The Meaning of Night Part 15

'Oh, 'e ain't my 'usband,' she said, looking at me as cool as you like.

'Not your husband?'

'Not 'im.'

'Then . . .'

'I'll tell you what Mr Glapthorn,' she b.u.t.ted in, giving me a quite delightfully sly little smile, 'you take me to dinner, and I'll come clean.'

She was respectably and soberly dressed in blue taffeta, with a matching stole and bonnet, an ensemble which, with her delicate little reticule, made her look like a vicar's daughter. So, after walking a little way, I hailed a hansom in Fleet-street and took her off to Limmer's,10 where I asked the waiter to find a table for myself and my sister.

Over the course of the evening, Rebecca recounted something of her history. Her real name was d.i.c.kson. Orphaned at the age of nine, she had been obliged to fend for herself on the unforgiving streets of Bermondsey. But like me she was resourceful and had quickly found a protector, a noted cracksman, for whom, as she said, she 'thieved like a good 'un' in return for food and a roof over her head. In due course, she graduated to whoring; but then, through the good offices of one of her pick-ups, she succeeded in gaining a place in service, as a maid in the house of a Director of the East India Company. It was there she'd met Albert Harrigan, a servant in the same establishment. She and this Harrigan soon formed an attachment to each, even though her paramour (whose real name was Albert Parker) had an abandoned wife and child somewhere in Yorkshire. All went along nicely until their employer lost all his money in a failed railway speculation and committed suicide. His legal adviser had been none other than Mr Christopher Tredgold, who happened just then to be in need of a manservant for his private residence. Harrigan was duly taken on, to be joined after a few weeks by his supposed wife. But their relationship had quickly soured, and now only convenience kept them together.

She told me all this peppering her account with several anecdotes of questionable propriety with all the gusto of a tavern raconteur; but as soon as the waiter arrived with each course, the wily little s.l.u.t instantly a.s.sumed an expression of the most perfect demureness, smiling sweetly and turning the conversation, without once dropping her aitches, to some topic of unimpeachable dullness.

In the weeks following, Rebecca and I found occasion to promote our friendship, in ways which I'm sure I do not need to describe. If Harrigan guessed how things lay between us, then it did not appear to trouble him. As for Rebecca, her good humour and healthy natural appet.i.tes, together with that optimistic artfulness that comes from having successfully made the most of a very bad lot, soon began to have a beneficial effect on me; and, as she had no wish to put a rope round my neck and lead me to the altar, we got on very well, meeting when the inclination took us, and pursuing our own interests whenever we wished.

This, then, was my life, from 1850 to 1853. And so things would perhaps have continued, but for two events.

The first occurred in March, 1853. I found myself in St John's Wood, on Mr Tredgold's business, and had just turned into a pleasant tree-lined street when the name on the gate-piers of a large white-painted villa, half-hidden behind a screen of shrubs, brought me up short. Blithe Lodge where the beauteous Isabella Gallini had lived for the past three years stood before me. I have already written of how I renewed my acquaintance with Bella and how, under the auspices of Mrs Kitty Daley, she became my mistress. To my surprise, I discovered I was able to remain faithful to her, except for occasional minor indisretions, which I'm sure she would have forgiven me, had I confessed them. Rebecca, however, I did give up, for Bella's sake. She received the news with little emotion.

'Well,' she said, 'that don't matter. I've still got Albert, such as 'e is. An' I reckon we'll stay friends, you an' me. You're a chancer, Mr Edward Glapthorn, for all you're a gennlemun, and so am I. An' that makes us equals in a way, don't it? Friends an' equals. So, gimme a kiss, dearie, and let's 'ear no more about it.'

The second event was of a very different character, and of far more moment.

It was the morning of the 19th of October, 1853 a date indelibly impressed on my memory. I was just leaving my room at Tredgolds, and was on the point of descending the stairs, when I saw Jukes leap up from his desk at the sound of the front bell. I could not see who the visitor was, but in a moment Jukes was hurrying up the stairs towards me.

'Lord Tansor himself,' he whispered excitedly as he pa.s.sed.

I leant back against the wall and gazed down.

He was sitting bolt upright, both hands clasping his cane before him. The office, before his arrival, had been quietly going about its business, with just the usual rustle of papers and sc.r.a.ping of pens, and the occasional sound of subdued conversation between the clerks breaking the silence. But in his presence, the atmosphere seemed suddenly charged, somehow put on alert, and a blanket of strained silence instantly descended. All conversation ceased; the clerks moved about the room with concentrated deliberation, opening their drawers with the utmost care, or silently closing doors behind them. I watched this phenomenon closely, and observed that several of the clerks would look up from their work from time to time and direct apprehensive glances over towards the seated figure, as if, sitting there tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Jukes to return, he was about to weigh the feather of truth in the scales of justice against their sinful hearts.

