Song of the Siren

by Philippa Carr

  ‘Anything happen? What do you mean?’

  ‘We live in a dangerous world. People are killed on the roads. I heard only yesterday of a family who were travelling in their coach and were set on by footpads. There was resistance and the wife was shot. There were Harriet and Gregory too… It has set me thinking. If anything should happen to us while Sabrina needs to be cared for… would you look after her… for me?’

  ‘Oh, dearest Aunt Damaris, of course I would.’ I felt suddenly uplifted. For the first time since I arrived in England I had been made to feel I was not a child. I was someone capable of accepting responsibility and they realized it.

  Was that what being an heiress meant?

  My Great-Uncle Carl, of whom I had seen very little, had come home. He had been abroad fighting during the war and had distinguished himself in the service of the Duke of Marlborough and won honours at Blenheim, Oudenarde and Malplaquet. He was something of a hero and Great-Grandfather Carleton was clearly very proud of him.

  I heard my Grandmother Priscilla say to Damaris: ‘Your grandfather always loved Carl best. I can tell you that when I was a young girl I always took second place. No, not even that. He hardly noticed my existence.’

  ‘He does now,’ said Damaris, and Priscilla just looked thoughtful.

  So here was Uncle Carl—bronzed and handsome, a hero returned from the wars. He must have been in his mid-forties; he was four years or so younger than Priscilla. He was still in the army, of course, and had a great deal to think about.

  He did not come alone but brought with him Sir Lance Clavering, who was much younger than he was and who had also returned from the war. Uncle Carl had been his commanding officer and clearly had some respect for him. Lance Clavering was, according to Arabella, nothing more than a boy. I suppose he seemed so to her but he was quite mature to me. He was in fact twenty years old, nearly eight years older than I was and that made him seem very grown up. I thought him outstandingly handsome. His clothes were exquisite. He was not in uniform like Uncle Carl because he had merely been a soldier during the war. Uncle Carl was General Eversleigh, and a regular soldier.

  But it was Lance who held my attention. His fresh complexion was accentuated by the whiteness of his Ramillies wig which was drawn back from his brow and puffed out full over the ears. At the back it was made into a plait which was tied at the bottom and at the nape of his neck with black satin bows. The cuffs of his elegantly cut full-skirted coat were trimmed with exquisite lace; this coat came down to his knees so that his breeches were not visible but I could glimpse a beautifully embroidered waistcoat. His stockings were white and his black shoes had silver buckles. On one of the gold buttons on his coat hung a cane. I had never seen such a picture of elegance and I was greatly impressed.

  I was presented to him by my Great-Uncle Carl who seemed fond of him in an amused sort of way. He was to stay with us for a while, I learned, until he went with Carl to York. Their business there was secret because I was warned not to ask anything about it.

  They both stayed at Eversleigh Court.

  At Enderby we discussed Lance at length. Jeremy thought him a fop, but Damaris was inclined to be more tolerant.

  ‘Uncle Carl seems to think something of him,’ she said. ‘After all, he’s travelling to York with him on what appears to be important business.’

  ‘I can’t understand that,’ muttered Jeremy.

  ‘He is only a young man,’ Damaris pointed out. ‘He must have been only a boy when he joined the army. That shows some strength of character surely when he might have been at home having a good time in London. I believe he comes of a rich family.’

  Jeremy grunted. Of course he would not like Lance Clavering. If ever two men were the exact opposites these two were. Lance was in constant good humour. He seemed to find life a great joke. He was extremely gallant and expressed interest in whatever interested other people. He even discussed the making of country wines with Priscilla; with Damaris he talked of dogs and horses, and with the men he discussed the battles of the war with a knowledge that almost equalled that of Great-Uncle Carl himself. Even Great-Grandfather Carleton was amused by him. Lance and I rode together on one or two occasions and he made a great effort to discover what interested me and then talked about it with such enthusiasm that one would have believed the subject was the one nearest his heart. He had charm, grace, elegance and above all that overwhelming desire to please.

  ‘He is a great asset to any gathering,’ was Arabella’s comment.

