The Meaning of Night Part 35

In a state of reckless excitement, I move the slab as best I can back over the opening to the loculus and stand for a moment contemplating the inscription. It is a curious sensation, to feel that my mother lies only a few feet from where I now stand, within that cold narrow s.p.a.ce, encased in lead and wood; and yet she has spoken to me directly, in her own voice, through the letters I now hold in my hand. The tears course down my face and I fall to my knees. What do I feel? Elation, certainly, at my triumph; but also anger, at the gross folly and selfishness of Lady Tansor's actions; and love for her to whose care I was consigned. I think of the portrait of her Ladyship that hung above Mr Carteret's desk and recall her haunting, imperious beauty; and then I think of her friend, Simona Glyver, always bent over her work-table, writing her books, keeping her secrets. When I discovered the truth, I resented her faithfulness to her reckless friend; but I was wrong to do so. I called her my mother once. What shall I call her now? She did not carry me in her womb; but she cared for me, scolded me when I was bad, protected me, comforted me, and loved me. Who was she, then, but my mother?

Yet I bless Lady Tansor for submitting to her conscience; and I bless Miss Eames for sending Mr Carteret the clue that has delivered me from the yoke of perpetual dissimulation. The keys to the kingdom are now in my possession, and I am free at last to face the world as Edward Duport, and to lay my enemy low at last.

42:.

Apparatus belli1 ____*

September the 15th, 1854.

As soon as I enter my sitting- room in Temple-street, I walk straight over to the mantelpiece, s.n.a.t.c.h up the rosewood box, and take it to my work-table.

It seems empty, but I know it is not. I shake it, and start to pick at it with my pocket-knife. A minute goes by, then two; but, as my hands now wander over every inch of its surface, pressing, pulling and probing, I know it will eventually yield up its secret place.

And it does. I have wriggled the tiny key in the escutcheon this way and that a dozen times; but this time, when I disengage it slightly and start to turn it a little way from the vertical position, it seems to engage with something; and then a miracle happens. With a soft click, a little drawer slides out from below an inlaid band of paler wood an inch or so from the bottom of the box. The trick is so cunningly wrought that I wonder at the country skills of Mr James Beach.

The drawer is large enough to contain two folded doc.u.ments, which I now remove and, trembling, lay out on my table.

The first is an affidavit, written in my mother's hand, sworn and signed in the presence of a Rennes notary, and dated the fifth day of June, 1820. It states briefly, but categorically, that the child born in the house of Madame H. de Quebriac, Hotel de Quebriac, Rue du Chapitre, in the city of Rennes, on the twenty-third of day of April in the year 1820, was the lawfully begotten son of Julius Verney Duport, twenty-fifth Baron Tansor, of Evenwood, in the county of Northamptonshire, and his wife, Laura Rose; and that the said child, Edward Charles Duport, had been placed in the permanent care of Mrs Simona Glyver, wife of Captain Edward Glyver, late of the 11th Regiment of Light Dragoons, of Sandchurch in the county of Dorset, at the express wish of his mother, the said Laura Rose Duport, to be brought up as her own. Beside my mother's signature witnessed by Madame de Quebriac and another person whose name I cannot make out is a small wax seal bearing an impression of the Duport arms, taken perhaps from a signet ring. With the affidavit is a short statement signed by two witnesses to my baptism in the Church of St-Sauveur, on the twenty-ninth of April, 1820.

Together with Mr Carteret's Deposition and the letters removed from Lady Tansor's tomb, and supported by the corroboration provided in my foster-mother's journals, my hand is now full and unbeatable. I spend the rest of the day, and most of the evening, copying out extracts of particular relevance to my case from the journals, which I paste into a note-book, along with copies of the other critical doc.u.ments. Then, having written up my own journal for the day, I sit in my arm-chair and fall fast asleep.

When I awoke, cold and hungry, my first thought was that I must have dreamed the discovery I had made in Lady Tansor's tomb, and of forcing the rosewood box to give up its secret. But there, on my work-table, lay the two letters, and the signed affidavit, palpable and present to both sight and touch. They were golden arrows, tipped with truth, waiting to be shot into the villainous heart of Phoebus Daunt. After so long, I had been given the means to destroy my enemy, and take up my true station in life. A day would soon come when I would leave behind this present sorry life of confusion and duplicity for ever and come into the golden place prepared for me by the Iron Master, with my dearest girl by my side.

