The Meaning of Night (69 page)

matching me blow for blow and returning each new assault with even fiercer retaliation.

Like some mighty onrush of water, irreversible and immense, she broke against me,

battered me, submerged me, until, like a drowning man, my life seemed to pass before

my eyes and I offered myself up to sweet oblivion.

She clung to me, panting, her bonnet fallen back on her shoulders, her hair awry

and disordered, her face spattered with rain.

‘I have loved you from the very first moment,’ I whispered.

‘And I you.’

We stood in silence, her head resting on my shoulder, her fingers gently tracing

little circles on the nape of my neck, until the rain began to ease.

‘Will you love me always?’ she asked.

‘Always.’

40:

Nec scire fas est omnia?

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From that day onwards I felt renewed, vivified, happier, and more free of care

than at any time since my student days in Heidelberg. But then I received a letter from Mr

Tredgold which shamed me back to a contemplation of all the things I had neglected.

My dear Edward, —

I was most concerned when you did not come back to Canterbury as arranged.

Many weeks have passed without word from you, & now Mr Orr has written to say that

you have not been to Paternoster-row this past month, which makes me fear some harm

may have come to you. I am much improved, as you see by my handwriting, & as you

could observe for yourself. But as I am still unable to leave Canterbury, I beg you to

write to me as speedily as you may, to put my mind at rest that all is well with you.

I shall make no mention here of the other matter that has been constantly on my

mind since your last visit – I allude of course to the remark you made as you were

leaving, concerning what you have been seeking – other than to say that it is of such

moment that it would be foolish, for both of us, to commit anything concerning it to

paper. I hope you will write soon to let me know when I might expect you here, so that

we may discuss this matter face to face.

May God bless you and protect you, my dear boy.

C. Tredgold.

My employer’s words roused me from my lotos-dream, and on the day my dearest

girl travelled north to Evenwood, I took train to Canterbury.

I found Mr Tredgold sitting in a wicker chair under a lilac tree, in a sunny garden

at the rear of Marden House. He had a rug over his knees and was in the act of making

some notes in a little leather-bound book. His face, shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat,

was thin and worn, but he had regained a little of his old suavity of manner, as evidenced

by the beaming smile with which he greeted me.

‘Edward, my dear, dear boy! You have come. Sit down! Sit down!’

His speech was a little slurred, and I noticed that his hand was shaking slightly as

he polished his eye-glass; but in all other respects he appeared to have suffered no

permanent disablement. He wasted no time on idle chatter but began at once by telling

me that a deed had now been enrolled in Chancery to break the entailed portion of Lord

Tansor’s inheritance and that, in anticipation of this succeeding, a new will had been

drawn up that would make Phoebus Daunt his Lordship’s legal heir. ‘Lord Tansor has

instructed all concerned that he wishes the matter to be expedited,’ said Mr Tredgold,

‘and though of course the Law cannot be hurried, it is certain that it will feel obliged to

pick up its skirts and do its best to walk a little faster. Sir John Mounteagle has been

retained by Lord Tansor to see the deed through Chancery, which he will do with his

customary vigour, I have no doubt. I think we may expect matters to be settled by the

autumn. And so, Edward, if we are to prevent the will being signed, it will be necessary

to lay our hands on some invincible instrument. Do you, as you inferred, have possession

of such an instrument?’

‘I have nothing in my possession,’ I replied, except my foster-mother’s journals

and Mr Carteret’s Deposition, which you advised will be insufficient to prove my case.

But I have a strong conviction where the final proof may be hidden, and I believe Mr

Carteret shared my conviction.’

‘And where might this place be?’

‘In the Mausoleum at Evenwood. In the tomb of Lady Tansor.’

The eye-glass dropped from his trembling fingers.

‘In Lady Tansor’s tomb! What possible grounds do you have for this

extraordinary conviction?’

And then I told him of the words Miss Eames had written on a slip of paper and

sent to Mr Carteret – the same words that were graven on my mother’s tomb.

Mr Tredgold took off his hat and placed his head in his hands. After a little time,

in which nothing was said by either of us, he turned his sad blue eyes towards me.

‘What do you wish to do?’

‘With your permission, I wish to put my conviction to the test.’

‘And if I cannot give you my permission?’

‘Then of course I shall take no further action.’

‘Dear Edward,’ he said, the light returning to his eyes, ‘you always say the right

thing. I have protected her memory for too long. Carteret was right. What she did was a

crime – and I was party to it. She had no right to deny you what should have been yours,

and to make you a stranger to your own family. I shall always love her, but the dead must

take care of themselves. You are my care now – you, her living son. You have my

permission, therefore, to do whatever is required, for the sake of the truth. Come back as

soon as you can, and may God forgive us both. And now I feel a little cold. Will you help

me inside?’

He leaned on me as we walked slowly down a winding gravel path towards the

house, still deep in conversation as we went.

‘One thing has never been clear to me,’ I said, as we made our way through a

tunnel of pale roses. ‘It is the thing on which all else hangs, and yet my foster-mother’s

journals, and Mr Carteret’s Deposition, are silent on the matter.’

‘You refer, I suspect,’ replied Mr Tredgold, ‘to the reason why Lady Tansor

embarked on her extraordinary action.’

‘Why, yes. That is it exactly. What could possibly have driven a woman of Lady

Tansor’s station to abandon her child to the care of another?’

