Saraband for Two Sisters

Senara laughed. “My dear Tamsyn,” she replied, “you think we are all like you  … good faithful docile wives. Far from it. I was soon out of love with Dickon and out of love with religion. There was little that was holy about me. All through those eleven years I longed to be back at Paling. I wanted to be young again. I knew that I had wanted Dickon mainly because he was forbidden to me. I knew that I had been wrong to marry a Puritan ... not that he was always a Puritan. He could forget his religion on occasions.»

“They provided an escape for you when you were in danger,” my mother reminded her.

“That’s true,” agreed Senara. “But for them I might have had nowhere to go when I was in danger and that could have been an end to me.” She grimaced. “All those years ago I might have been a corpse on that tree in Hangmans Lane where they used to hang witches. Remember, Tamsyn!”

My mother looked uncomfortable.

“They still hang witches there,” said Rozen.

“Are they searching them out as madly as they were when I left?»

“Every now and then there is a revival,” said my mother. “Thank God we have heard nothing for these last few years. I won’t have the servants speaking of witches. It revives interest and that is bad. Why a poor old woman has only to stoop or develop a mole on her cheek or have some spot which can be said to have been made by the Devil and they will take her to Hangmans Lane. Many an innocent woman has been treated thus and I want to see it stopped.”

“There will always be witches,” said Uncle Connell, “and ‘tis well that they should be dispatched to their masters.”

“I shall always do all I can to save the innocent,” said my mother, fierce when there was someone who needed her protection. “And,” she added, “I would like to know more of witches and what made them give their souls to the Devil in the first place.»

“Don’t attempt to dabble in witchcraft, sister,” warned Uncle Connell.

“Dabble!” cried my mother. “I only want to know.”

“That’s what many would say. They only wanted to know.»

“Tamsyn, you are just the same,” cried Senara. “You always wanted to look after anyone if you thought they needed your care.”

“Do tell us what happened when you reached Holland,” begged Bersaba. “Well, for those eleven years I lived as a Puritan I would attend their meetings and listen to their plans. They were going to return to England and sail to America from there. I knew they had bought a ship called the Speedwell which they sent to Delftshaven. It was to go to America by way of Southampton. I did not relish the long sea voyage.

Months on the ocean ... prayers ... endless prayers. My knees grew rough with kneeling. I hated the plain gray gowns I was expected to wear. I learned very quickly that I was not meant to be a Puritan.”

“Did you and Dickon have no children?”

“Yes, I had a boy. I called him Richard after his father. He grew up to be a little Puritan. From the age of five he was watching me to curb my vanities. I was stifled. I couldn’t endure it. Sometimes I thought that Dickon wouldn’t either. I used to think it was a sham, but he was deeper in his Puritanism than I knew. It might have been that he could have escaped at first but it was like an octopus which twined its tentacles about him. When they left for England I did not go with them.»

“You let your son go?” cried my mother.

“He was more Dickon’s son than mine. He had been brought up in the Puritan manner; he was burning with enthusiasm for the new life in America.” ‘ So you were alone.”

“I heard later that Dickon died before they sailed. He was in a tavern in Southampton and there he fell into an argument with sailors about religion. He defended the Puritans and was stabbed. He died of his wounds.”

“What a terrible thing to have happened!” cried Melanie.

“Yes, I wished I’d stayed with him. Had I known it would be but a few weeks more. I was fond of Dickon. It was just his fanatical beliefs which came between us. They had alienated the boy, who stayed with them after his father died. And then I was alone.”

“Alone in Holland!” cried my mother. “You should have come home then.»

“I had friends. One of these was a Spaniard. He took me with him to Madrid and I lived there for some years in fine style. When I lost him I set out to look for my mother because I knew that she was there. I found her. She was married to a gentleman of high nobility, a friend of King Philip... . You remember him, Tamsyn. He was here as Lord Cartonel. You thought he came courting me.»

“I remember him well,” said my mother soberly.

“My mother had never been what you would call maternal. She never wanted me. I was an embarrassment-no, not even an embarrassment-an encumbrance shall we say right from the first. I should never have been born. It was a miracle that I was and that was due to your mother, Tamsyn, who found mine on the shore half dead and to her own detriment brought us both into this castle.”

“It was long ago,” said my mother, “and you were brought up here as my sister, Senara.