My first task of the day was to write to Mr Tredgold, telling him how my conviction had been so triumphantly vindicated, and sending him the copies I had made of the new doc.u.ments for safekeeping. That done, I went forth to take a hearty breakfast.

The following morning I returned to Evenwood.

Once again, making sure I was un.o.bserved, I climbed the flight of winding stairs up to my dearest girl's apartments. In the corridor, as I emerged through the staircase door, I encountered Lizzie Brine. I stepped back and signalled for her to follow me.

'Is there anything to tell, Lizzie?' I asked.

'I do not know, sir,' she replied.

'What do you mean?'

'Only this, sir. The day we met on the staircase, when I was with Hannah Blunt, her Ladyship's maid.'

'Yes?'

'Well, sir, I couldn't tell you to your face, but then I thought you must know anyway.'

'Lizzie, this is unlike you,' I said. 'You're sounding like your brother. For G.o.d's sake, spit it out.'

'I'm sorry, sir. Here it is, as best as I can manage. I'd seen you arrive in the front court from the window there, just opposite my mistress's door. But a few moments before, just as I was coming up these very stairs, I'd seen a gentleman go into her room. I was on my way to the laundry, but I knew that you'd be coming up to my mistress's sitting-room at any minute. And so I naturally supposed, when I saw you later, that you must have met the gentleman. That's as clear as I can make it, sir.'

'And yet I still do not understand,' I said. 'There was no gentleman present when I was admitted to Miss Carteret's sitting-room. Are you sure of what you saw?'

'Oh yes, sir.'

'And did you see who it was? Did you recognize him?

'I only saw his coat-tails.'

I thought for a moment. 'Perhaps it was Lord Tansor,' I suggested.

'Perhaps,' said Lizzie, somewhat hesitantly.

'No perhaps about it, Lizzie.' I was now breezily confident that I had hit on the ident.i.ty of the mystery gentleman. 'It was his Lordship. He had some brief business with Miss Carteret, no doubt a few words only and must have left the apartment before I arrived. That must be it.'

'Yes, sir. I'm sure you're right.'

I sent her on her way, with a little bonus to keep her up to the mark, and knocked on my darling's door.

She was sitting by one of the arched windows, busily engaged on a piece of embroidery work, when I entered the room. Only on hearing my greeting did she look up and remove her spectacles.

'Have you brought them?'

I was a little taken aback by the peremptory tone of her question, for which she quickly apologized, saying that she had been racked with worry about my safety.

'Did anyone see you come?' she asked apprehensively, getting up to open the window and look down to the the terrace below. 'Are you sure no one saw you? Oh Edward, I have been so afraid that something would prevent you bringing the papers.'

She began to weep, and I took her in my arms to comfort her.

'There, there, dearest. I am here now, safe and sound. And here are the papers.' I opened my bag and took out her father's Deposition, and half a dozen of my mother's little black volumes, and laid them on the table. She put on her spectacles again and sat down at the table to examine them with the most intense interest, especially of course the words of her poor late papa the last he ever wrote. I sat a little way off, watching her turn each page until she reached the end.

'You are right,' she said quietly. 'He died because of what he knew.'

'And only one person stood to gain from depriving him of the source of his knowledge.'

She nodded, in mute acknowledgement that she understood to whom I had alluded, gathered the pages together with trembling hands, and then opened one of the little black volumes.

'I cannot read this,' she said, peering at the tiny writing, 'but you are sure, are you, that Mrs Glyver's words corroborate what my father discovered in Lady Tansor's papers?'

'There is no doubt whatsoever,' I answered.

'And everything is here? There are no more volumes in your lodgings?'

'The remaining volumes have nothing to say concerning Lady Tansor. Everything that bears directly on the matter is here.'

