The Song of the Siren (2 page)

I would go over to Enderby and stand there in the hall and listen to the silence of the house. I would whisper his name and wait for some response.

It never came. Only in dreams.

There is a certain comfort in writing down my feelings. By doing so I may come to a better understanding of what has happened and of myself too.

I shall soon be seventeen. I shall go to London and there will be entertainments there and at Eversleigh, for my grandparents as well as Priscilla and Leigh will want to provide me with a husband. I shall have suitors by the score. My fortune will take care of that; but as Harriet says I have what she calls that special quality which attracts the opposite

sex like bees round the honey. She should know, for she has had it all her life.

“The trouble is,” she once said, “that the wasps come too-and all other kinds of noisome insects. What we have can be the greatest asset a woman can have, but, like most such gifts, wrongly handled it can work against us.” Harriet has never denied herself the intimate society of men and I feel sure that she would have behaved exactly as I did with Beau. She had had her first lover when she was fourteen; it had not been a. passionate love affair but it had provided both her and her lover with advantages and she added when she told me: “Made us both very happy while it lasted, which is what life is meant to do.”

I think I feel closer to Harriet than to anyone-except Beau. After all I had believed Harriet to be my mother for a long time. Harriet was a perfect mother. She never smothered me with affection; she never wanted to know where I had been, how I was getting on with my lessons; she was never anxious about me. I found Priscilla’s obvious anxiety exasperating. I did not want my conscience disturbed by the fears of Priscilla for my welfare-particularly after I met Beau. Harriet was a comforting presence, though. I felt that she would help me if I were in difficulties and she would understand my feelings for Beau as my real mother never could.

I was always welcome at Eyot Abbass, and Benjie was there a good deal. I was rather fond of Benjie. He was Harriet’s son, and for a long time I had believed him to be my brother. I knew he was very fond of me. He was so delighted to discover that I was not his sister, and that seemed to indicate something which I might have found interesting if I had not been so completely absorbed by Beau.

Benjie is a good deal older than I-it must be about twelve years but I know how he feels about me. I became aware of it when Beau became my lover. In fact, I became aware of a good deal then. “You grew up overnight, as they say,” commented Beau,

“which means, my dear innocent, that you have ceased to be a child and have become a woman.” Beau laughed at everything; there was so much that he despised; I think he despised innocence so much that he wanted to destroy it. He was quite different from everyone I had ever known. There would never be anyone else to take his place.

He must come back. There must be some explanation. Sometimes when I

smelt somewhere the faint musk-like smell-a mixture of scent and sandalwood-it would bring back poignant memories of him. His linen had always been scented with it; he was very fastidious; once when we were at the house he made me undress and he filled a bath with water which he scented with a scent of rose and made me bathe in it; and then he anointed me with the rose-scented lotion, which he said he had made himself; and he was very amused when we made love as though it was some ritual and there was some significance in it.

Harriet talked of him now and then. She did not know of course that he had been at the house. “He’s gone away,” she said. “Forget him, Carlotta.”

I said: “He’ll come back.”

She said nothing but her beautiful eyes were unusually sad.

“Why should he go away?” I demanded.

“Because he decided that it was useless to wait. There was too much opposition.”

“There was no opposition from me.”

“How can we know what took him?” she said. “But the fact remains that he has gone.”

I knew what she was thinking. He had gone abroad. In London, where he was well known in Court circles, it was being said that that was what he had done. When Harriet went to London she had heard that he had disappeared leaving enormous debts. She hinted that he had gone off in pursuit of another heiress. I could not tell even her that we had been meeting at Enderby, that we were making plans to elope.

It was strange how at times I felt so much aware of him. I often went to Enderby and sometimes I would shut myself in the bedroom and lie on the four-poster bed and dream it was all happening again.

