The Meaning of Night (62 page)

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?’?

And so she began to quiz me on my tastes and opinions. Was I an admirer of

Dickens? What was my estimation of the work of Wilkie Collins? Was not Mr

Tennyson’s In Memoriam an incomparably fine achievement?? Had I been to any

concerts or recitals lately? Did I see any merit in the work of Mr Rossetti and his

associates??

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 chère,’ 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.

‘Good-bye, Mr Glapthorn,’ she called back from the front door. Then she stopped

and thought for a moment. ‘It is a curious name, is it not? Glapthorn. Most curious, and

most suitable for a dark horse.’ And with that, she disappeared into the house, laughing.

I turned to Miss Carteret.

‘May I call again?’

She offered her hand to me, which I took in mine, and held for a most precious

moment.

‘Do you need to ask?’

36:

Amor vincit omnia?

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I paid my second visit to Wilton-crescent the following Friday. On this occasion I

was introduced to Mrs Fletcher Manners – a bustling, pretty looking woman, only half a

dozen years or so older than her niece – and invited to take luncheon with the two ladies.

Afterwards, when Mrs Manners left to pay her afternoon calls, Miss Carteret and I were

left alone in the drawing-room.

‘This has been most delightful, Mr Glapthorn,’ she said, as soon as her aunt had

gone. ‘But I’m afraid I shall be returning to Evenwood tomorrow, and so will not have

the pleasure of receiving you again for some time – unless . . .’

I immediately took the hint.

‘It is possible that I may have occasion to visit Evenwood in the near future. Dr

Daunt and I are slaves to the bibliophilic passion – I mean we love old books, and share a

number of other antiquarian and scholarly interests. He has asked me to look over the

proofs of an article he has written, and it will be best if I return these to him in person.

When I do so, perhaps you would not mind if I called at the Dower House.’

‘You would be most welcome,’ she said. Then she sighed. ‘Though I do not know

how much longer I shall be able to call the Dower House my home. Sir Hyde Teasedale

has expressed a wish to acquire the tenancy for his daughter, who is soon to be married;

and I fear Lord Tansor will look upon a paying tenant with rather more favour than a

dependent relative.’

‘But he will not turn you out, surely?’

‘No, I am sure he will not. But I have little money of my own and will be unable

to match the price Sir Hyde is willing to pay for the let of the property.’

‘Then Lord Tansor must find you somewhere else. Has he spoken to you on this

subject?’

‘Only briefly. But let us not be gloomy. Lord Tansor will not let me starve, I am

sure.’

We conversed for a little longer, and I experienced again, as I had done by the

Serpentine the previous week, that luxurious sense of having her all to myself. A little of

her old reserve yet remained; but I left the house that morning emboldened by the warmth

of her manner towards me, and feeling more in love than ever.

I immediately wrote to Dr Daunt, and it was arranged that I would go up to

Northamptonshire the Thursday following, being the first day of December.

The Rector and I passed a stimulating afternoon discussing Iamblichus, and Dr

Daunt professed himself in my debt for the few trifling amendments to his translation and

commentary that I had ventured to suggest.

‘This has been most kind of you, Mr Glapthorn,’ he said, ‘most kind. I have given

you a deal of trouble, I dare say. And a trip to the country in such weather is doubly

burdensome.’

It was blowing hard outside, as it had been for a day or more, and the

accompanying rain had turned the surrounding roads and tracks into quagmires.

‘Pray do not mention it,’ I replied. ‘I am willing to endure any discomfort for the

sake of learning, and for the prospect of such a conversation as we have enjoyed this

afternoon.’

‘You are kind to say so. But will you stay and take some tea? I am afraid my wife

is not at home, and my son is abroad, on a lecture tour; so it will be just us two. But I can

dangle a little temptation before you – a particularly fine copy of Quarles’

Hieroglyphikes? I have lately acquired, on which I’d value your opinion, if you can spare

the time.’

I could not refuse the old gentleman, and so tea was called for and taken, and the

volume in question produced and discussed, followed by several others. It was not until a

little after four o’clock, with darkness falling, that I made my escape.

The wind was blowing in strong gusts from the east, lashing the rain against my

face as I picked my way through the slippery ruts of the track that led from the Rectory to

the Dower House. With the rain falling suddenly harder, I abandoned my original

intention of walking round to the front of the house and ran as fast as I could across the

stable-yard to knock on the kitchen door, which was soon opened by Mrs Rowthorn.

‘Mr Glapthorn, sir, come in, come in.’ She ushered me inside, where I found John

Brine warming his toes by the kitchen fire.

‘Were you expected, sir?’ asked Mrs Rowthorn.

‘I’ve been at the Rectory and wished to pay my compliments to Miss Carteret, if

she is at home, before I return to Easton.’

‘Oh yes, sir, she’s at home. Would you like to come up and wait?’

‘Perhaps I could dry myself by the fire for five minutes first,’ I said, taking off my

coat and walking over to stand next to where John Brine was sitting. After a minute or

two, Mrs Rowthorn scuttled upstairs on some errand, giving me the opportunity to ask

Brine if he had any news.

