Song of the Siren

by Philippa Carr

  I knew the day would have to come when Damaris and I would meet. It was over a year since we had seen each other, but in the summer of 1704 Harriet said we must go to visit my mother and Damaris.

  Gregory had bought a coach, which made travelling far more comfortable. We had not taken it so far as yet but we had made one or two journeys in it which had been very much more convenient than travelling on horseback.

  It was a magnificent vehicle on four wheels with a door on either side and drawn by four horses. We could travel a little more slowly so as not to tire the horses, and although our baggage could go by saddle horses as before, we could take refreshments with us in the coach.

  Clarissa could travel with us and there would be myself, Harriet and Gregory in the coach. Benjie would have to stay behind to take care of the estate. Then we should have two grooms with us, one to drive the team and the other to ride behind and take his turn with the driving.

  For protection we should have with us a blunderbuss and a bag full of bullets besides a sword; so we need have no fear of highwaymen. Many of them made off at the first sign that passengers could defend themselves.

  Clarissa was very excited at the prospect of the trip. I was growing very fond of her. She was so full of vitality and she did remind me of Hessenfield. She was a little disobedient; one would not have expected his to be a docile child; but she had that charm which never failed to ingratiate her with those who had been ready to scold her for some misdeed, and as her nurse said, she wound us round her little finger.

  She looked delightful in her red woollen cloak and her red shoes and mittens—the colour matched that in her cheeks and her golden eyes sparkled in anticipation. She was very intelligent for her age and seemed a good deal older than she actually was. She asked endless questions about the journey, about her grandmother, her aunt Damaris and grandfather Leigh. Then there was Great Grandfather Carleton and Great Grandmother Arabella to be visited at Eversleigh Court with Aunt Jane and Carl, her boy, and Uncle Edwin and Uncle Carl, if they were home, as they might well be for they had been away for a very long time.

  It was a day in July when we set out. Benjie stood in the courtyard as we settled ourselves in the coach. At our feet was a hamper containing cheese and bread, cold beef and mutton, plum cake and Dutch gingerbread as well as various kinds of liquid—wine, cherry brandy and ale.

  Clarissa, seeing the hamper, declared that she was hungry already.

  “You have to wait awhile,” I told her.

  “Why?” Everything one said to Clarissa at this stage produced a why, when or where.

  I said: “They are for during the journey, not before it starts.”

  “Not for when you’re hungry then.”

  “Yes, of course when you’re hungry.”

  “I’m hungry now.”

  Her attention was diverted by the horses being harnessed and she forgot about the hamper.

  Then we were settled in, and after waving farewell to Benjie, Clarissa’s nurse, nursery maid and some of the other servants who had come to see us off, we were rattling along the road.

  Our road took us along by the coast and we passed that house where I stayed with Hessenfield and his conspirators. It was inhabited and looked just like an ordinary house.

  Harriet glanced at me as we passed it but I pretended not to be aware of it and, putting an arm round Clarissa, I pointed out the gulls to her who were wheeling round and round diving down to the sea every now and then in search of food.

  At last we came to the Black Boar—that inn of many memories—and there we were greeted effusively by the landlord, who remembered us, and now that we came with our coach we were treated with very special respect.

  It was a strange feeling to be in that inn again. I found I was reliving every minute of that other visit. I really believed that Hessenfield had sent Beau right back into the recesses of my mind only to be brought out very rarely when something reminded me of him. The climax of my experience with Matt Pilkington had been so like a nightmare that I did not want to think of it anymore.

  I had to, though, because I would soon come face to face with Damaris.

  The landlord apologised again for once long ago having to put me into a room which was so unworthy of me.

  “The gentleman were back here not so long ago, my lady.”

  “The gentleman?” I said.

  “Yes, one of they who took the whole floor just before you arrived on that day. Do you remember?”

  “Oh … he came back did he?”

  “You know the one, my lady, that’s if you remember. The tall one … the leader of them all, you might say.”

  I felt a. wave of excitement sweep over me. “He was back?” I repeated.

  “Yes … he remembered you, my lady. Asked if you’d been this way since. I told him I hadn’t had a sight of you … bar once. There was the time you and my lady came and stayed here, you remember, with the gentlemen. I said: ‘Only once, sir, and I ain’t seen nothing of her since.’ ”

  “How long ago was it?” I asked.

  “Matter of weeks … no more.”

  I changed the subject by saying we should like the partridge pie for our supper.

  Harriet and I shared the room in which the General had rested. Clarissa slept in a little pallet beside the bed; but in the middle of the night I was awakened by her creeping in beside me. I had been dreaming of her father.

  I held her tightly. I had never thought I could feel the disinterested love I felt for this child.

  I was not sorry to leave the Black Boar, and early the next morning we set out on our journey. There is something very exciting about the clop-clop of horses hooves on the road and exhilarating in the early morning air. Clarissa and I watched through the window exclaiming to each other when we saw something which interested us.

  She called out for me to look at the lovely butterflies and directed my attention to the beautiful red admiral she had discovered. I wished that I knew the countryside as Damaris did, for I should have loved to instruct Clarissa.

