Saraband for Two Sisters

“You should reserve judgment until you know me better. Sometimes guests in the house can be quite tiresome.”

“My wife’s sister is not a guest. She is a member of the family and will always be welcome however long she wishes to stay.”

“That, General, is a rash statement and I should never have believed you guilty of rashness.”

“How can you know’ We have only just met.”

“But this is no ordinary meeting.”

For a moment we looked full at each other. I believed my eyes were glowing warmly. His were cold. To him I was merely his wife’s sister and he was pleased that I was not unintelligent. That was as far as his cautious mind would take him. But it was not all. No. Perhaps I was more knowledgeable than he in spite of the difference in our ages. Sometimes I believe that women such as I am are born with knowledge in the matter of this attraction between the sexes. I knew that somewhere, latent perhaps beneath that glacial exterior, there could be passion. I thought of how I had teased Bastian, how I had withstood temptation with him, and now I knew of course that Bastian had meant nothing to me. I had merely penetrated briefly the edge of discovery.

I said, “I have known you through my sister, for you appeared frequently in her letters, so you see you are not a stranger to me. Moreover, my sister and I are twins . . , identical twins. There is a bond so strong between us that the experiences of one are felt by the other.”

I stood up. He took my hand in his and said earnestly, “I hope that you enjoy your stay with us.”

“I know I shall,” I assured him.

He conducted me to my room where Phoebe was waiting. She swept a curtsy to the General and I left him at my bedroom door.

I went to the bed and sat down. Phoebe came and unbuttoned my gown.

“You like the gentleman.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes,” I answered, “I like the gentleman.”

“Fie was down there alone with you.”

“And you think that was wrong do you, Phoebe?”

“Mistress, ‘tis not for me-“ I laughed at her. “You concern yourself unduly, Phoebe. The gentleman in question is General Tolworthy, my sister’s husband, and therefore my brother-in-law.” Phoebe looked at me with wide eyes for a few seconds, then she lowered them quickly, but not before I had seen the apprehension there.

I was sure that Phoebe knew that I had had adventures. As a girl who had had her own, she would have noticed that strange elation in me: moreover she would know what it meant. She may have felt it herself when she lingered in the cornfields with the man who had fathered the child who had been her disgrace and her salvation. I could not sleep that night. I kept going over our conversation in my mind. His face haunted me: the outline of his features, the fine but well-marked brows, the cold glitter of the blue eyes, the correct manner, the absence of any awareness that I was a woman; and yet ... there was something ... some little spark of understanding, some rapport that flashed between us.

I reversed our positions. Suppose I had been the one who had come to Carlotta; suppose Angelet had been the one who had caught the pox? I would have been his wife. Or should I? Why had he chosen her? She told me about her adventure in the streets of London. I could imagine that when he rescued and protected her, her helplessness would have appealed to him. I suppose had my purse been snatched I should haw attempted to retrieve it Suppose then that I had been Angelet and his wife. Angelet would be lying in this bed now coming to stay with me.

I had to know what it was like between them. Was he in love with her and she with him?

I should soon discover when I lived in that house with them. And what would be the result of my living there?

I tried to talk to myself secretly. You know your nature. You need to be married.

Phoebe knows it. Perhaps she does also. Should I try to find a husband for her ... someone who will adore me for giving him the opportunity of marrying Phoebe and coming into my service? Why did I always want people to admire me? Why couldn’t I be simple and uncomplicated like Angelet? But perhaps she was no longer so simple. She had married; she had slept in this man’s bed; she would have borne his child if something had not gone wrong. She must have changed. Did I not know myself? I had been ill for so long and I am suddenly awakened to life. I had flirted with Bastian again and although my pride would not let me take him as a lover, I had wanted to. But then it was not necessarily Bastian I had wanted.

Now I met this man and he was different from anyone I had known. He was not like the Kroll boys and the Lamptons, with whom I had grown up. There was a remoteness about him which intrigued me; he was worldly; he had lived; he had fought battles

 and faced death. He fascinated me, therefore. And he was my sister’s husband and because of this strange relationship between us which I do not altogether understand I must have this feeling for him.