The Song of the Siren

Well, here I was and tomorrow I should have forgotten the incident.

I opened my door and stepped onto the landing. As I did so a man opened one of the other doors and came out. He stared at me in amazement. I felt a sudden tremor of excitement which I could only suppose was because he reminded me of Beau. Not that he looked the least bit like him. It was just his height and the fact that he was dressed with that fashionable discreet elegance which few men of my acquaintance possessed. His coat was square cut and as it was unbuttoned his embroidered waistcoat was just visible beneath it. His long shapely legs were encased in blue stockings with silver clocks and there were silver buckles on the garters just below the knee. The lower part of his coat was stiffened with wire, I imagined, and beneath it I caught a glimpse of a sword. He wore square-toed shoes with rather high blue heels and the silver buckles on his shoes matched those on his garters.

His peruke was long and formally curled and on it he wore a three-cornered hat trimmed with silver galloon. It seemed strange to notice what a complete stranger was wearing.

Afterwards I said it was because he had clearly taken such pains with his appearance that it seemed impolite not to notice it. There was a faint perfume emanating from him and that perhaps more than anything reminded me of Beau. He was a dandy-like Beau-and they were habitually users of scent. Beau once said that there were so many evil smells about that they must protect themselves. This man looked like someone one would meet at Court rather than in a country hostelry.

I did not have long to take in all this for he was clearly astonished to see me.

I was about to shut the door of my cupboard room when he burst out: “Who are you and what are you doing up here?”

I raised my eyebrows to express my surprise.

He went on impatiently, “What are you doing on this landing? I have paid for the use of it, and have particularly asked that there should be no intruders.”

“I,” I replied haughtily, “have paid for this room ... such as it is, and let me tell you, sir, I deeply resent your manner.”

He said: “You ... have paid for a room here!”

“If you can call it a room,” I said. “I have taken this ... this ... space for the night, understanding that you and your party have taken the rest of the rooms.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I fail to see that that is any concern of yours.”

He walked past me and went downstairs. I heard him calling for the innkeeper.

I stood where I was, listening.

“You rogue. What do you mean by this? Did I or did I not pay you for the use of your rooms this night and was it not on the understanding that I and my party were not to be disturbed?”

“My lord ... my lord ... the lady has only this small room. It could be of no use to you. That was why I did not mention it. The lady comes frequently. I could not turn her away, my lord.”

“Did I not tell you that I have a very sick man up there?”

“My lord ... the lady understands. She will be very quiet.”

“I have expressly commanded ...”

I went downstairs and swept past them, for they were standing at the foot of the stairs.

I said: “Your sick friend will be more disturbed by all the noise that you are making than he possibly can by my presence on that floor.”

Then I went into the dining room.

I was aware of him looking after me. He turned and went back upstairs.

The innkeeper’s wife was in the dining room. She was clearly disturbed by all the fuss that was going on and tried to pretend that she was not.

The sucking pig would be served at once, she told me, and I said I was ready for it. She brought it herself. It was succulent and appetising and there was cold venison pie with a mulled wine to wash it down with. This was followed by apples and pears and biscuits flavoured with tansy and some herbs which I could not recognise.

It was when I was eating the biscuits that the man entered the dining room.

He came to my table and said: “I wish to apologise for my behaviour.”

I inclined my head to imply that an apology was needed.

“I was so anxious about my friend.”

“I gathered that,” I answered.

“He is a very sick man and is so easily disturbed.”

“I promise I shall not disturb him.”

I had an opportunity now to look at his face. It was an interesting one. He was deeply bronzed, and his peruke was dark but I imagined beneath it his hair would be fair; his eyes were light brown, almost golden, and he had strongly marked dark brows.

It was a strong face-a deep cleft in the chin and full lips-sensuous lips, I decided, which could be cruel; there was a merriment in his eyes which contrasted with the mouth. His was a disturbing personality; or perhaps, as Beau had hinted, I enjoyed the company of the opposite sex in what he had called a normal, healthy way.

I wished I could stop remembering what Beau had said and comparing everyone with him. My interest in this man was because there was something about him which reminded me of Beau.

“May I sit down?” he said.