The Song of the Siren

There was silence and then Hessenfield said: “Find something for her.” They found a back scratcher on the dressing table; it was long and thin, yet strong, made of ebony and had carved claws at the end.

I found the throbbing point and put a pad of cloth over it; then I tied a strip of bandage over it leaving a half-knot in which I placed the back scratcher before tying it firmly. Then I carefully turned the wood, tightened the bandage as I had seen Leigh do. It was not long before the profuse bleeding had stopped.

I sat by the bed and anxiously watched the General. The men were looking at the wounded man. I could see that he was badly injured and wondered how he had affected his escape from the Tower.

It seemed a long time before the doctor came. He was obviously nervous and I guessed that he was a Jacobite and would not have been brought to the house otherwise.

I explained to him what I had done. He said: “Good. Good,” and I felt an immense lifting of my spirits.

“He has lost a lot of blood,” he said. “A little more could have been fatal. This action may well have saved his life.”

I was overwhelmed with joy. Hessenfield was looking at me with a sort of proprietary pride which amused me and I must say gave me a certain exhilaration.

I was walked out of the room by the man called Durrell and put in the next one. He stood guarding me. I knew that he would have despatched me on the spot if he had had his way.

He was not young; he must have been about fifty. There was fanaticism in his face; I guessed he was a man who would take up a cause and give everything to it. He was different from Hessenfield, to whom I was sure life was intended to be enjoyed however serious the undertaking. Hessenfield must be at least twenty years younger than this man. I guessed him to be about thirty, though, like Beau, he appeared to be younger.

I wished I could stop comparing him with Beau.

I heard the doctor leave. Hessenfield came into the room. He was smiling. “He’ll be all right,” he said. “He couldn’t have afforded to lose much more blood. You see, Durrell, our lady is proving a useful member of the party. Perhaps she will prove to be more useful. Who knows? There is usually some good to be found in feminine society.”

Durrell went close to him and whispered: “Do you realise someone has to guard her all the time?”

“I shall make that my special pleasure.”

“All the time ... have you thought what that means?”

“All the time will be only a day or so.”

“It might be a week.”

“No! Three days at most.”

“Weather permitting,” said Durrell.

I guessed then that they were here to wait for a ship to take them to France.

I was beginning to piece the story together.

The two men went out and one of the younger ones, named James, was sent to guard me. James was very young, about eighteen, I supposed, an earnest boy who I was sure was longing to die for his cause.

I was getting to know them all. Hessenfield, Durrell, James, Shaw and Carstairs.

James was the son of Carstairs. They were of the nobility, I believed, and at one time had been at court. Hessenfield clearly the leader-which was fortunate for me, for there was no doubt that had it been left to Durrell I should have been dead by now. Durrell believed that I was an encumbrance and I could quite see his point. At least I had been useful in attending to the General, and the General’s life was of the utmost importance to them otherwise why should they all have risked their own to save it?

It was like living in a dream. In fact, I kept thinking that I was going to wake up and find it really was one. It was so fantastic to find myself in a mysterious house which looked as though it had been inhabited a few minutes before we arrived and then was miraculously empty. In the kitchens, I was to discover, were hams and joints of beef and mutton. There were pies in the larder-ample food to feed a party of men for at least a week. It was clear that we had been expected. And here was I in the heart of this fantastic adventure with a sword of Damocles hanging over my head, for I was here on sufferance. One false step and that would be the end of me. I was being allowed to live because of some purpose the man called Hessenfield had in store for me. I had stumbled on a dangerous plot and become part of it.

I did not need an explanation of what was happening. It was obvious. They were Jacobites; General Langdon had tried to raise an army to fight for James; he had been discovered, imprisoned and would have been condemned to death. Then a band of bold conspirators, headed by Hessenfield, had rescued him from the Tower and they were trying to get him out of the country. That was why they were in this house waiting for the ship which would take them across to France where they would join King James at St. Germain-en-Laye.