‘It was quite simple. She denied her husband the one thing he craved above all

others because he had denied her something which, to her, was equally paramount. Quid

pro quo. There you have it, in a nutshell.’ He saw my puzzled expression and began to

elaborate. ‘On their marriage, Lord Tansor had bought out the mortgage on his

father-in-law’s house and grounds at Church Langton; but after a long period of

non-payments by Squire Fairmile, his Lordship took the only course of action a man of

business can take, and duly foreclosed on the loan. Lady Tansor cajoled, she pleaded, she

threatened to leave, she wheedled, she raged – all to no avail. His Lordship could make

no exception to the inviolable principles that governed his business dealings. Squire

Fairmile had defaulted. Lord Tansor’s firm principle in such cases was to foreclose. He

pointed out that he had already been generous in allowing his father-in-law a year to put

things straight, something he would not ordinarily have contemplated. But an end must

be made. The loan must be called in.

‘The business finished the Squire, who was forced to sell the house in which he

had been born, along with the last small holdings of land he had retained, and move to

cramped accommodation in Taunton, leaving nothing to pass on to his only son. The old

man died not long afterwards, a broken and bitter man.

‘Her Ladyship had asked her husband to make this one exception to his rules of

business and he had refused her. Soon afterwards, finding that she was with child, she

resolved to keep her husband in ignorance of the fact, and to compound her revenge in

the most terrible fashion by conspiring with her closest friend to bring the child up as her

own.’

At the foot of a short flight of steps we stopped for a moment to allow Mr

Tredgold to catch his breath.

‘So it was simple revenge then?’ I asked.

‘Revenge? Yes, but not simple. Lady Tansor hoped her child would escape what

she called the curse of inherited wealth and privilege, which had trampled so implacably

on the claims of common human feeling and family connexion. It was a fanciful notion,

no doubt, but it was real enough to her, who had seen her adored father hurried to his

grave by the holder of one of the most ancient peerages in England, and for no other

reason than the maintenance of his public position. She told me she did not wish her child

to become like his father – and who can deny that she succeeded? Yet a beneficial

outcome is no justification for what she did, and what I helped her to do. But now, what

of Miss Carteret? Are you still in love?’

Yes,’ I smiled, ‘and likely to be for all eternity.’

‘And have you told her the truth about yourself? Ah, I see by your hesitation that

you have not. How, then, can you be sure that she loves you, when she is ignorant even of

your real name?’

‘She loves me for myself,’ I replied, ‘not for my real name, or for what I may

become if I succeed in my task, because she is ignorant of both; and that is why I am now

prepared to tell her everything, knowing that her love for me is untainted by any base

motive.’

‘I do not know the lady well,’ said Mr Tredgold as we entered the house, ‘but that

she is beautiful and clever is undeniable. And if she loves you as you love her, then she

will be a prize indeed. Yet I would counsel you to take care before placing the truth in

another’s hands. Forgive me. I am a lawyer, and cannot help myself from picturing the

worst. Caution comes naturally to me.’

He was smiling broadly, but his eyes were serious.

‘I am sensible, sir, that you only have my best interests at heart, but there can be

no danger at all in revealing the truth to the woman I love. Recklessness, as you well

know, is not in my nature: I only proceed on a matter when I am completely sure of the

outcome.’

‘And you are sure of Miss Carteret’s love, and that you trust her absolutely?’

‘I am.’

‘Well, I have done my lawyer’s duty. You will not be turned from the course you

are set upon, that is clear; and I have no arguments powerful enough to persuade a man in

love to be prudent – God knows I have committed follies enough myself in love’s name.

So there it is. You will write as soon as you can, I’m sure. Go, then, with my blessing,

and may you bring back the truth, for it has been hidden for too long.’

I left him at the foot of the staircase in the gloomy hall, grasping the banister with

one hand as he weakly waved me good-bye with the other. I never saw him again.

My darling girl had promised to write from Evenwood, once she had settled

herself in her new apartments; but a week went by, and then another, and still no word

came. At last I could stand it no longer and sent off a brief note enquiring if all was well

and suggesting I might travel up to Northamptonshire the following week. I was sure a

reply would come by return, but was again disappointed. Finally, almost a week after

sending my note, I received a communication.

Dearest,—

Bless you for your sweet note, which has been sent on to me here in Shrewsbury.

How horrid you must have thought me! But, dearest, I wrote to you, two weeks since, to

tell you that I have been travelling with Lord and Lady Tansor in Wales whilst work is

being carried out at Evenwood – his Lordship has taken it into his head to have hot-water

pipes installed, with consequences that you may easily imagine to one’s peace and

comfort. The dust and noise are not to be spoken of. Where my letter has gone, telling

you all this, I cannot imagine, but the ways are wild hereabouts and so I suppose it was

simply lost or dropped somewhere. We shall be away for some time – the work will not

be completed for another month at least, and after we leave here we shall be going to

some dreary place in Yorkshire belonging to Lady Tansor’s brother. How I wish I could

escape! But I am a captive, and must go where my master bids, seeing that I am now

entirely dependent on him for the provision of a roof over my head; and then you know

he really seems to take pleasure in my company (Lady T. is so dreadfully tiresome –

never says a word, or smiles), and so I really have no choice and must do what I can to

master my feelings. They are constantly fixed on a certain person, whose identity I’m

sure I need not reveal! I yearn to be free of my duties and to feel myself again in the arms

of the man I love above all others, and whom I will always love, world without end.

I shall send word as soon I know when we are to return to Evenwood.

Ever yours, E.

A month at least! But it could be borne. I kissed the words she had written: ‘I

yearn to be free of my duties and to feel myself again in the arms of the man I love above

all others, and whom I will always love, world without end.’ Could there be any clearer

expression of her feelings for me? Surely even Mr Tredgold’s cautious heart would melt

at such words!

How I passed the interminable weeks I need not recount in detail. In an attempt to