‘He will admire you, Mistress Bersaba.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘He must do because you’re the living image of the lady he married.’

‘Oh, but she hasn’t been ill. There will be a difference.’

‘Your illness has made you more beautiful, mistress.’

‘Now, Phoebe, that’s too much!’

‘’Tis true in an odd sort of way, mistress. You’re thinner and it makes you look taller and graceful like, and then too … I don’t know. It does, I know it’s true.’

‘You are a good girl, Phoebe,’ I said, ‘but I like to have the truth, even when I don’t like what it tells me.’

‘I swear it, mistress, and Jem was saying the same. He said: “My word, Mistress Bersaba’s illness have done something for her.” I don’t know what, mistress, but ’tis true.’

‘Jem?’

‘Him in the stables, mistress.’

Oh, I thought, so I appeal to stable boys, do I!

But I was happy, because although Phoebe was prejudiced, the stable boy had said that; and it was a comfort even from such quarters.

Our journey was uneventful, taking in the usual mishaps which one does not expect to travel without. One of the horses went lame and we sold it and replaced it from a dealer in one of the Wiltshire horsemarkets; some of the roads were flooded which meant making a detour; another was forced on us when we heard that a certain notorious highwayman was reputed to be lurking nearby. The road across Salisbury Plain was a distance of forty miles, but there again we delayed our journey that we might not be too far from inns and villages, and this added miles.

I was amazed, though, by the accuracy of the General’s instructions, and oddly enough when we reached the Bald-Faced Stag on the thirtieth of August I felt a kind of triumph, as though I had taken a challenge and proved something.

The host was expecting us.

‘General Tolworthy was sure that you would come this day or the next, and he has asked me to reserve the best room for you,’ he told us.

It was indeed a pleasant room, its walls panelled, its windows leaded and the ceiling beams of heavy oak. In it was a four-poster bed, the usual court cupboard, a chest, a small table and two chairs, so it was very adequately furnished. Phoebe would sleep in a small adjoining room. It could not have been more comfortable.

An excellent meal awaited us, of sturgeon, pigeon pie and roast beef served with a good malmsey wine. I was hungry after a day in the saddle, and as the long and arduous journey was in its last stages the thought of seeing Angelet the next day made me wildly happy.

I had retired to my room, where Phoebe had taken out the things I should need for the night, and I sat on the window-seat which overlooked the yard, looking down at the activity below. I saw a carrier coach for the first time. These, I had heard, could only be hired in London and they did journeys of no more than thirty miles’ radius. All travellers had to be prepared to stay at certain selected inns where the horses could be properly looked after. The descending passengers looked tired, and I supposed only those who could not afford to travel in any other way would go by carrier coach.

A man rode into the courtyard. Tall and of commanding appearance, he wore his fair hair on to his shoulders and he had a small moustache brushed away from his lips. He was elegantly but not foppishly dressed. There was something which I could only call magnetism about him of which I was immediately aware.

On impulse I opened the window and leaned out, and at that moment he looked up and saw me.

I cannot explain what happened because I did not understand it and I had never experienced it before. I felt a response in every part of my body. It seemed absurd that someone whom I did not know and whom I had not met until that moment and had only looked at for a few seconds could have this effect on me. But it was so. We seemed to gaze at each other for a long time but it could have been only for a few seconds.

Then he took off his hat and bowed.

I inclined my head in acknowledgment and immediately moved backwards and shut the window. I went to the table on which stood a mirror, and I stared at myself. The scar on my cheek seemed to stand out white against the scarlet of my skin.

What happened? I asked myself. I only knew that he aroused in me some great emotion which I could not understand.

I went back to the window but he had disappeared. He must have come into the inn.

He was obviously staying here and I wanted to see him again. I wanted to know what had happened to me. It was extraordinary. One did not feel this odd emotion—why not admit it, desire—for someone to whom one had not spoken a word. Yet somehow I thought I knew him. He had not seemed like a stranger to me.

I wondered what he had thought when he had looked up and had seen me.

I patted down my fringe and smoothed my hair, but it would not cover the scar on my left cheek. When I descended the stairs I saw him at once. He saw me too, for he came forward smiling.

‘I knew you at once,’ he said. ‘The likeness to your sister is amazing.’

‘You are …’

‘Richard Tolworthy. I thought I would come here to meet you and take you back to Far Flamstead tomorrow.’

My emotions were mixed. What did the future hold then? I knew my nature. I sometimes wished that I did not. I would have to live under the same roof with this man, and he was my sister’s husband.

He had ordered that a room be kept clear for us that we might talk. The landlord had lighted a fire because he said it grew chilly in the evenings, and insisted on bringing us more of the malmsey wine of which he was very proud, and we sat at the table.

‘How glad I am that you have come,’ he said. ‘Angelet has been pining for you. And how like her you are! I could almost believe she is sitting there now, but of course there is a difference—a great difference.’

I could not read the thoughts in his eyes; he was not a man to betray much, so I could not ascertain what sort of impact I had made on him; I was still staggering from that which he had made on me.

