Saraband for Two Sisters

Carlotta was watching me as a cat watches a mouse, teasing me in the same way, patting me with her paw, letting me run a little way, then clawing me back. I comforted myself with the thought that she didn’t know how wounded I was. I was sure she thought I had had a little-girl fondness for Bastian and that I, childish like Angelet, was just a little hurt because he no longer paid me the same attention.

At supper that night Fennimore sat at the head of the table and Carlotta turned her languorous eyes on him. Fennimore was made in the image of his father, and as Carlotta was engaged to marry his cousin Bastian, it would not occur to Fennimore to be aware of her fascination. Like my parents my brother created a sense of security and made even me think that whatever happened, this would always be my home and my parents would shelter and protect me. Carlotta talked of her coming marriage and what it would mean to her.

“I hesitate,” she said. “I am not sure that I would wish to be buried in the country. »

“You’ll get used to it,” said Fennimore easily. “Bastian will be involved with the estates and that can be a full-time job I assure you.”

“When we were in Madrid we went to Court often. I am already beginning to find it somewhat dull here.”

“Then,” said Angelet logically, “you should not marry Bastian unless you have other interests.”

Angelet looked slyly at me and I thought, “Oh, no, sister, not now!”

“What interests are there in the country?”

“There’s riding for one thing. You can ride far more in the country than in the town. There are exciting things ... like the May revels and Christmas when we bring in the holly and the ivy. We do have the occasional ball.”

“They are nothing like the Court balls, I do assure you,” said Carlotta coldly. “There are exciting things though,” insisted Angelet, ‘like going to see the witch of the woods.”

“Who’s that?”

‘They hanged her some time ago,” said Angelet soberly, “but there’ll be another.

There are always witches.”

“What do you know of them?” Carlotta was animated.

“That they do all sorts of interesting things, don’t they, Bersaba? »

“They sell their souls to Satan in return for special powers on earth which enable them to get what they want.”

“It’s strange,” said Fennimore, “that witches so often seem to be ugly old women.

If they could have what they want you’d think they’d be beautiful.”

“Perhaps there are some beautiful ones,” said Carlotta.

I thought exultantly, “She is-I am sure she is.”

“My grandmother was said to be a witch and I never saw a more beautiful woman,” she went on.

“I wonder,” I said slowly, “if witchcraft powers are passed down through families?” Carlotta looked steadily at me. “I think that could be very likely,” she replied, and I knew that she wanted me to think that she had special powers, powers to get what she wanted, attract people to her for instance, take them away from those whom they loved by making herself irresistible.

Fennimore-how typical of him-evidently considered the subject unsuitable for his young sisters and determinedly and deliberately changed it. I didn’t listen to what was said. I was excited and felt better than I had since I had heard the news.

Two days after Carlotta and Senara had come to Trystan Priory Bastian rode over. I saw him from one of the Castle windows and I did not know what to do. Part of me wanted to run to our room and shut myself in, but it was Angelet’s room too and how could I shut her out? Another part of me wanted to go down to him to rage at him, to abuse him, to tell him that I hated him.

Neither of these actions could I take and there is another trait in my character which I don’t quite know whether I should be grateful for or deplore. When something good or bad happens I seem to stand outside the event, to look in and watch myself and others, so that whatever my feelings I can always curb them and ask myself what action will bring most advantage to me. Angelet never stops to think; she does what comes naturally. If she is angry her anger bursts forth; so does her joy. I sometimes think it would be easier for me if I were like that. As at this time. If I did what was natural, either go to my room and burst into floods of tears or go down and abuse Bastian, people would know what I was feeling. But being myself, even in my most abject misery and hatred, and feeling everything so much more intensely than Angelet ever could, I must be outwardly calm and say, “What is the best thing for me to do?” And by best I always meant advantageous to myself.

So now I pondered and I decided that I would go away from the house, so that if he looked for me he would be unable to find me. That would give me time to ponder. I quickly changed into my riding habit, went down to the stables, saddled my mare, and rode out. As the wind brushed my face and caught at the hair under my riding hat I could smell the dampness of the earth, for it had been raining in the night.