The Meaning of Night (58 page)

and, I may say, uncharacteristic of me to deviate from a logical course of action, for I had

been proceeding with assembling material for my projected Historia Duportiana on a

strictly chronological basis. But I succumbed to this sudden keen desire and, going

upstairs to the Muniments Room, opened the little iron-bound chest in which I had placed

my Lady’s papers nearly thirty years earlier.

I looked again at her wonderful sketches and drawings, especially those executed

during her time in France, and read for the first time poems and other effusions that

immediately brought her back to mind, so passionate were they, so full of life and spirit. I

then turned my attention to a large bundle of letters and, not wishing to put my time to

waste, began to compose some brief notes thereon; but when I had finished, I was

presented with a puzzle.

Her Ladyship’s correspondence was extensive, dating back to letters written to

her by my cousin during their courtship, and including a large number of communications

from members of her family and friends from the West Country. Faced with such a large

number of items, I usually commence by arranging them by date and sender; but when I

had finished ordering them in this way, it was clear that a quantity of letters were

missing, particularly those from a certain Simona More, later Glyver, who appeared to

have been an old childhood friend of her Ladyship’s. There was a sequence of

communications – at least one a month, sometimes two or three – from this lady,

beginning in February, 1816, the year her Ladyship married my cousin and moved from

her home in Somerset to Evenwood; but then, in July, 1819, the letters ceased altogether,

only resuming their previous frequency in October, 1820. It was manifest, from her

letters to Lady Tansor, that Miss More, or rather Mrs Glyver, as she soon became, had

enjoyed an exceptionally intimate acquaintance with my cousin’s first wife, which made

the gap in the correspondence – a period of some fifteen months – all the more singular.

Some of the other categories of document – bills, receipts, &c. – showed similar

chronological disruptions. After considering the matter for some little time, and going

back to the Dower House to consult my own daily journal on the matter of dates, I

concluded that a deliberate attempt had been made to remove, and perhaps destroy, any

document, no matter how trivial, that dated from July, 1819, just before her Ladyship left

for France, until after she returned to her husband, at the end of September the following

year.

I went to make discreet enquiries of my cousin as to whether any of his first

wife’s papers were still in his possession, but it seemed they were not. I even made

another search of her former apartments, and other places where I thought perhaps they

might be, but could find nothing. And so, baffled, I placed the letters back in the chest.

Sunday, 23rd October, 1853 (continued).

V.

I see from my journal that it was on the twenty-fifth of March, 1853, that I

received the following communication:

Dear Mr Carteret

I regret to inform you that my sister, Miss Julia Eames, died on Thursday last, the

21st inst. Her family and many friends thank God that, though her sufferings have been

great, her passing was peaceful.

Before the end came, my dear sister had strength enough to request, most

insistently, that I write you this note, to be sent after God had taken her, to tell you that

there is something here she was most desirous for you to have, something placed into her

keeping that she said must now pass to you.

I therefore hope that you will favour me with a reply at your earliest convenience,

stating a day and a time that will suit you to visit us here, so that I may discharge this last

duty to my dear departed sister.

I am, sir, yours very sincerely,

J. McBryde (Mrs)

My cousin happened to be on the Isle of Wight just at that time, advising the

Prince-Consort on some matter connected with Her Majesty’s new residence,? and was

not to return for a week more; and so I immediately arranged with Mrs McBryde to call

upon her on the following week.

I was received kindly by this lady, who bore a close resemblance to her late sister,

at a well-appointed house in Hyde-Park-square, in that new residential district of London

known as Tyburnia.? After the usual introductions and exchanges, during which I

commiserated most sincerely with Mrs McBryde for her loss, I was offered tea, which I

declined, and then Mrs McBryde walked over to a large cabinet in the corner of the room

and proceeded to take out an object.

‘This is what my sister wished you to have.’

I had last seen it nearly thirty years ago, standing on a table in my Lady’s

sitting-room at Evenwood. A large ebony writing-box, bearing the initials ‘LRD’ in

mother-of-pearl on the lid.

‘There is this also.’ She handed me a letter, addressed to myself.

After a few words more, I took my leave. As I had some further business in Town

the next day, I had taken a room at the Hummums Hotel;? and it was to this establishment

that I now repaired.

I did not immediately investigate the contents of the box. Instead, I placed it on a

table in my room and proceeded to open the letter.

It was, as I had surmised, from Miss Eames, written in an unsteady hand, and

dated three days before her death. I transcribe it here.

My dear Mr Carteret

I do not know how much longer I may have on this earth, only that my time is

short. Not wishing to pass into the hands of Almighty God without discharging my last

duty to my dear friend, the late Laura Tansor, I am therefore arranging for a certain

object, entrusted to me on my friend’s death, to be placed in your hands by my sister after

my own departure from this life of sin, according to my friend’s wishes. When you read

this, therefore, I too will have passed beyond pain and suffering and, in the hope of being

delivered of my offences by God’s grace, will walk again through all eternity with her

whom I served faithfully in life.

For the last years of my friend’s life, her conscience was sorely troubled by an

action taken by her some time before, which could be neither admitted nor undone. I –

with another – was a party to that action, and my conscience, too, has been burdened,

until sometimes I have thought I could stand no more. For though I tried, on several

occasions, I could not dissuade my friend from the course of action she was set on taking.

