I should go away, of course. It was right that I should. But I longed to see him again. At one stage I almost felt that I would go to him and try to explain what I felt. I must somehow bring an end to this intolerable state of affairs. I was dreadfully uneasy about Angelet and could not bear to contemplate what her horror would be if she knew what had happened. She would never understand. I kept thinking of that smile of relief on her lips as she slept after she had taken her dose and escaped her obligations. Then I could find some consolation in the reminder that I had only taken what she did not want—and indeed had feared. But I could not be truly consoled.

I suggested that Angelet and I ride over to the Longridge Farm. We did and were made very welcome there. Luke took us into his study and read some of his pamphlets to us. I found them interesting because they gave me such an insight into the man’s character. He was such a fierce reformer; he was deeply religious and believed that the King, in setting himself up as the ruler by divine right, was comparing himself with God. He talked with vehemence about the extravagance of the Court and the wickedness of the Queen, whose aim was clearly to introduce Catholicism to the country.

‘It is something we shall never have,’ he cried, striking the table with his clenched fist, and I could imagine his preaching to a crowd.

I was fascinated by his doctrines to a certain extent, but more so by him. He was a Puritan who believed that life should be lived in the utmost simplicity; he scorned our gold and jewelled ornaments, our blue cloaks with their silken lining; yet at the same time I could see that he admired this finery in a way. I knew too that I interested him. When he talked his eyes never left my face, and although my thoughts were full of Richard and yearned for him, I could not help but be pleased by this man’s admiration, particularly because it was grudging and he could not help being aware of this innate sensuality of mine, even though he fought against recognizing it. It was the essence of femininity in me which appealed to the masculinity in him. It was something nature had given me and which nothing could destroy.

When we rode out from the farmhouse I felt elated.

Angelet said: ‘There is no doubt that Luke Longridge is taken with you.’

‘Oh, come,’ I said, ‘you are not still husband hunting.’

‘Indeed not there,’ she replied, laughing. ‘I cannot see you mistress of a farmhouse … and a Puritan one. You are far too vain and fond of finery. All the same, he found it hard to take his eyes from you.’

‘That is because you are a married woman and I am single.’

‘No, it was something else. I think Ella saw it. She was a little uneasy. She need not have worried, I am sure.’

‘I too am sure,’ I said, laughing.

And so we rode back to Far Flamstead, which was dreary and unwelcoming because Richard was not there.

Richard returned to the house, and I wondered how I could endure the days when I might come upon him at any moment and the long evenings when Angelet sat with her tapestry frame or her embroidery and he and I sat opposite each other with the small chess-table between us. Sometimes I would find his eyes upon me and I would look up quickly to catch him gazing at me, but I could not read his thoughts. He might have been assessing my possibilities in the marriage market.

Once I said to him: ‘Are you still contemplating marrying me off?’

‘Your marriage is a matter to which we must give some thought,’ he replied.

‘And we have, Bersaba,’ cried Angelet. ‘I assure you we have. Haven’t we, Richard?’

He bowed his head in assent.

‘It is good of you to give me so much of your attention. Angelet did not seek a husband. Fate brought him to her. I should like it to happen to me that way.’

‘That’s stupid,’ said Angelet. ‘If she stays here she will never meet anyone, will she, Richard?’

I wondered whether he liked the manner in which she referred everything to him. I supposed he did, since it showed she was the meek and docile wife.

‘I am content here,’ I said, looking at him.

I saw his lips lift slightly, which meant he was pleased.

‘Nevertheless, Bersaba, it would not be fair to you. I will arrange something.’

I gave my attention, to the chess, for I could not bear to hear him talk as though he would not be deeply affected if I went.

I went to my room. I knew I would be unable to sleep for thinking of what I had done. I wondered what my mother would say if she ever heard of it. She would make excuses for me, I did not doubt, but secretly she would be so shocked that she would never recover from it. She loved my father singlemindedly, I knew, but if he had married someone else she would have turned away from him and been prepared to live a life of regret—possibly unmarried, possibly with a second best.

People like my mother who were fundamentally good would never understand the overwhelming temptations which came to people like myself. I could be strong, but this need within me—which I had felt for Bastian—was something which, when it was at its full, obliterated everything.

Next day I rode over to the Longridge Farm where I was greeted by Ella. Her brother was out on farm business, she told me.

How neat and prim she looked in her plain grey gown and white apron. I wondered what she would say if she knew of my wickedness. She probably would not receive me here, for Puritans, living such pure lives themselves, were apt to be very harsh on the sins of others.

She talked for a while about the virtues of her brother and how she feared that he might be overbold. Terrible things could happen to those who wrote what was called sedition and was in fact truth.

‘I always remember hearing of Dr Leighton, a Scotsman who wrote An Appeal to the Parliament; or a Plea against Papacy. He was publicly whipped on two occasions and stood for two hours in the pillory. His ears were cut off, his nostrils slit and his cheek was branded with the letters S.S. which stood for Sower of Sedition.’

I shivered. ‘Your brother must not run those risks.’

‘Do you think he will listen to me?’

‘I doubt it. It is so with martyrs. They never listen to those who would preserve them.’

‘Dr Leighton is out of prison now.’

‘Perhaps then he can live in peace.’

She turned on me fiercely. ‘What do you think? Ten years the King’s prisoner! He has lost his sight, hearing and the use of his limbs. I suppose that could be called a sort of peace. And all for setting down his thoughts on paper that they might be shared with others!’

