The Witch From The Sea Part 45

'Well,' I said slyly, 'it will be good to see our cousins.'

Bersaba went on sketching and I knew she was thinking of Bastian. He was twenty-three years old and resembled Aunt Melanie; kind and gentle, he had never taken up the patronizing att.i.tude which older people give to the young. Nor did our brother Fennimore, for that matter. Our mother would not have allowed it in our house but Castle Paling was different. I think that at some time Bastian must have shown some preference for Bersaba which won her immediate devotion, for she reacted quickly to any form of appreciation.

There were three girl cousins. Melder, the eldest, was twenty-six and disinclined to marry; she loved housekeeping and coped with Grandfather Casvellyn better than anyone else, partly because she remained impa.s.sive when he swore and cursed her and everything round him, and quietly went on with what she had come to do. Then there was Rozen, aged nineteen, and Gwenifer, seventeen.

As Aunt Melanie, my father's sister, had married my mother's brother Connell there was a double relationship between us all. It seemed to bind us very closely together, but perhaps that had come about because Aunt Melanie was the homemaking family-conscious type of woman-just as my mother was-and they believed in welding families together.

Bersaba had started to sketch Bastian.

'He's not as handsome as that,' I protested.

She flushed and tore the paper in halves.

I thought to myself: She really loves Bastian. But the next moment I had forgotten it.

A week later we set out for Castle Paling, Bersaba and I, our mother, three grooms and two maidservants. We really did not need servants, for there were plenty at Paling, but the roads were not altogether safe and the servants were a protection. My father had made my mother promise never to ride out without making sure that she was adequately guarded against attack, and although the roads between Trystan Priory and Castle Paling were well known to us she would never go against his wishes.

Bersaba looked pretty on that morning. June is such a lovely month, when the hedges are gay with wild roses and lacey chervil while great clumps of yellow gorse brighten the downs and the red sorrel shows itself in the fields. She was wearing her dark red outer petticoats which we called safeguards and which we always wore for riding. I had put on my blue ones. Although we sometimes dressed alike we did not always wear identical clothes. There were occasions when we liked to because we took a mischievous delight in puzzling people. I could put on a good impersonation of Bersaba and she could of me. We used to practise sometimes, and one of the great jokes of our childhood had been to deceive people in this way. We would laugh until we were hysterical when someone said to her: 'Now, Miss Angelet, it's no use your pretending to be Miss Bersaba. I'd know you anywhere.' It gave us a kind of power, as I pointed out to Bersaba. We could put it to good use on certain occasions. Well, on this day she wore her red so I wore my blue; our cloaks matched our safeguards and we each had brown soft boots. So there would be no danger in our being mistaken for each other on that journey. But when we were at Paling I knew we would wear identical clothes at times and enjoy deceiving them.

We rode one on either side of our mother. She was a little pensive. No doubt she would be thinking of our father and wondering where he was at that moment. There was always anxiety in her mind because so many dangers lurked on the high seas and she could never be sure whether he would come back.

Once I mentioned this to her, and she said that if she did not suffer these anxieties she could not be so happy when he did come home. We must always remember that life was made up of light and shadow and the light was the brighter because of the contrasting shadow. She was a philosopher, my mother; and she was always trying to teach us to understand and accept life as it was, because she felt such an att.i.tude would be a cushion if ever misfortunes came to us.

If my father and brother had been riding to Castle Paling with us she would have been completely happy. I loved her intensely as we rode along and I started to sing in sheer thankfulness to G.o.d who gave her to me: 'And therefore take the present time With a hey and a ho and a hey nonny-no For love is crowned with the prime In spring time ...'

My mother smiled at me as though she shared my thoughts and she joined in the song and told the servants to do the same. Then we all took turns to sing the first line of a song of our choice and the rest of us would come in, but when it was Bersaba's turn she sang alone because no one joined in with her. It was Ophelia's song: 'How should I your true love know From another one?

By his c.o.c.kle hat and staff And his sandal shoon He is dead and gone, lady He is dead and gone; At his head a gra.s.s green turf, At his heels a stone.'

Bersaba had a strange haunting voice, and when she sang those words I imagined her lying in the stream with her long dark hair floating round her and her face white and dead. There was something strange about Bersaba, something I didn't understand, for all that she was said to be part of me. She had that quiet personality which seems not to intrude and yet can change the mood of all those around her.

She had made us forget the June morning, the sun, the flowers and the joys of living because she had reminded us of death. We stopped singing then and silently we rode on until the towers of the castle came into view.

The sun picked out the sharp points in the granite and made them glisten like little diamonds. It was indeed an impressive sight which never failed to thrill me. Defiant, bold, arrogant, the castle always seemed like a living thing to me, and I never failed to feel proud to be connected with it. Our house was mellow in a way, although its stones might well be as old as those of the castle-or almost; but Trystan seemed gentle, homely, when compared with Castle Paling. Its four battlemented towers proclaimed it for what it was, a fortress which had remained impregnable for six hundred years, for it had been built in the days of the Conqueror although it had been added to over the pa.s.sing centuries. My imagination went into action every time I beheld it, and I could picture the defenders of the castle pouring boiling oil and arrows down on those who would a.s.sail it. There were marks on a heavy oaken door with its iron bands-the one which was below the gatehouse-which I was sure had been made by battering rams.