In a few moments, Jukes hurried past me again, heading back down the stairs to where the visitor sat. I stepped back into my room as his Lordship followed the clerk to the door of Mr Tredgold's private office. As Lord Tansor entered, I heard the Senior Partner's effusive welcome.

Jukes closed the office door and began to make his way back to his position.

'Lord Tansor,' he said again, seeing me as he came past my door. He stopped, and leaned his head towards me in a confidential manner.

'There are firms', he said, 'who would give a great deal a very great deal to have such a client. But the SP keeps him tight with us. Oh yes, he's Tredgolds' as long as the SP is with us. A great man. One of the first men in the kingdom, you know, though who has heard of him? And he's ours.'

He delivered this little speech in a rapid whisper, looking backwards and forwards to the door of Mr Tredgold's office as he did so. Then he nodded quickly and scampered back down the stairs, scratching his head with one hand, and clicking his fingers with the other.

I walked back to my desk, leaving my door slightly ajar. At length, I heard the Senior Partner's door open and the m.u.f.fled sound of conversation as the two men pa.s.sed along the pa.s.sage to the head of the stairs.

'I'm obliged, Tredgold.'

'Not at all, your Lordship,' I heard Mr Tredgold reply. 'Your instructions in this matter are much appreciated, and shall be acted upon without delay.'

I sprang from my desk and went out into the pa.s.sage.

'Oh, pardon me,' I said to the Senior Partner. 'I did not realize.'

Mr Tredgold beamed at me. Lord Tansor's face was expressionless at first, but then he began to regard me more closely.

'You seem familiar to me,' he said.

'This is Mr Edward Glapthorn,' said Mr Tredgold. 'The photographer.'

'Ah, the photographer. Very good. Excellent work, Glapthorn. Excellent.' Then he turned to the Senior Partner, nodded his good-bye, and immediately descended the stairs with short rapid steps. In the next moment he was gone.

'I notice it is a fine day outside, Edward,' said Mr Tredgold, smiling radiantly. 'Perhaps you might like to join me for a little stroll?'

V.

In the Temple Gardens ______________________________________________________________________.

Once away from the office, and having entered the Temple Gardens, Mr Tredgold began to outline, in his usual circuitous and abstract way, a 'little problem' he had been presented with.

'Tell me, Edward,' he began, 'how extensive is your genealogical knowledge?'

'I have some slight acquaintance with the subject,' I replied.

'I find, my dear Edward, that you have some slight acquaintance with most subjects.' He beamed, took out his red silk handkerchief, and proceeded to polish his eye-gla.s.s as we walked.

'Baronies by Writ, for instance. What can you tell me about them?'

'I believe that such dignities are so called because they describe the old practice of summoning men of distinction to sit in the King's Parliament by the issuing of a writ.'1 'Correct!' beamed Mr Tredgold. 'Now, by several statements of law laid down since Stuart times, these Baronies are held to be heritable by heirs general that is to say, through females as well as males. The present Lord Tansor's peerage is just such a Barony. Perhaps', he continued, 'it would be interesting to you, from an antiquarian point of view, to have a brief account of Lord Tansor's n.o.ble line?'

I said that nothing would give me greater pleasure, and begged him to proceed.

'Very well pray stop me if any of this is familiar to you in the reign of Henry III, Lord Maldwin Duport was a person of power and influence. Of Breton extraction, his grandfather having come over with the Conqueror, he was memorably described in one of the chronicles as "a man of iyrn and blud" iron and blood. A dangerous and belligerent man, we may perhaps a.s.sume, but one whose services were much in demand in those uncertain and violent times. He was a great landowner, already a baron by tenure, holding lands in Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, Warwickshire, and Northamptonshire, in addition to other properties in the North and the West Country.

'In December, 1264, Maldwin was summoned to attend the rebel Parliament called by Simon de Montfort in the King's name Henry himself, along with his son, Prince Edward, being then under lock and key following the Battle of Lewes. Maldwin was subsequently summoned to Parliament in 1283, 1290, and 1295, and his successors continued to be called into the next century and beyond. In the course of time, their constant presence in Parliament was interpreted as const.i.tuting a peerage dignity deriving from the 1264 Parliament, thus giving the Barony senior precedence, along with those of Despencer and de Ros, in the English peerage.

