The Song of the Siren

Emily Philpots had hinted that she was a witch. There had been times when I could believe it.

During that first meal she dominated the table. She had been to London recently and had all the Court news. She was aware of what the Duke of Marlborough was doing on the Continent and how the war was progressing; she talked of the new book Daniel Defoe had written: The Shortest Way with Dissenters, or Proposals for the Establishment of the Church. “Such a brilliant satire on the intolerance of the Church party,” she commented. She talked blithely of the Whigs and the Tories and was apparently on terms of friendship with some of the leading men of affairs.

This made her conversation racy and amusing. She sparkled and became even more beautiful every minute.

My mother said: “But how can you do all this? You have your household now you are married. What of Benjie and Clarissa?”

“Oh, Eyot Abbass was never like it is here, you know,” said Carlotta, somehow relegating our household to the category of boring dullness. “Harriet was never one to concern herself with domestic affairs and the men of the family were brought up to understand and like it that way. Benjie goes to London when I want to. As for Clarissa, we have an excellent nurse and a very good little nursery maid. Clarissa doesn’t need more than that.”

“Why on earth didn’t Benjie come with you?”

“I wanted to come alone. I was longing to have a glimpse of you all. You have been telling me in your letters how Damaris has grown up, emerging from her shell like a baby chicken. I wanted to see my little sister on the brink of womanhood.”

So the conversation went on, dominated all the time by Carlotta.

I was glad when the evening was over. Matt left to ride over to Grasslands and I retired to my room.

I was brushing my hair when there was a rap on the door. It was Carlotta.

She came in smiling.

“It’s nice to be home, Damaris,” she said.

“Don’t you find it rather dull?” I asked.

“Quiet ... but it’s what I wanted ... for a while.”

I went on brushing. I said slowly: “You get tired of things quickly, Carlotta.”

“I don’t think I would if...”

“If what?”

“Never mind. He’s an interesting young man, this Matt Pilkington, do you think?”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“The son of that actress. I can’t remember what she looks like now. I saw her when I showed her round the house. Has she got a lot of red hair?”

“Yes.”

“Rather elegant?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not very talkative tonight, Damaris.”

“You always pointed out to me and others that I had little to say for myself.”

She laughed. “You were always such a meek child. But you’re supposed to have grown up now. Are you sixteen yet?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Still you will be in the not too distant future. When I think of how I had lived at your age, Damaris, I realise how different we are.”

She came over suddenly and kissed me.

“You’re good, Damaris. You know, I could never be good like you.”

“You make it sound as though there was something rather disgraceful about being good.”

“I didn’t mean it. Sometimes I wish I were like you.”

“Never!” I cried.

“Yes, I do. I wish I could settle down and be good and happy. After all, I have so much, as you are all so anxious to keep telling me.”

“Oh, Carlotta, you’re pretending. Of course you’re happy. Look how merry you were tonight.”

“Merriment and happiness do not necessarily go hand in hand. Still, Damaris, I rather like your Matt.”

“Yes,” I said, “so do we all.”

She bent swiftly and kissed me again.

“Good night,” she said and went out.

I sat looking at my reflection in the mirror and seeing not my own face but her beautiful one. What had she been meaning to say? Why ‘^had she come to my room in this way? I thought she had been going to tell me something.

But if she was she had changed her mind.

The next day Matt came over to go riding. I was in the garden when he arrived.

He called to me.

“It’s a lovely morning. There won’t be many more like this. Winter is advancing on us.”

Carlotta came out then and when I saw that she was dressed for riding in her dove-grey habit and little blue feathered hat and had evidently expected him, I realised with a twinge of dismay that they must have arranged this the previous evening.

I looked from one to the other and nattered myself that I hid my disappointment admirably.

“Oh ... so you plan to take a ride?” I said.

Matt said: “Are you coming with us, Damaris?”

I hesitated. Obviously they had arranged this on their own and he had only asked me to join them because I was here.

I said: “Well, I’m supposed to be doing lessons, and then I was going to deal with the herbs I’ve been drying in the stillroom.”

Was it my fancy or was he relieved?

He said with some alacrity-or perhaps I imagined that-“Well, let’s get going, shall we? Days are getting very short.”

They went off and I went back into the house feeling depressed.

The morning seemed endless. I kept wondering whether they had returned. I went to the stables twice. The horse Carlotta was riding was not there.