  Jeanne said: ‘Oh, but what a pretty gentleman!’ And when I told him what she had said he was not in the least offended. He burst out laughing and said he must make sure to remain pretty for Jeanne.

  His imperturbable good humour was catching and there was a great deal of laughter when he was present. Life seemed a joke to him. When the men went hunting, one of our neighbours—a ‘country boor’, Carleton called him—made a point of splashing through a muddy stream so that the dirty water spattered Lance’s pearl-grey riding habit. Lance brushed it aside, I heard, with nonchalance and made the perpetrator of the so-called joke more uncomfortable than he was.

  He was always wagering something. It was a favourite expression of his: ‘I’ll wager this…’ or ‘I’ll wager that…’

  One day when we were all at Eversleigh Court round the dinner table the talk turned to the arrival of the new King and Great-Grandfather Carleton was saying that it was a pity we had to call on a German to give us the sort of rule we wanted.

  All the family were staunchly Protestant. I was the only one who wavered and that was solely because Hessenfield had been a Jacobite. But I did realize that I knew very little about the controversy and I had heard so much at Eversleigh about the errors of Catholicism that I was ready to accept the fact that the Protestant succession was best for the country.

  ‘But even with our staunch Protestants the new King is not popular,’ said Arabella.

  ‘Anne called him the German-Boor, and it is a fitting description,’ said Great-Uncle Carl.

  ‘But we don’t want the Jacobites back,’ cried Carleton. ‘And George seems the only alternative.’

  ‘At least he is in the line of succession,’ put in Arabella. ‘I remember hearing about his grandmother… oh, long ago, when I was a girl. She was the sister of King Charles who lost his head—and a very beautiful Princess, they said. She married the Elector Palatine. Sophia was her daughter and as George was Sophia’s son he has a claim to the throne.’

  ‘The Jacks wouldn’t say that while we have the son of James panting to take the crown,’ said Lance, laughing as though it were a great joke. ‘They’ll never put him back. The people don’t want it. But they’ll have a good try.’

  Uncle Carl flashed a look at him which might have been a warning.

  Lance tapped the side of his nose exaggeratedly to show that the point was taken and he was still smiling as he went on: ‘Old George is not so bad, I hear. He’s a good friend… to his friends, and he’s quick to forget an injury. He’s good-tempered, and as mean as a man can be. He regrets spending a groat. He’s completely ignorant of literature and art and doesn’t want to be otherwise. ‘Boetry?’ Lance made what I guessed to be a good imitation of a German accent. ‘Boetry… vat ist not vor shentelmans.’ But of course his English is not nearly as clear as that. Poor old George, I believe he did not want to come here one little bit.’

  ‘People won’t like a German,’ said Arabella.

  ‘They’ll get used to him,’ added Priscilla.

  ‘I believe people get used to anything in time,’ went on Lance, ‘even Mesdemoiselles Kielmansegge and Schulemberg.’

  ‘And who are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Do have some more of this roast beef,’ cut in Priscilla.

  ‘We thought the sloe gin was particularly good this year,’ added Arabella.

  This was another instance of their protection. I knew at once that there was something shocking to be learned about the ladies Lance had men
tioned and that I was being shielded once more, so I repeated, looking directly at Lance: ‘Who are they?’

  ‘They are the King’s mistresses,’ he answered, smiling at me.

  ‘Clarissa is… er…’ began Damaris, blushing a little.

  ‘The lady Clarissa is more worldly than you give her credit for,’ said Lance, and I think he won my heart at that moment. He turned to me and went on: ‘They are German ladies… one incredibly fat, the other amazingly lean. You see, his Germanic Majesty likes variety. They speak very little English, like himself, and they are two of the most unattractive women in Europe. It is considered something of a joke that they should be the first German imports to show the country.’

  ‘It all sounds a bit of a joke,’ I said.

  ‘It is. I always thought so much in life is. Do you agree?’

  So we bantered and talked and the family watched and I really believe that at last they realized I was not the baby they had been imagining I was. Lance had made them see that I was almost grown up, and I loved him for that.

