I almost decided to drink it, but I knew it would send me to sleep and I did not want to sleep because of those nightmares I feared.

My door was being opened very slowly. I felt my heart begin to pound. Was this the one I was waiting for, the one I had promised myself I would try to catch?

Bersaba came and stood by my bed.

‘You are awake, Angelet,’ she said.

‘How can I sleep with so much to think of?’

‘You are still worrying about the child?’

‘Would you not in my place?’

‘You have it in your head that Richard cannot father a normal healthy child.’

‘If you had seen that … creature. He reminded me of the man on the grass.’

‘Angelet, I have been thinking all day whether I should tell you. It may be a shock to you but I have come to the conclusion that it will be less harmful for you to know than fear for the child. What is important to you now … more important than anything … is the child. Is that not so, Angel?’

‘Of course.’

‘Richard can have a healthy child. He has.’

‘I don’t understand you.’

‘Arabella is his daughter.’

I lay still not comprehending. Then I said slowly: ‘Arabella. Your Arabella. She is Richard’s daughter!’

‘Yes,’ said Bersaba defiantly.

‘You and he …’

‘Yes, he and I. Did you ever see a more perfect child? I never did. Nor did anyone.’

‘Oh, Bersaba,’ I cried, ‘you and Richard.’

‘You didn’t love him,’ she accused. ‘Not really. You were frightened of him.’

‘And you loved him, I suppose.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And that was why you married Luke, so that no one would know you were going to have Richard’s child. And Luke, what did he think?’

‘He knew and helped me.’

‘You think the world belongs to you, Bersaba. You always did. Other people didn’t matter very much, did they?’

‘You matter to me now, sister. You are going to be well and your child will be strong and healthy.’

‘And when Richard comes home,’ I said, ‘what then?’

‘You will have a healthy child to show him.’

‘You have already shown him yours.’

‘That is over, Angelet. When your child is born and Richard comes back, I am going home to Trystan Priory.’

‘Richard won’t let you go. He loves you, doesn’t he?’

‘He is a man who will love his wife and his children. Good night.’

She stooped over me and kissed me.

I lay there thinking of them. Lovers in this house … and I was here. Why did I not know? Then I remembered. She had insisted on my taking the soothing draught. ‘This will make you sleep.’ I pictured her, the sly smile about her mouth. So they put me to sleep while she went to him.

How could she? I remembered my fear of the great four-poster bed and how I could never reconcile myself to that relationship; and she had revelled in it. She was all that I was not. I remembered how Bastian’s eyes had followed her and how angry she had been when Carlotta took him from her. Then Bastian had wanted to marry her, she had told me, and she would have none of him. And then she came and took Richard and then Luke wanted her so much that he would take another man’s child for her sake.

Oh, Bersaba, my twin sister! What did I know of her? She had become a stranger to me.

A terrible thought came into my mind. She loved Richard; she loved him so much that she could forget that I, who had believed myself to be close and dear to her, was his wife.

Memories stirred. I was back in my room in Pondersby Hall and Ana was standing beside me. What had she said? It was something which had seemed strange at the time. ‘It would be a mistake to think she had all the good points … if the occasion should arise …’

What should Ana have known of Bersaba? But the fact was that she warned me to beware of my sister.

I had imagined someone had put poison into my milk. Who had given me the milk? Who had given me the sleeping draught so that I should not be disturbed while she went to my husband?

I had never been so frightened or so horrified in my life.

Could it really be that my sister wanted my husband so much that she was trying to kill me?

BERSABA

In the Tunnel

IT WAS ALMOST A relief when the soldiers came. It was after Christmas—a travesty of the festive seasons we had known. I made a half-hearted attempt to deck out the house with holly and ivy for the sake of the children and to make something of the day for them, but as soon as they had been put to bed gloom descended on the house.

Mrs Cherry had lost her benignity; if ever I went to the kitchen I would find her seated at the table staring into space. Cherry said very little; I knew he could not forget the memory of the son he had killed. Nor could Mrs Cherry. And Cherry’s burden of guilt lay so heavily upon him that it overshadowed the entire household.

Grace and Meg tried to be cheerful. Phoebe sighed for Longridge Farm where she had been happy with her husband, and I knew she wondered, as we all must, where this was going to end. Most hard to bear was the restraint which had grown up between Angelet and myself. She could not forgive me for taking her husband and I could not forgive myself. She could scarcely bear to be in the room with me, and she had found a key to the door of the Blue Room which she had never thought of locking before. I was afraid that she would need something in the night.

I knew that she was suspicious of me and believed that I wanted her to die so that if Richard came back he would be free to marry me.

Whenever possible I assured her that I was going to Trystan Priory. I even made preparations.

‘This war can’t last forever,’ I used to say. ‘Something must happen soon.’

After that sad Christmas followed by Twelfth Night, which we did not celebrate, Angelet spent a long time in her room with Grace.

I was worried about her because I knew that she was far from well and I feared that everything that had happened would be harmful to her. I even played with the idea of asking my mother to come to us, but I knew that would be impossible in view of the state of the country.

