Saraband for Two Sisters (25 page)

I confess to a shiver of apprehension as I was led into this room and my eyes fell on the big four-poster bed; this was draped in crimson velvet and the counterpane was of the same coloured satin.

Richard shut the door and I was alone with him.

He took off my cape and threw it on the bed.

‘That which you will need tonight will have been brought by the pack-horses,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow the rest of your baggage will come.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I shall have adequate.’

He took me by the shoulders and turned my face up to his.

‘You tremble,’ he said. ‘Are you afraid?’

‘No … not really. I’m just hoping that I shall not disappoint you.’

‘You are such a very dear child,’ he said.

‘But I must stop being a child, must I not, now that I am your wife.’

‘You will always be yourself,’ he said, ‘and that is what I ask.’

I said: ‘The house is a little …’

‘Yes?’ he prompted.

‘Well, overpowering. So many menservants.’

‘That is because I am a soldier. They have all served with me at one time. The country is not very good to soldiers who can no longer be of use to it.’

‘So you brought them here?’

‘They are all men whom I can trust.’

‘There will only be four women in this house, then?’

‘Do you want more? You can choose either Meg or Grace Jesson for your personal maid. Give yourself a day or two to decide which.’

‘What are their duties now?’

‘I don’t know. Mrs Cherry and Cherry work that out. But you only have to ask for what you want, you know.’

‘Everything seems very well looked after.’

He smiled. ‘That is army training, I’ll swear. Now you would like to wash and we will eat. It has been a strange day for you.’

‘The only wedding day I ever had,’ I said lightly, and then wished I hadn’t, for my words might have reminded him that he had had two—and almost a third if Carlotta was right.

He left me for a while, and alone in the bedchamber I peered about me. It was a large room and contained a carved chest, a court cupboard, several chairs, a table on which stood a mirror and two heavy pewter candlesticks.

I tried to avert my eyes from the great four-poster bed, for I had to admit to myself that I was very uneasy about what would be expected of me. I felt so stupidly ignorant, but I supposed all I should have to do was submit. It seemed to me then that I heard Bersaba’s mocking laughter. How strange! But a room like this would make one imaginative. I couldn’t help thinking of all the husbands and wives who had slept here, and he of course would have shared that bed with his first wife.

I went to the deep bay window set in an embrasure. There was a window-seat with padded velvet cushions and heavy embroidered curtains which matched the bed-hangings. I knelt for a moment on the window-seat and looked out. Before me lay a green lawn, and not more than a hundred yards away, though largely hidden by a high wall, the crenellated towers of what looked like a miniature castle.

There was a knock on the door. It was one of the Jesson girls with hot water.

‘Master said to bring it, my lady,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Are you Grace?’

‘No, I’m Meg, my lady.’

‘Thank you, Meg.’

I washed my hands, and as I did so Grace came in with the light baggage I had brought with me, so I was able to change my riding-clothes for a gown, and when I had done this Richard appeared to conduct me to the meal which he said was waiting for us.

Together we went to the dining-room.

‘I shall lose myself here,’ I commented.

‘At first perhaps,’ he said. ‘But there will be plenty to show you the way.’

The dining-room was lofty with a beautiful carved ceiling. By now the candles had been lighted, although it was not yet quite dark. The walls were covered in tapestry with predominating blues and reds depicting the War of the Roses on one side and what Richard told me was the battle of Bosworth Field on the other. He said I might wish to do some tapestry myself as I was fond of needlework.

‘It will be something for you to do while I’m away,’ he added.

‘You will not go yet,’ I said fearfully, and tried to imagine myself alone in this big house with strangers.

‘I think not, but a soldier always has to be ready when the call comes.’

I felt it was a warning. Tomorrow when daylight comes it will all look different, I thought; and I suddenly thought of Trystan Priory where everything seemed suddenly homely.

Supper was served by Jesson and two menservants, which seemed strange because we always had girls to serve at home and so did they at Pondersby Hall. But I had to admit that everything was done with the greatest precision and efficiency.

