Saraband for Two Sisters

“It’s there though ... sleeping ... ready to be awakened. People still believe in it, but we have never encouraged it. I don’t want people talking about witches just because Senara has come back. So Bersaba, please ... if anyone speaks of it, brush it aside. I don’t want a return of what happened before. »

“Of course, Mother,” I said.

“You see, my dear, hysteria can so easily be whipped up. Then ignorant people get together and fan the flames... you see what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, they could march to Trystan Priory just as they marched that night to Castle Paling. They still hang and burn witches; they still tie their arms and legs together and throw them into the sea or the river or any pools deep enough to drown them.”

“We’ll not think of it. We’ll not mention it. If you hear any of the servants talking, stop them. They may well talk, because they remember Carlotta’s grandmother. I don’t want them to, Bersaba.”

“I will remember that, Mother,” I said ambiguously, and I wondered whether she would notice my excitement.

As I went up to my room I saw one of the maids on the stairway. She was holding a kerchief in her hand.

“This was dropped by the lady Carlotta,” she told me.

“Oh-why do you not take it to her then?” I asked.

The maid looked furtive. “I be feared to, Mistress Bersaba.”

“Why?”

The girl cast down her eyes.

“Why? Why?” I demanded.

She couldn’t say. I took the kerchief from her. “Are you afraid she’s a witch and might ill-wish you?” I asked.

“Oh I dursen’t say that, Mistress Bersaba.”

The suspicions were spreading fast, I thought exultantly and said, “Give it to me. I’ll take it to her room. I’ll say a prayer as I cross the threshold. That’s what you have to do, isn’t it?”

“I do believe so, mistress, but it would be hard to bring myself to.”

“All right, don’t worry. I’ll take it.”

I seized the kerchief and went to the room which I knew to be Carlotta’s. I knocked, and as there was no response I opened the door cautiously and went in. On the bed lay her nightgown, silk with a thousand frills. How beautiful she would look in it with her dark hair hanging about her shoulders. A soft perfume hung about the room. The fact that it was temporarily Carlotta’s had changed it subtly.

I went quietly to the bed and picked up the nightgown. I held it against me and imagined that Bastian was coming in and I was his bride. Then the picture changed from me to Carlotta and the wild misery seized me.

I was suddenly aware of being watched. I turned sharply. The door of the anteroom was open and Ana was standing there.

“Is there anything you want?” she asked in her halting English.

“I brought your mistress’ kerchief, which she had dropped. There it is on the table.” Ana bowed her head. I felt foolish standing there holding the nightdress about me so I said, “It’s beautiful, this nightdress.”

“I make it,” said Ana.

“Congratulations. You must be a magician with your needle.” The dark eyes seemed to be probing my mind. I felt exposed, as though this woman read my thoughts-all my hatred of Carlotta; all my desire for revenge. She came forward silently and, taking the nightdress from me, laid it on the bed. “She’s uncanny,” I thought. “It’s almost as though she knows what’s in my mind. And she will be a watchdog.”

The next day I disobeyed orders and again rode out alone. I didn’t want anyone with me because I wanted to think. Revenge! It filled my mind, and I thought how clever I was to have formulated a plan which would exonerate me while it utterly defeated my enemy. All my love and longing for Bastian was lost in this new emotion. I had not gone very far when I noticed that my mare seemed to be going lame, so I dismounted and discovered that she had cast a shoe. By good fortune I was less than a mile from the smithy so I decided to take her along without delay. I talked soothingly to her as we went along, and in a short time we arrived. Neither Angelet nor I enjoyed our visits there, for the smith was not the most pleasant of men. He was a man of considerable height and girth and we always said that the Devil must look something like him when he stood over his furnace looking as though he would like to cast into it all the sinners of the neighborhood to their eternal torment.

Thomas Gast was a fierce man; he preached every Sunday in one of the barns not far from the smithy and a number of the villagers went to hear him-not so much to agree with his doctrines as to shiver at his fierce language. For Thomas Cast was a Puritan. He believed that pleasure was sinful. I used to misquote to Angelet, “There is more joy in Thomas Gast over one sinner who earns eternal damnation than a thousand who repent in time.”