I felt better because I had a plan. I became obsessed by it and would awake in the night when a wild excitement possessed me and this soothed my hatred and bitterness. I could understand Homer’s saying ‘Revenge is sweeter far than flowing honey.’
I used to dream of Carlotta’s being dragged by the mob to the tree in Hangman’s Lane, and all the humiliations which would be thrust upon her. I pictured her half-naked body and lewd men watching her, and afterwards Bastian coming to the Lane and seeing her hanging there.
How wicked I am! I thought; but the hurt was so deep that I had to soothe it some way, and at the back of my mind I believed it to be only a fantasy—like a daydream when one receives comfort for indulging in a fancy that one possesses something which is unattainable.
Carlotta created a good deal of attention in a household like ours. She was so different with her airs and graces; she was exotic, and anything foreign aroused suspicions in the simple. With interest I watched the servants’ behaviour towards her. They were fascinated and a little afraid, and I did all I could to foster this fear in them. I think Ginny had talked and reminded them of that old story of the witch who had come from the sea.
Once when we were riding I saw a woman hurry away as we went by, averting her eyes from Carlotta, and I exulted because it seemed to me that the seeds I had sown were sprouting.
Bastian had left the next day. I don’t think he could bear to be in the same house with Carlotta and me together. When he left I did not say goodbye to him but kept out of the way, though I watched him ride off from one of the turret windows and saw how he kept looking backwards, for a last glimpse of Carlotta, I thought angrily.
Sometimes when I was in my room I would be frightened at what I was doing. I wanted to kill Carlotta but not in a straightforward way, since I planned that others should do it for me. It was cowardly, because I was planning it so that when it happened I could pretend it had nothing to do with me.
Then when I was with her I would say to myself: She deserves it. There is something wicked about her … something evil. I believe she is a witch, for only a witch could have taken Bastian from me, and if she is, it is better that she be removed.
Nobody could deny her beauty. It was not beauty which is a joy to behold and is the outward manifestation of inner goodness. I always thought my mother was beautiful in that way. Carlotta’s was a beauty which came from the Devil—meant for the destruction of those about her. At least, that was what I told myself.
Her mother Senara was proud of her, but I didn’t think she loved her; and I was certain that Carlotta loved no one but herself. Indeed, sometimes I used to think that if Bastian married her that would be sufficient punishment for his treatment of me.
The servants did not like Carlotta. She was too arrogant with them, reminding them always that she was the great lady and they beneath her notice, except for what they could do for her. She and her mother shared a Spanish maid whom they had brought with them. Ana was a woman in her mid-thirties, dark-haired, with a faint line of black hairs on her upper lip, and deep-set eyes. She was very quiet and I had never heard her speak, but I imagined she was efficient and an excellent lady’s maid, for the manner in which she dressed Carlotta’s hair was a wonder in itself. Silent-footed, almost mouse-like, one was hardly aware of her. She slept in a small ante-room adjoining Carlotta’s bedroom.
When my parents returned and Sir Gervaise with his manservant and two grooms moved into Trystan Priory, life changed. We were now living in greater style, for to have a man such as Sir Gervaise in the house made that a necessity. His business, he told my father, would take up a whole week, he believed, and if he could intrude on Landor hospitality all that time he would be gratified.
Of course we welcomed him. My father was delighted, for Sir Gervaise was as deeply involved with the Company as he was himself.
They rode out together, and were closeted together and talking a great deal. They went down to the sea and inspected my father’s ship; they discussed the cargoes he had brought back and were constantly in each other’s company.
Meals had become ceremonial occasions. Not only was Sir Gervaise our guest but also Senara and Carlotta, and there was no doubt that our society had become much more grand and sophisticated by these arrivals.
There was a great deal of talk about the Court, and in this Sir Gervaise, Senara and Carlotta had a good deal in common, since they had all moved in Court circles, and though Sir Gervaise was connected with Whitehall and Senara and her daughter with Spain, there had been a connection between the two Courts when the King—Prince, as he was then—had visited Spain in order to arrange a marriage between himself and the King of Spain’s sister.
Sir Gervaise told us that as a boy of eighteen he had had a small role in the King’s entourage and it seemed very likely that he and Senara had actually been at the same functions. Senara had met King Charles on one occasion. She said this was before his father’s death when he was but a prince, though heir to the throne, and she had thought him a handsome man, though smaller than was becoming in a king. He had great charm of manner, however, and being young and handsome created quite a good impression.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘he was more interested in getting help for his sister Elizabeth and her husband Frederick, who had lost his country, than he was in marriage with the Infanta.’
‘The King saw the present Queen at the French Court when he passed through Paris,’ Sir Gervaise told us, ‘but of course she was but a child then, and he did not give her a second glance.’
‘It’s strange,’ said my mother, ‘that fate doesn’t give us a little nudge when we are face to face with a situation or a person who is going to change our lives.’
‘You ask too much, my love,’ said my father.
‘There are some people who say they have premonitions,’ suggested Senara, and admitted, ‘I do now and then.’
‘Is it because your mother was a witch?’ I asked.
There was a silence at the table. My mother was frowning.
‘Oh, that’s all nonsense, Bersaba,’ she said. ‘I can’t think where you hear these things.’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’
‘It was said that she was,’ Senara told us. ‘That was when she was here. It was never mentioned when I joined her later.’
‘People build up these fantasies,’ said my mother. ‘I am glad they are not talking of such things nowadays. They’re … unhealthy.’
I noticed that the servants who hovered about the table were listening. They would repeat in the kitchen what they had heard in the dining hall. They would remember the witch who had come to Castle Paling and disappeared. That she now lived in Spain would not make her any less of a witch in their eyes.
I watched Carlotta. How beautiful she was! Angelet looked insignificant beside her—and that meant I did too. I had noticed that Sir Gervaise was aware of her—so was she of him, and it was as though she was sending out her tentacles to draw him into her net just as she had Bastian. I noticed how often he addressed his remarks to her.
After supper my father and Sir Gervaise went off together. They had so much business to discuss, and my mother told me that it had something to do with the Hoogly factory that was going to be built. ‘They are worried, of course,’ she said, ‘because there is so much conflict between the King and the people. The fact that he rules without a government is amazing to me. Sir Gervaise says it can’t go on like this. There’ll be some sort of climax, and heaven knows what will happen when that comes.’