I felt an irresistible urge to go there whenever I dreamed of him. That was how I felt after the dream and on the afternoon of the day which followed that night when he had seemed so real to me I rode over to Enderby. It was not very far, ten minutes’

ride at the most. When I used to go to meet Beau I walked over because I didn’t want anyone to see my horse and know that I was there.

On this day I tethered my horse to the post by the mounting block

and taking out the key opened the door. I stood in the hall. It was a lovely old place, the vaulted roof was quite magnificent and the panelling on the walls was beautiful; at one end of the hall were the screens, beyond which were the kitchens, and at the other end was the minstrels’ gallery. It was supposed to be the haunted part because one of the owners whose husband had been involved in the Rye House Plot had tried to hang herself over that gallery; the rope was too long and she injured herself and lived in lingering agony afterwards. At least that was the story I heard.

I remember one occasion when I entered. Beau appared there dressed up in a female costume he had found in the house. He liked to frighten me.

Now as I came in, my eyes immediately went to the gallery. They always did, and I thought, as I had a thousand times, how happy I would be if I could have seen him, if I could have had some indication that he was somewhere, that he would come back for me.

But there was nothing. Just silence and gloom, and that terrible oppressive atmosphere, that sense of brooding evil. I went across the hall, my footsteps ringing out on the stone pavings of the floor, and up the stairs, past the empty gallery.

I opened the door of the bedroom which we had made ours. The bed looked impressive with its velvet hangings. I began to think of the people who had died in that bed; then suddenly I flung myself down on it and buried my face in the velvet bolster.

“Oh, Beau. Beau, where are you?” I cried. “Why did you leave me? Where did you go?”

I started. I sat up in bed. It was as though I had been answered. I knew I was not alone. Someone was in the house. It was a movement. A footstep? Was it a footstep?

I knew the sounds of this house, the creak of the old wood, the protesting groan of a floorboard. I used to be afraid when I lay on this bed with Beau that we would be discovered. How he had laughed at me. I think he rather hoped we would be. Once he said: “I should love to see Prim Priscilla’s face when she saw me in bed with her daughter.” Yes, I did know the sounds of the house and I now had a firm conviction that I was not ajone in it.

A wild elation possessed me. My first thought was: He has come back.

”Beau!” I called. “Beau! I’m here, Beau.”

The door opened. My heart leapt and I felt that it would suffocate me.

Then I felt furiously angry. It was my half sister, Damaris, who had come into the room.

“Damaris!” I stammered. “What... what are you doing here?”

My disappointment sickened me and for the moment I hated my sister. She stood there, her lips slightly parted, her eyes round with astonishment; she was not a pretty child; she was quiet, obedient, and had a desire to please, which our mother said was “engaging.” I had always found her rather dull; I ignored her in the main, but now I positively hated her. She looked so neat and clean in her pale blue gown with its sash of a slightly lighter hue and her long brown hair hanging down in loose curls. There was a certain amount of curiosity in her expression which was rapidly replacing the concern.

“I thought someone was with you, Carlotta,” she said. “You were talking to someone, were you not?”

“I called out to know who was there. You startled me.” I frowned at her accusingly.

Her mouth was a round O. She had no subtlety. Perhaps one should not expect it of a child of ten. What had I said? I believed I had called out Beau’s name. Had she noticed it? I felt certain she had never heard of Beau.

“I thought you said something like Bow,” she said.

“You were mistaken,” I told her quickly. “I said: ‘Who’s there?’ “

“But...”

“You imagined the rest,” I went on sharply. I had risen from the bed and gripped her none too gently by the shoulder so that she winced a little. I was glad. I wanted to hurt her. “You have no right to come here,” I said. “This is my house and I came to see that it was all right.”

“Were you testing the bed?”

I looked at her intently. No, there was no ulterior motive in the remark. No suggestions.

No probing. One thing about my little sister, she was completely innocent. She was only ten years old in any case.

I pondered. Should I try to give her some explanation? No, it was best to leave things as they were. We went out of the house together.

