The Song of the Siren

“It has gone badly,” I said. “Something worries you.”

He shook his head. “The French are eager to help. They are all in good spirits at St. Germains.”

I took his hand. It was clammy.

“You are not well,” I cried in dismay.

Hessenfield was a man who had always known perfect health and could not understand sickness. I had always been under the impression that he would believe it was some deficiency in the sufferer, some quirk of the imagination ... unless of course it was a leg or arm or some visible disability.

I understood perfectly because I was rather like that myself. So I was very alarmed when he said: “I think I must lie down.”

I helped him undress and got him to bed. I sat beside him and said I would get him a tasty meal. He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to eat. It was nothing, he assured me. It would pass.

He did not speak. He just lay still and seemed to want nothing but I was very worried and passed an anxious night. In the morning he fas delirious.

I sent for a physician who came and examined Hessenfield. He shook his head and murmured something about a fever. ‘erhaps two dead pigeons laid on the soles of his feet might help. He ‘Quid send a lotion round which might also be of use. I gripped the man’s hand. “What ails him?” I asked. “A fever. He’ll recover,” he said.

But by the afternoon he was no better, I walked about the house in a daze. This was something I had never thought of. I put his clothes away-those which he had been wearing. The fringed coat, the breeches, and the fine hose and the gloves which Madame de Partiere had sent for him.

I would not leave him. I just sat by his bed. He looked different from the man I had known. He was pale; his eyes were closed; there was already a sunken look in his cheeks.

Jeanne said to me: “Madame, I know an apothecary who has the finest remedies. He is the Italian Antonio Manzini. They say he has cured many.”

“I will go to him. You must come with me, Jeanne,” I said.

We went to my room. “You will need your heavy cloak, madame. There is a chill in the air.” She opened a drawer and took out the gloves which Madame de Partiere had given me.

I put them on and we went out together.

Jeanne led me through the streets to the carrefour near the Chatelet.

We went into the shop together.

Jeanne said: “Madame is very anxious. Her husband is sick.”

“Sick,” said the man; he had dark bushy eyebrows and almost black, very penetrating eyes. “What ails him?”

“It is a fever which makes him listless and so unlike himself,” I explained. “Till now he was a very healthy man.”

I laid my hand on his arm. He looked down at it and drew away.

“I have a lotion,” he said, “which cures fever. It is costly.”

“I will pay,” I assured him. “If it cures my husband I will pay anything ... anything you ask.”

Jeanne laid a restraining hand on my arm and Antonio Manzini retired behind his shop.

“Madame will forgive me,” said Jeanne. “But it is not necessary to promise so much.

Pay his price and that is good enough.”

I paid the price and he brought out the bottle. We hurried back and I went straight to Hessenfield’s bedside. I could see at once that he had grown worse.

I hastily poured out some of the liquid, forced him to take it and sat down waiting for the miracle.

There was none.

By nightfall Hessenfield’s condition was unchanged.

I sat up beside him all night. Just before dawn I rose and as I stood up a terrible dizziness overcame me.

I touched my skin. It was cold and clammy yet I felt very hot.

I knew then that I had caught the fever or whatever it was, and that I too was going to be ill.

No, that must not be, I told myself. I had to keep well. I had to nurse Hessenfield.

I would not trust him to anyone but myself.

I tried to fight off my lassitude. But I was becoming very worried.

I had a great desire to go to bed, but I would not. With all my might I would fight this terrible feeling which was coming over me.

During the morning Hessenfield took a turn for the worse. He was now raving in delirium.

He was talking about General Langdon, about spies ... about me ... about Clarissa.

It was jumbled together and made no sense.

Meanwhile I was feeling more and more ill.

Jeanne came to my room. Her eyes widened with horror at the sight of me.

She said: “There is a lady downstairs who asks to see you most urgently. She says it is very important and she wants to speak privately with you.”

I went to a small room which led from the salon and said I would receive her there.

She came in. It was Madame de Partiere. But she looked different from when I had last seen her. I touched my eyes wearily for I had the most alarming headache. I wondered if I was seeing clearly.

“Madame de Partiere ...” I stammered.

She nodded.

“Ah, I see you are unwell, Carlotta.”

I stared at her in amazement. Her French accent had disappeared. She spoke English like an Englishwoman.

Her face I noticed was very pale. She said: “Lord Hessenfield is very sick. He will die. There is no antidote ...”

I said angrily: “Have you come here to tell me this?”