‘We live in cruel times, Ella.’

‘It is to change them that Luke and men like him risk their lives.’

We were silent for a while. How quiet and peaceful the farmhouse seemed. My mind went back to Far Flamstead and I wondered what Richard was thinking. What if he were to mention the night to Angelet? What would happen then?

Luke Longridge came in and I couldn’t help noticing how his eyes lit up at the sight of me. I exerted all my power to attract him because I needed some diversion. I must stop thinking about the half-farcical, half-tragic situation at Far Flamstead which I had created.

‘You look sombre, sister,’ he said, but his eyes were on me.

‘We were speaking of Dr Leighton.’

‘Oh yes. There was some agitation about him, but he is now a free man.’

‘After ten years!’ said Ella bitterly. ‘His life is finished. I doubt he has retained his reason.’

I looked straight at Luke and said: ‘It is a warning to people who would fly in the face of those who have power to harm them.’

He sat down at the table, his eyes burning with that fanatical pleasure which talking of these matters gave him.

‘Nay,’ he cried, ‘he is an example to us all.’

‘An example not to follow,’ I cried.

‘Mistress Landor …’

I interrupted him. ‘Pray call me Bersaba. We are good friends, are we not?’

‘It makes me happy to think so. Bersaba, there is work to be done, and if we are made of the stuff that falters when our leaders fall then we are not worthy of the fight.’

‘Perhaps you are worthy of a peaceful life with your family and children growing up in security.’

‘There is no security when tyranny prevails.’

‘Are you sure that when you overcome one tyranny you are not replacing it by another?’

‘We must make sure that is not so. There is no tyranny in the humble service of God.’

‘There is for those who do not wish to serve Him humbly.’

‘You are an advocate for your kind, Bersaba.’

‘What kind? I was unaware that I was of any sect. I think as I think. I will be free to form my own opinions and they will not be dictated to by this party or that.’

‘You would be considered as dangerous as I am.’

‘Nay, for I would not set out my thoughts on paper. I would keep them to myself and not try to force them on others.’

Ella brought us refreshments and we went on talking. She leaned her elbows on the table, saying little but watching us. Luke was animated, excited. I said: ‘Why, I do believe you’re thinking I am Archbishop Laud himself.’

‘I could never think you were anyone but who you are. You are too much of an individual to be confused with anyone.’ I felt the flush creep into my cheeks and memories—which I was trying so hard to eliminate—came rushing back to me. Then I had successfully—or did I succeed?—attempted to be confused for someone else. I wondered what Luke would say if he knew what I had done. I could imagine all his Puritan feelings rising in disgust.

But my blush did nothing more than to enhance his admiration for me.

I said quickly: ‘I hate to blush like this. You see, it makes my scar look worse.’

‘It is no blemish,’ he said. ‘Your sister told me how you acquired it.’

‘In the same way as others have,’ I answered. ‘I contracted smallpox.’

‘She told us how.’

‘You must not think me a heroine. I should not have gone there had I known.’

‘There would have been no purpose in going,’ Ella pointed out.

‘The fact that you did so out of anxiety for your maidservant shows that you are good … in spite of your efforts to deny it,’ added Luke, ‘which, may I tell you, I entirely reject.’

‘Well, what is going to happen?’ I asked.

‘This parliament will be dismissed, and there will be a new one before the year is out. Pym and Hampden will lead it, and then there will be conflict between the King and the Parliament. It will be a question of whether the country will be ruled by those it has elected to rule or by a stubborn man who believes he is on the throne by divine right.’

‘Be careful, Luke,’ warned his sister.

‘You are rash,’ I said, and I thought: We are both rash and it makes a bond between us.

I said I must go, and they asked why my sister had not come with me.

‘She suffers from a toothache.’

‘Did she not have it before?’

‘Yes, it occurs now and then. Mrs Cherry has a good cure which makes her sleep.’

‘I trust she will soon be well,’ said Ella.

‘A nagging tooth is often best removed,’ added Luke.

‘I must tell my sister,’ I said.

Luke took me back. He told me how much he enjoyed my visits, how interesting he found my views.

‘In spite of the fact that they do not accord with your own?’

‘Partly because of that, and because they are delivered with such lucidity, logic and reason.’

‘Perhaps I could bring you to my point of view.’

‘Nay,’ he said. ‘You are a Royalist by nature. I see that. I am a Puritan. I believe that the path to heaven is reached through sacrifice and renunciation of pleasure.’

‘I would never agree with that. Why should that which is enjoyable be sinful?’

‘Simplicity and religious living alone bring the true satisfaction of righteousness.’

I did not answer but I wanted to laugh. I had seen that in his eyes which showed me that he desired me. I did not find him by any means repulsive—even now when there was only one man who could completely satisfy me. There was so much I had to learn about myself. I thought how amusing it would be to prove him wrong.

We had reached Far Flamstead. I said: ‘You are right, Luke. You are too righteous for me. I’m afraid I am a sinner and always shall be. I find too much pleasure in the good things which the Lord has given us. I can’t think why He put them there if He expects us to turn our backs on them. That seems to me churlish. It is like being invited to a banquet and saying to one’s host I will not partake of these good things you offer me because they are too enjoyable and to take pleasure is a sin. Goodbye, Luke. I must return to my sinful life.’