'The Lord Maldwin's princ.i.p.al estate was the castle, or caput, of Tansor, in Northamptonshire a few miles to the south of the present Lord Tansor's seat of Evenwood and so was summoned to Parliament as Malduino Portuensi de Tansor. Of course the family has suffered many vicissitudes of fortune especially during the Commonwealth; but the Duports have generally married judiciously, and by the time of George, the twenty-second Baron, at the beginning of the last century, they had risen to that position of eminence and influence they still enjoy.

'This position, however, is now under threat at least that is how the present Lord Tansor interprets matters. The absence of an heir I mean of a lineal heir, whether male or female has caused him great concern; and it is this lack, and the consequences that may flow from it, that he feels may signal a decline in the family's fortunes. His fear is that the t.i.tle and property could pa.s.s to a branch of the family in which, to put things in his own terms, the qualities that have been so conspicuously demonstrated by successive generations of his ancestors are lacking. His Lordship has certainly been singularly unlucky. As you may know, the only son from his first marriage died when still a child, and his present union has so far been without issue.'

He took out his handkerchief; but, rather than cleaning his eye-gla.s.s, used it instead to mop his forehead. I noticed that he had coloured a little, and so asked if he would prefer to move out of the sun, which, though low in the sky, was unusually intense for the time of year.

'By no means,' he replied. 'I like to feel the light of heaven on my face. Now then, where was I? Yes. In a word, then, it appears that there is, at present, ahem, no male heir of the direct line to Evenwood, which raises the distinct possibility that the t.i.tle will pa.s.s to a member of one of the collateral branches of the family, an outcome to which his Lordship is deeply opposed.'

'There are legitimate collateral claimants, then?' I asked.

'Oh yes,' said Mr Tredgold. 'His cousin and secretary, Mr Paul Carteret,2 and, in due course, Mr Carteret's daughter. But, as I say, his Lordship's aversion to collateral succession is well, entrenched and immovable. It is perhaps irrational, because the Barony has reverted to collateral relatives on a number of occasions in its history, but there it is. Come, I am a little tired of walking. Let us sit.'

Taking my arm, Mr Tredgold drew me to a bench in the corner of the Gardens. 'There may yet, of course, be time for a satisfactory outcome to Lord Tansor's predicament in the normal course of events, as it were it is considered possible by Lord Tansor's physician that her Ladyship might still be capable of conceiving an heir. I believe these things have been known. But his Lordship is not prepared to put his trust in Nature, and, after considering the matter carefully for several years, has finally come to a decision. He has wisely rejected divorce, against which I strongly advised, there being no other grounds than the lack of an heir, and it would go hard on his Lordship's standing and reputation to behave like some Eastern potentate and take such a step. He understands this, and so has taken another tack.'

Pausing once again, he looked up at the radiant blue of the sky through the branches of the tree under which we were seated and shielded his eyes with his hand against the sun.

'Another tack?'

'Indeed. A somewhat unusual one. The adoption of an heir of his own choosing.'

I cannot describe what I felt on hearing these words. An heir of his own choosing? I was Lord Tansor's heir, of that I was sure. But because I could not prove my true ident.i.ty to the world, my place was now to be taken by another. Struggling hard to maintain some appearance of composure, I began to experience the most peculiar sensation, as if I was falling through great darkness into infinite s.p.a.ce.

'Are you well, Edward? You look a little pale.'

'Perfectly well, thank you. Please go on.'

'The firm has been charged with the task of modifying the provisions of Lord Tansor's will, by the addition of a codicil. The baronial t.i.tle, of course, is a separate matter: it must go whither the law dictates, to the next heir in line of succession, whether direct or collateral; which of course means that Mr Paul Carteret, through his Duport mother, may, as things presently stand, become the twenty-sixth Baron Tansor. I hope I am not being too abstruse?'

'By no means.'

'Good. I wish you to be aware of the situation, as it pertains to his Lordship's present intentions. You do understand, don't you Edward?'

It was such a curious question that I did not well know how to answer, but simply nodded mutely.

'Good again. The t.i.tle, then, is not in Lord Tansor's gift. But what his Lordship possesses materially including Evenwood, the greatest and n.o.blest of all his possessions is his to bestow, subject to certain legal procedures, on whomsoever he wishes as is, in a specific sense, the Duport name. He has therefore taken a decision of great consequence. He has separated the baronial dignity, conferred by the writ that summoned Lord Maldwin Duport to Parliament in 1264, from the material interests the family has subsequently garnered to itself, resolving that the future t.i.tle-holder will inherit little but the dignity. His Lordship desires that all the entailed property he himself inherited, as well as those possessions specifically bequeathed to him by his father, should be left to his nominated heir.'

