The Song of the Siren

I looked into his face. He was serious, not joking now. He really meant what he said and it made me happy. If I could have forgotten Benjie I think I could have been perfectly so.

On another occasion he said: “You are an exile now. You are one of us. Although you have come to us not exactly through your own convictions, you and I belong and my cause must be yours. Our motive is to get back to England. Who wants to be an exile forever? Whenever I go home I have to do so in secret... skulking into my own country like a thief. There is a price on my head. I who have estates in the north of England, where my family have lived like kings. Yes, we are going back one day but not until we have reinstated the rightful King. I would not return to live under the present reign.”

“Indeed,” I reminded him, “you could not. You are branded now as a traitor to the Queen. You would not be allowed to remain.”

“You are right,” he said. “Every time I go... as you see, it is as a conspirator who becomes a fugitive.”

It is a pity,” I said. “Why must you be involved in such matters? Life is good under Anne.”

“Feminine logic,” he mocked. “Never mind the righteous cause if we’re comfortable.

No. That won’t do for me, Carlotta. And don’t forget you are one of us.”

“Only because you have forced me to it.”

“Spoken like a good Jacobite,” he mocked. But I could see clearly that he was right.

Whether I liked it or not I should be considered one of them.

I told him I did not care a pennyworth of candy for his Jacobite cause.

“No, but you care for me,” he said. “And I shall have to trust you with many a secret which I shall do without fear because I know that your love for me is as strong as any belief in a cause. We belong together, Carlotta. And so shall it be until death divides us.”

In those rare moments when he was serious-and he was then-he could move me deeply.

I loved him. Yes, I did. His daring, his strength, his essential male qualities struck a chord within me. He was a leader; I could see now that in comparison Beau would have failed to hold me. I had been dazzled by Beau; but I was caught and held firmly by Hessenfield.

If only we had met differently ... if only I could have gone to him as his wife in very truth ... if only I could wipe out the past... not Beau, that did not matter.

It was Benjie who haunted me and threw the shadow of deep remorse over my happiness, and it was only in rare moments that I could forget him.

Paris excited me. As soon as we arrived in that fascinating city we went at once to the hotel in the quarter of the Marais which I learned later was one of the most fashionable areas of the city. The King of France had been hospitable to the English nobility who were the enemies of England’s reigning sovereign; and with good reason, for he was at this time at war with that country.

At Eversleigh we had always been brought up to regard loyalty to the crown as one of our chief duties but I reminded myself that my grandfather Carleton had been involved in the Monmouth Rebellion. James would have called him disloyal just as Anne would Hessenfield. It was not as much a matter of lack of loyalty as it was adherence to a principle. I was becoming more and more of a Jacobite every day.

It was a fine house and there were several servants. Hessenfield introduced me formally as Lady Hessenfield and I held a wide-eyed Clarissa by the hand and he added: “This is our daughter.”

There was no question from anyone in France. Hessenfield had returned to England on a Jacobite mission and had brought his wife and child back with him. It was reasonable enough. I slipped easily into the new role. So did Clarissa.

I felt like a young bride in those early days. Hessenfield delighted in showing us a little of Paris. And how excited we were-Clarissa and j_to walk through those streets with him beside us. For, he said, that was the best way to see it.

We strolled through the discreet streets of the Marais-that part of the city which had once been the home of the Valois kings. Hessenfield explained to Clarissa that the rue Beautreillis was where the vineyards once were, the rue de la Cerisaie where the orchards were and the rue des Lions was the site of the royal menagerie.

We were excited by the quaint houses which overhung the river; the water lapped at their walls, and Clarissa wanted to know whether it ever came in through the windows.

She kept shrieking with excitement and sometimes was so overawed that she forgot to ask why.