”How did you get here?” I asked.

“I walked.”

I mounted my horse. “Then you can walk back,” I said.

It was two days later and a Saturday. I was in the garden of the Dower House when a man appeared on horseback. He dismounted and bowed to me.

“Am I mistaken or is this the Dower House Eversleigh and does Captain Leigh Main live here?”

“You are right. He is not here at the moment but will be back very soon, I believe.

Do come in. I’ll show you where you can tether your horse.”

“Thank you. You must be his daughter.”

“His stepdaughter.”

“I’m Gervaise Langdon. We were in the army together.”

“General Langdon!” I cried. “I have heard him mention your name. General Sir Gervaise Langdon. Is that right?”

“I see you are well informed.”

I took him to the post by the mounting block and as I was directing him towards the house my mother appeared.

“This is General Sir Gervaise Langdon, mother,” I said.

Priscilla cried: “Oh, please come in. My husband should be here very soon.”

“I was passing through the district,” explained Sir Gervaise, “and I remembered my old friend lived here so I thought I would pay him a visit.”

“He will be delighted. He has talked of you a great deal, hasn’t he, Carlotta? This is my daughter Carlotta.”

Sir Gervaise bowed again to me. “It is a great pleasure,” he said.

My mother led the way into the hall.

“I was about to call at the big house,” said Sir Gervaise, “and one of the grooms there told me that you were now at the Dower House.”

“Oh, yes,” said my mother. “My parents are at the Court.”

“Lord Eversleigh too, I believe. Where is Edwin now?”

“He’s abroad on service,” said my mother.

“Ah, yes. I had hoped to see him too.”

‘You know my husband has retired from the army, of course.”

“Yes, indeed I do. Eversleigh stays on.”

”Yes, but I think his wife would like him to do what Leigh has done.”

“A pity,” said the General. “We need men like them.”

“I always think that their families need them too.”

“Ah, the wives’ complaint!” said the General with a smile.

Priscilla took him into the drawing room and sent for wine and cakes.

Damaris appeared and was introduced.

“You have two charming daughters,” said the General.

He talked to us about his travels abroad and how delighted he was to be in England, and while this was going on Leigh arrived. He was delighted to see the General and after a while my mother said she was sure they had a great deal to say to each other and she hoped the General was in no hurry and would stay awhile.

He replied that he was going to visit his old friend Ned Netherby and planned to stay the night at an inn about four miles on and then go to Netherby the following day.

“But you cannot do that,” cried my mother. “You must stay here for the night. We wouldn’t hear of your going to stay at an inn, would we Leigh?”

Leigh said that the General must stay and the latter needed little persuasion.

“Then that is settled,” said my mother. “You will excuse me and I will see that they get your room ready. Carlotta, Damaris, come along and help.”

We went out with her.

“I could see that the General wished to talk to your father,” she said. “They will have memories to share. I know they served together at one time.”

I went to my room and Damaris went to help my mother. I was mildly excited as I always was by visitors; and there was something about the General which made me feel that this was not an idle call. There was something purposeful about him. He was an attractive man. He must have been about six feet tall and a little older than Leigh, I imagine.

He had a very military bearing and there was no doubt that he was a soldier. There was a scar on his right cheek to confirm this. It added to rather than detracted from his rugged good looks.

I had an idea that he might have come to persuade Leigh to come back to the army.

A thought I was sure could not have occurred to my mother or her welcome would not have been so warm.

At dinner there was a great deal of talk about the old army days and Leigh quite clearly enjoyed these reminiscences.

The General talked about the King, whom he clearly did not like. “The Dutchman,”

he called

him and used the term as one of contempt; and when he mentioned his name

his colour deepened and the scar showed up whiter in contrast to the reddish tinge of his skin.

We left them talking together over their wine and my mother said to me: “He is a charming man but I hope he is not reminding Leigh too much of his life in the army.

He talks about it as though it is some sort of paradise.”