Филиппа Карр - Saraband for Two Sisters

Grace took Mrs. Cherry away and we were left with Cherry and Jesson in the hall.

I said, “What does this mean? Who is this man? You shot him, Cherry?”

Cherry said, “Yes, I shot him. You heard Mrs. Cherry. It’s true. He is our son.”

‘Where did he come from?” asked Bersaba. “How is it that he has appeared here suddenly?»

“He escaped, my lady. He escaped once before. It has been a great trial to us. He was in a madhouse. He had the strength of two men and he was dangerous. I couldn’t have him in the house. He caused such damage before. There didn’t seem nothing else to do. I knew I’d have to ...if ever he came back.”

Bersaba took control of the situation. She went to the kitchen and brought something from Mrs. Cherry’s cupboard, poured it into a goblet, and made Cherry drink it. “You must control yourself,” she said. ‘What you did you believed to be for the best.»

“ ‘Twas a terrible trial to us all these years, for we never knew when he might break out again.”

“There’s nothing you can do now,” said Bersaba. “He is dead. Tomorrow you must take him out of the house and bury him.”

Cherry nodded.

“Jesson shall take you to bed.”

“I did it to save you, my lady. I did it to save the house. There’s no knowing what he would have done. He goes mad, see. He would have burnt the place down. I had to do it. I had to. Mrs. Cherry must see it But he’s her son and-“ Bersaba turned to Jesson. “Take him to his room, Jesson,” she said. “Stay with him and Mrs. Cherry. I’ll look after my sister.”

She led me to my room and stayed with me. We talked for a long time. “He did right,” she said. “You could see that he was mad-even as he lay there on the grass. If he had got into the house he might have murdered us all. Cherry must have known how desperate he was.”

“To shoot his own son-“ I began.

“He is better dead.” _ Though the children had slept peacefully through the disturbance there was no sleep for any of the adults in the house that night. In the morning Cherry and Jesson took the body away and buried it on the edge of the paddock and they put a stone there on which Cherry engraved the words “Joseph Cherry” and the date. He talked to us afterward more calmly than he had on the previous night. Bersaba was wonderful, for she made him realize that in sacrificing his son he had saved us all, for the story Cherry had to tell was horrifying. His son had been born abnormal; during his childhood he had become violent. As a boy he had found a special delight in torturing and killing animals, and later he had had an uncontrollable urge to do the same to human beings. He had had to be taken into a madhouse and chained. He had escaped once before and some instinct had brought him to his parents. So he had come to Far Flamstead. Then his presence had only been discovered when he had entered the house. He was stopped in time before he had set it on fire. Then his father had shot him through the leg. That was what he had aimed to do on this occasion, but the shot had entered his heart.

“You are a brave man, Cherry,” said Bersaba, “and I think everyone in this house should be grateful to you today!”

Of course the incident had changed the household. Before, we had been on the alert for soldiers who might destroy our home and kill us. Now we had been brought face to face with an equally terrifying situation. Both Bersaba and I trembled at the thought of what might have happened if that madman had entered the room in which the sleeping children lay, and we couldn’t be grateful enough to Cherry.

Mrs. Cherry had changed. Her grief possessed her; she made a wreath of leaves and laid it on her son’s grave. I was glad that she bore no resentment against her husband, for she seemed so lost and bewildered that she might well have done.

Her color had changed; the network of veins was more visible. She was more silent than she had been. I thought how strange it was that people harbored secrets of which we were unaware. I couldn’t forget her round rosy face, which seemed to match her name, and to discover that all the time she was nursing this bitter secret made me see her in a new light.

As the weeks passed we returned to the wartime pattern. We were alert as ever for approaching enemies but we were all aware that the most ardent Parliamentary soldiers could not have been more terrifying than the madman who could so easily have entered the house while we slept.

It was November-a month of mists and bare trees, green berries on the ivy, and spider webs festooning the hedges.

My baby was due to be born in three months’ time and I longed For February and the first jasmine and snowdrops. It seemed long in coming.

It was during this month that the terrible conviction came to me that someone was trying to kill me.

There were times when I laughed at my fancies, and I could not bring myself to talk of them, even to Bersaba. I kept telling myself, “Women have strange fancies, don’t they, when they are in this condition? They are said to be irrational, to crave strange things, to imagine things are what they are not.”

And here was this fancy within me, an eerie conviction that I was being watched and followed. When I went into the quieter places of the house-the Castle Room, the chapel or the spiral stairs, with its steps which were so narrow on one side-I would be aware of danger. “Be careful of that staircase,” said Bersaba. “It could be dangerous. If you tripped on that it could be disastrous for the child.” Once, when it was dusk and I was coming down the staircase, I had the feeling that someone was watching me from behind. I fancied I could almost hear the sound of breathing.

I stopped short and said, “Is anyone there?” and I thought I heard a quick intake of breath and then the faint rustle of clothing. I hurried down, though taking care with every step, and went to my room to lie on the bed to recover. I felt my child move within me then and I laid my hands on it reassuringly. I was going to make sure that all was well with it. Later I admonished myself. What was I thinking of? I believed I knew what had happened to me. The memory of that madman creeping up to the house had unnerved me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. How could I when Mrs. Cherry looked so sad and poor Cherry behaved as though he carried a load of sin on his shoulders? My imagination kept presenting me with pictures of what might have happened. I could imagine myself waking up to find him in my room. I pictured his creeping into the children’s room and looking down on those innocent little faces.

I could hear Cherry’s voice: “He took a pleasure in torturing and killing animals ... and later he wanted to do the same to human beings.” He is dead, I reminded myself.

But such an incident was bound to have its effect on anyone as nervous as I had become, and the feeling of being watched persisted. I gave up going to the Castle Room. It was a climb up the stairs and I was getting unwieldy, I told myself. But it was not really that. The place seemed so isolated and I was fearful of being alone.— Then one night I was sure.

Bersaba had brought in my milk. I dozed and then fell into a disturbed sleep. I dreamed that a figure came into my room, stopped by my bed, slipped something into my milk, and then went swiftly and quietly from the room.

I awoke with a start and my hair really did stand up on my head, for as I opened my eyes I saw the door closing.

I called out sharply, “Who’s that?”

The door shut. I distinctly heard it. I got out of bed, went to the door and opened it, but there was no one in the corridor.

I returned to my bed and looked at the milk. I could see that something had been put into it, because it had not yet completely dissolved.