There was cold duck and beef and mutton and venison, together with pies which I was not hungry enough to tackle. Richard urged me to take a little of the malmsey wine which was served in fine Venetian glasses, and as I drank I felt less apprehensive, and as the darkness fell and I smiled across the table at my husband, his face mellowed by the candlelight, I told myself I was going to be happy. I thought: it is all so strange and I am young and so inexperienced, and Trystan Priory, my mother and Bersaba seem so very far away.

The meal was over and I went back to our bedchamber. My nightgown had been laid out on the bed and I undressed and looked out of the window.

There was a half moon and it was a clear night as I stood there and saw again the towers of the miniature castle. It looked ghostly in moonlight, and if I hadn’t seen it by the light of day I should have thought it wasn’t quite real.

As I stood there I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders.

I swung round, alarmed. Richard was standing behind me.

‘I startled you,’ he said.

‘A little. What is the castle out there? Is it a castle? It looks like a toy one.’

‘That,’ he said, ‘is Flamstead Folly.’

‘What does that mean?’

He took my hand and stood beside me. ‘It means that an ancestor of mine—my great-grandfather—had it built.’

‘A little castle?’

‘He thought it would be amusing. It was going to be much bigger, but he found the building too costly, so he contented himself with a small one because he had vowed he would have a castle. It was called a folly because it was rather a foolish thing to do.’

‘I must explore it,’ I cried.

‘No, don’t. You see, a fairly high wall has been built around it. That’s because it’s not safe. It was not very securely built. One of these days I shall have to pull it down. But don’t go near it. You mustn’t. Promise me you won’t.’

‘Of course I’ll promise. You sound so … earnest.’

‘Well, I don’t want a ton of bricks to descend upon this defenceless head.’

‘I’m sorry. It looks … exciting.’

‘You must not go there. I insist. Promise me.’

‘I already have.’

‘Remember it, please.’

His face was stern as it had been when he had insisted on my getting rid of Mab.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘it’s cold here.’

He drew me towards the bed.

I awoke to sunshine and remembered where I was. I put out my hand and felt that I was alone.

I sat up in bed. The curtains about the bed were half drawn. I shivered with a sort of thankfulness because I had survived the night. I did not want to think about it. There was no one with whom I could discuss it. Perhaps I might have done so with Bersaba. I wondered whether I were pregnant. I should love to have a child. That was the side of marriage which I should enjoy, and the very fact that I expressed my feelings in that way was in itself an admission that there was another side which I did not enjoy.

I pulled the bell rope, which was the signal for Grace to bring my hot water. I washed and put on my riding-habit and went downstairs.

Richard was in the dining-room having breakfast. I found it difficult to look at him, I felt so embarrassed. But he rose and, putting his arms about me, kissed me.

‘Good morning, my dearest,’ he said warmly, and a little glow of happiness came to me.

Perhaps I had been all right after all, I thought, and my spirits rose.

‘I see you are dressed for riding,’ he said.

‘I have only my riding-habit and the gown I wore last night.’

‘Your things will be here today. Grace or Meg will unpack them for you. Today I am going to show you over the house, then you won’t lose yourself, and perhaps we will ride round the neighbourhood a little. Would you like that?’

‘I should love it.’ I was happy now, assuring myself that everything was going to be all right after all.

During the day I began to think I had worried unnecessarily, and I told myself that the night was a long way off and that Richard gave no sign that his affection for me had diminished.

He was very anxious to show me the house and this he did. There was no doubt that he loved the place. I followed him up the staircase lighted by small quatrefoil oeilets which he pointed out to me and showed me how the soffits formed a continuous spiral vault, which he said was quite unusual. Lovingly he stroked the moulded brick handrail and told me that a great deal of assiduous care had gone into the construction of this house. The castle in Cumberland had been originally built as a fortress and then added to over five centuries, but Far Flamstead had been built as a place for people to live in in comfort.

