The Meaning of Night Part 29

To my surprise, she did not hesitate in her reply.

'I am at home I should say at my aunt's home every morning from eleven.'

'May I come on Friday, then, at eleven?' I confess I asked the question thinking she might invent some excuse for not being able to receive me; but instead, to my surprise, she leaned her head on one side and simply said: 'Of course you may.'

As the hansom pulled away, she pushed down the window, looked back at me, and smiled.

A simple smile. But it sealed my fate.

Part the Fifth The Meaning of Night 18531855 Our knowledge doth but show us our ignorance.

[Owen Felltham, Resolves (1623), xxvii, 'Of Curiosity in Knowledge']

35:.

Credula res amor est1 _________*

The following Friday, as arranged, I called upon Miss Carteret at her aunt's house in Wilton-crescent. I was shown into a large and elegant drawing-room, where I found Miss Carteret and Mademoiselle Buisson seated together on a little sofa by the window, each apparently engrossed in reading.

'Mr Glapthorn! How nice!'

It was Mademoiselle who spoke first, jumping up to pull a small armchair closer to where they were sitting and begging me to sit down.

'We have been so dreadfully dull here this morning, Mr Glapthorn,' she said, resuming her place next to Miss Carteret and tossing her book onto a nearby table. 'Like two old spinsters. I declare I might have gone quite mad if you hadn't come to see us. Emily, of course, can sit for hours on her own and never minds it; but I must have company. Don't you love company, Mr Glapthorn?'

'Only my own,' I replied.

'Oh, but that is terrible. You are as bad as Emily. And yet you were such a lively companion the other day, in the Park, was he not, Emily?'

All through this exchange Miss Carteret had sat, book in hand, impa.s.sively regarding her friend. Then, ignoring her friend's question, she turned towards me and took off her spectacles.

'How is your employer, Mr Glapthorn?'

'My employer?'

'Yes. Mr Christopher Tredgold. I understand from Lord Tansor that he has suffered a seizure.'

'He was very poorly when I last saw him. I'm afraid I cannot say whether his condition has since improved.'

Mademoiselle Buisson gave a little sigh and crossed her arms, as if she was piqued by the suddenly serious turn of the conversation.

I had hoped for a warmer, less restrained, reception than this from her, and was unsure of what to say next. Then, on the wall behind Miss Carteret, a well-executed painting of a red-brick house set in pleasant gardens caught my eye.

'The Red House at Ashby St John,' she said, seeing my interest. 'My grandparents' house, where my father grew up. When Grandfather Carteret was ruined, the picture was bought by my maternal grandfather, Mr Charles Hunt-Graham. It pa.s.sed on his death to my aunt, Mrs Fletcher Manners.'

'Is Mrs Manners at home?' I said, feeling it would be polite of me to ask.

'She is visiting a friend,' Miss Carteret replied, 'and will not return until this evening.'

'Mrs Manners is a person who likes company very much,' Mademoiselle Buisson observed with a toss of her head.

'I think Mr Tredgold mentioned to me thatMrs Manners was your mother's youngest sister?'

'That is correct.'

'With whom you resided when you were in Paris?'

'You are very curious about my family, Mr Glapthorn.' The rebuke if the remark was intended as such was spoken in a soft, almost coquettishly teasing tone, which strongly conveyed to me the notion that she was, after all, disposed to maintain the friendly relations we had established during the course of our afternoon in Green Park. This encouraged me to take a little risk with my response.

'I am curious about your family, Miss Carteret, because I am curious about you.'

'That is a rather bold statement, and curious in itself. What possible interest can my dull life hold for someone such as you? For I conceive, Mr Glapthorn, that you are a person of wide experience and interests, with a certain largeness of view that I have observed before in men of strong intellect who have lived a good deal in the world on their own terms. You live by your wits I am sure I am right to say this and this gives you, if I may say so, a kind of feral character. Yes, you are an adventurer, Mr Glapthorn. I do not say that you can never be tamed, but I am sure you are not destined for domesticity. Don't you agree, Marie-Madeleine?'

Mademoiselle had been regarding Miss Carteret and I with an expression of intense interest, her eyes darting from one to the other as each of us spoke.

'I think,' she said slowly, pursing her lips in concentration, 'that Mr Glapthorn is what I have heard called in English a dark horse. Yes, that is what I think. Tu es un homme mystere.'

'Well,' I smiled, 'I am not sure whether to be flattered or not.'

'Oh,' said Mademoiselle, 'flattered, of course. A hint of mystery in a person is always an advantageous characteristic.'

'So you think I am mysterious?'

'a.s.suredly.'

'And what do you think, Miss Carteret?'

'I think we are all mysterious,' she replied, opening her eyes to their fullest extent. 'It is a question of degree. Everyone has things they would prefer to hide from the view of others, even from those to whom they are close little secret sins, frailties, fears, even hopes that dare not be spoken; yet, on the whole, these are venial mysteries and do not prevent those who love us best from knowing us as we essentially are, both for good and bad. But there are those who are not at all what they seem. Such people, I think, are wholly mysterious. Their true selves are deliberately and entirely masked, leaving only a false aspect for others to know.'