This appeared to settle her anxiety a little, and, after opening one or two of the other volumes and cursorily examining their contents, she gathered them together and placed them, with the Deposition, in the concealed cupboard behind the portrait of Anthony Duport in his blue silk breeches.

'There now,' she said with a smile, 'all safe now.'

'Not quite all,' I said, reaching into the bag and taking out the letters I had removed from Lady Tansor's tomb and the affidavit.

I saw her eyes dart eagerly towards the doc.u.ments I now laid on the table, and the instant expression of hungry curiosity.

'What are these?' Again, the question was brusquely posed, her gaze fixed and concentrated.

'These', I said, 'are the means by which our futures will be a.s.sured: I as Lord Tansor's son and heir, and you as my wife mistress of Evenwood!'

She gave a little gasp.

'I don't understand -'

'I have found it at last,' I cried. 'The final proof I have been seeking, the proof that makes my case unanswerable.'

We sat down together at the table and she read the letters, and then the affidavit.

'But this is extraordinary!' she exclaimed. 'How did you come by these doc.u.ments?' Briefly, I recounted how the clue sent by Miss Eames to her father had led me to believe that Lady Tansor's tomb might contain something of critical importance to my case.

'What will you do?' she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

'I have sent copies to Mr Tredgold, and shall consult him as soon as possible on the proper course of action. It may be that he will make an approach to Lord Tansor on my behalf, but I am happy to take whatever advice he gives me on how to proceed. Only think, my dearest Emily, nothing now can stop me claiming what is rightfully mine. We can be married by Christmas!'

'So soon?'

'Dearest, don't look so startled! Surely you must feel, as I do, that to delay any longer than necessary would be intolerable?'

'Of course I do. You silly goose, Edward!' she laughed, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. 'I only meant that I had not dared to hope it would be so soon.' Whereupon she picked up the papers from the table and placed them with the others in the cupboard behind the portrait.

An hour pa.s.sed as, blissfully oblivious to time, we laid our plans and fashioned our lovers' dreams. Where would we live? Perhaps here in the great house, she said. But surely, I countered, his Lordship would wish to provide us with a country property of our own, as well as a house in Town. We might travel. We might do anything we wished, for I was Lord Tansor's only son and heir, who was lost but now was found. How could he deny me anything?

At four o'clock she said I must go as she was dining at the Langhams.

'And is Mr George Langham's heart still broken?' I asked mischievously.

She hesitated for a moment, as if puzzled by my question. Then she gave a little shake of her head.

'Oh, that! 'No, no. He has made a full and complete recovery from his broken heart, to the extent that he is now engaged to Miss Maria Berkeley, Lord Cotterstock's youngest. Now go, before my maid comes to dress me. I don't wish her to see you here.'

She was all smiles and playful kisses, and I stood for a moment entranced by her gaiety and beauty until she began to usher me out of the room with many charming little expressions of mock displeasure at my refusal to go, interspersed with more s.n.a.t.c.hed kisses.

At the door I turned and made a sweeping stage bow, hat in hand.

'I bid you good evening, dear sweet coz, the future Lady Tansor!'

'Go, you fool!'

One last laughing kiss, and then she turned away, picked up her embroidery, and sat down, spectacles perched on the end of her beautiful nose, beneath the portrait of Anthony Duport in his blue silk breeches.

Back at the Duport Arms, I had just retired to my room after taking some supper when there was a knock at the door.

'Beggin' your pardon, sir.'

It was the sullen waiter whose acquaintance I had made during my first stay at the inn. To sullenness he had now added a perceptible degree of shiftiness.

'Messenger, sir.' Sniff.

'A messenger? For me'

'Yessir. Downstairs in the parlour.' Sniff. Sniff.

I immediately made my way downstairs, where I found a thin young man dressed in the Duport livery.

'From Miss Carteret, sir.' He stretched out a grubby hand containing a folded piece of paper. The short note written thereon was in French, which I shall here translate: In haste.

Her Ladyship has been unwell this past week & his Lordship is concerned that the damp weather is making her condition worse despite the hot-water pipes. We are to leave for Ventnor2 tomorrow early. Date of return unknown. Do not worry about the papers. They are quite safe. I a.s.sure you that the place is known only to you and me. And so au revoir. E.

