Saraband for Two Sisters

I knew that I must not be too often alone with Bastian, for old desires would torment me. But I did not love Bastian. I merely wanted that which others could give me, but my need had blinded me to the real reason. As I sped past fields where the rough-headed poppy was peeping out among the corn, as I saw the white flowers of hemlock and the purple bells of foxgloves among the lush grasses, I laughed aloud, because I had reached a new knowledge of myself, and experience had taught me that in knowledge was strength.

My father had decided that the Company would build new offices in Plymouth, and Fennimore had expressed a desire to go there and superintend the management of these. “Fennimore is not at heart a sailor,” said my father. “I am glad he took this voyage, which has been a revelation to him. He is a Company man. He will be invaluable on land, for that part of the venture is as important as the sea voyages.” I believe I understood his pleasure. He did not want Fennimore to face the hazards of the sea; he preferred him to remain at home so that my mother did not lose them both now that Angelet had left home. And, naturally, her place would be with her husband, and that was not in the West Country. They were aware of Bastian’s feelings for me and although the fact of our close relationship may have caused them some qualms as to the wisdom of the match, they could see many advantages. I knew that I only had to say I loved Bastian and their consent to our marriage would be given. Bastian, as he had said, had already spoken to my father. This amused me very much because I was aware that everyone was waiting for us to announce our betrothal. My mother was in a state of contentment. Her husband was home and it seemed as though his stay would be longer than usual, for he had the matter of the Plymouth office to concern himself with. Fennimore was not to go to sea with him when he next went; Angelet, though sadly missed, was satisfactorily and, it seemed, happily married; and I, Bersaba, had been snatched from what had at one time seemed like the tomb itself and was clearly regaining my health and strength, having been only mildly scathed by the experience.

All my mother needed for her personal happiness was that of her family. Each day she looked for letters from Angelet and when they came she read them aloud and then we all read them separately. I had letters from her too, and I could sense something in mine which the others failed to see.

Angelet was holding something back. My sister had a secret, and I longed to know what it was.

Meanwhile I amused myself with Bastian. It was an interesting game I played, and I had to he careful, too, which added to my zest; for I had to guard my own nature. It would have been so easy to give way, for with my returning health I realized that my desire for a certain kind of pleasure had increased rather than diminished and that, I supposed, was something to do with the matter of growing older. I would allow Bastian to think I was relenting. I would smile at him beguilingly and suggest we ride out together. Then I would torment him-and myself as well, which was by no means unpleasurable-and I used to feel so proud of myself when I resisted temptation that it was worthwhile having placed myself in a position to feel it. Often, when the household was asleep, he would slip out of the house and stand beneath my window and throw up soft clods of earth to attract my attention. Sometimes I would pretend not to hear; at others I would open my window and look out. “Go away, Bastian,” I said.

“Bersaba, I must see you. I must.”

“I am not Carlotta, you must remember,” I retorted, shutting my window.

Then I would laugh and feel very excited.

Once he came to my bedroom door, but I had been expecting this and had pulled the bar across.

“Go away!” I hissed. “Do you want to waken the household?” It occurred to me that it would be most amusing to let him in and pretend I would allow him to stay and then deny him. But I was afraid of my own reactions and the last thing I wanted to do was to give way.

“Bastian seems not in the least anxious to go to Castle Paling,” said my mother.

“I have sent a message to Melanie to tell her they are back and that Bastian is well. I have told her that there is much to do about this office in Plymouth.” She smiled at me. “But somehow I don’t think that is the only reason.”

How she would have liked to think of her dear daughter only a few miles away at Castle Paling! For if I married Bastian I should one day be the mistress of that castle. She wouldn’t think of that, though. She wanted her brother to live for years and years and she wanted me close to compensate for the loss of Angelet.