Her unwavering gaze was uncomfortable, and the ensuing silence even more so. She was speaking generally, of course; yet there was an unmistakable pointedness to her words that struck me very forcefully. Mademoiselle gave a sigh, indicative of impatience with her serious friend, whilst I smiled weakly and, in an attempt to steer the conversation in another direction, asked Miss Carteret how long she would be staying in London.

'Marie-Madeleine leaves for Paris tomorrow. I shall remain here for a few days more, having little to go back to Evenwood for.'

'Not even Mr Phoebus Daunt?' I asked.

At this Mademoiselle Buisson gave out a little scream of laughter and rocked back and forth on the sofa.

'Mr Phoebus Daunt! You think she would go back for him? But you are teasing, I think, Mr Glapthorn.'

'But why would Miss Carteret not wish to see her old friend?' I asked, with an exaggeratedly innocent expression.

'Ah, yes,' replied Mademoiselle, smiling, 'her old friend and playfellow.'

'Mr Glapthorn does not share the world's admiration of Mr Phoebus Daunt,' said Miss Carteret. 'Indeed he holds quite a severe opinion of him. Isn't that right, Mr Glapthorn?'

'But Mr Phoebus Daunt is so utterly charming!' cried Mademoiselle Buisson. 'And so clever, and so handsome! Are you jealous of him, Mr Glapthorn?'

'By no means, I a.s.sure you.'

'Do you know him, then?' asked Mademoiselle, smiling.

'Mr Glapthorn knows him only by reputation,' said Miss Carteret, also smiling, 'which he believes to be sufficient grounds for disliking him.' They looked at each other as if they were playing some sort of game, the rules of which were known only by the two of them.

'Do I infer, then, Miss Carteret,' I asked, 'that we share a similar view of Mr Daunt's character and talents after all? When we last spoke on this subject you appeared inclined to defend him.'

'As I implied then, I owe Mr Daunt the courtesy due to a long acquaintance, and to a close neighbour. But I do not seek to defend him. He is well able to defend himself, against your opinion, and against mine.'

'Well,' said Mademoiselle, 'if you wish to have my considered opinion of Mr Phoebus Daunt, here it is. He is insufferable. That is my opinion the long and the short of it, as you say in English. So you see, Mr Glapthorn, we are all of one mind on the subject.'

I said I was glad of it.

'But you know, Emily,' she continued, turning to her friend, 'I can think of an excellent reason for you to go back to Evenwood.'

'And what is that?' asked Miss Carteret.

'Why, Mr Phoebus Daunt is not there!'

Mademoiselle Buisson seemed excessively pleased by the cleverness of her riposte. She clapped her hands together, kissed Miss Carteret on the cheek, and leapt to her feet. Then she began to dance around the room, skiping and twirling, and singing, 'Ou est le soleil? Ou est le soleil?', until she sat down once more next to Miss Carteret, flushed and bright-eyed.

'And where has the sun gone?' I asked.

'To America,' said Miss Carteret. As she spoke, she regarded her friend with a quizzical uplift of her eyebrows, and again I felt an unmistakable undercurrent of complicity. 'He has embarked upon a lecture tour.'

'And what is he to lecture on?' I asked.

'His subject, I believe, is to be "The Art of the Epic"'.

I could not stop myself from letting out a contemptuous guffaw. The Art of the Epic! Of all things! Then I checked myself, thinking I might perhaps be reprimanded by Miss Carteret for my discourtesy towards her old playfellow; but I was gratified to see that both she and Mademoiselle were also laughing, Miss Carteret quietly and discreetly, her friend more openly.

'You see, Emily,' said Mademoiselle at length, 'Mr Glapthorn is a kindred spirit. He feels things as we do. We can tell him all our secrets, and never fear that he will betray us.'

Miss Carteret rose, walked to the window, and looked out into the street.

'It's so stuffy in here,' she said. 'Shall we walk out for half an hour?'

It did not take long for the two ladies to procure shawls and bonnets, and soon we were walking through carpets of fallen leaves in Hyde-park. We rested for a while on a bench overlooking the Serpentine; but Mademoiselle Buisson was restless and, after a minute or two, she wandered off a little way, leaving Miss Carteret and I alone for the first time.

'Miss Carteret,' I ventured, after we'd sat for a few moments looking out over the water, 'may I enquire whether the police are any closer to apprehending your father's attackers?'

Her eyes remained fixed on some distant point as she made her reply.

'A man from Easton a known ruffian was questioned, but has since been released without charge. I have no hope at all that the police will ever identify those responsible.'

She said this in a rather pat way, as if my question had been antic.i.p.ated, and the answer prepared. Her beautiful face looked strained, and I noticed that she was playing with the fringes of her shawl in a distracted manner.

'Forgive me,' I said softly. 'The question was insensitive.'

