The Song of the Siren

That was what I wanted. I had done the right thing.

I walked up the staircase and turned into the minstrels’ gallery. Something was different there. Oh yes, one of the stools had been moved forward and there was an impression on it as though someone had recently sat there.

Of course, Mistress Pilkington had been here. Then I smelt the scent. It was unmistakable.

It gave me a shock and set my heart hammering against my side.

It was that smell of musk. It brought back Beau so clearly. I could see his face, hear his voice. He had told me that he liked the scent because of its strength. He was interested in perfumes; he distilled them himself. Musk was the erotic perfume, he said. It was often added to others to give them a touch of the erotic. It was the aphrodisiac perfume. “Do you know, Carlotta, that it is absorbed by everything that comes near it. It stimulates desire. It is the love perfume.”

That was how he talked, and the strong odour of the musk smell brought him back more clearly than anything could.

My mood changed at once. If I thought I had escaped from the spell he had laid on me I was mistaken. He was back as strong as ever.

For the first few seconds I was so overcome by my emotion that I did not ask myself why I should smell this in the minstrels’ gallery. I just stood there with the longing to see him again so strongly with me that I could think of nothing else.

Then I thought to myself: But how did it come here? Someone has been here, someone so scented with musk that it remains after he or she has left.

Mistress Pilkington. Of course. But I had not noticed she was using musk when I had shown her round the house and I could not have failed to notice if she had. I recalled there was a delicate perfume clinging to her. It was of violets as far as I remembered.

She had the key. That was the answer. Why was I standing here in this dazed fashion?

There was a perfectly logical explanation. Beau was not the only person who had used musk to scent his linen. There was quite a fashion among the fastidious gentlemen of the Court. It had come in with the Restoration. Beau said there were so many evil smells in London, and all over the country, for that matter, that a man must do something to prevent their assaulting his nostrils.

I must not be foolish and fanciful.

I would leave at once. There was no point in going through the house. I was too upset.

No matter what explanation I could offer, the scent had conjured up too vivid a picture of him. I wanted to get away.

And then suddenly I saw it glinting on one of the floorboards. I stooped and picked it up. It was a button. A very unusual button, gold, and very delicately engraved.

I had seen that button before. It had been on a coat of claretcoloured velvet. I had admired the buttons very much. Beau had said: “I had them especially made for me by my goldsmith. Always remember, Carlotta, that it is the finishing touches to the garment which give it quality. Now these buttons make this coat unique.”

And here ... lying on the floor of the minstrels’ gallery was one of those buttons.

Surely it could mean only one thing. Beau had been here.

“Beau,” I whispered, half expecting him to materialize beside me.

There was nothing but the silence of the house. I turned the button over in my hand.

It was real. This was no hallucination. It was as real as the scent which hung about the place-Beau’s scent.

It is a sign, I thought. It is a portent because I am proposing to sell the house.

I sat down on one of the stools and leaned my head against the balustrade. The indentation on the chair, the scent ... they could have meant anything.

But the button, that was proof positive.

When had I last seen him wearing that coat? It was in London. yes. He had not worn it here as far as I remembered. Yet here was this button. He could not have lost it while he was here. Surely it would have been found before if he had.

I was bewildered. I was overcome by my emotions and found it difficult to understand them. I did not know whether I was wild with joy or filled with misery. I was lost in limbo, black and uncertain. I called his name again. My voice echoed through the house. That was no good. What if that stupid little Damaris was hiding somewhere, spying on me? No, that was not fair. Damaris did not spy. But she did have a habit of turning up when she wasn’t wanted.

Beau! What does this mean? Are you there? Are you hiding? Are you teasing me?

I went out of the gallery. I was going to look through the house. I went to our bedroom.

I could smell the musk there.

It was awe inspiring, and the darkness would soon fall. The ghosts would come out-if ghosts there were.

“Oh, Beau, Beau,” I whispered, “are you here somewhere? Give me a sign. Let me understand what this means.”

I could feel the button growing hot in my hand. I half expected it to disappear but it was still there.

I went out of the house to my horse.

It was dark when I reached the Dower House. Priscilla was in the hall.