I watched his fingers curl about the glass—long fingers, almost artistic, strong yet delicate, not, I should have thought, the hands of the soldier; there were fine golden hairs on the backs of them and I felt a longing to touch them.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘There is a great difference. My illness has left its mark on me forever.’

He did not deny that he could see the pock mark. I knew that he was straightforward and would never flatter.

All he said was: ‘You were fortunate to recover.’

‘I had expert nursing. My mother was determined that I should get well and so was my maid.’

‘Angelet has told me.’

‘She must have told you a good deal about me.’ I suddenly began to wonder how I appeared to Angelet, how much she knew of me. I believed I understood her through and through. Did she understand me? No, Angelet would never probe into the secret minds of those about her. She saw everything black and white, good and bad. Did she adore her General? I wondered. I thought of them together, making love.

‘She told me about your illness and how you contracted it.’

I thought: She would make me appear a heroine. I wondered if he thought me so. He would not for long. I could see that he was a man it would not be easy to deceive.

‘I am so pleased that you have come. Angelet is a little depressed at this time.’

‘Yes, the miscarriage. How ill was she?’

‘Not seriously, but of course she was disappointed.’

‘As you too must have been.’

‘She will soon be well again. We are living quietly at the moment. My duties have taken me up to the north. The times are somewhat unsettled.’

I did know that. I had always been more interested in political matters than Angelet had.

‘Yes, I understand that there are elements in the country who are not pleased with the manner in which its affairs are being conducted.’

‘Scotland is the trouble at the moment.’

I was glad I had been reading a great deal during my illness. ‘Is the King wrong, do you think, to enforce the use of the prayerbook?’

‘The King is the King,’ he said. ‘He is the ruler and it is the duty of his subjects to accept him as such.’

‘It seems strange,’ I said, ‘that there should be revolt in the very country which nurtured his father.’

‘The Stuarts are Scottish and therefore there are some English who do not care for them. And the Scots complain that the King has become too English. There have been riots up there, and the fact is we do not have enough money to equip the kind of army we need to subdue Scotland.’

‘And this of course gives you great concern and, I doubt not, takes you frequently from home.’

‘Of course a soldier must always be prepared to leave his home.’

‘It seems a pity to quarrel over religion.’

‘Many of the wars in history have been connected with it.’

I tried to talk intelligently about the affairs of the country and managed tolerably well by subtly leaving him to do the talking. All the time I was learning about him. He was not a man given to light conversation, but he was soon telling me about his campaigns in Spain and France, and I listened avidly, not so much because I was interested in the manner in which battles were fought, but because I wanted to know more of him.

We talked for an hour—or rather he did and I listened; and I knew that I had made an impression, for he seemed a little surprised by himself.

He said: ‘How knowledgeable you are of these matters. One rarely meets a woman who is.’

‘I have become knowledgeable tonight,’ I answered; and I did not mean only of the wars in France and Spain.

‘I came to welcome you,’ he said, ‘and to conduct you to Far Flamstead tomorrow. I had no idea that I should pass such an interesting evening. I have enjoyed it.’

‘It is because you find me so much like your wife.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I find you very different. The only real likeness is in your looks.’

‘We can be told apart … now,’ I said, touching the scar on my cheek.

‘You have honourable battle scars,’ he said. ‘You must wear them boldly.’

‘How can I do otherwise?’

He leaned forward suddenly and said: ‘Let me tell you. They add an interest to your face. I am so pleased that you have come to stay with us and I hope your visit will be of long duration.’

‘You should reserve judgment until you know me better. Sometimes guests in the house can be quite tiresome.’

‘My wife’s sister is not a guest. She is a member of the family and will always be welcome however long she wishes to stay.’

‘That, General, is a rash statement and I should never have believed you guilty of rashness.’

‘How can you know? We have only just met.’

‘But this is no ordinary meeting.’

For a moment we looked full at each other. I believed my eyes were glowing warmly. His were cold. To him I was merely his wife’s sister and he was pleased that I was not unintelligent. That was as far as his cautious mind would take him. But it was not all. No. Perhaps I was more knowledgeable than he was in spite of the difference in our ages. Sometimes I believe that women such as I am are born with knowledge in the matter of this attraction between the sexes. I knew that somewhere, latent perhaps beneath that glacial exterior, there could be passion.

I thought of how I had teased Bastian, how I had withstood temptation with him; and now I knew of course that Bastian had meant nothing to me. I had merely penetrated briefly the edge of discovery.

I said: ‘I have known you through my sister, for you appeared frequently in her letters, so you see you are not a stranger to me. Moreover, my sister and I are twins … identical twins. There is a bond so strong between us that the experiences of one are felt by the other.’

I stood up. He took my hand in his and said earnestly: ‘I hope that you enjoy your stay with us.’

‘I know I shall,’ I assured him.

He conducted me to my room where Phoebe was waiting. She swept a curtsey to the General and I left him at my bedroom door.

I went to the bed and sat down. Phoebe came and unbuttoned my gown.

‘You like the gentleman.’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘I like the gentleman.’

‘He was down there alone with you …’