  It transpired that my Great-Uncle Carl and Lance would shortly be leaving for York. They were on some mission for the army.

  Damaris said: ‘Clarissa is going north to stay with her father’s relations. Perhaps she could accompany you as far as York. That is surely on the way. It would be a great relief to know that she had your protection… even so far!’

  Lance immediately cried out that it was a capital idea and after a few moments’ reflection Carl said he was sure it could be managed. It would mean my setting out a little before I had intended but Damaris was reconciled to that because she thought it would be good for me to travel with Carl and Lance.

  Preparations became intensive and while we were packing Damaris said to me: ‘I wonder if you would mind if I kept Jeanne here? She seems to manage Sabrina better than anyone.’

  I was disappointed, because I had grown so fond of Jeanne, and her bright Anglo-French conversation was always amusing to listen to. However, I did know how useful she was to Damaris and I was so excited at the prospect of my journey that I readily said of course she must stay.

  It was a warm day—the last of September—when we set out. We could not have left it much later. Damaris had said a tearful farewell to me and Jeremy stood beside her, a little reproachful because I so obviously wanted to meet my father’s family. Jeanne was both tearful and voluble. She was torn between her desire to be with the new little baby and to come with me whom she regarded as her very own.

  I was really rather glad to get away and felt ashamed of myself for this. I will get back before Christmas if that’s possible, I thought, for I knew they would hate to celebrate Christmas at Eversleigh without me.

  I rode between Carl and Lance Clavering and we were all very merry once we were on the high road and had left the sadness of parting behind us.

  It was a beautiful morning. The warmth of summer was still with us although the leaves of the oaks had turned to a deep bronze, and in the hedgerows the field maples were showing their orange and red banners. The tang of the sea was in the faint mist which enveloped everything and gave a touch of misty blueness to the woods.

  With us were two serving-men and two more to look after the packhorses. They rode behind us keeping a watch on the roads.

  Lance said: ‘How I love setting out on a journey. It’s an adventure in itself. Do you think so, Clarissa? The sun will break through at any moment. But I like the mist. Do you? There is an air of mystery about a mist… mystery and adventure. What say you, Clarissa?’

  His questions were rhetorical. He never waited for answers. ‘It’s a morning for singing,’ he went on. ‘What say you?’ Then he broke into song.

  ‘There came seven gipsies on a day

  Oh, but they sang bonny O

  And they sang so sweet and they sang so clear

  Down came the Earl’s lady O

  ‘They gave to her the nutmeg

  They gave to her the ginger

  But she gave to them a far better thing

  The seven gold rings off her fingers.’

  ‘You’ll awaken the countryside,’ said Carl.

  ‘They should be about at this hour,’ retorted Lance. ‘It’s such a pathetic story. Do you know the rest of it, Clarissa?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘The Earl’s lady went off with the gipsies.’

  ‘So you do know the story.’ He went on singing:

  ‘Last night I lay on a good feather bed

  And my own wedded lord beside me

  And tonight I’ll lie in the ash corner

  With the gipsies all around me.

  ‘The castle lost for the love of the gipsies. What do you think of the Earl’s lady? Was she a wise woman or a foolish one?’

  ‘Foolish,’ I replied promptly. ‘She would soon get tired of the ash corner and the gipsies all around her. She’ll be wanting her high-heeled Spanish shoes before long, you can be sure.’

  ‘What a practical girl you are! I thought you would have more romantic ideas. Most girls have.’

  ‘I am not most girls. I am myself.’

  ‘Ah, we have an individualist here.’

  ‘I think the lady was not only foolish but unkind.’ I sang the last verse of the song.

  ‘The Earl of Casham is lying sick

  Not one hair I’m sorry

  I’d rather have a kiss from his fair lady’s lips

  Than all his gold and money.’

  ‘And you find such sentiments foolish?’ asked Lance.

  ‘Extremely so.’

  So we chattered rather frivolously until we stopped at an inn for refreshment and to rest the horses; but after a short stay there we were on our way again.