It was mid-January and in a month’s time Angelet’s child was due to be born. There was ice on the ponds and a cold wind was blowing from the north. It was not a day to be out of doors. We burned huge log fires in the main rooms, but there was no comfort in the house. Grace was preparing the lying-in chamber, although the confinement should be a month away, and Mrs Cherry shook her head and said that she dreaded the day.

I did not reprove her; as long as Angelet did not hear, Mrs Cherry’s opinion did not matter.

Jesson went out in the afternoon and came riding back soon after he left with the news that there were Roundhead soldiers in the district. They were pillaging the church some five miles away and destroying the fine ornaments and all evidence of what they called papistry.

I asked them not to tell my sister. I said: ‘It may well be that they won’t come this way, and her time being so near it is not wise to alarm her unduly.’

But I was on the alert. So was Phoebe. I told her not to leave the children and be ready to wrap them in warm things at a moment’s notice.

Then I went to the kitchen and sent for Jesson and Cherry.

I said: ‘It may be they will not come this way, but if they do, it is useless to attempt to defend the place against them. That was what happened at Longridge Farm. There is one thing we can do. We must get everyone down into the tunnel. Begin now to take food and drink there and store it. We shall be safe there until they’ve gone. We’re lucky to have such a hideaway.’

Both the men agreed that this would be our only chance.

‘We’ll be ready then,’ I said.

Darkness had fallen when we heard the shouts of the soldiers and I knew then that what we had feared so long had come to pass.

I quietly commanded Phoebe to tell the children that it was a new game we were playing and bring them down to the kitchen. The house must be in darkness, but we would take a supply of candles into the tunnel. Every one of us must go.

I went to Angelet and said: ‘The Roundheads may be here within five minutes. We are going down to the tunnel.’

‘You are the mistress of the house already,’ she replied.

‘Don’t be foolish,’ I cried. ‘You are coming down with me at once.’

I wrapped a cloak round her and we had reached the kitchen when I heard the shouts not far off.

‘Where are the children?’ cried Angelet.

‘They are here. Everybody is here.’

So we entered the tunnel between the castle and the house.

Through the night and the next day we stayed there. The children slept through the night and when they awakened at first they were excited by the new game, but we knew they would soon tire of it. When Lucas began to cry and said he didn’t want to play hide-away any more, I had to tell him that he must be quiet because it wasn’t a game. The soldiers were in the house and we were hiding from them. I saw I had to silence him even if it meant frightening him a little, for our lives depended on silence at that time.

Arabella kept close to me, more intrigued than fearful; in the candlelight her eyes were luminous with excitement and they reminded me of Richard’s.

‘Soon they’ll go away,’ I whispered, ‘and then we’ll go back to the house.’

I was more worried about Angelet than anyone. She was silent and spoke to me only when necessary. I could not endure this suspicion she had of me, implying that she believed I wanted her to die so that I could marry Richard.

I kept thinking of incidents from our childhood when we had been together and how important one had been to the other. The hardest thing I had to bear was her animosity towards me. I wanted her to lean on me, as she always had. Now she leaned away from me. I had shattered the bond between us when I had taken Richard.

I told myself that if we came through this night and day I would go right away. I would never see him again so that there would not be the temptation to act as I had. I knew that I could not explain to Angelet, for she would never understand that overwhelming passion which had beset me.

We spoke in whispers.

Then Mrs Cherry said suddenly: ‘What of the boy? What of Strawberry John? We must get them in here. The soldiers will get into the castle. They’ll break down the wall. What’ll happen to the boy! We must go through to the castle. We must bring them in here.’

Cherry said: ‘Strawberry John will take care of the boy.’

‘But the Roundheads will get him. He’s in the castle. Roundheads don’t like castles and they’ll know whose castle it is. They’ll take revenge on one of the King’s generals.’

Her fingers were plucking at her skirt and her face looked wild in candlelight. I was afraid that she was going to become so hysterical that she would endanger us all by screaming or shouting or trying to get out to the boy and Strawberry John.

Cherry tried to soothe her. ‘Now, Emmy, don’t take on. He’ll be all right.’

‘You don’t care … You shot your own son, you did. Our Joseph … You just shot him down …’

‘I had to, Emmy. Stop it, I say. I had to shoot him. You know what happened last time.’

‘You shot him in the leg then. You could have shot him in the leg again. Couldn’t you? But you shot him dead … our son … He hadn’t done anything. Perhaps he wouldn’t have. He’d just come back to see his mother. That’s all he wanted before, but he saw her in the chapel … and he was a natural man and she was there … and he just did what others have done before him …’

There was silence. Even Mrs Cherry seemed appalled by what she had said.

Then she started crying. ‘We’ll never get out of here. Those wicked men … they’ll burn down the house … They’ll burn down the castle … What’ll happen to us? The entrance will be locked. We’ll be buried alive. I want to get out of here.’

‘You’re frightening the children, Mrs Cherry,’ I said sternly. And to them: ‘It’s nothing … nothing … Mrs Cherry’s only playing.’

She was silent for a while and we were all straining our ears, but we could only hear muffled sounds.

‘We’re shut right away here,’ said Jesson.

Grace said: ‘Are you feeling all right, my lady?’ and Angelet whispered: ‘What was she saying about seeing someone in the chapel?’