Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

She stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

‘No, no,’ she broke in, seeing me about to speak. ‘Let me continue. I saw Mr Langham from the window, as I was playing, and went to see what he wanted. He forgot himself to such an extent, even when I told him what had happened to my father, that he begged me to reconsider my previous decision. We parted in anger, I am afraid, on both sides. I fear Henrietta is also cross with me for refusing him. But I do not love George in that way, and never will, and so could not possibly marry him. There, Mr Glapthorn, is your answer. Is your curiosity satisfied?’

‘Perfectly. Except—’

‘Yes?’

‘The music, which I found torn to pieces—’

‘It was, as I think I told you, one of my father’s favourites. I played it for the last time that evening, and vowed that I would never play it again. It had nothing to do with Mr Langham, and neither did the song that I sang tonight.’

‘Then I am satisfied,’ I said, giving her a grave little bow, ‘though I feel I have pushed our friendship too far.’

‘We must all do what we feel we must, Mr Glapthorn. But perhaps you will agree to reciprocate, for friendship’s sake. I, too, am curious to know something.’

‘And what is that?’

‘A question that you refused to answer when we first met. What was your business with my father?’

I was unprepared both for the nature and the directness of the question, and only an ingrained habit of vigilance in matters of professional and private business prevented me from laying the whole thing before her. But, whether by accident or design, she had made it harder for me to prevaricate, as I had been able to do when she had previously asked me the same question, though still I made a clumsy attempt to do so.

‘As I said before,’ I began, ‘it is a question of professional confidence—’

‘And is a professional confidence more binding than a personal one?’ she asked.

I was cornered. She had answered my question concerning her meeting in the Plantation; I had no choice but to respond in kind, though I took refuge in brevity, hoping thereby to answer her as honestly as I could whilst revealing as little as possible.

‘Your father wrote to Mr Tredgold on a matter pertaining to the Tansor succession. My principal felt that it would not be appropriate for him to meet Mr Carteret in person, as he had requested; and so I was sent instead.’

‘A matter pertaining to the succession? Surely that is something that my father would have felt obliged to put before Lord Tansor, not Mr Tredgold.’

‘I can make no comment on that,’ I replied. ‘I can only say that it was your father’s express wish that his communication to Mr Tredgold should be kept strictly confidential.’

‘But what could possibly have made him act in such a way? He was a most loyal servant to Lord Tansor. It would have been against his deepest principles to go behind his Lordship’s back.’

‘Miss Carteret,’ I said, ‘I have already revealed more of the business than my employer would have wished me to do; and, indeed, I can add nothing more to what I have already said. Your father told me nothing when we met in Stamford, and his untimely death has sealed my ignorance concerning the reason for his letter to my principal. Whatever he wished to reveal to Mr Tredgold, through me, must now remain forever unknown.’

How I hated myself for the lie. She did not deserve to be treated so, as if she were an enemy to my interests, like Phoebus Daunt, whom she appeared to detest almost as much I did. I had no reason not to trust her, and every reason to draw her into my confidence. She had declared herself my friend, and had shown me courtesy and kindness, and a degree of partiality that I flattered myself betokened incipient affection. She had a right, surely, to claim my trust. Yes, she had a right to know what her father had written in his Deposition, and to understand what it signified for me, and for her. This, however, was not the time, not quite yet; but just a little longer, and then I would put all deceit aside for ever.

Had she sensed the falsehood? I could not tell, for nothing disturbed the enigmatic serenity of her face. She appeared to be turning over what I had said. Then, as if a thought had struck her, she asked:

‘Do you suppose it might concern Mr Daunt – I mean, the matter that my father wished to bring to Mr Tredgold’s attention?’

‘I really cannot say.’

‘But you would tell me, if you knew, wouldn’t you? As a friend.’

She had moved closer to me and was standing, with one hand resting on the piano-forte, looking directly into my eyes.

‘It would be impossible to deny a true friend,’ I said.

‘Well then, we have balanced the books, Mr Glapthorn.’ The smile broadened. ‘Confidences have been exchanged, and our debts to each other paid. I am so glad you came. When we next meet, I shall have left here for good. It will be strange, to pass by the Dower House and know that someone else is living here. But you will come and see me again, I hope, at the great house, or in London?’

‘Do you need to ask?’ I repeated the question that she herself had put to me after our walk in Green-park.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not think I do.’

*[‘Love conquers all’ (Virgil, Eclogues). Ed.]

* [Hieroglyphikes of the Life of Man (1638) by the English poet Francis Quarles (1592–1644). Ed. ]

*[Colza was a thick, viscous vegetable oil used in lamps before the invention of paraffin in 1878. Ed. ]

*[Turkey declared war on Russia in October 1853. The Turks defeated the Russians at Oltenitza on 4 November, but the Turkish naval squadron was destroyed by the Russian Black Sea Fleet at Sinope on the 30th of that month – an action that caused outrage in England. These were the preliminary engagements of what was to become the Crimean War. Britain and France declared war on Russia in March 1854. Ed. ]

†[By Charlotte M. Yonge (1823–1901), published in 1853. The novel, which dramatizes the spiritual struggles of its principal character, Guy Morville, reflected its author’s Tractarian beliefs and was one of the most successful novels of the century. Ed. ]

*[The first volume of The Stones of Venice by John Ruskin (1819–1900), in which he championed Gothic architecture, was published in March 1851; volume II followed in July 1853, and volume III in October 1853. Ed. ]

†[Opus 28. Composed 1836–9, published in 1839. Ed. ]

‡[‘At my heart, at my breast’, from Schumann’s song-cycle for female voice and piano, Frauenliebe und Leben (‘A Woman’s Life and Love’, 1840). Ed. ]

37

Non sum qualis eram *

I did not see Miss Carteret the next morning. When Mrs Rowthorn came up with my breakfast, she informed me that her mistress had gone out early, though it was a damp and gloomy day for a walk.

‘But it’s a good sign,’ she said, ‘that Miss is out in the air again. She’s been cooped up in her room for days on end since she came back from London, grieving still for her poor papa, it’s plain. But she seemed brighter this morning, and it fair did my heart good to see.’

I had several hours before my train was due to leave, and so I resolved on a little expedition through the Park, partly to look upon my inheritance once again, and partly in the hope that I might encounter Miss Carteret.

Downstairs, I asked the girl that I found scrubbing the front step to run and fetch John Brine.

‘Brine,’ I asked, ‘I have a mind to see the Mausoleum. Is there a key?’

‘I can get that for you, sir,’ he replied, ‘if you’ll wait till I ride up to the great house. It won’t take more than a quarter of an hour.’