Saraband for Two Sisters

“Bersaba, you behave so-“ “So immodestly, so different from the manner in which young ladies should? I am myself, Richard, and I make no excuses for it. Our problems will never he faced by trying to push them aside in order to forget them, for they won’t be pushed aside. They won’t be forgotten. I have sinned. I am to bear a child. Well, I have told Luke that I needed him for a husband and I have promised him that I will be a faithful wife to him and in time bear him children. I shall keep my promises. It would be easier if you and I met as little as possible.”

He bowed his head.

“Which will be far from easy.”

“It is not easy,” I said, “for you are my sister’s husband and we shall perforce meet sometimes. We must not allow ourselves to fall into temptation again. We have both been fortunate, and this child will always be there to remind me of what I once shared with you. Nothing can be the same for me again but it is over. Good-bye Richard, my lover. When we meet again you will be only Richard, my sister’s husband.” I turned my horse and I did not look at him. My poor beloved, with his unloved Angelet and his sad secret of his mock castle.

In August of 1641 my child was born-a girl-and I called her Arabella. Luke and Ella wished her to be called Patience or Mercy, but I stood out against them and I had my way, as I did over most things in that household.

She was a perfect child and quickly became beautiful. I had refused to consider that my child might be malformed, although the idea had occurred to me. I know it did to Richard. That grim specter must have been hanging over him ever since the monster child was born and he would wonder, I knew, whether some taint in him had made such a child. As soon as my daughter was put into my arras and I examined her perfect little body I was filled with delight; in a few weeks it became apparent that she was exceptionally bright. I knew very well that all parents think this of their children but at least I could assure myself that, motherly prejudice aside, my Arabella was a normal child. Ella adored her. Luke eyed her with some suspicion, but that was to be expected; as for myself I was almost idolatrous, so that my little girl was assured of an abundance of love.

When Angelet beheld her she was in ecstasies. She started to discover similarities in the child’s features to our mother and to ourselves. My poor dear Angelet, She would, I guessed, have made a better mother than I would, and when I saw her with my child in her arms I felt remorse because this child should have been hers. I was glad it was a girl. A boy might have shown a stronger resemblance to his father, and I did not want Luke to be reminded. He had done so much for me and I was growing more fond of him. We argued continuously and I had to admit to taking the opposite side of a subject merely to provoke him. He knew this and enjoyed it. Strangely enough, our marriage was a happy one which, considering our opposing natures, was in itself a miracle. But I knew of course that it owed its success to that physical union which he as a Puritan preferred to forget.

That was a momentous year for England. I felt remote from politics in my new domesticity. Even a woman such as myself must change when she bears a child. For the months before and after her birth Arabella was of more importance to me than anything. One of the first acts of the new Parliament was to demand the impeachment of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, who had been the King’s chief adviser when the conflict with Scotland had arisen and the victorious Scots had encroached on English soil so that part of the north was in their hands. Strafford had energetically suggested all kinds of unwelcome methods such as loans from abroad, the debasement of the coinage, and bringing in an Irish army to help fight Scotland and to threaten those in England who were showing signs of rebellion. The King and Strafford worked closely together and the Earl had been appointed Lieutenant General of the Army. I often wished when I heard this that I could have sat in the library with Richard and discussed this matter. I knew that it would cause him grave concern.

So Strafford was impeached, his trial had taken place, and he was found guilty and sentenced to death, for the fact that he had threatened to bring in the Irish to subdue if necessary rebellious Englishmen was construed as treason. The King was in a quandary. He wished to save his friend with whose policies he had been in agreement and when the death warrant was placed before him for some time he procrastinated. Luke used to pace up and down our bedroom talking of this. “Strafford must die,” he declared. “And the day he does the King is in a very uneasy position.”