So I amused myself during those weeks while Bastian stayed on and I became alive again. My disfigurations had not detracted from that certain allure which people like myself seem to have for the opposite sex. I began to realize that life was becoming exciting again and I thought a good deal of Angelet.
Her General sounded rather stern and old too. Playing games with soldiers—how odd! And chess. Well, poor Angelet had never been very good at that. One of our governesses had said, ‘You have a grasshopper mind, Angelet. Try to concentrate as Bersaba does.’ Dear Angelet! She could never concentrate for very long … not long enough to win a game of chess.
I should like to see her and this stern old man; and I wondered very much about their lives together.
Then there came the letter from Angelet. She had miscarried and had been so excited because there was to be a child, but had hesitated to tell us as she was not entirely sure. It had all happened so quickly and she would very shortly be well, for the miscarriage had taken place only about two months after conception. Still, she had felt unwell and her husband had thought it would be a good idea if her sister could pay her a visit. His profession made it necessary for him to be away from home a good deal, and although Far Flamstead was not a great distance from London it was still in the country.
There was a letter from Angelet to me.
‘Do come, Bersaba. I can’t tell you how often I have thought of you and longed for you to be here. There is so much to tell you. Strange things happen sometimes and I want someone to talk to. Someone who understands me …’
I thought then: So her General doesn’t. I wasn’t surprised. He was a good deal older than she. He was very solemn and serious. Angelet ought to have married someone young and light-hearted.
‘No one ever did as you did, Bersaba. Please, please come.’
I was excited. I had resented her going and leaving me behind, and if I went I should have a chance to escape from the rather stifling—if comfortable and deeply loving—atmosphere of home. Moreover, I wanted to see something of the world outside Cornwall.
How glad I was that I had not succumbed to Bastian!
My mother said to me: ‘Have you had a letter from your sister?’
I told her I had and that she was very insistent that I go to see her.
‘My dearest Bersaba. You won’t want to go because of Bastian perhaps. Angelet wants you; she writes as though she needs you. We must remember that you and she have always been together until now. It’s not natural for you to be apart. But of course she has her life to live and you have yours. You must do whatever you think best. I know how much you want to be with her, but perhaps even more you prefer not to go.’
I said: ‘I must think about this, Mother.’ I felt as I always did, ashamed when I deceived her, for of course I had already decided that I was going to London.
Bastian was stricken.
‘You can’t go,’ he said. ‘What about us?’
‘I shall doubtless meet Carlotta. I’ll tell her how desolate you are.’
‘Please, Bersaba,’ he implored, ‘be serious. That was a momentary madness, an aberration. Please, please understand. It was you I loved … I always loved you.’
‘I would prefer you to tell the truth. Lies would not be a good foundation on which to build a marriage.’
That raised his hopes. I really believed he thought that I was going to marry him.
The conceit of men was past understanding. Didn’t he know that he had wounded my pride so deeply that I would never forget it? Those scars were as indelible as those of the smallpox. He didn’t understand that I was not the sort to forgive. I wanted reparation. I wanted revenge. I was having it now, and it was as exciting as giving way to my carnal desires would have been.
‘Revenge,’ my mother had once said, ‘brings no happiness to the one who seeks it, while forgiveness brings nothing but joy.’
That may have been for her. It was not in my nature to forgive.
‘The Bible tells us to forgive,’ she said.
That might be, but I wanted an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and nothing less would satisfy me.
So I had my triumph, for the day came when I told them I had definitely decided to go to Angelet.
Bastian went to Castle Paling. I was up at the top of our house to see him go. He did not know that I watched him and saw him turn and look at the house in anguish.
I had finished with Bastian. I had made him suffer as I had, and this was indeed true, for I knew that he had loved me. I had learned too the exhilarating fact that there was within me a certain attraction which had not been diminished by my illness. Moreover, I had my journey to plan, and although I felt some sadness at leaving my parents, I could not help but be excited at the prospect of adventure ahead and of course reunion with my sister. I loved my family, but not with the same dedication which I think the rest of them shared. I was too self-centred for that, and I had always known that my own desires and inclination must be of greater importance to me than those of others. I think many people shared this characteristic, but I had this rare virtue that I could see it and admit it. My relationship with my sister, though, was outside affection and family bonds; it was a mystic union; after all, we had begun life together even before we had made our appearance in the world. We were in a way necessary to each other. I sensed that in her letters. She had a husband and I was sure she loved him, but that was not enough for her. She needed me too; and in my way I needed her.
I tried to explain this to my parents because I was aware of my good fortune in possessing such; I did not have to, because my mother immediately understood and told me that she was happy it should be so. Much as she hated parting from me and my sister, our happiness was of far greater importance to her than her own sorrow, and the fact that there was this bond between us had always been a great comfort to her.
‘Your father is staying for some time,’ she told me, ‘and Fennimore will not go to sea again in the foreseeable future. I am content with that, and if you can be happy with Angelet, my darling child, it is all I ask.’
I told Phoebe I was going and did not mention that she would come with me, and for a few moments I savoured her desolation which parting with me would bring her.
Then I said: ‘You foolish girl, you are coming with me. I shall need a maid, and can you think I would take anyone else?’
She fell on her knees—she was a little dramatic, poor Phoebe—and clasped my skirts, which was a most awkward and undignified posture, as I told her sharply. She rose then, her eyes shining with admiration.
It was small wonder that life was growing rosy for me.
I wrote and told Angelet that I should soon be setting out, and that brought an ecstatic response. She longed to see me. She could not wait for me. She had so much to tell me.
There was a letter which amused me from the General which was addressed to my parents. It was extremely stilted and precise, written in handwriting which was small and neat and yet somehow bold.
He would welcome me, he said. I would be a great comfort to Angelet, who had just had this unfortunate experience. He was discreetly referring to the child she had lost. He had mapped out my journey, which he was able to do with some knowledge, for he travelled the country a good deal in the course of his duty. He mentioned the most satisfactory inns with accounts of their virtues and shortcomings.
I was very amused. The Monarch’s Head in Dorchester was a worthy stopping-place; they would care well for the horses. The White Horse in Taunton was another good inn, and so on. My final resting-place should be at the Bald-Faced Stag in the village of Hampton, and I should reach it, if I followed his route, on the thirtieth of August, providing I left on the date I had suggested.