The Song of the Siren

“We are so happy to see you,” said my mother, “that v e have no thoughts to spare just yet for anything else. But it is a magnificent vehicle. I must say that.”

“The pride of Benjie’s life,” commented Harriet. “Next to Carlotta and, of course, Clarissa.”

“They can take the coach to the stables. There’s room there,” said Leigh. “I’ll go with them to make sure.”

“And you’ll come in,” said my mother. “You must be tired from the journey even in such a luxurious coach.”

I said: “Where is Damaris?”

My mother’s face was a little sad. “She is in her room. She did not feel well enough to get up today. I said I knew you would understand.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, “I understand. Is she often ... unwell still?”

My mother nodded and a worried expression appeared on her face.

“She is better than she was, of course. But this terrible fever did something to her. Her limbs are often stiff... and they are painful. Sometimes she cannot lift her hands to brush her hair.”

“Poor Damaris,” I said. “How is she ... in spirits?”

“In good spirits ... sometimes. At others a little quiet. You know Damaris. She tries to hide the fact that she is in pain. She is always thinking of what is best for us ... her father and me ... and always puts on a bright face. Your coming should cheer her. She has been excited about it. I think she longs to see Clarissa.”

“Shall I take the child up to her now?”

“Yes, go up now. Go immediately. Then she’ll know that you went to her as soon as you came. Harriet, come with me and I’ll show you your room.”

I took Clarissa by the hand.

“We are going to see your aunt Damaris,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because she’d like to see you. She’s your aunt.”

“Why is she my aunt?”

“Because she’s my sister. Now don’t say why is she my sister. She is, and that’s it.”

Clarissa hunched her shoulders with glee and we went upstairs. I clung to her hand.

I felt she was going to ease an embarrassing encounter.

I knocked at the door. Damaris said: “Who is it?”

“Carlotta,” I said.

A brief hesitation then: “Come in.”

I opened the door. Clarissa ran forward. She stood by the couch looking at Damaris.

“Oh, Damaris,” I said, “how ... are you?”

Her gaze met mine blankly. “Oh, I’m all right, Carlotta. Some days I am better than others.”

She had changed, grown up. I hardly recognized her. She was thinner-but she had been too plump before. She was pale and there was a blank expression on her face as though she were lost and couldn’t find her way. I knew at once that the old admiration-almost amounting to adoration-which I had once inspired in her was gone.

“Have you had a good journey?”

“Yes, we came in the new coach.”

“We had Dutch gingerbread,” Clarissa began.

I said: “Oh, please, Clarissa, not again. Nobody wants to hear about food.”

Damaris looked at the child’s bright face.

“I’d like to,” she said, and her face was illuminated suddenly. It was as though life had returned to it.

Clarissa then began to recite the items of the hamper and Damaris listened as though she was relating the most exciting adventure.

“You’re my aunt,” she said suddenly.

“Yes, I know,” said Damaris.

“It’s because you’re my mother’s sister. Can I come up on your couch?”

She climbed up and lay stretched out beside Damaris. She kept laughing as though it was a great joke.

“Are you ill?” asked Clarissa.

“In a way,” said Damaris. “Some days I have to rest.”

“Why ... ?”

Somehow they had managed to exclude me. They had formed an instant friendship. I remembered how Damaris used to be with all stray cats and dogs and birds with broken wings. It seemed she was the same with children.

I was glad. Clarissa had saved me from an awkward situation. We had come through the first vital moments. I knew now that we were going to behave as though she had never come to Enderby Hall and seen me there with Matt Pilkington.

I was immensely relieved. I was sure she was hating me, but being Damaris, brought up to a strict code of behaviour which insisted that good manners were paramount and must never be forgotten even in the most trying moments, we should behave as though our relationship was a normal one and had not changed in the least.

Clarissa and she had struck up a very firm friendship and the child would spend hours in Damaris’s room. Damaris read to her and told her stories and sometimes they just talked.

“I am so pleased,” said my mother, “that Clarissa is fond of Damaris. It is so good for Damaris to have her here. I am sure she has changed since she came.”

I wanted to talk to my mother about Damaris. She was very much on my conscience.

“What is wrong with Damaris?” I asked.

“We’ve had several doctors... . Your father even had one of the court physicians here. It started with a fever which was brought about by her being out all night in that fearful rain, lying there on that sodden ground in her wet clothes. All those hours she was there.”

“Does she say ... why she went into those woods while the storm was on... ?”

My mother was silent and my heart started to hammer against my side.