piece of needlework. I would read as long as the light was good; I rode; I walked a little. I enjoyed exploring the grounds and I often found myself skirting the castle surrounded by its high wall the top of which I discovered was covered in small pieces of broken glass. Richard had certainly gone to great lengths to prevent anyone’s gaining access to the castle over that wall.

During the afternoon Angelet and I had arranged to ride out together, but Meg came to my room when I was about to change into my riding habit to say that my sister wanted to speak to me. She was in the Blue Room and I went to her at once. She was lying on her bed looking very sorry for herself, and I saw the reason was a swelling on the left side of her face.

“It’s toothache, mistress,” said Meg. “My lady has had it all the morning.”

I went over to Angelet; her eyes were half closed and she was evidently in some pain.

“You want some of Mother’s camomile concoction,” I said. “It never fails.”

“Mrs. Cherry has a good one,” said Meg. “She be clever with herbs.”

“I’ll go and see her,” I said.

Mrs. Cherry was in the kitchen, rosy from baking. She gave me that quick look of suspicion which I had noticed previously before her features settled into the benign mask of friendly bonhomie.

“Mrs. Cherry,” I said, “my sister is suffering from a raging toothache. Meg says you have something for it.”

“Why bless you, mistress, indeed I have. I’ve got my own little stillroom here. I can give her something that’ll send her to sleep and that’s going to soothe the tooth.»

“My mother made a mixture of camomile and poppy juice and something else. It was most effective.”

“Mine has these. It’ll cure it in time but she may need a dose or two.”

“Could you please give it to me?”

“With the greatest of pleasure, mistress.”

She gave me the bottle with the mixture in it and I took it immediately to my sister.

I smelled it. It was slightly different from the one our mother made.

“Take this, Angelet,” I said, “and then you’ll sleep.”

She obeyed and I sat with her for a while until she went to sleep. I stood over her bed, looking at her. She looked so young and innocent lying there in that deep sleep; her hair had fallen away from her smooth white brow. I felt my fingers go involuntarily to my own. If people saw us lying side by side they would tell the difference. The scarred one is Bersaba. I felt a sudden wild envy because she was his wife, and I could think of nothing I wanted more than to be just that. Then I thought of the frightened look which used to come into her eyes when darkness fell, and the excuses she would make to stay in the Blue Room and I was sorry for her. I went out to the stables and told the groom to saddle my horse. He wanted to come with me because it was understood that neither I nor Angelet would ride out alone; but I had to be alone. I wanted to think what I was doing here and how long I was going to stay.

I thought of his coming back. He might say, “We are going to Whitehall. There we shall entertain. I will tring interesting people to my house; perhaps we shall find a husband for Bersaba.”

There was an anger in my heart for a fate which had used me so unkindly-which had scarred me and then brought me after he had become my sister’s husband to the man whom I wanted as I believed I never would another. My nature was such that it needed fulfillment; I was beginning to know myself. I cared nothing for Bastian. I never had. I had been mistaken in a certain natural need and called it love. But Richard Tolworthy obsessed me. I thought of him during the night and day; and a day such as this one, when he was away, was a day without meaning. I suppose this was what people called being in love.

I rode on without taking much notice of where I went. I said to myself, “I must write to my mother. I must go home. I can’t stay here. It is unwise and I don’t know to what it might lead. I will say Angelet is getting well and I miss my home.” A man was riding toward me. As he drew up he lifted his hat and bowed to me.