‘It’s toothache, mistress,’ said Meg. ‘My lady has had it all the morning.’
I went over to Angelet; her eyes were half closed and she was evidently in some pain.
‘You want some of Mother’s camomile concoction,’ I said. ‘It never fails.’
‘Mrs Cherry has a good one,’ said Meg. ‘She be clever with herbs.’
‘I’ll go and see her,’ I said.
Mrs Cherry was in the kitchen, rosy from baking. She gave me that quick look of suspicion which I had noticed previously, before her features settled into the benign mask of friendly bonhomie.
‘Mrs Cherry,’ I said, ‘my sister is suffering from a raging toothache. Meg says you have something for it.’
‘Why, bless you, mistress, indeed I have. I’ve got my own little stillroom here. I can give her something that’ll send her to sleep and that’s going to soothe the tooth.’
‘My mother made a mixture of camomile and poppy juice and something else. It was most effective.’
‘Mine has these. It’ll cure it in time, but she may need a dose or two.’
‘Could you please give it to me.’
‘With the greatest of pleasure, mistress.’
She gave me the bottle with the mixture in it and I took it immediately to my sister. I smelt it. It was slightly different from the one our mother made.
‘Take this, Angelet,’ I said, ‘and then you’ll sleep.’
She obeyed and I sat with her for a while until she went to sleep. I stood over her bed looking at her. She looked so young and innocent lying there in that deep sleep. Her hair had fallen away from her smooth white brow. I felt my fingers go involuntarily to my own. If people saw us lying side by side they would tell the difference. The scarred one is Bersaba. I felt a sudden wild envy because she was his wife, and I could think of nothing I wanted more than to be just that. Then I thought of the frightened look which used to come into her eyes when darkness fell and the excuses she would make to stay in the Blue Room, and I was sorry for her.
I went out to the stables and told the groom to saddle my horse. He wanted to come with me because it was understood that neither I nor Angelet would ride out alone; but I had to be alone. I wanted to think what I was doing here and how long I was going to stay.
I thought of his coming back. He might say: ‘We are going to Whitehall. There we shall entertain. I will bring interesting people to my house; perhaps we shall find a husband for Bersaba.’
There was an anger in my heart for a fate which had used me so unkindly—which had scarred me and then brought me, after he had become my sister’s husband, to the man whom I wanted as I believed I never would another. My nature was such that it needed fulfilment, I was beginning to know myself. I cared nothing for Bastian. I never had. I had been mistaken in a certain natural need and called it love.
But Richard Tolworthy obsessed me. I thought of him during the night and day; and such as this one when he was away, was a day without meaning. I suppose this was what people called being in love.
I rode on without taking much notice of where I went. I was saying to myself: I must write to my mother. I must go home. I can’t stay here. It is unwise and I don’t know to what it might lead. I would say that Angelet was getting well and I missed my home.
A man was riding towards me. As he drew up he lifted his hat and bowed to me.
‘Good day to you,’ he said. ‘It’s long since you called on us.’
I looked at him in amazement and he returned my gaze. Then understanding dawned on me.
‘You must be mistaking me for my sister. I am Bersaba Landor.’
‘Indeed. It is so? Mistress Tolworthy has mentioned that she had a twin sister.’
‘I am that twin sister.’
‘Then I am happy to make your acquaintance and so will my sister be. Would you care to call on her? Our farmhouse is but half a mile away.’
I was ready for such an adventure on this day of emptiness and I expressed my readiness to meet his sister.
I studied him as we rode while he chatted in a rather reserved manner about the crops and the harvest. I could always be interested in other people’s affairs. It was a quality I had which made up for the lack of that sweetness (of which Angelet had taken the major share) and while she would have expressed polite interest, it would have been clear that her mind was wandering off somewhere else. But mine was a genuine desire to learn what people were doing and this was one of the reasons why I sometimes seemed to win people’s admiration, for there is nothing to delight them more than a show of interest for their concerns.
I gathered at once that this man, who introduced himself as Luke Longridge, was a Puritan. His dress proclaimed him as that, and when I met his sister in her plain grey gown I was convinced of this.
The farmhouse was cosy, and I was given some of their home-made brew and hot cakes to go with it, which was pleasant, and the sister, Ella, asked after Angelet. I told them of the toothache and they in their turn wished their condolences to be taken to her. I heard from Ella what I had already heard from Angelet, how my sister had ridden over and been taken ill there at the time of her miscarriage.
I asked a great deal of questions about the farm and learned that that January had been a very bad time, as the inclement weather had made lambing difficult, and how busy they had been planting runcival or marrowfat peas. The barley sowing had gone well in March, and Ella had had her hands full in April, as she always did, sowing flax and hemp and of course the herbs in her own garden. Hops were very profitable, and since they had been introduced into the country during the reign of Henry VIII a great many farmers were growing them, although they needed very special attention.
Then we went into the difficulties of the hay and the corn harvests, for which of course they required extra labour and had to call in travelling labourers to give a hand.
I sensed, though, that the real interest of this household was not so much farming as politics, and I realized that Luke Longridge had a burning desire to make his opinions known.
He was a reformer. That was obvious. I must compare him with Richard Tolworthy for I compared all men with him. Richard’s mind ran along the lines it knew it should go. He was a strong man, with firm ideals. Luke Longridge was a rebel against those very conventions which Richard upheld so strongly.
I thought suddenly of what Angelet had told me about a man she had seen in a pillory, his face blooded because someone, by order of the law, had just deprived him of his ears.
I said: ‘I suppose one should be careful of making too much comment lest it come to mischievous ears.’
He smiled and I saw a fanatical light in his eyes. This man would be a martyr if the occasion arose to demand it. I had always thought martyrdom foolish, for what good did it do to die for a cause? Surely it was much better to live and fight for it in secret? I said something of this, and I saw an expression in his eyes which I realize I kindled. I was not quite sure what it meant but I was aware of it.
I went on to say that I thought that there was peace with the Scots over the matter of religion which had been causing a great deal of trouble there, and he answered that the Parliament of Scotland had confirmed the acts of the general assembly, which was right and fitting, and that they were in communication with some of the leading Puritans in England.
‘Of which you are one,’ I said.
He looked down at his plain garb and said: ‘I can see that you are aware of my opinions.’
‘They are clear to see.’
‘And you come from a Royalist household, so you will doubtless not wish to call on us again.’
‘I would certainly wish to call on you, to hear your arguments. How can one form an opinion unless one hears from both sides?’