‘Nothing much to tell, sir. Miss Carteret has kept to the house these past few days,

and has received only Mrs Daunt, who has been twice now since Miss came back from

London. Mr Phoebus Daunt, as you know, will not return for some weeks.’

‘Miss Carteret has not been out, you say?’

‘No, sir – except, that is, to wait on Lord Tansor.’

‘Brine, you really are a most infuriating fellow. Could you not have told me this

before? When did your mistress wait on Lord Tansor?’

‘On Tuesday afternoon,’ came a voice, not John Brine’s. Turning, I saw his sister,

Lizzie, standing at the foot of the stairs.

‘John took her up in the landau,’ she continued. ‘They were back within an hour.’

‘And do you know the purpose of the visit?’ I asked.

‘I believe it concerned Lord Tansor’s decision to let the Dower House to Sir Hyde

Teasedale. Miss has been offered accommodation in the great house, in the apartments

previously occupied by the first Lady Tansor. I am to go with her. John will remain here,

with the others, to serve Sir Hyde’s daughter and her husband.’

Just then, as I was digesting this news, Mrs Rowthorn appeared and asked if I was

ready to be shown upstairs, whereupon I proceeded to the vestibule in the housekeeper’s

generous wake.

Miss Carteret was seated by the fire in the room where we had conducted our first

conversation. She made no movement as we entered, as if she had not heard Mrs

Rowthorn’s knock, and sat with her chin resting on her hand staring meditatively into the

flames.

‘Please, Miss, Mr Glapthorn is here.’

Lit by the glow of the fire on one side, and on the other by the rays from a nearby

colza lamp, her face had assumed an unearthly marmoreal pallor. It seemed for a brief

moment like the carved representation of some ancient goddess, terrible and untouchable,

rather than the face of a living woman. But then she smiled, rose from her chair to greet

me, and apologized for her dreaminess.

‘I have been thinking of Papa and Mamma,’ she said, ‘and of all the happy years

we have spent here.’

‘But you are not leaving Evenwood, I think, only the Dower House.’

For a moment her face took on a guarded look; but then she inclined her head

slightly and looked at me teasingly. ‘How well informed you are, Mr Glapthorn, on all

our little doings! I wonder how you do it?’

As I did not wish to give away the identity of my informant, I said there was no

mystery to it: a passing remark from Dr Daunt, nothing more, adding that I was glad Lord

Tansor had recognized his duty towards her.

‘Well then, I have my explanation,’ she said. ‘But perhaps I should begin to

inform myself a little about you, if we are to be friends. Come and sit by me, and tell me

all about Edward Glapthorn.’

She made room for me on the little sofa on which she was sitting and folded her

hands in her lap, waiting for me to begin. I remained for a second or two entranced by her

beautiful face, and by the closeness of her person.

‘Have you nothing to say?’

‘Nothing, I’m sure, that would interest you.’

‘Come, come, Mr Glapthorn, no false modesty. I sense you have a great deal to

say about yourself, if you would only allow yourself to do so. Your parents, now. What

of them?’

The truth was on my lips; but something held me back. Once I had declared my

love for her, and if it should be returned, then I had resolved in my heart to tell her

everything; to trust her as I had trusted no one else, not even Bella. But for now, until all

was certain, I felt obliged to speak the truth as far as I was able, and to apply a little dab

of falsehood to the rest.

‘My father was a captain in the Hussars and died before I was born. My mother

supported us by writing novels.’

‘A novelist! How fascinating! But I cannot recall an authoress by the name of

Glapthorn.’

‘She wrote anonymously.’

‘I see. And where were you brought up?’

‘On the Somerset coast. My mother’s family were West Country people.’

‘Somerset, do you say? I do not know it well myself, but I have heard Lord

Tansor speak of it as a beautiful county – his first wife’s people came from there, you

know. And do you have brothers or sisters.’

‘My older sister died when she was very young. I never knew her. I was educated

at home by my mother, and then at the village school. Later, after my mother died, I

studied at Heidelberg and then travelled a good deal on the Continent. I came to London

in 1849 and found my present employment at Tredgolds. I collect books, study

photography, and generally lead a rather dull life. There you have it. Edward Glapthorn,

en tout et pour tout.’

‘Well,’ she said when I had finished my résumé, ‘I still accuse you of false

modesty, for I infer from your account that you undoubtedly possess some remarkable

talents to which you are not prepared to admit. Photography, for example. That is

something which calls for both scientific knowledge and an artistic eye, yet you mention

it almost off-handedly, as if its secrets could be mastered by any Tom, Dick or Harry. I

am greatly interested by photography. Lord Tansor has an album containing some

excellent views of Evenwood. I’ve often looked through it with admiration. The same

photographer, I believe, was responsible for the portrait of Lord Tansor that stands on his

Lordship’s desk. Do you know, I believe I should like to have my portrait taken. Yes, I

think I should like that very much. Would you take my portrait, Mr Glapthorn?’

I searched her eyes, those great dark pools, infinitely deep, but they gave back no