In the gallery were portraits of his ancestors. ‘I had some of them brought here from the castle,’ he told me. ‘You see from these that there has always been a strong military tradition in our family.’

He took me to the chapel with its linen-fold ended pews and barrel-vaulted ceiling; the wooden ribs of which were engraved with Tudor roses. It struck a chill into me, and as our footsteps echoed on the glazed tiles, a feeling of foreboding came over me and I felt a quick rush of nostalgia for the Priory and my family.

It was so insistent that for a few panic-stricken moments I would have been ready to run out of the house, leap on to a horse and gallop off in the direction of the south west.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Richard.

‘I don’t know. It’s so cold in here.’

‘Yes, and too dark.’

‘I have the feeling that a lot has happened here.’

‘A priest was murdered at the altar there. One of my ancestresses was a Catholic during Elizabeth’s reign. She had a priest here in secret. Her son discovered him at Mass and murdered him while he stood there with the chalice in his hands.’

‘How … terrible. You think he haunts the chapel … that priest—’

‘He died instantly. That was the end of him.’

‘Do you believe people come back to haunt a place where they have died violently?’

‘I believe that is nonsense. Just think of all the people who have died violently. The world would be full of ghosts.’

‘Perhaps it is.’

‘Oh come, my dear, you are fanciful. And you don’t like the chapel. We don’t have a resident priest now, and I don’t think the King could bring in laws against the Catholics since his wife is such an ardent one.’

‘But he is not so kind towards Puritans.’

‘Ah, that is another matter.’

‘It’s intolerance just the same.’

‘Of course it is. Do you give a lot of thought to these matters?’

‘Not really. Only when we were in Cornwall there were periodical outcries against witches.’

‘That persists not only in Cornwall but all over the country and through the ages.’

‘But if there is such a thing as witchcraft and people want to practise it, why should they not?’

‘It’s worship of the Devil, and witches are said to ill-wish and often bring about the deaths of those who offend them.’

‘There are good ones, I believe … white witches. They understand the properties of herbs and cure people with them. But they suffer often just the same.’

‘There will always be unfairness.’

‘And,’ I went on, ‘those who follow the Catholic faith or are Puritans harm no one.’

‘That’s true enough, but it seems to me these different sects all wish to impose their will on others and that’s where the conflict comes in.’

‘One day perhaps there will be a world where people allow each other to think as they wish.’

‘I see you are an idealist. Also that you have had enough of the chapel. Come, I shall take you now to the solarium … the warm room of the house. I imagine your sitting there on sunny afternoons with your needlework, for you are going to make a tapestry, I know, to hang on the walls and which will last for hundreds of years.’

‘I should like that.’

‘You will choose your subject. What will it be?’

‘Not war,’ I said. ‘There is too much war. I don’t like it.’

‘And you married a soldier!’

‘I think you are the kind of soldier who fights for the right.’

‘And I can see that you are going to be a loyal and loving wife.’

‘I shall do my best, but you will have to be patient with me. I know I have a great deal to learn of … er … marriage.’

‘My dearest,’ he said, ‘we both may have a good deal to learn.’

My spirits lifted in the solarium. It faced south and the sun streamed in through the great semi-circular bay window. The hangings were of deep blue with gold fringe and the window-seats had cushions of the same rich colour. The ceiling was most beautiful, delicately decorated and adorned with pictures of two cherubs floating on a cloud carrying between them the family crest. It was full of light and colour and a complete contrast to the cold dank chapel.

Tapestry hung on one side of the wall … and here again the subject was battle—that of Hastings this time. Richard told me that it was the family’s proud boast that they had come to England with the Conqueror.

From the solarium to the King’s Chamber, so called because the King himself had spent a night there. The brick fireplace had been put in specially for him. With loving care Richard pointed out the four-centred chamfered arch and jambs and the beautiful carving round the sides. The King had given his permission for the royal arms to be placed over the door.

‘Do you think he will come again?’ I asked.

‘It’s not unlikely.’

I tried to picture myself as hostess to the King and Queen, and failed.