The Song of the Siren

Now I don’t want no trouble. You haven’t been hurt, have you. I’ve even given you this ‘ere cloak to cover yourself. They’ll ask questions. You’ll tell them it was Good Mrs. Brown ... but you won’t know where I took you, will you? So you won’t be able to tell on me. You’ll get over this. My what a scolding you’ll get. Silly little pigeon. But they’ll be that glad to get you back; I reckon you’ll be petted more than ever. Thank Good Mrs. Brown. And you won’t want to bring trouble on her, will you? Remember the good she’s done you. Why, you might have been picked up by one of them old bawds and been sold to some loving old gentleman by now. See. You’ll be prepared next time. But I reckon there won’t be a next time. You’ve learned a lesson from Good Mrs. Brown.”

We had come out of the labyrinth of streets.

“There now,” she said. “You want to get home fast. Just round the corner is the street where they was getting ready to duck the old quack. You know where you are from there. Get home ... quick.”

She gave me a little push. I looked round and she disappeared. My relief was intense.

I started to run.

Yes, she was right. There was the street where it had all begun. If I turned the corner and went straight on I would come to Eversleigh House.

I turned that corner and ran full tilt into a woman who was walking along with a young man beside her.

She gave a little shriek of disgust and I think she put out a hand to ward me off.

I fell sprawling to the ground.

“Gad,” said the young man. “She’s wearing nothing beneath the cloak.”

“She was after my purse,” said the woman.

“I was not,” I cried. “I have just been robbed of my clothes.”

They were startled by my voice, and having just come from Mrs. Brown’s terrible room I understood why. It did not match my appearance.

The young man helped me to my feet. We must have looked odd together, for his appearance could only be described as exquisite. I could smell the faint perfume with which his clothes were scented.

The lady was beautifully dressed too and also perfumed. We must have made a strange contrast.

“What happened to you?” said the lady.

“I came out to buy some violets for my mother,” I said quickly. “A woman started to shout at me in the crowd and then another woman came along. She said she would take me to buy the violets and she took me to a horrible room and made me take off all my clothes.”

“There’s quite a trade in it,” said the young man. “It is usually young children who are the victims. Are you hurt?”

“No, thank you. I want to get home quickly.”

“Where is your home?”

“It’s Eversleigh House.”

“Eversleigh House! So you are one of the Eversleighs,” said the woman.

“Let us get her home quickly,” said the young man. “They’ll be anxious, I daresay.”

They walked along beside me. I wondered what passersby thought to see this elegant pair in the company of such a ragged barefooted urchin. No one took very much notice. So many strange sights were seen in London that the people accepted them as commonplace.

I could have wept with relief when we arrived at the house. Job, one of our servants cried: “She’s here. Mistress Damaris is here.” I knew by his words that I had already been missed.

My mother came running into the hall. She saw me standing there in the horrible cloak, stared disbelievingly for a few seconds then, realising it was indeed her daughter, swept me into her arms.

“My darling child,” she said, “whatever has happened? We have been frantic.”

I could only cling to her speechless, I was so happy to be with her.

The lady spoke. “It’s a trick they practice often,” she said. “She was robbed of her clothes.”

“Robbed of her clothes ... !” my mother repeated.

Then she looked at the two who had brought me home. I saw her glance at the young man and as she did so a strange look came into her face. It was a mingling of all sorts of things, amazement, disbelief, a certain fear and a sort of horror.

The lady was saying: “We found her running away... . She ran into us, and then, when we heard who she was, we thought we would make sure she got home safely.

My mother stammered: “Thank you.” Then she turned to me and hugged me against her and we just clung together.

My father appeared.

“She’s here. She’s home,” he cried. “Thank God. Why ... for God’s sake.”

My mother said nothing and it was the strangers who explained.

“It was good of you,” said my father. “Come, dearest, let the child get rid of that awful garment. She had better have a bath quickly.” I ran to him and he held me tightly.

I had never loved them so much as I did at that moment.

My mother was terribly shaken. She seemed to be in a kind of daze and it was my father who took charge.

“You must have some refreshment,” he said to the woman and the young man.

“It is not necessary,” said the woman. “You will all be feeling very upset.”

”Oh, come,” said my father, “you must stay awhile. We want to tell you how grateful we are.”

“The streets of London were never safe but they are becoming worse than ever,” said the young man.