Approaching from the west, two of the towers were hidden from us-Ysella's, which used to be said to be haunted, and Seaward, which was now haunted by Grandfather Casvellyn. I glanced at my mother. She had grown serious and I wondered what pictures the sight of that castle conjured up in her mind. One day I would read of her life there, which must have been very adventurous and unhappy too, for this must be the reason why she was so contented with the present.

Bersaba's expression had changed too. Her profile was clear-cut; she had high cheek-bones and long eyes with golden lashes tipped with dark brown at the edges. I often looked at her and thought: in describing her I am describing myself, for I look the same-or almost. It was only our expressions which could change our faces, for the bone structure and the shape of our features were identical. Our mother had once said: 'As you grow older you will look less alike. Experience changes faces and it is hardly likely that you will share the same.'

Now, I thought, we may be looking different because she changes when we are at Castle Paling. She is more remote and I almost feel she has succeeded in doing what she is always trying to-move away from me. There used to be times when I had known what she was thinking, but now she could shut me out, and when we went to Castle Paling it was almost as though she let down some sort of shutter. I often wondered what it was at Castle Paling that made her do that.

As we were riding under the portcullis and into the courtyard I heard Rozen's voice shouting: 'They're here!'

And then there was Aunt Melanie with Melder and Gwenifer coming out of a side door of the castle. There followed the usual bustle while our horses were taken by the grooms and the maids took our baggage and we were embraced by everybody.

Then we went through the guardroom to the great hall on the stone walls of which were crossed halberds and pikes and several suits of armour which had been worn by our ancestors.

'Come first into my parlour,' said Melanie, 'and then when you are refreshed you can go to your rooms. It is good to see you all. The twins look well.' She smiled at us and I could see she did not know which of us was which.

Wine and cakes were already there in that chamber which she had made like the one at Trystan. I was always intrigued when I saw her and my mother together to contemplate that Aunt Melanie's present home was my mother's old one and vice versa.

We all seemed to talk at once and it was just like any other reunion.

We went to our rooms-Bersaba and I sharing as we always did, and Rozen and Gwenifer coming to help us unpack. Gwenifer talked a great deal about the b.a.l.l.s that she had attended last season, for although she had not yet reached eighteen, as her elder sister was 'out' it was decided that she should join her. Rozen believed that George Kroll was going to speak for her, and although it was not a grand match it was one well worth considering.

'There are so few people here,' pouted Rozen. 'How I wish we could go to Court!'

Court! The very word set us all dreaming of b.a.l.l.s and banquets or glittering state occasions and elaborate costumes trimmed with exquisite lace.

Rozen had dressed her hair with a curled fringe which we all admired, and she told us that she had heard it was a fashion set by Queen Henrietta Maria. Rozen was very gay and she quite liked George Kroll, although he was not the gallant she had hoped for.

'There's a lot of trouble brewing in Court circles,' said Bersaba.

Everyone looked at her. How like Bersaba to say something serious when we all wanted to be frivolous.

She went on: 'Father is disturbed about the ship money.'

'Ship money!' cried Rozen in dismay. 'We are talking about fashions!'

'My dear cousin,' said Bersaba in one of her superior moods, 'if there is trouble between the King and his Parliament there could be no more fashions.'

'Which one are you?' said Rozen quite angrily. 'Bersaba, I'm sure.'

'Of course,' I answered for her.

'Oh, Angel, do make her shut up,' said Rozen.

I folded my arms and smiled at my twin. 'I have no control over her,' I reminded them.

'It's silly not to face up to what's happening,' said Bersaba crossly. 'You know very well, Angel, that the people who come to see Father are very anxious.'

'They're always anxious,' said Gwenifer. 'The East India men have always complained about something.'

'They're doing wonderful work for the country,' I supported my twin.

'Oh, you two and your saintly parents,' said Gwenifer. 'Let's talk about something interesting.'

'So George Kroll is going to speak for Rozen?' I asked.

'It's almost certain,' replied Rozen. 'And Father will say yes because the Krolls are a good family and Mother will say yes because she thinks George will be a good husband.'

'That's one ticked off the list,' said Bersaba.

'What a way to look at it,' I cried.

'Well, that's what it is,' insisted Bersaba. 'Our turns will come.'

'I shall choose my husband,' I said firmly.

'And so shall I,' answered Bersaba equally so.

So we talked of b.a.l.l.s and our cousins examined our clothes and the conversation was on a frivolous level, which pleased me, but I was aware that Bersaba thought it rather foolish. She retired into one of her silences which were so maddening because it seemed as though she were despising us all.

