The Song of the Siren

“We must have a trysting place.”

I thought of Benjie then I said firmly: “It is over. I want to forget we ever met.

It was unfortunate. You forced me to become your mistress.”

“It was the happiest time I ever knew and I did not force you.”

“That is how I see it.”

“And the result was that child. I want her, Carlotta. I want you both.”

“You did not know of her existence a few days ago.”

“I wish I had. You are coming away with me.”

“No, no, no,” I said. “I have a good husband. I intend never to deceive him again....” The word slipped out but he did not notice. I kept thinking of Benjie’s face when I had returned and how tender he had been, how unsuspecting, endowing me with qualities I did not possess and shaming me so that I felt I wanted to be as he thought me.

But I kept remembering Hessenfield and those magic moments with him; and I wanted to be taken up and carried off as I was on that other occasion.

“I might have to communicate with you suddenly,” he said. “How?”

“You can scarcely come to the house and call.”

“Is there somewhere where I can leave word?”

I said: “There is an old tree trunk at the edge of the shrubbery. We used to leave notes in it when I was a child. Come, I’ll show you.”

He followed me swiftly through the shrubbery.

“If you approach from the back,” I said, “you would stand less chance of being seen, but do not attempt to come here in daylight.”

I showed him the tree. It was an oak which had been struck by lightning years ago.

It should have been cut down, people were always saying that it should be done, but it never was. I used to call it the post box, because there was a hole in the trunk and if one put a hand in there was quite a little cavity there.

“Now go,” I begged.

“Carlotta.” He held me against him and kissed me. I felt myself weakening. It must not be. I hated myself. But my feelings would not be suppressed.

I tore myself away.

“I shall come back for you,” he whispered.

“You waste your time. Go away... quickly, and please do not come back.”

I ran through the shrubbery and back to the house. I slipped off my cloak relieved that no one had noticed my absence.

I went up to Clarissa’s room and opened the door and looked in.

I tiptoed to the bed; she was sleeping peacefully. She looked serene and beautiful.

“Is anything wrong?” It was Jane Farmer, her nursery governess, a good and efficient woman who was devoted to Clarissa without spoiling her.

”No. I just looked in to see if she was all right.”

If Jane was surprised she did not show it.

“She’s fast asleep,” she whispered. “She drops off almost immediately she’s in bed.

It is because she has so much energy. She tires herself out but she’ll be full of life when she wakes up. Well, that is as it should be. She is more full of life than any child I ever knew.”

I nodded. “I won’t disturb her.”

I went quietly out. His child! I fancied she had more than a slight look of him.

I was not surprised-and a little proud-that he had been so taken with her.

I was deeply disturbed. I wanted to be alone to think.

But it was impossible to be alone.

I went up to our bedroom. I had only been there a few minutes when Benjie came in.

I was at the dressing table brushing my hair and he came and stood behind me looking at it.

“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you,” he said.

I felt sick with shame.

“You are so beautiful,” he went on. “I never saw anyone as lovely. My mother was a great beauty in her day.... But you ... you are the most lovely creature that ever was.”

I put up a hand and touched his. “Oh, Benjie,” I said. “I wish I were ... better.

I wish I were good enough for you.”

That made him laugh. He knelt down and buried his face in my lap.

I caressed his hair.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “It’s that devil... Clarissa’s father. I understand it, Carlotta. I understand it perfectly. You mustn’t blame yourself for that. You could do nothing else.... You had to save yourself. Don’t think I should ever reproach you for that. Besides, there is Clarissa.”

“I do love you, Benjie,” I said. “I do. I do.”

Another shock awaited me next day.

It was morning. Clarissa was having a riding lesson. She was very young of course, but Benjie had bought her a tiny Shetland pony and she was allowed to ride round the paddock on a leading rein. She loved it and talked endlessly of “Shets,” her pony, with wild accounts of how he talked to her and what fun they had together, creating the most impossible adventures in which they were supposed to have shared.

I came down to the hall and Harriet appeared at the door of the winter parlour.

“We have a visitor, Carlotta,” she said.

My heart began to pound. For a moment I feared that Hessenfield had been foolhardy enough to call on us.

I went into the parlour.

Matt Pilkington rose from his chair and came forward to take my hand.

I felt the blood rush to my face.

“Why ...” I stammered. “I... I had not expected ...”

“I am staying at the Fiddlers Rest for a few nights,” he said.

The Fiddlers Rest was an old inn about a mile from Eyot Abbass.