Saraband for Two Sisters

“Angelet, I have been thinking all day whether I should tell you. It may be a shock to you but I have come to the conclusion that it will be less harmful for you to know than fear for the child. What is important to you now ... more important than anything ... is the child. Is that not so, Angel?”

“Of course.”

“Richard can have a healthy child. He has.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Arabella is his daughter.”

I lay still, not comprehending. Then I said slowly, “Arabella. Your Arabella. She is Richard’s daughter?”

‘Yes,” said Bersaba defiantly.

“You and he-“ “Yes, he and I. Did you ever see a more perfect child? I never did. Nor did anyone.”

“Oh, Bersaba,” I cried, “you and Richard.”

“You didn’t love him,” she accused. “Not really. You were frightened of him.”

“And you loved him, I suppose.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And that was why you married Luke-so that no one would know you were going to have Richard’s child. And Luke, what did he think?”

“He knew and helped me.”

“You think the world belongs to you, Bersaba. You always did. Other people didn’t matter very much, did they?”

“You matter to me now, sister. You are going to be well and your child will be strong and healthy.”

“And when Richard comes home,” I said, “what then?”

“You will have a healthy child to show him.”

“You have already shown him yours.”

“That is over, Angelet When your child is born and Richard comes back I am going home to Trystan Priory.”

“Richard won’t let you go. He loves you, doesn’t he?”

“He is a man who will love his wife and his children. Good night.” She stooped over me and kissed me.

I lay there thinking of them. Lovers in this house ... and I was here. Why did I not know? Then I remembered. She had insisted on my taking the soothing draught. “This will make you sleep.” I pictured her, the sly smile about her mouth. So they put me to sleep while she went to him.

How could she? I remembered my fear of the great four-poster bed and how I could never reconcile myself to that relationship; and she had reveled in it. She was all that I was not. I remembered how Bastian’s eyes had followed her and how angry she had been when Carlotta took him from her. Then Bastian had wanted to marry her, she had told me, and she would have none of him. And then she came and took Richard and then Luke wanted her so much that he would take another man’s child for her sake. Oh, Bersaba, my twin sister! What did I know of her? She had become a stranger to me.

A terrible thought came into my mind. She loved Richard; she loved him so much that she could forget that I, who had believed myself to be close and dear to her, was his wife.

Memories stirred. I was back in my room in Pondersby Hall and Ana was standing beside me. What had she said? It was something which had seemed strange at the time. “It would be a mistake to think she had all the good points ... if the occasion should arise... .”

What should Ana have known of Bersaba? But the fact was that she warned me to beware of my sister.

I had imagined someone had put poison into my milk. Who had given me the milk? Who had given me the sleeping draught so that I should not be disturbed while she went to my husband?

I had never been so frightened or so horrified in my life. Could it really be that my sister wanted my husband so much that she was trying to kill me?

BERSABA

In the tunnel

IT was almost a relief when the soldiers came. It was after Christmas-a travesty of the festive seasons we had known. I made a halfhearted attempt to deck out the house with holly and ivy for the sake of the children and to make something of the day for them, but as soon as they had been put to bed gloom descended on the house. Mrs. Cherry had lost her benignity; if ever I went to the kitchen I would find her seated at the table staring into space. Cherry said very little; I knew he could not forget the memory of the son he had killed. Nor could Mrs. Cherry. And Cherry’s burden of guilt lay so heavily upon him that it overshadowed the entire household. Grace and Meg tried to be cheerful. Phoebe sighed for Longridge Farm where she had been happy with her husband and I knew she wondered, as we all must, where this was going to end. Most hard to bear was the restraint which had grown up between Angelet and myself. She could not forgive me for taking her husband and I could not forgive myself. She could scarcely bear to be in the room with me and she had found a key to the door of the Blue Room, which she had never thought of locking before. I was afraid that she would need something in the night.

I knew that she was suspicious of me and believed that I wanted her to die so that if Richard came back he would be free to marry me.

Whenever possible I assured her that I was going back to Trystan Priory. I even made preparations.

“This war can’t last forever,” I used to say. “Something must happen soon.

After that sad Christmas, followed by Twelfth Night, which we did not celebrate, Angelet spent a long time in her room with Grace.