'And has Lord Tansor made his nomination?'

'He has.'

Mr Tredgold paused. His china-blue eyes met mine.

'It is to be Mr Phoebus Rainsford Daunt, the poet. You may have seen the reviews of his new volume.3 It has, I believe, been very well received.'

Mr Tredgold was explaining the Daunt family's connexion with the Duports through the present Mrs Daunt, but his words went unheeded. There are moments in life when one begins to discern, it may be dimly and uncertainly at first, the lineaments of deliberate design in what had once appeared random and fortuitous. This was such a moment. What had been taken from me by Daunt's youthful treachery, I now saw, had been the precursor of greater loss to come, of which he was the unconscious agent. I was mesmerised by the bitter humour of it all, and could not suppress a mirthless smile.

'Is something amusing you, Edward?' asked Mr Tredgold.

'By no means,' I replied, quickly a.s.suming an expression of concern, which indeed I did not need to manufacture.

'As I was saying, Lord Tansor intends, by breaking the entail, that Mr Daunt will succeed to the possession of Evenwood, and of all the other property he inherited from his father, on condition of his a.s.suming the Duport name and arms on his Lordship's death.'

'And is it in Lord Tansor's power to do all this?'

'a.s.suredly. The property he inherited from his father is his to dispose of as he wishes. It will be be necessary for his Lordship to sign a deed of recovery for the entailed property and enrol it in Chancery before he can bequeath this portion of his inheritance to Mr Daunt; but this is a relatively straightforward procedure, and is indeed already in hand.'4 The air had taken on a slight chill as the mid-afternoon sun began to wane.

We had been nearly two hours in the Gardens two hours that changed my life forever.

'Mr Phoebus Daunt's prospects are rosy indeed,' I said, as carelessly as I could, though I was burning inside with anxiety and anger. 'A most fortunate young man. Already a distinguished poet, and with expectations before too long of succeeding to Lord Tansor's wealth and possessions, and to Evenwood itself.'

'Expectations, yes,' said Mr Tredgold, 'though one might perhaps wish to qualify them. Pro tempore, and until the codicil is executed, Mr Daunt remains the prospective heir of his Lordship's property. But Lord Tansor is fit and robust, his present union may yet be productive of a child; and of course the birth of an heir of the blood, unlikely though that is, would change everything, and would then bring about a revocation of the proposed provisions. And who knows what else the future may hold? Nothing is certain.'

He gave me another most curious look, as if he wished me to understand something he was unable to say explicitly. For a moment or two we sat looking at each other in awkward silence. Then he stood up and smiled.

'But you are right, of course. As things presently stand, you may say that Mr Phoebus Daunt is indeed a most fortunate young man. He has already received ample demonstrations of Lord Tansor's regard for him, and soon he is to be formally anointed, if I may so put it, as his Lordship's legal heir. When the day comes, if it should come, Mr Daunt, though he will not be the twenty-sixth Baron Tansor, will be a very powerful man indeed.'

Mr Tredgold continued to speak, but my thoughts were elsewhere. If I failed to prove I was Lord Tansor's lawfully begotten heir, what would then remain? Desolation and despair, mitigated only by the bitter solace of revenge. Then I would have a great work before me: to deny him what I had been denied, using all necessary means, at whatever cost.

We left the Gardens, and began to make our way back to Paternoster-row.

'Forgive me, Mr Tredgold,' I said, after we'd walked some way in silence, 'I am unclear as to what part in the proceedings you have outlined you expect me to play. This is a legal matter, but I am no lawyer. Whatever must be done in this business must be done by those who know the law. The case is far removed from the Abode of Beauty. '

Mr Tredgold smiled at the reference to my first success for the firm.

'Indeed it is,' he said, taking my arm. 'Well, Edward, here it is. There is what I may call an additional element, of which Lord Tansor is as yet unaware, and which must remain strictly confidential for the time being. I have received a communication a private communication from his Lordship's secretary, Mr Paul Carteret. The circ.u.mstances whereby he has come to be employed by his relative are interesting, but need not concern us now. It appears that Mr Carteret whom I have known and liked for many years has been troubled for some time by a little discovery he has made. He has not seen fit to vouchsafe its full nature to me, but his letter appears to suggest that it has a direct and fundamental bearing on the matters we have just been discussing. In short, Mr Carteret seems to raise the possibility, if my inference is correct, that, unknown to his Lordship, a legitimate and direct heir of the blood exists. This, then, is the little problem I would like your a.s.sistance in resolving. And now, I think I should like some tea. Will you join me?'