  I was growing more and more apprehensive as we approached the Dower House. The desire kept coming over me to turn back. But of course that was impossible. I had to face my sister sometime. I could not imagine what her reaction would be. Perhaps she would refuse to speak to me. Perhaps she would reproach me bitterly. At least she would be prepared for our meeting—as I was.

  I wondered if she had told of what she had seen to my mother perhaps.

  I should have to wait and see.

  When we arrived at the Dower House they had already heard the sound of the carriage wheels, and there, waiting to greet us, were my mother and Leigh.

  I opened the door and I was in her arms. She was always emotional when we met.

  “Dearest Carlotta. It is so wonderful to see you.” There were tears in her eyes and she smiled brightly.

  “Hello, Priscilla,” said Harriet, “and here is your granddaughter. Clarissa, come and kiss your grandmother.”

  My mother knelt while Clarissa put her arms about her neck; she gave her a hearty kiss and my mother’s eyes beamed with happiness to look at her.

  “We had Dutch gingerbread in the hamper,” said Clarissa as though that was a most important piece of news.

  “Did you indeed?” said my mother.

  “Yes, and cake with fruit in it and cheese … and mutton and … and …”

  “Carlotta, you are as lovely as ever,” said Leigh. “You too, Harriet.”

  “Well, what do you think of our coach?” asked Harriet. “It has caused a lot of interest on the road so spare a thought for it, please.”

  “We are so happy to see you,” said my mother, “that we have no thoughts to spare just yet for anything else. But it is a magnificent vehicle. I must say that.”

  “The pride of Benjie’s life,” commented Harriet. “Next to Carlotta and, of course, Clarissa.”

  “They can take the coach to the stables. There’s room there,” said Leigh. “I’ll g
o with them to make sure.”

  “And you’ll come in,” said my mother. “You must be tired from the journey even in such a luxurious coach.”

  I said: “Where is Damaris?”

  My mother’s face was a little sad. “She is in her room. She did not feel well enough to get up today. I said I knew you would understand.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, “I understand. Is she often … unwell still?”

  My mother nodded and a worried expression appeared on her face.

  “She is better than she was, of course. But this terrible fever did something to her. Her limbs are often stiff … and they are painful. Sometimes she cannot lift her hands to brush her hair.”

  “Poor Damaris,” I said. “How is she … in spirits?”

  “In good spirits … sometimes. At others a little quiet. You know Damaris. She tries to hide the fact that she is in pain. She is always thinking of what is best for us … her father and me … and always puts on a bright face. Your coming should cheer her. She has been excited about it. I think she longs to see Clarissa.”

  “Shall I take the child up to her now?”

  “Yes, go up now. Go immediately. Then she’ll know that you went to her as soon as you came. Harriet, come with me and I’ll show you your room.”

  I took Clarissa by the hand.

  “We are going to see your aunt Damaris,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’d like to see you. She’s your aunt.”

  “Why is she my aunt?”

  “Because she’s my sister. Now don’t say why is she my sister. She is, and that’s it.”

  Clarissa hunched her shoulders with glee and we went upstairs. I clung to her hand. I felt she was going to ease an embarrassing encounter.

  I knocked at the door. Damaris said: “Who is it?”

  “Carlotta,” I said.

  A brief hesitation then: “Come in.”

  I opened the door. Clarissa ran forward. She stood by the couch looking at Damaris.

  “Oh, Damaris,” I said, “how … are you?”

  Her gaze met mine blankly. “Oh, I’m all right, Carlotta. Some days I am better than others.”

  She had changed, grown up. I hardly recognized her. She was thinner—but she had been too plump before. She was pale and there was a blank expression on her face as though she were lost and couldn’t find her way. I knew at once that the old admiration—almost amounting to adoration—which I had once inspired in her was gone.

  “Have you had a good journey?”

  “Yes, we came in the new coach.”

  “We had Dutch gingerbread,” Clarissa began.

  I said: “Oh, please, Clarissa, not again. Nobody wants to hear about food.”

  Damaris looked at the child’s bright face.

  “I’d like to,” she said, and her face was illuminated suddenly. It was as though life had returned to it.

  Clarissa then began to recite the items of the hamper and Damaris listened as though she was relating the most exciting adventure.

  “You’re my aunt,” she said suddenly.

  “Yes, I know,” said Damaris.

  “It’s because you’re my mother’s sister. Can I come up on your couch?”

  She climbed up and lay stretched out beside Damaris. She kept laughing as though it was a great joke.

  “Are you ill?” asked Clarissa.

  “In a way,” said Damaris. “Some days I have to rest.”

  “Why …?”

  Somehow they had managed to exclude me. They had formed an instant friendship. I remembered how Damaris used to be with all stray cats and dogs and birds with broken wings. It seemed she was the same with children.

  I was glad. Clarissa had saved me from an awkward situation. We had come through the first vital moments. I knew now that we were going to behave as though she had never come to Enderby Hall and seen me there with Matt Pilkington.

  I was immensely relieved. I was sure she was hating me, but being Damaris, brought up to a strict code of behaviour which insisted that good manners were paramount and must never be forgotten even in the most trying moments, we should behave as though our relationship was a normal one and had not changed in the least.