  We passed through villages and towns and I noticed that Carl was watchful, as though he were looking out for something. I knew of course that they were going to York for some secret purpose and I was glad, for to travel in their company—and particularly that of Lance—was exhilarating.

  Through the golden afternoon we rode on and at dusk came to an inn which they had previously decided should be the one where we spent the night.

  Rooms were prepared for us and we had a grand meal of fish with a delicious sauce, followed by roast mutton and a kind of syllabub which was a speciality of the innkeeper’s wife. I was given cider and the man sat back sipping their port. While we were at table a man came into the dining room. I don’t know why I noticed him. He was dressed in a dark brown frieze coat with black buttons, brown shoes and black stockings. On his formally curled peruke was a three-cornered hat which he took off when he came into the inn parlour.

  He sat close by and I had the impression that he was interested in us. It might have been that Lance Clavering’s elegance would arouse interest wherever he went. Uncle Carl certainly looked less impressive without his uniform. As for myself I was only a very young girl and I had a feeling that it was the men who were arousing the stranger’s interest. He sat quietly in a corner and after a while I forgot him.

  I was tired out with the day’s riding and the fresh air had made me sleepy, and as soon as I was shown to my room I went to bed and slept deeply. I was amazed that morning came so swiftly and I was aroused by the stirring of the inn folk. I got up and looked out of my window. Lance was down there. He looked up and saw me.

  ‘Did you sleep well, beauteous maid?’ he asked.

  ‘The sleep of exhaustion,’ I told him.

  ‘What tired you so? Not my company, I hope.’

  ‘No, that was enlivening. I went to sleep thinking about the Earl’s lady.’

  ‘That foolish one! There’s no need to hurry this morning. We shall be late leaving. One of the horses has cast a shoe. They’ll be taking her along to the smith.’

  ‘Oh… when did this happen?’

  ‘I’ve just discovered it. We shall be leaving at eleven. That will give us a chance to go to the fair.’

  ‘The fair? What fair?’

  ‘With your entertainmen
t in mind, I. have been acquainting myself with the lie of the land. It seems that in the village of Langthorn … or is it Longhorn, I am not sure… in any case, the fair comes to the village twice a year and it so happens that this day is one of its biannual visits. Fortuitous, you may say, and so it is. The powers that be are determined that this shall be an interesting journey for all concerned.’

  ‘What does my great-uncle say?’

  ‘He is resigned. He has some business to do here, in any case. So he said to me, “Will you look after my little niece for an hour or so, Clavering?” I replied, “Indeed I will, sir. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, sir. If you have no objection, your little niece and I will visit the fair.” He gave his willing consent to this excursion.’

  ‘Are you always so exuberant and talkative?’

  ‘Only when I have an appreciative audience.’

  ‘You find me appreciative?’

  ‘I find you everything I would wish you to be at the precise moment I would wish it. Now that, my dear Clarissa, is the definition of an attractive woman.’

  ‘I suspect that you do not mean all the flattering things you say.’

  ‘A statement of fact is not flattery, is it? One eulogizes because the spirit moves one to do so. One speaks as one finds and if there is a flow of words… well, that is useful, but it is not flattery. To you I speak the truth and if it seems overfulsome that is because modesty is yet another of your excellent virtues.’

  ‘Have you ever been at a loss for words?’

  ‘There have been times. At the gaming table, perhaps, when I have lost more than I could afford.’

  ‘That must be alarming.’

  ‘Well, it is part of the gamble. If a man won every time there would be no excitement, would there? But I must not talk to you of gambling. Your family would heartily disapprove of that. Well, what say you to a visit to the fair?’

  ‘I should love it.’

  ‘Then break your fast early, and we’ll set off. I promise you an exciting morning.’

  ‘I will be as quick as I can.’

  I turned from the window, pulled the bell-rope and asked for hot water. I washed and went down. While I was eating hot crisp bacon on crusty bread and drinking a mug of ale, the man in the frieze coat came in. He was dressed for departure. He talked to the landlord about his horse. He was obviously rather anxious to be on his way.