I once asked you never to think ill of me. I beg you now to consider what I have done, by

the sin of omission, in the light of friendship and trust, in which I know you place the

highest value; for I made a solemn promise, on my mother’s Bible, to keep my Lady’s

secret safe, never to betray her while she lived, and to hold fast to that promise until such

time as it pleased the Almighty to take me to His own. That I have done, as God is my

witness, faithfully and unswervingly, through all these years. If I have done wrong in

keeping faith with the dearest of friends, then I pray to be forgiven – by the Lord of

mercy and judgment, and by those remaining whom my silence may have injured.

And so, dear Mr Carteret, I die in the hope that what now passes into your

possession may perhaps be used by you to set right what was made wrong by my friend’s

action. I do not condemn or blame her for what she did; for who is without sin? She was

mortal, and her passion – born of fierce loyalty to a beloved parent – blinded her. She

repented of what she had done, truly repented, and sought to make amends. But she was

consumed by the constant thought of her sin – she saw it as such: it made her mad, and

drove her at last into the arms of death. I go now to meet her, and my heart is glad.

The Lord God bless you and keep you. Pray for me, that my unrighteousness be

forgiven, and my sin covered.?

J. Eames.

I laid down the letter and turned to open Lady Tansor’s writing-box.

Underneath the hinged slope were a great many papers, the majority of which

appeared to be a sequence of letters from Mrs Simona Glyver, sent from the village of

Sandchurch in Dorset to Evenwood and dating from the beginning of July, 1819, with

one or two others written by this lady from Dinan in France to an address in Paris during

the summer of the following year, and yet more sent to her Ladyship from Dorset

throughout the late summer and early autumn of 1820, directed first to Paris, and then,

from October onwards, to Evenwood. Though not all were dated, I quickly saw that the

letters in the box partially filled the fifteen-month gap I had noticed from my earlier

examination of the communications from this lady that were already in my possession. I

sat down and began to read through the letters methodically.

I do not have time to record here the contents of each letter in detail. One or two

were inconsequential and ephemeral, merely containing the usual harmless chatter and

gossip characteristic of such exchanges between ladies. But many had an altogether

different tone and purpose, especially the earlier ones, written throughout July, 1819,

which seemed indicative of some great impending crisis. A few extracts from letters

written to her Ladyship by Mrs Glyver during that month (in which, I deduce, Miss

Eames is referred to as ‘Miss E.’) will serve to illustrate the point.

[Friday, 9th July, 1819. Sandchurch.]

I beg you, dearest friend, to think again. It is not yet too late. Miss E. has, I know,

more than once urged reconsideration on you. I now add my voice to hers – as one who

loves you like a sister – and who will always have your best interests at heart. I know

how you have suffered, after the death of yr poor father – but is not the punishment you

intend out of all proportion to the offence? Even as I write the question I can anticipate yr

answer – & yet still I exhort you with all my strength to stand back and consider what

you are doing. I am afraid – Miss E. is afraid – and you should be too, for there may be

consequences – perhaps of the most terrible kind – that you can neither foresee nor

control.

[Thursday, 15th July, 1819. Sandchurch.]

Your reply is as I expected – & I see you are determined to proceed. I have heard

separately from Miss E., who says that you will not be persuaded, and therefore must be

helped – to ensure that what is done is done well, and as privily as we may. For we

cannot let you do this alone.

[Saturday, 17th July, 1819. Sandchurch.]

In haste. I have made my arrangements. Miss E. will have told you the name of

the hotel – and I have the address of yr man in London. It will be some comfort to me –

though a selfish one – to have this safeguard, if such it be, for the future. God forgive us

for what we are about to do – but never believe, my dearest L., that I shall fail you. That I

shall never do – though I may be called to account – in this world or the next. Sister I

have called you, & sister you are, and will always be. There is no one more precious to

me. I am with you now unto the last.

[Friday, 30th July, 1819. Red Lion. Fareham.]

I arrived here safely this afternoon and send this on ahead to assure you that all is

well. The Captain raised no objections to my leaving – he neither knows nor cares what I

do, as long as I put nothing in the way of his pleasures. Indeed he was charming enough

to tell me I may go to the Devil as long as I leave him in peace. He was glad to hear that

my accompanying you would not prove a drain on his purse! That was his main concern.

I am to visit my aunt in Portsmouth tomorrow, as you know. She strongly suspects that

the reason for my ‘condition’ may not be whispered, which of course is not quite what I

intended, but I shall not disabuse her – in order that the waters shall remain conveniently

muddied. As she cannot abide the Captain, she will say nothing to him and does not

condemn me in the least – in fact applauds what, if it were true, would have been an act

of the most unmitigated scandal. And so I go there as a kind of heroine – my aunt being a

great admirer of Miss Wollstonecraft’s disregard of social propriety and seeing me as in

some sort – like Miss W. – striking a blow for the rights of women through my

transgression.? What the Captain will say when I come back with a baby in my arms, I do

not know. But the calendar will now be a witness – I made sure of that (though he may

not remember).? I shall be with you as planned on Tues. morning. And so the die is cast,

and two husbands will go to bed tonight wifeless. I wish there was another way – but the

time for all that is past. No more words. Please to destroy this on receipt, as you have

done I hope with the others – I have been as careful as I can & have left nothing behind.

From a receipt dated the third of August, 1819, I surmise that the two friends,

perhaps with Miss Eames in attendance, met together in Folkestone. They then departed

for Boulogne, on or about the fifth of that month. A letter received by her Ladyship some

weeks later, from an address in Torquay, confirms (what I did not know for certain

before) that Miss Eames did not accompany them to the Continent. The travellers went