Saraband for Two Sisters

I felt better because I had a plan. I became obsessed by it and would awake in the night when a wild excitement possessed me and this soothed my hatred and bitterness. I could understand Homer’s saying, “Revenge is sweeter far than flowing honey.” I used to dream of Carlotta’s being dragged by the mob to the tree in Hangmans Lane and all the humiliations which would be thrust upon her. I pictured her half-naked body and lewd men watching her and afterward Bastian coming to the lane and seeing her hanging there.

“How wicked I am!” I thought; but the hurt was so deep that I had to soothe it some way and at the back of my mind I believed it to be only a fantasy-like a daydream when one receives comfort for indulging in a fancy that one possesses something which is unattainable.

Carlotta created a good deal of attention in a household like ours. She was so different with her airs and graces; she was exotic, and anything foreign aroused suspicions in the simple. With interest I watched the servants’ behavior toward her. They were fascinated and a little afraid, and I did all I could to foster this fear in them. I think Ginny had talked and reminded them of that old story of the witch who had come from the sea.

Once, when we were riding, I saw a woman hurry away as we went by, averting her eyes from Carlotta, and I exulted because it seemed to me that the seeds I had sown were sprouting.

Bastian had left the next day. I don’t think he could bear to be in the same house with Carlotta and me together. When he left I did not say good-bye to him but kept out of the way, though I watched him ride off from one of the turret windows and saw how he kept looking backward, for a last glimpse of Carlotta, I thought angrily. Sometimes when I was in my room I would be frightened at what I was doing. I wanted to kill Carlotta, but not in a straightforward way since I planned that others should do it for me. It was cowardly because I was planning it so that when it happened I could pretend it had nothing to do with me.

Then, when I was with her, I would say to myself, “She deserves it. There is something wicked about her ... something evil. I believe she is a witch, for only a witch could have taken Bastian from me, and if she is, it is better that she be removed.”

Nobody could deny her beauty. It was not beauty which is a joy to behold and is the outward manifestation of inner goodness. I always thought my mother was beautiful in that way. Carlotta’s was a beauty which came from the Devil-meant for the destruction of those about her. At least that was what I told myself.

Her mother, Senara, was proud of her, but I didn’t think she loved her; and I was certain that Carlotta loved no one but herself. Indeed, sometimes I used to think that if Bastian married her that would be sufficient punishment for his treatment of me.

The servants did not like Carlotta. She was too arrogant with them, reminding them always that she was the great lady and they beneath her notice except for what they could do for her. She and her mother shared a Spanish maid whom they had brought with them. Ana was a woman in her mid-thirties, dark-haired with a faint line of black hairs on her upper lip and deepset eyes. She was very quiet and I had never heard her speak, but I imagined she was efficient and an excellent lady’s maid, for the manner in which she dressed Carlotta’s hair was a wonder in itself. Silent-footed, almost mouselike, one was hardly aware of her. She slept in a small anteroom adjoining Carlotta’s bedroom.

When my parents returned and Sir Gervaise with his manservant and two grooms moved into Trystan Priory, life changed. We were now living in greater style, for to have a man such as Sir Gervaise in the house made that a necessity. His business, he told my father, would take up a whole week, he believed, and if he could intrude on Landor hospitality all that time he would be gratified.

Of course we welcomed him. My father was delighted, for Sir Gervaise was as deeply involved with the Company as he was himself.

They rode out together and were closeted together and talking a great deal. They went down to the sea and inspected my father’s ship; they discussed the cargoes he had brought back and were constantly in each other’s company. Meals had become ceremonial occasions. Not only was Sir Gervaise our guest, but also Senara and Carlotta, and there was no doubt that our society had become much more grand and sophisticated by these arrivals.