The Song of the Siren

This was too much to miss. I was being given the opportunity of entering the house, to which, according to Abby and my parents, no one had yet been invited.

“Thank you,” I said.

It was a strange feeling to go into that Hall again.

I said: “You haven’t changed it at all.”

“Why should I?” he said.

“Most people like to imprint their own personalities on their houses.”

“This is just a place where I can live in peace and quiet,” he said.

“You certainly make sure of that. I feel I should not intrude.”

He did not say that I was not intruding as I expected him to. He just said: “Come.

Sit down.”

So there I sat in that hall and I looked up to the haunted minstrels’ gallery and I thought it more dreary than it had ever been.

I heard a noise above. “Smith,” called Jeremy Granthorn. “Come here, Smith.”

Smith came and stared at me incredulously. He was as grim as his master and a few years older.

“The young lady has been bitten.”

“Trespassing,” said Smith.

My less than gracious host said, “Get some hot water ... and a bandage or something.”

“Bandage?” said Smith.

“Find something.”

I rose. I said with hauteur: “I can see I am giving a great deal of trouble. It was only a nip. It was entirely my own fault, as you imply. I will go home. I shall then do what is necessary.”

“Sit down please,” said Jeremy Granthorn.

I obeyed.

I looked round the Hall and tried to make conversation. “My sister was the owner of this place. It was from her you bought it.”

He did not answer.

“And are you liking the house ... the neighbourhood?”

“It’s quiet ... peaceful ... almost always,” he said.

A reproach for my inquisitiveness? Heaven knew I was only asking polite questions.

Smith returned with a bowl of hot water, a cloth and some sort of liniment. There was also a strip of linen which looked as though it had been torn from something.

I put my finger in the bowl. I washed it and he dabbed some of the lotion on the wound.

“This has been tested,” he said. “It’s good for sprains and light cuts.”

He himself bandaged the wound and while he was doing so the dog came up and sniffed at my skirts.

“You haven’t done much harm,” I said to the dog. He put his head on one side and wagged his tail.

I could see that for the first time I had aroused the interest of my host.

“That’s odd,” he said. “He’s quite friendly.”

“He realises that you accept me and that makes me acceptable to him.”

“Good Daemon,” he said in a voice very different from that with which he addressed me.

He patted the dog, who moved nearer.

I reached out a hand and patted it too.

I had clearly impressed Jeremy Granthorn.

“You like dogs. .. .”

“Dogs, all animals... and birds too. I am especially fond of birds.”

“I have never known Daemon to make friends so quickly.”

“I knew that we would be friends. After all it was only a token nip. Very slight ... more like a caress.”

He looked at me incredulously.

“He had to do it, didn’t he?” I went on. “He had to show me that it was his duty to protect the place. I was trespassing. I couldn’t explain that I had no wish whatever to call. I was only retrieving my property. But he knew that I meant no harm.”

He was silent for a while.

”There,” he said at length, “I think that will be all right. You’ll have no trouble with it.”

“Thank you.” I rose.

He looked dubious. I think he was wondering whether he should offer me some refreshment.

But I was going to let him see that I had no intention of intruding further on such an ungracious host.

“Good-bye.” I extended my hand. He took it and bowed. Then I walked towards the door.

He followed, the dog at his heels.

He stood at the door watching me.

I walked slowly and rather painfully to where Tomtit was tethered.

Strangely enough I felt different from the way I had since I had entered that house in the storm.

I felt a wild resentment against this hermit of a man whose manner bordered on rudeness.

Certainly he had no social graces.

And yet I felt I had regained something which I had lost when I had come across Carlotta and Matt Pilkington in the red room.

I was very tired when I reached home. My mother was anxious. She was glad to see me ride out and take an interest in Tomtit but I know she fidgeted until I returned.

She was afraid I would do too much and have a relapse. The next day I was too tired to go out; but the different feeling persisted. I was interested in the man and his manservant and the dog at Enderby Hall.

It was a week later when I saw him again.

I was riding past the house on my way home when I came upon him walking, the dog at his heels.

I was feeling very tired and I had just whispered “Take me home” to Tomtit and he had set his resolute steps in that direction.

I was about to ride past Jeremy Granthorn when he called, “Good day.”

I pulled up.

I was so tired, I felt near fainting. Tomtit pawed the ground impatiently. I had said “Take me home” and he always knew by a certain note in my voice when I wanted to get there urgently.

“Are you feeling ill?” he asked.

I was about to speak but he had taken the reins from my hands.