I had no choice now but to return to London, which I did in a rather depressed and nervous state of mind. There I languished for three weeks, seeing hardly a soul. On my first morning back in Temple-street I had written to Mr Tredgold, but two days later I received a note from his brother to say that my employer had contracted a slight fever and was not able to enter into any correspondence at present, though Dr Tredgold promised to place my letter before him at the earliest opportunity.

I begin to fret, and am kept awake night after night by vague fears. But what is there to be fearful of? I have triumped. The race is won, or nearly so. My labours have been rewarded: my enemy's expectations will soon be destroyed for ever; and to the great glittering prize of Evenwood that I had dreamed for so long of winning has been added an even greater: the heart of my dearest Emily. All this should be a cause of congratulation and content. Why, then, do I feel so restless and abandoned?

Then my demons begin to whisper and chatter, reminding me of what is always available, just beyond the confines of my room, to blot out my fears. For a time, I resist them; but then, one night, when the fog is so thick I cannot see the roofs of the houses opposite, they finally get the better of me.

The fog, however, is no impediment: I would know my way blindfolded. The subdued throb of the great city surges all around, though nothing can be seen but dim human shapes appearing out of the gloom and immediately disappearing into it, like shuffling phantoms, their faces illuminated momentarily by the smoky flare of the link-boys' torches or by the feeble light of gas-lamps in houses and shop windows. These living forms I can at least see, though briefly and indistinctly, and sometimes feel them as we b.u.mp into each other; I can only hear and sense, more than see, the homegoing stream of carriages, carts, omnibuses and cabs proceeding blindly, and with painful slowness, up and down the muddy thoroughfares.

It is past midnight when I stumble down the Strand, having been pursued by nightmares all the way from Bluegate-fields. The fog is beginning to lift a little, dispersed by a stiffening breeze off the river. I can now see the upper stories of the buildings, and occasionally catch sight of eaves and smoking chimneys and ragged patches of ink-black sky through the shifting pall.

Almost before I realize it, I am in the Haymarket and sway through a brilliantly lighted door. A young woman is sitting alone. She bestows an obliging smile on me.

'h.e.l.lo, dearie. Fancy something?'

A little conversation ensues; but as we rise to leave, we are approached by two more females, one of whom is instantly familiar to me.

'Goodness me, if it ain't Mr Glapthorn,' she says pleasantly. 'I see you've made the acquaintance of Miss Mabel.'

It was none other than Madame Mathilde, proprietress of the Abode of Beauty. I saw a look pa.s.s between them and immediately understood how things lay. 'And you have added another string to your bow, Madame.'

'Things became a little slow at the Abode after that unfortunate misunderstanding with Mrs Bonner-Childs.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Oh, I don't blame you, Mr Glapthorn. I like a man what does his duty no matter what. But there, these things are sent to try us, ain't they? Besides, as you have guessed, I have another little concern now, in Gerrard-street quite successful, too, tho' I say so mesself. Miss Mabel is one of my protijays, along with her sister here. P'raps', she continued, looking suggestively from Mabel to her equally comely sister, Cissie by name, 'we might discuss a discount on quant.i.ty?'

In for a penny . . . I thought. And so I retired to Madame's house in Gerrard-street, with Miss Mabel and Miss Cissie on each arm, and spent a most satisfying evening in their company, for which their employer was recompensed handsomely.

My demons temporarily satiated, I climbed the stairs to my room at first light, my senses dulled, my head aching, and my conscience racked with guilt and self-loathing. I miss my dearest girl, so dreadfully. Without her, what hope is there for me?

Another week goes by. But then, one bright October morning, a note comes. It is from Lizzie Brine.

SIR,- I thought you should know that my mistress returned from Ventnor three days ago.

Hoping this finds you well.

L. BRINE.

I sit for a full ten minutes, stunned. Three days! And no word sent! Think, think! She has been otherwise engaged. Lord Tansor has kept her constantly by his side. She has been attending her Ladyship night and day. There are a hundred most plausible reasons for her not writing to tell me she is home. Perhaps, at this very moment, she is putting pen to paper.