The Song of the Siren by Philippa Carr Page B

a sorry state of affairs when generals in the King’s army are ready to play the traitor.”
    “The trouble is,” said Harriet, “he would think it was you who were playing traitor to James, who was after all the King.”
    My grandfather ignored her and my mother said, “Ned, do sit down and join us.”
    She was very grateful to him but I knew she was going to be uneasy for some time to come. Ever since my grandfather had been taken during the Monmouth Rebellion she was terrified of our men becoming involved in some intrigue.
    She was at her most fierce when she spoke of their folly in this respect.
    That evening had lost its festive air. I was melancholy thinking of the gallant General in a comfortless cell in the Tower of London and contemplating how easily ill fortune could come along.
    We heard more of the affair as the days passed. It was not being generally regarded with any great surprise. There had been so many who wanted James back and the Jacobite Movement was known to flourish throughout England. The only difference was that this might be considered to be of more importance than most of the plots because it was being organized by one of the generals of William’s army.
    However, no one we knew was implicated. We heard that the General had not yet been tried but soon would be, and as the days passed I, at least, forgot about it.
    I had other matters with which to occupy myself, for during those Christmas holidays Benjie again asked me to marry him.
    I still declined to give him a definite answer but he was a great deal in my mind.
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    He said: “You don’t still think of Beaumont Granville, do you?”
    I hesitated.
    ‘?Oh, but he’s gone, Carlotta. He’ll never come back now. If he had intended to he would have done so long ago.”
    “I think I must be the faithful kind, Benjie.”
    “My dearest Carlotta, do you know what Harriet said to me the other day? She said:
    ‘Carlotta cherishes a dream. It’s about a man who never existed.’” ?’Beau existed, Benjie.”
    “Not as you see him. What Harriet means is you built up a picture about him and it was a false one.”
    “I knew him very well. He never pretended to me that he was other than he was.”
    “He’s gone, Carlotta. He could be dead.”
    “Sometimes,” I said, “I think he must be. Oh, Benjie, if only I could find out the truth and if he is dead how he died ... I think I could begin to start again.”
    “I’m going to find out,” said Benjie. “He’s abroad somewhere, and Harriet said that he would be in some fashionable city. He would never bury himself in the country.
    I’m going to marry you, Carlotta. Remember that.”
    “You’re good to me, Benjie,” I said. “Go on loving me ... please.” Perhaps that was an admission. Perhaps I knew that I would one day marry Benjie.
    At the end of January Harriet, Gregory and Benjie went bad; to Eyot Abbass. Harriet had now firmly decided that the sooner I married Benjie the better. She asked me to go and stay with them soon.
    “When the spring comes,” she said, “I shall expect you.” It was May when I set out to visit Harriet.
    My mother was in a happy state of mind. It was clear now that there would be no reverberations
    about General Langdon and I was sure she believed that when I returned I would announce my betrothal to Benjie. It was what she wanted. It would bind us all more dosely together.
    Leigh was always busy about his land. He was cultivating more a*id more. They were all very pleased that there had actually been a new Act of Settlement which declared that Princess Anne was next in
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    the line of succession to William, and that if she died without heirs the throne should go to the descendants of Sophia of Hanover, providing they were Protestants.
    Leigh said: “It’s sensible. It shows clearly that we’ll never have James back. And it means that England will never consider any but a Protestant King.”
    I felt impatient with all this talk about religion.