The Song of the Siren

We had places at the coronation banquet. My parents had been wondering whether the Queen would attend, for her disability must have made her quite exhausted, but my grandfather immediately replied that she must be there, tired or not. Otherwise those sly Jacobites would be saying she dared not face the traditional challenge of the champion Dymoke.

I enjoyed every moment. I was delighted to be able to gaze on the Queen. I thought she looked very regal and hid her tiredness very well. I liked her husband, who seemed mild and kind and was clearly anxious on her account.

It was after eight before the banquet was over and as the ceremonies had been going on for most of the day, the Queen was clearly relieved to leave for the palace of St. James’s. The crowds cheered wildly as she passed along in her sedan chair.

The banquet in Westminster Hall might be over but the people were going on carousing throughout the night.

My grandfather said we should get home before the streets became too rowdy, as they would later. “If you want to,” he said, “you can watch from the windows.”

This we did.

It was afternoon of the following day. My mother, my grandmother and I had shopped in the morning in the Piazza at Covent Garden, which was crowded with revellers still celebrating the coronation. My mother had admired some violets, one of her favorite flowers, and had meant to buy some, but we turned away, our interest caught by something else, and forgot about them.

As we sat there a young woman went by. She was young and very flamboyantly dressed; but something about her reminded me of Carlotta. It was only a fleeting resemblance of course. She was not to be compared with Carlotta. At that moment a young man walked past and stopped. I realised that he had been following her, that she was aware of it and was now waiting for him to make some proposition.

Of course I knew this sort of behavior was commonplace and that women came out, usually at dusk and at night, with the very object of finding companions, but I had never before seen it so blatantly undertaken.

The two went off together.

The incident had had an effect on me. Chiefly I think because the woman bore a slight resemblance to Carlotta and had brought memories of her. I thought, if she were with us she would not be sitting here looking out. What had she said to me once: “Damaris, you’re a looker-on. Things won’t happen to you. You’ll just watch them happen to other people. Do you know why? It’s because you’re afraid. You always want to be safe, that’s why you’re so dull.”

Cruel Carlotta. She so often hurt me. Sometimes I wondered why she meant so much to me.

Then the thought occurred to me that it Would be a lovely surprise for my mother to have her violets. Why should I not go out into the streets and buy them for her?

I shouldn’t have to go back to the Piazza. There were many flower sellers in the streets-even more than there usually were because of the coronation, for they were taking advantage of the crowds to do more business.

I was not supposed to go out on my own. I seemed to hear Carlotta laughing at me.

“It was only to the end of the street.”

I should be scolded, but my mother would be pleased that I had remembered.

I was sure that if I had not seen the woman and been reminded of Carlotta I should never have been so bold. I put on my velvet cloak, slipped my purse into the pocket of my gown and went out.

I reached the end of the street without seeing a flower seller, and as I turned the corner I was caught up in a howling mob. People were circulating about a man in a tall black hat and shouting abuse at him.

Someone pressed against me. I was wary and kept my hand on my purse.

A woman was standing near me. I said, “What is it? What has he done?”

“Selling quack pills,” she said. “Told us they’d make you young again, bring the colour back to your hair and cure all ailments, make you twenty again. He’s a quack.”

I stammered: “What will they do with him?”

“Duck him in the river, most like.”

I shuddered. I was made uneasy by the looks of the mob, for I suddenly realised that I myself was attracting some strange looks.

It had been rather foolish to come out alone. I must get away from the crowd, find my violets quickly and go home.

I tried to fight my way out. It wasn’t easy.

“Here, who you pushing of?” demanded a woman with greasy hair falling about her face.

I stammered: “I wasn’t pushing. I ... I was just looking.”

“Just looking, is it, eh? The lady’s only looking at us common folk.”

I tried to move away unobtrusively, but she was not going to let me. She started to shout abuse at me.

I didn’t know which way to turn. Then suddenly a woman was standing beside me. She was poorly dressed but clean. She caught my arm and said: “Now let this lady alone, will you? She’s not sport for the likes of you.”

The other woman seemed so surprised at the interruption that she stared open-mouthed at the other, who took the opportunity to take my arm and draw me away. We were soon lost in the crowd.