The Song of the Siren

I was pleased to be at that table again. I had always enjoyed the conversation there, which was usually dominated by my grandfather, who always stated his opinions with vigour. He cared for nobody, did my grandfather. He and I were kindred spirits in a way. He had taken more notice of me when I was a child than he ever had of any one of the others.

He insisted that I sit beside him.

“Never could resist a pretty woman,” he said. “And using an oath from King Charles’s days you’re one of the prettiest I ever clapped eyes on.”

“Hush,” I said. “Grandmother will hear.”

That amused him and put him in a good mood.

They were talking about the war-and Maryborough’s successes.

“A good leader, that is what is wanted, and we’ve got it in Churchill,” said Edwin.

He had always been a keen supporter of the Duke of Marlborough and so had Uncle Carl.

They should know, for they had both served under him.

My grandfather started to complain about the influence Marlborough’s wife had on the Queen.

“They say Duchess Sarah rules this country. Women should keep out of these things.”

“The hope of this country,” countered my grandmother, “is that women will stay in them ... aye, and have more and more influence. That’s what we want. I can tell you there would be an end to senseless wars.”

This was an old argument which was brought up from time to time. My grandfather enjoyed pointing out what disasters women had created in the world and my grandmother would defend her sex and decry his with fierce vehemence.

My mother, I knew, agreed with my grandmother and so did I. It was a war of the sexes and there was no doubt that my grandfather enjoyed it.

I said: “What amazes me is that those men who take such pleasure in feminine society are the first to denigrate us and try to keep us in what they consider our places.”

My grandfather said: “It is because we like you so well when you behave as you are meant to behave.”

“There are times,” said my mother quietly, “when it is the lot of the woman to act in such a way as only she can.”

My grandfather was subdued for a moment and the subject was quickly changed by my grandmother.

It was not long, however, before it was back to the war.

“A senseless war,” said my grandmother. “Fighting about who shall sit on the throne of Spain.”

“A question,” retorted my grandfather, “which concerns this country.”

“It’s to be hoped,” said Uncle Carl, “that we are not going to have trouble from the Jacobites.”

”They haven’t a chance now,” I said. “Anne is firmly on the throne.”

“We thought James was at one time,” put in Edwin. “He and we learned that this was not the case.”

“Do you think they are working overseas?” I asked and I hoped no one detected the excited note in my voice ... no one but Harriet, that was. She was aware of it and why I was interested. Harriet could be uncomfortable sometimes. She understood too much about me.

“I know they are,” cried Edwin.

“Louis encourages them,” added Carl.

“Naturally,” said my grandfather. “The more disruption he can bring to us the better for him.”

“I should have thought with the death of James...” said my mother.

“You forget, my dear,” said Leigh, “that there is a new James.”

“A boy,” snorted my grandfather.

“About your age, Damaris,” said Edwin.

“Who might not even be the true Prince,” grumbled my grandfather. “There was a bit of a mystery about his birth.”

“Surely you’re not thinking of that warming pan scandal,” said my grandmother.

“What was it?” asked Damaris.

“Oh,” said my mother, “before the boy was born they had had other children, none of whom had survived. There was a rumor that the Queen had given birth to another stillborn child and the boy James was smuggled into the bedchamber in a warming pan.

It was such utter nonsense.”

“It was an indication even at the time of the unpopularity of James,” said my grandfather.

“He should have seen what was coming and given up his adherence to the Catholic faith.

Then he would have kept his crown.”

“The trouble,” said my mother, “is that we rarely see what is coming. It would be so easy to avoid it if we did. And to ask a man to give up his faith is asking a good deal.”

“We’ve got a warming pan,” Clarissa told Damaris. “I wonder if we’ve got any babies in it.”

“Now,” I said, “you have started something.”

”I’d like a little baby in a warming pan,” mused Clarissa.

“Clarissa,” I said sternly, “warming pans are for warming beds. They are not meant for babies.”

Clarissa opened her mouth to protest, but my mother laid a hand on hers and with the other put a finger to her lips.

Clarissa was not to be so easily subdued. She opened her mouth to speak, but my grandfather startled her by banging on the table. “Little children are here to be seen but not heard.”

She looked at him fearlessly in much the same way as I imagine I did at her age.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” he said, “what they have to say is of no interest to their elders and betters.”