The Song of the Siren

“The family name, dear. John-he’s the eldest of them. I remember his father before he died. My dear Carlotta, so it was Hessenfield who got General Langdon out of the Tower. Quite a feat. Typical of Hessenfield.”

John Field, I thought. He told me he was John Field. He had not lied about his name.

They were plying me with questions. I told them how I had ridden out with them and how we had stayed at a house on the coast in which we had lived for three days.

“My dear Carlotta,” said Harriet, “some of us have strange adventures. They somehow attract them. You certainly attracted one this time. Now what you want more than anything is rest, and I am going to insist that you go to bed at once. You can tell us more tomorrow. What you need is a good sleep, and I’m going to bring you some of my black currant posset. So off you go. Say good night to them and I’ll be up with the posset shortly.”

I knew Harriet. She wanted to talk and she wanted to do so more freely than she could before her son and husband.

She came to my room with the posset. By that time I was in bed. She was right, I was exhausted, and yet at the same time I knew I should not find sleep easily.

I kept thinking: This time last night I was with him. And I could not get out of my mind the memory of his face when he had kissed me good-bye.

Harriet handed me the posset and seated herself by my bed.

“Something else happened,” she said.

I raised my eyebrows to express innocence of her meaning.

“Hessenfield?” she said. “I remember him well. A fine gentleman.” She smiled. “And he saved your life. And you were with them for three days.”

I was silent.

“Do you want to tell me, Carlotta?” she asked.

“Harriet, I don’t feel I can talk about it... yet... even to you.”

She said: “I think I understand. You will tell me in time. My dear child, how glad I am to have you back. I have been terrified. ... There are so many things that can happen to women in this world. But somehow I knew that you would know how to take care of yourself. You’re a natural survivor, Carlotta. I know them when I see them.

I’m one myself.”

She bent over and kissed me and took the posset from my hand.

I believed she knew that Hessenfield and I had been lovers.

I could not have come to a better place in which to try to regain my composure. Gregory and Benjie were such dear, uncomplicated people. They accepted my story; they could only be thankful that I had come out of it alive. All they thought I needed was rest and feeding up a bit to make up for the discomforts I had endured.

It was different with Harriet. She knew something had happened, and being Harriet she guessed what. She understood, perhaps, and she had made in the past the acquaintance of Hessenfield. She knew how it would be with two people such as we were shut up for three days, with death hanging over us and me in their power,

But Harriet’s chief charm was that she never probed. I was aware and my mother had discovered this too-that in any difficulty Harriet would bring out all her resources-and they were formidable-to one’s aid. But she behaved as though whatever had happened, however tremendous it might seem to other people, was in her eyes merely another piece of life. Never to be judged or condemned by others who could never see it in all its complexities. If it was good, enjoy it; if not, find a way to extricate oneself.

Harriet was by no means what would be called a good woman, but she was a comforting one. She was engrossed in her own life, determined to get the best of ii-and none could deny she had. She was by no means scrupulous; she was fond of the good things of life and would go to great lengths to get them. I suppose one of the comforting things about her was that one knew whatever one had done she had probably done also; she would understand the motive, and even if she didn’t she would never get lost in the devious paths of right or wrong.

I knew she would understand without question that what had happened between myself and Hessenfield was natural. In time I would talk to her as I never could have talked to my mother. One might say your mother gave birth to you-a bastard, born out of wedlock. Oh, yes, that was true but all that happened was that she had on one occasion forestalled her marriage vows, which had never been uttered because of the executioner’s axe. My mother was at heart an unadventurous woman with a deep respect for conventions.

I was not and never would be. Nor was Harriet.