Saraband for Two Sisters

I said to Phoebe, “I am longing to see my brother-in-law. I fear he is a very stern gentleman. I wonder what he will think of us?”

“He will admire you, Mistress Bersaba.”

“I doubt that.”

“He must do because you’re the living image of the lady he married.”

“Oh, but she hasn’t been ill. There will be a difference.”

“Your illness has made you more beautiful, mistress.”

“Now, Phoebe, that’s too much!”

“’Tis true in an odd sort of way, mistress. You’re thinner and it makes you look taller and graceful like and then too ... I don’t know. It does, I know it’s true.»

“You are a good girl, Phoebe,” I said, “but I like to have the truth, even when I don’t like what it tells me.”

“I swear it, mistress, and Jem was saying the same. He said, ‘My word, Mistress Bersaba’s illness have done something for her.’ I don t know what, mistress, but ‘tis true.»

“Jem?”

“Him in the stables, mistress.”

“Oh,” I thought. “So I appeal to stableboys, do I!”

But I was happy, because although Phoebe was prejudiced, the stableboy had said that, and it was a comfort even from such quarters.

Our journey was uneventful, taking in the usual mishaps which one does not expect to travel without. One of the horses went lame and we sold it and replaced it from a dealer in one of the Wiltshire horse markets; some of the roads were flooded, which meant making a detour; another was forced on us when we heard that a certain notorious highwayman was reputed to be lurking nearby. The road across Salisbury Plain was a distance of forty miles, but there again we delayed our journey that we might not be too far from inns and villages and this added miles.

I was amazed though by the accuracy of the General’s instructions, and oddly enough when we reached the Bald Faced Stag on the thirtieth of August I felt a kind of triumph as though I had taken a challenge and proved something. The host was expecting us.

“General Tolworthy was sure that you would come this day or the next and he has asked me to reserve the best room for you,” he told us.

It was indeed a pleasant room, its walls paneled, its windows leaded, and the ceiling beams of heavy oak. In it was a four-poster bed, the usual court cupboard, a chest, a small table, and two chairs, so it was very adequately furnished. Phoebe would sleep in a small adjoining room. It could not have been more comfortable. An excellent meal awaited us of sturgeon, pigeon pie, and roast beef Served with a good malmsey wine. I was hungry after a day in the saddle and as the long and arduous journey was in its last stages the thought of seeing Angelet the next day made me wildly happy.

I had retired to my room where Phoebe had taken out the things I should need for the night and I sat on the window seat which overlooked the yard, looking down at the activity below. I saw a carrier coach for the first time. These, I had heard, could only be hired in London and they did journeys of no more than thirty miles’ radius. All travelers had to be prepared to stay at certain selected inns where the horses could be properly looked after. The descending passengers looked tired and I supposed only those who could not afford to travel in any other way would go by carrier coach.

A man rode into the courtyard. Tall and of commanding appearance, he wore his fair hair onto his shoulders and he had a small mustache brushed away from his lips. He was elegantly but not foppishly dressed. There was something which I could only call magnetism about him of which I was immediately aware. On impulse I opened the window and leaned out and at that moment he looked up and saw me.

I cannot explain what happened because I did not understand it and I had never experienced it before. I felt a response in every part of my body. It seemed absurd that someone whom I did not know and whom I had not met until that moment and had only looked at for a few seconds could have this effect on me. But it was so. We seemed to gaze at each other for a long time, but it could have been only for a few seconds. Then he took off his hat and bowed.

I inclined my head in acknowledgment and immediately moved backward and shut the window. I went to the table, on which stood a mirror, and I stared at myself. The scar of my cheek seemed to stand out white against the scarlet of my skin. “What happened?” I asked myself. I only knew that he aroused in me some great emotion which I could not understand.

I went back to the window but he had disappeared. He must have come into the inn. He was obviously staying here, and I wanted to see him again. I wanted to know what had happened to me. It was extraordinary. One did not feel this odd emotion-why not admit it? desire-for someone to whom one had not spoken a word. Yet somehow I thought I knew him. He had not seemed like a stranger to me.

I wondered what he had thought when he had looked up and had seen me.