'No!' She had now turned to look at me, and I saw that her eyes were full of tears. 'You speak out of kindness, I know that, and I am grateful for your concern, truly I am. But my heart is so full with grief for my father, and with uncertainty as to what I shall do now. My father's death has thrown everything into doubt. I have no way of earning my living, and do not even know if I shall have a home any more.'

'Surely Lord Tansor will be sensitive to your position, and to the duty he owes to you as his relative?'

'Lord Tansor will only do what serves his own interests,' she replied, somewhat tartly. 'I do not complain that he has never shown me consideration in the past, but he is certainly under no obligation to do so in the future. He gave my father employment at the behest of his aunt, my grandmother; but he did so with some reluctance, though the appointment proved of inestimable benefit to him. My father was his cousin, yet he was sometimes treated no better than a servant. I do not deny that our material circ.u.mstances provided compensation; but we owned nothing. Everything we had was in the gift of Lord Tansor; we lived by the grace and favour of his Lordship, not as members of the family in our own right and dignity. I could never make my father see the inequity of our situation, but I felt the shame and injustice of it greatly. How can I, then, consider my relationship to his Lordship to offer any guarantee of security and independence?'

'But perhaps his Lordship will treat you generously, after all.'

'He may. I have Duport blood in me, and that is always of the greatest consideration to Lord Tansor. But I cannot count on things turning out to my advantage, and do not wish to be perpetually beholden to Lord Tansor.'

I then made the observation that a lady always had another means at her disposal to settle herself in a comfortable way of life.

'You mean marriage, I suppose. But who would want to marry me? I have no money of my own, and my father left little enough. I am twenty-eight years old no, do not say that my age is of no account. I know very well that it is. No, Mr Glapthorn, I am a lost cause. I shall live and die a spinster.'

'There is one person, surely, who would marry you.'

'And who is that?'

'Why, Mr Phoebus Daunt, of course.'

'Really, Mr Glapthorn, you are quite obsessed by Mr Phoebus Daunt. He seems to have become a fixed idea for you.'

'But you admit that I am right?'

'I admit no such thing. Any inclinations in that direction that Mr Daunt might have harboured have long since withered away. Even if my father had approved of him, which he did not, I could never have reciprocated his feelings. I do not love Mr Daunt; and, for me, having had the example of my parents constantly before me, love is the only reason for marriage.'

'And yet he has tremendous prospects, does he not? The woman who marries Mr Phoebus Daunt will be comfortable indeed when he inherits Lord Tansor's fortune. Such a consideration might mitigate the absence of love.'

'Your knowledge of Mr Daunt's affairs appears to be extensive.'

'I have some professional acquaintance with them, yes.'

'Ah, from your position at Tredgolds. I see. But I would have expected such matters to have remained confidential.'

'I think I am right in saying that Mr Daunt's position with regard to Lord Tansor's will is public knowledge; otherwise, of course, I would have observed professional propriety '

'You look at me rather expectantly, Mr Glapthorn.' She was smiling now, and the colour had returned to her cheeks.

'I thought you might have made some comment on the consoling power of Mr Daunt's expectations.'

'Well, if I made no comment, then that should signify to you that I had none to make. Shall we agree to speak no more of Mr Daunt? He bores me in company, and it bores me even more to hear him spoken of. I am determined to find some way of settling my future, on my own terms and to my own satisfaction, without having to cast myself on Mr Daunt and his expectations. Now tell me, have you read Mr Currer Bell's Villette?'2 And so she began to quiz me on my tastes and opinions. Was I an admirer of d.i.c.kens? What was my estimation of the work of Wilkie Collins? Was not Mr Tennyson's In Memoriam an incomparably fine achievement?3 Had I been to any concerts or recitals lately? Did I see any merit in the work of Mr Rossetti and his a.s.sociates?4 She showed an informed and discerning interest in each topic that arose in the course of our discussion, and we soon found that our views on the merits or otherwise of various authors and artists coincided most fortuitously; and so, little by little, we began to speak like two people who had silently acknowledged a mutual liking for each other. Then Mademoiselle Buisson skipped back over to where we were sitting.

'It is getting a little cold, ma chere,' she said, taking her friend by the hand to encourage her to stand up, 'and I am hungry. Shall we go back? My compliments to you, Mr Glapthorn. I can see by her face that Miss Carteret has benefited from her conversation with you. What were you talking about?'

'Nothing that would interest you, dear,' said Miss Carteret as she pulled her shawl round her. 'We have been quite serious, haven't we, Mr Glapthorn?'

'And yet it has made you happy,' observed Mademoiselle, thoughtfully. 'You must visit her again soon, Mr Glapthorn, and be serious once more, and then I shall not worry about her when I return home.'

We walked back to Wilton-crescent in high spirits, with Mademoiselle chattering and laughing, Miss Carteret smiling with quiet satisfaction, and me glowing inside with a new happiness.

When we reached the house, Mademoiselle Buisson ran up the steps.