Филиппа Карр - The Song of the Siren

I stood up. I was quivering with rage.

I walked out of the house to where Tomtit was waiting. I felt wretched and I had relied on him more than I had realised.

As I was mounting he came out of the house.

“Wait a minute,” he called. “Come back.”

I said: “There is nothing more to be said.”

“You are too hasty. Come back, I want to talk.”

So I went back. A great relief had come over me. I looked at him; and I knew my eyes were bright with unshed tears.

He turned away as though embarrassed.

He took me into the parlour and we sat facing each other.

“It is possible,” he said.

I clasped my hands in delight.

“It’s mad and it’s dangerous,” he went on, “but it is just possible. Now please remain calm. How do you propose to get someone to take you over? That is the first hurdle.”

”I don’t know. Make enquiries.. .. There are people who have boats.

“My dear Damaris, one does not go round to people who own boats and ask to be taken into enemy territory. After the recent Jacobite scares, how do you imagine that would be regarded? It would have to be done in secret.”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly.

“I know a man. ...”

“Oh, thank you ... thank you ...”

“Mind you, I do not know whether he would agree. ... He would have to be approached very cautiously.”

“And you could approach him?”

He hesitated. “Perhaps.”

I said: “It would be costly. I am ready to pay. I have lots of things of value. I could sell them.”

“There would be delay.”

I felt sick with disappointment.

He said: “You could pay me back later.”

I was so happy. I couldn’t help it. I leaned forward, took his hand and kissed it.

It was a foolish thing to have done. He drew back at once frowning.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “But it is good of you. Please ... go on. You see, I love this child and I imagine what could be happening to her.”

“It’s all right,” he said gruffly. “I could see it is just possible. I could give you letters to friends of mine who would receive you in their houses as you cross France. Do you speak the language?”

“A little,” I said.

“A little is not much good. You will be betrayed as English as soon as you set foot on the soil.” He shrugged his shoulders.

I said: “I know you think it is madness. I daresay it is. But this is a child in need of me ... my own niece. I love the child .. . but one would have to do the same for any child.” , “You are running into danger, you know that.”

“I realise it. But I will do it. I must find Clarissa. I must get to the house and take her from Jeanne.”

“I will do what I can.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Wait until you are safely back on English soil with the child before you do that.

I tell you this: You are running your head into a noose.”

“I am going to succeed, I promise you.”

“If I can find someone to take you, if it can all be arranged, you must tell your parents what you are doing.”

“They would do everything in their power to stop me.”

“That is what I hope they will do.”

“I thought you were helping me.”

“The more I think of it the more crazy it seems. You are not fit for such travel.

It will be hazardous and exhausting. You are tired out after a short ride on some days.”

“I feel different. Can you understand that? I felt as I did ... before this thing happened to me. I can stay in the saddle all day if I have to. I know it. It is different when you have a purpose, a determination “

“It’s a help,” he said, “but it doesn’t remove a sickness.”

“I feel well again. I am going to do this, whether you help me or not.”

“Then let me say this: If I can arrange it, you must leave an explanation for your parents. Leave the letter your sister wrote and tell them that I have arranged for you to go and am doing my utmost to make your journey safe.”

“I will,” I said. “I will.” I stood before him. I felt a great inclination to hug him.

I called next morning. He was not at home, Smith told me.

Later in the afternoon I went again to Enderby Hall. He was back.

“I have arranged it,” he said. “You are going tomorrow evening. At dusk you will leave England. Let us hope for a fair wind.”

“Oh ... Jeremy ...” I cried, and I realised that I had used his name for the first time.

The old embarrassment was between us. I must remember not to be demonstrative, not to show my gratitude.

“Go back,” he said. “Make your preparations. I have found someone to accompany you.

Come here tomorrow, late afternoon. I will take you to the spot where the boat will be waiting. It is a small boat and even in calm weather crossing is dangerous. But once you are on French soil it should not be too difficult. You will be taken to the safest places on the way to Paris. And if you are discreet, you should come through. Do what your companion asks. And do not forget to write to your parents before you leave and explain.

It is better for them to know what you are doing-even though your folly will cause them great anxiety-rather than that they should think you have just disappeared.”

I promised to do exactly as he said and I was ready long before the time to depart.

I went to Enderby, where he was waiting. We discussed our plans and how I was to act. The man who would accompany me would bring me back. I could trust him.

We set out just before dusk and in due course reached the coast.

When we reached a lonely spot a man came riding after us.

I thought this was my companion for the journey.

It was Smith.

We tethered the horses to iron spikes and walked over the shingle.

There waiting was a boat with a man in it.

“Now,” said Jeremy to Smith, “is all clear?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Smith promptly.

“You know exactly what to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Thank God for a calm sea. We should be off.”

I stepped into the boat.

Jeremy was beside me.

I turned to say good-bye. “I shall bless you all my life,” I said.

“Let us hope that I continue to enjoy those blessings for a very long time,” he answered.

Smith was standing on the shingle.

Jeremy said: “Well, let us be off.”

I looked at him wondering: “You ...”

He said: “Smith will take the horses back. Of course I’m coming with you.”

I felt a great singing in my heart, an excitement such as I had never known before.

I wanted to turn to him, to tell him what this meant to me.

I looked at his face, stern, taciturn, expressing nothing but his disapproval of my folly in wanting to attempt this desperate adventure.

I quickly realised that I could never have done it without him.

He spoke fluent French, and that forbidding manner of his, with the suggestion of good breeding which accompanied it, forbade questions.

Sometimes we spent the night at inns where he demanded comfortable accommodation for himself and his niece and servant, and invariably we got it. If there was only one room I had it, and he and the man he called Jacques would spend the night in the inn parlour. We had to make various stops because in spite of my determination and my renewed strength I could not travel too far-or at least he would not allow me to. If I wanted to go on he would remind me of my promise of obedience, and he was not the sort of man it was easy to disobey.

That journey did something for us both. He smiled now and then; as for myself I was amazed at what I could do. I did not tire half as easily as Jeremy insisted that I did. I did not need all the care he was giving me.