The clock on Le Grice's mantelpiece struck three o'clock.

He'd said nothing after I'd finished telling him of my conversation with Mr Tredgold in the Temple Gardens, but sat quite still, ruminatively twisting the end of his moustache.

'This is a tangled tale, G., he said at last, grasping a poker and leaning forward to stir the dying embers of the fire, ' so let me see if I've got things straight. Old Tansor has taken it into his head to leave everything to Daunt, except his t.i.tle, which isn't his to give. You believe you're Tansor's heir, but can't prove it; and you can't stomach seeing Daunt take what you think belongs to you. Now this chap Carteret has come along with a little secret to impart, which may, or may not, have a bearing on the case. So far, so good. But, look here: it's all very well, you know, to make Daunt pay for what he did to you. It's a long time to bear a grudge, but that's your business, and I can't say I mightn't have felt the same myself. But, hang it, G., you can't blame Daunt if old Tansor has taken a fancy to him. It's rum that it should be Daunt, I'll grant; dashed bad luck actually, but . . .'

'Luck?' I cried. 'Not luck, not chance, not coincidence. Can't you see? There's a fatality at work here, between him and me. It had to be Daunt. It could have been no one else. And there's worse to come. Much worse.'

'Well, then,' said Le Grice, calmly, 'you'd better push on, as quickly as you can, and tell me the rest. The regiment leaves in three weeks, and if I'm to perish valiantly for Queen and Country, then I must know that all's well with you before I go. So, speed on, great King, and let's hear all about Carteret and his mysterious discovery.'

He refilled his gla.s.s and leaned back in his chair once more, whist I, taking my cue, lit another cigar and began to tell him of Mr Carteret's letter, in which, though I did not yet know it, the seeds of an even greater betrayal had been sown.

Part the Third Into the Shadows October 1853 I will take heed both of a speedy friend, and a slow enemy.

[Owen Felltham, Resolves (1623), iii, 'A Friend and Enemy, When Most Dangerous']

19:.

Veritas odium parit1 _____________________________________________________________________.

Once back in Tenple-street, after my discussion with Mr Tredgold in the Temple Gardens, I considered the new prospect that now lay before me.

My position had appeared fatally threatened by the revelation that Lord Tansor had determined to make Daunt his heir; but now Mr Tredgold seemed to offer the startling possibility of a resolution in my favour, if his inference concerning Mr Carteret's discovery was correct. Did Lord Tansor's secretary indeed possess the proof I needed?

This is the letter Mr Tredgold had received: The Dower House, Evenwood Park Evenwood, Northamptonshire Tuesday, 4th October, 1853 MY DEAR TREDGOLD, - I write to you in a strictly private & confidential capacity, in the full knowledge that your own rect.i.tude & respect for my position here will ensure that no word or hint of this communication will be given to any third party, especially my employer. We have had many occasions to correspond over the years in a professional capacity, and it has been my pleasure also to welcome you to Evenwood as a much esteemed guest and friend. I therefore hope and believe that the sincerity of my regard for you will be more than sufficient to bind you to this undertaking.

What I wish to say to you, most urgently, cannot be set down in writing but must be conveyed to you in person, for it goes to the heart of the present matter. I am aware acutely aware that my position is a delicate one, since my own interests are involved. But you will know I speak G.o.d's truth when I say that I have always had the sincerest desire to serve my employer to the best of my ability, regardless of my personal interests.

I have been troubled for some little time by a matter that has presented itself to me, quite unexpectedly, in the course of my work here, relating to the question that is of most concern to my employer, and which he is now seeking to resolve by the means of which we are both aware. The consequences are momentous for his Lordship and have their origins in the actions of a certain person, now deceased, for whom you and I once cherished an exceptional regard. But I cannot say more in writing.

I am unable to come up to town for some weeks, and so you would oblige me greatly if you could suggest some arrangement for us to meet in the country in private. I would not wish to antic.i.p.ate any plan you may have, beyond saying that I usually find myself in Stamford of a Wednesday morning, & that I also find the tap-room of the George Hotel a convenient place to take some refreshment at around midday.

I cannot stress upon you enough the need for absolute discretion.

Please direct reply via Post-office, Peterborough.

I have the honour to be, Yours very sincerely, P. CARTERET.