Read Online The Song of the Siren by Philippa Carr - Free Book Online
Authors: Philippa Carr
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“What difference does it make?”
I cried. “Who cares whether we have a Protestant or Catholic King?”
“It makes a difference when men start quarrelling about it and insist that others think as they do,” explained Leigh.
“Which is just what they are doing with this Act of Settlement,” I pointed out.
I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be argumentative. Perhaps I did feel a little resentment at the treatment of the Catholics, as my father had died because he was one and dear old Robert Frinton, who had left me his fortune, had been a staunch adherent of the Catholic Church. And now General Langdon was going to come to a tragic end. I knew these men courted danger-all of them-but I was impatient with their intolerance towards each other.
However, the fact that the King was obviously ailing, although there was an attempt to prevent this becoming public knowledge, did not matter as much because there was the Princess Anne to step onto the throne if he should die; and although she was without heirs, she was only in her thirties and there was always the Electress Sophia with her brood in the background.
So I prepared to leave for Eyot Abbass.
Damaris was sent by my mother to help me sort out my clothes. My mother was always trying to bring us together and created a fantasy in her mind that we were devoted to each other. That Damaris had a blind adoration of me I knew. She loved to brush my hair for me. She liked to put my clothes away; and when I was dressed ready for dinner when we had guests or was going riding, she would stand before me, that little round rosebud mouth of hers quite eloquent in her admiration.
“You are the most beautiful girl in the world,” she once said to me.
“How do you know?” I asked. “I suppose you’re a connoisseur of the beauties of all countries, are you?”
“Well,” she replied, “you must be.”
53”Why, because I’m your sister and you think everything connected with our family is better than everything else?”
“No,” she answered. “Because you are so beautiful nobody could be more so.”
I should have been pleased by this simple adoration but it irritated me. She was all that I was not. Born in wedlock of a happy marriage. A good child, truly enjoying going with my mother to visit the poor and taking baskets of food to them. She really cared when somebody’s roof leaked and she would even beard our grandfather in his private chamber and beg him to do something about it, although he terrified her.
She was not the sort of child he was interested in and characteristically he made no effort to pretend he was. He did everything he could to intensify her fear of him. Grandmother Arabella scolded him for it and was particularly sweet to Damaris because of it. My grandfather preferred a rebel like me. He had not really wanted to stop my marriage to Beau, although he had ridden out after us when we eloped.
He thought it would be good for me to learn my own lessons. There was a great deal of him in me and he knew it, and as he thought what he was was the right thing to be, he had an affection for me which he never would have for Damaris.
She folded my gowns, stroking them as she did so.
“I love this blue one, Carlotta,” she said. “It’s the colour of peacocks’ feathers.
The colour of your eyes.”
“Indeed it is not,” I said. “My eyes are several shades lighter.”
“But they look this colour when you wear this gown.”
“Damaris, how old are you?”
“Nearly twelve,” she said.
“Then it is time you started thinking about what brings out the blue in your own eyes.”
“But mine are not blue,” she said. “They’re no colour at all. They’re like water.
Sometimes they look grey, sometimes green, and only a little blue if I wear something of a very deep blue. And I haven’t those lovely black lashes; mine are light brown and they don’t show very much.”
“Damaris, I can see what you look like very well and I don’t
I cried. “Who cares whether we have a Protestant or Catholic King?”
“It makes a difference when men start quarrelling about it and insist that others think as they do,” explained Leigh.
“Which is just what they are doing with this Act of Settlement,” I pointed out.
I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be argumentative. Perhaps I did feel a little resentment at the treatment of the Catholics, as my father had died because he was one and dear old Robert Frinton, who had left me his fortune, had been a staunch adherent of the Catholic Church. And now General Langdon was going to come to a tragic end. I knew these men courted danger-all of them-but I was impatient with their intolerance towards each other.
However, the fact that the King was obviously ailing, although there was an attempt to prevent this becoming public knowledge, did not matter as much because there was the Princess Anne to step onto the throne if he should die; and although she was without heirs, she was only in her thirties and there was always the Electress Sophia with her brood in the background.
So I prepared to leave for Eyot Abbass.
Damaris was sent by my mother to help me sort out my clothes. My mother was always trying to bring us together and created a fantasy in her mind that we were devoted to each other. That Damaris had a blind adoration of me I knew. She loved to brush my hair for me. She liked to put my clothes away; and when I was dressed ready for dinner when we had guests or was going riding, she would stand before me, that little round rosebud mouth of hers quite eloquent in her admiration.
“You are the most beautiful girl in the world,” she once said to me.
“How do you know?” I asked. “I suppose you’re a connoisseur of the beauties of all countries, are you?”
“Well,” she replied, “you must be.”
53”Why, because I’m your sister and you think everything connected with our family is better than everything else?”
“No,” she answered. “Because you are so beautiful nobody could be more so.”
I should have been pleased by this simple adoration but it irritated me. She was all that I was not. Born in wedlock of a happy marriage. A good child, truly enjoying going with my mother to visit the poor and taking baskets of food to them. She really cared when somebody’s roof leaked and she would even beard our grandfather in his private chamber and beg him to do something about it, although he terrified her.
She was not the sort of child he was interested in and characteristically he made no effort to pretend he was. He did everything he could to intensify her fear of him. Grandmother Arabella scolded him for it and was particularly sweet to Damaris because of it. My grandfather preferred a rebel like me. He had not really wanted to stop my marriage to Beau, although he had ridden out after us when we eloped.
He thought it would be good for me to learn my own lessons. There was a great deal of him in me and he knew it, and as he thought what he was was the right thing to be, he had an affection for me which he never would have for Damaris.
She folded my gowns, stroking them as she did so.
“I love this blue one, Carlotta,” she said. “It’s the colour of peacocks’ feathers.
The colour of your eyes.”
“Indeed it is not,” I said. “My eyes are several shades lighter.”
“But they look this colour when you wear this gown.”
“Damaris, how old are you?”
“Nearly twelve,” she said.
“Then it is time you started thinking about what brings out the blue in your own eyes.”
“But mine are not blue,” she said. “They’re no colour at all. They’re like water.
Sometimes they look grey, sometimes green, and only a little blue if I wear something of a very deep blue. And I haven’t those lovely black lashes; mine are light brown and they don’t show very much.”
“Damaris, I can see what you look like very well and I don’t
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