We dined in the great hall because we were quite a large party-nine in all, for Bastian and Uncle Connell, who had been out on the estate, came home in the late afternoon.

While we were dressing I said to Bersaba, 'Let's wear our blues tonight.'

She hesitated and a slight smile touched her lips. 'All right,' she said.

'We could have some fun,' I said, 'pretending I'm you and you're me.'

'There are some who'll know the difference.'

'Who?'

'Well, Mother for instance.'

'Mother always knows.'

So we wore our blue silk gowns with their boned bodices caught at the waist with sashes of a toning shade of blue, and skirts open to our feet showing satin petticoats; they had lovely long hanging sleeves. We had had them last year, and although they had not been in the height of fashion even then they were becoming.

'We'll wear our hair piled high,' said Bersaba.

'They say it is no longer worn like that.'

'It suits our high foreheads,' she answered, and she was right.

So we stood side by side laughing at our reflections. Even though we were so accustomed to the likeness it sometimes amused us.

In the hall Uncle Connell kissed us heartily. He was the sort of man who liked women-all kinds, all ages, all sizes. He was big and bl.u.s.tering, not unlike Grandfather Casvellyn-at least seeing him gave one an idea of what Grandfather Casvellyn must have been like in his youth. Even he, though, sometimes seemed afraid of Grandfather Casvellyn and that made a difference because our grandfather would never have been afraid of anyone. He held us tightly against him and kissed us heartily and he put his hands under my chin and said: 'Which one are you?'

I said, 'I'm Angelet.'

He answered: 'Not such an angel if I know anything about it.'

And everyone laughed.

'And Bersaba, eh? Well, come here, my girl, and give your uncle a kiss.'

Bersaba went reluctantly, which made Uncle Connell give her two kisses as though repet.i.tion could make her like it better.

I had heard it said that Connell was a true Casvellyn and that he had several mistresses scattered around the countryside and more than one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the servants' hall had been sired by him.

I often wondered what Aunt Melanie thought about that, but she never gave any sign that she minded. I had discussed it with Bersaba, who had said that she took it as a way of life and that as long as it didn't interfere with her household and family she turned a blind eye to it.

'I should have something to say,' I declared, 'if I were in her place, wouldn't you?'

'I should find something to do about it,' answered Bersaba.

Bastian came too. I thought he was as handsome as Bersaba drew him-or nearly. He was as tall as his father, and the fact that he had inherited his father's looks and his mother's nature made him interesting.

He looked from Bersaba to me and back again.

Bersaba laughed then and he said: 'Ah, Bersaba.' And he kissed her first and then me.

Uncle Connell bade us be seated and we obeyed him. He sat at the head of the long refectory table with my mother on one side of him and Melder on the other. Bersaba and I were on either side of Aunt Melanie and Bastian had seated himself next to Bersaba.

They talked mostly about the affairs of the countryside-all that had to be done on the estate; my mother mentioned the growing difficulties the East India Company were having to face and which she hoped would be a little eased if they could build their new Indian factory.

Bastian said: 'There's trouble everywhere. People don't seem to realize it. They shut their eyes to it but one day it will creep up on us.'

'Bastian's a proper Jeremiah,' commented Rozen.

'There's nothing so stupid as shutting your eyes to facts simply because they're unpleasant,' put in Bersaba, placing herself firmly on Bastian's side. He smiled at her-a very special smile, and she glowed with pleasure.

'The King is in disagreement with his ministers,' began Bastian.

'My dear boy,' put in his father, 'kings have been in disagreement with their ministers ever since there have been kings and ministers.'

'What other king ever dismissed his parliament and governed-or made some semblance of it-without one for how many years is it? Ten?'

'We haven't noticed the change,' said Uncle Connell, laughing.

'It's coming,' replied Bastian. 'The King believes he governs by G.o.d's right and there will be people in the country to disagree with that.'

'Kings ... parliaments,' said Uncle Connell, 'they seem to have one motive, and that is to pile tax upon tax so that the people can pay for their fancies.'

'I thought that when Buckingham was murdered that would have changed the situation,' said my mother.

'No,' said Bastian. 'It is the King himself who must change.'

'And will he?' asked Bersaba.

'He will ... or be deposed,' Bastian replied. 'No king can continue to reign for long without the goodwill of his people.'

'Poor man,' said my mother. 'How sad his life must be.'

Uncle Connell laughed. 'My dear Tamsyn,' he said, 'the King cares little for the approval of the people. He cares little for the approval of his ministers. He is so sure that he is right, guided by G.o.d. Who knows, perhaps he is.'

'At least his home life is happier now,' said Aunt Melanie. 'I believe it was far from that in the beginning. He is a good man and a good father whatever kind of king he is.'

'It might be more important for him to be a good king,' murmured Bastian.

Rozen said: 'They say the Queen is very lively. She loves dancing and fashions.'

'And meddling,' added Bastian.

'She is after all the Queen,' I said.