The Song of the Siren

That Elizabeth liked me, I was sure. She had taken to treating me as a daughter, so surely that was significant.

When I had arisen that morning the first thing I thought of was the party and the dress I would wear, which was most becoming. Elizabeth’s sewing woman had altered it to fit me and I could scarcely wait to play the part.

My mother said: “You’ve changed lately, Damaris. You’re growing up.”

“Well, it’s time I did,” I said. “You sound as though you don’t want me to.”

“Most mothers want to keep their children babies as long as possible.”

“And that,” I said, “is quite impossible.”

“A sad fact we all have to realise.” She put her arms about me and said: “Oh, Damaris, I do want you to be happy.”

“I am,” I said ecstatically. “I am.”

“I know,” she answered.

Then I started to tell her about my dress, which I must have described to her twenty times before, and she listened as though she was hearing it for the first time. She seemed reconciled. I hoped she was getting over that first unreasonable dislike of Matt.

It was warm when the sun rose and chased away the morning mists. The summer was nearly over. “In the autumn I shall have to go,” Matt had said.

The only sadness at that time was the thought that it could not last.

But before he goes he will speak to me, I thought. He must.

I was not quite fifteen. It was young but obviously not too young to be in love.

In the afternoon I went to Grasslands. I was going to wear the Elizabethan costume for the whole evening.

“We can’t get you all dressed up like that in five minutes,” said Elizabeth. “Besides, all those in the charades will wear their costumes.”

“It makes it like a fancy dress ball,” I said.

“Well, let us call it that,” she said.

She took great pleasure in dressing me, and how we laughed as she helped me to get into what was called the under propper, the purpose of which was to make my skirt stand out all round me. Then I put on-with Elizabeth’s help-the dress, which was magnificent in a way, though perhaps it would seem a little tawdry by daylight.

“It has been lying in a trunk for a long time,” said Elizabeth, “but it will look really fine in the light of the candles. No one will see where the velvet is scuffed and the jewels bits of glass. How slender you are. That is good. It makes it easier to wear.”

The skirt was rouched and festooned with bows of ribbon; it was lavishly sprinkled with brilliants which might look like diamonds in candlelight.

“You make a good queen,” said Elizabeth.

Then she frizzed my hair and made it stand up and stuffed false pieces into it to make it look abundant. “A pity you aren’t red haired,” she said. “Then everyone would recognise you at once as the Queen. Never mind, I believe she wore wigs of all colours, so this is one of her nights for brown.”

She put a circlet of brilliants in my hair and then when she added the lace ruff about my neck and stood back to admire her handiwork, she clasped her hands together.

“Why, I wouldn’t recognise you, Damaris,” she said.

It was true. I gasped as I looked at my reflection.

“Who would believe anyone could be so changed?”

“It’s a few deft touches here and there, my dear. We learn that in the theatre.”

When I saw Matt we stared at each other and burst into laughter. He too had become a different person.

He stood there before me in his yellow ruff and his bombasted breeches, which were so wide that it was impossible for him to walk easily. His doublet was embroidered; his hose gartered at the knee, displaying his well-shaped calves, and he wore a little velvet hat with a fine feather curling over the brim. Most important of all was the cloak-an elaborate affair to fit the occasion. It was velvet and decorated with shining red stones and massive glass imitation diamonds.

He looked different. I was glad to see him without his periwig and I thought it a pity that the fashion of wearing wigs prevailed in our times. He looked younger in spite of the elaborate costume and the fact that the cut of the breeches made him walk with a very stately gait.

He bowed to me solemnly.

“I do declare,” he said, “Your Majesty looks most forbidding.”

“It will be for the first time in my life,” I replied.

There was dancing before the supper. Elizabeth Pilkington was a great organiser and she knew how to arrange these affairs. She had asked exactly the right number of guests. Besides members of my family there were several who had come in from the neighbouring countryside.

Matt and I were together throughout the evening.

“No one else could dance with us,” he said. “I feel more than a little cumbersome.

How do you feel?”

“The same,” I said.

Everyone admired our costumes and said how they were looking forward to seeing the charades, which were to be the highlight of the evening.

I had never enjoyed a party so much before. This one I wanted to.

I go on and on forever, although I was a little apprehensive about my performance in the charades.

“You’ll be wonderfull,” said Matt. “In any case it’s only a game.”