  Clarissa and she had struck up a very firm friendship and the child would spend hours in Damaris’s room. Damaris read to her and told her stories and sometimes they just talked.

  “I am so pleased,” said my mother, “that Clarissa is fond of Damaris. It is so good for Damaris to have her here. I am sure she has changed since she came.”

  I wanted to talk to my mother about Damaris. She was very much on my conscience.

  “What is wrong with Damaris?” I asked.

  “We’ve had several doctors … Your father even had one of the court physicians here. It started with a fever which was brought about by her being out all night in that fearful rain, lying there on that sodden ground in her wet clothes. All those hours she was there.”

  “Does she say … why she went into those woods while the storm was on …?”

  My mother was silent and my heart started to hammer against my side.

  I stammered: “She left Tomtit … That was not like her. You know how she always felt about horses and dogs. She always thought of them first.”

  “She had not been well for some days …” My mother frowned. “I suppose this fever suddenly overcame her and she wasn’t sure where she was … Then she went into the wood and collapsed, I suppose. Whatever it was … it happened and it has left her with this … I don’t know what.”

  “Is she in pain?”

  “Not so much now. But sometimes she finds it difficult to walk. She must rest. The doctors all say that. We are with her a great deal. Leigh plays chess with her and reads to her. She loves to be read to. I sit with her; we sew a little together. She seems happiest with us … and now Clarissa has come there is a change in her. Your little girl is doing Damaris a great deal of good. What a darling she is. Benjie must be proud of her.”

  Sometimes the secrets in my life weighed me down.

  I said: “What about … the Pilkingtons?”

  A look of scorn came into my mother’s eyes.

  “Oh, they’ve gone … completely.”

  “It’s odd …” I began.

  “Elizabeth Pilkington found the country too dull apparently.”

  “And … the son …? Wasn’t he interested in Damaris?”

  “Not when she became ill, apparently. He came to ask once or twice when she was very ill. Then he went away. Duty, he said. Something to do with the army. It was rather mysterious, really. We heard about estates in Dorsetshire and some career in the army. Yet he was here all that time during the summer. Then he went. And his mother left too. I understood her reasons for going. But I should have thought he …”

  “Do you think he had … upset Damaris?”

  “I think it’s likely. I think she may have had something on her mind that worried her and brought on this fever. Then unfortunately she had this collapse when she was out. That made it so dreadful.”

  “She will recover …”

  My mother said: “It has been a long time. She seems to have no life in her. It seems as though she wants to be shut away … by herself … with just me and Leigh. So it is wonderful to see her so happy with Clarissa. Oh, I am so glad you came, Carlotta. It has been so long … so dreadfully long.”

  “We must not let these absences happen again,” I said.

  “No. Whether Damaris would be fit to travel I don’t know. Perhaps we’ll have one of the new coaches. Leigh was talking about it. That must make travel easier.”

  “I don’t think we could have brought Clarissa without the coach. She’s going to have her first pony soon. Benjie thinks she can’t begin too early.”

  She took my hands in hers. “I am so glad to see you happy with Benjie. He is such a good man, Carlotta. I shall never forget that terrible time when you and …”

  “Beaumont Granville,” I
said.

  She shivered as though the mention of his very name had its effect on her.

  “We came through it,” she said, and there was a strange note to her voice. “It is all behind us now … All behind us.”

  I was silent. I was not so sure. But I would not say so to her. She had enough to worry her with Damaris in this state.

  She said brightly, “I wonder if you have changed your mind about Enderby. It just stands there year after year … that can’t be sensible, Carlotta.”

  “No,” I said, “it isn’t sensible.”

  I knew then that I never wanted to go into that house again. The memory of Damaris’s coming into that bedroom had suppressed all others.

  “Mother,” I said, “I’ve made up my mind. I am going to sell Enderby Hall.”

  Naturally we went to Eversleigh within a few days of our arrival. The grandparents were eager to see us.

  There was a big family party—the biggest for a long time. My uncle Edwin was there, the present Lord Eversleigh home from the war for a brief while. My other uncle, Carl, was also there. Besides them there was Jane and her son. Then there was my grandfather Carleton and grandmother Arabella, besides myself and Harriet with my mother, Leigh and Clarissa. Damaris was with us. It was the first time she had left the house and Harriet had said that she should go the short distance in the coach and if it was one of her bad days someone could carry her into the house.

  “I will,” declared Clarissa which made everyone laugh.

  Damaris was about to protest, and Clarissa said: “So you’ll have to come now, Aunt Damaris, or I’ll think you’re laughing at me like all these other people.”

  That seemed to decide Damaris.

  “Well, I could try,” she said.

  My mother was delighted. “I have thought all along,” she said, “that if we could get rid of this listlessness …”

  “If she made an effort, you mean,” said Harriet. “Well, Clarissa has made it impossible for her to refuse on this occasion.”

  So Damaris came with us and Clarissa sat beside her and told her all about the coach once more, to which Damaris listened as though enthralled.

  My grandmother was delighted to see us and was really excited because Damaris had come.