Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

There was not a doubt who had been responsible for this outrage; and so the following Sunday, when Beesley and his aunt were in church, as I knew they would be, I made my way to the back garden of Miss Henniker’s house. It was a raw, wet November morning, and through one of the windows I could see a fire burning merrily. On the floor were scattered a number of playthings, amongst them a tin box, which I knew contained my foe’s much-prized army of toy soldiers. He had brought this box to school on his first day, and had set out the contents proudly on Tom’s parlour table: a whole encampment, carved and painted, comprising two or three dozen mounted and foot soldiers, together with tents, camp followers, cannon balls and cannon.

A little while after Miss Henniker and her nephew had left for church, I saw the maid unlock the terrace doors to shake out a duster. When she had finished her work, I crept to the terrace, and was soon inside the room.

It burned well, that little wooden army. I stood and watched the conflagration for a moment or two, warming myself by the flames that spat and darted on the hearth, and saying to myself the rhyme that my foster-mother used to sing to me, in which the appearance of Bonaparte was threatened if I did not go to sleep. I smiled to myself as the words now came back to me over the waste of years:And he’ll beat you, beat you, beat you,

And he’ll beat you all to pap.And he’ll eat you, eat you, eat you,

Every morsel, snap, snap, snap.

And now, like Rowland Beesley, another enemy must pay for taking what was mine.

I have called in a favour and have set someone to watch over the house in Mecklenburgh-square, day and night. Daunt is still there. No one has called. On Thursday, he went to a dinner at the London Tavern *with a number of other literary men. Last night he stayed at home the whole evening. But I know for certain where he will be tonight.

Last Tuesday week, my spy-a certain William Blunt, of Crucifix-lane, Borough – brought word that Lord Tansor was to give a dinner in Park-lane. It is to be this very evening. The Prime Minister †is to be amongst the guests. There is so much to celebrate! His Lordship has anew heir – he has now been named, in proper legal form, in the recently signed codicil to his Lordship’s will. This would be cause enough to kill the fatted calf; but to increase the general joy, the heir is to marry Miss Emily Carteret, his Lordship’s cousin once removed, who, following the tragic death of her father, will herself succeed to the Tansor title in the course of time. Such an exquisitely fortuitous match! And then, to cap it all, the heir has just published a new work – the thirteenth to be offered to a grateful public – and Lord Tansor has been appointed Her Majesty’s Special Envoy and Plenipotentiary to the Emperors of Brazil and Haiti and the Republics of New Granada and Venezuela. During his Lordship’s absence, the newly married couple are to take up residence at Evenwood, and Lord Tansor further proposes to place the management of his estates, and of his many business interests, in the capable hands of his heir, Mr Phoebus Daunt.

The establishment in his Lordship’s town-house was a relatively small one; and so, to ensure the smooth running of so large and splendid an occasion, it had been necessary for extra servants to be hired. Advertisements were placed, and Mrs Horatia Venables, proprietress of the Office for Domestic Servants, Great Coram-street, had been engaged by his Lordship’s agent, Captain Tallis, to secure and evaluate applicants for the evening. Amongst those who offered themselves in Great Coram-street for the available positions was a certain Ernest Geddington – a name I had used from time to time in my work.

‘I see you have lived as a footman under a butler for Lord Wilmersham,’ *said Mrs Venables, looking over her spectacles at Mr Geddington.

‘I had that honour,’ replied Mr Geddington.

‘And before that, you were a footman in the establishment of the Duke of Devonshire, at Chatsworth?’

‘I was.’

‘And you have a character from his Grace?’

‘One can easily be secured, if it is required.’

‘There is no need,’ replied Mrs Venables loftily. ‘Lord Wilmersham’s recommendation here will suffice, though I confess I have not had the pleasure of advising his Lordship before on the hiring of servants; but as this is only a temporary appointment, for one evening only, I am content to forgo the usual formalities. The standard today has been dreadfully low. You will present yourself at Lord Tansor’s residence in Park-lane on Monday morning, at ten o’clock sharp, asking for his Lordship’s butler, Mr James Cranshaw.’ She handed me a paper on which she had indicated my suitability for the position. ‘Livery will be provided. Please to remain here a little longer for your measurements to be taken.’

I did as I was told. Before I left Mrs Venables’s establishment, I learned that my principal task would be to attend the guests as they arrived and departed in their carriages, and to be on hand during the dinner to open doors and perform any other necessary duties.

It was now half past seven on the great day. I boiled my kettle to make some tea, then cut myself a slice of bread and sat at my work-table to take my breakfast. There was paper all around me. ‘Note on Dr A. Daunt: Feb. 1849’ – ‘Description of Millhead, taken from F. Walker, A Journey Through Lancashire , 1833’ – ‘Memorandum: Information supplied by J. Hooper and others, June 1850’ –‘Evenwood: Architectural and Historical Notes, Sept. 1851’ – ‘The Tansor Barony: Genealogical Notes, March 1852’ – ‘Notes on conversation with W. Le G. re: King’s Coll., June 1852’. Lists, questions, letters. My life, and his. Here, spread across my work-table. Truth and lies.

Le Grice left for the war last week, fortunately too late to take part in the bloody engagement at Inkerman, *though the reports now coming back, telling of the terrible privations being suffered by our troops, have given me great concern for his immediate prospects. The night before he sailed, we had a farewell dinner at the Ship and Turtle, during which he urged me once again to leave England until he returned.

‘It’ll be better, old chap,’ he said.

Like me, he had concluded that our friend on the river had been Pluckrose. Yet although I had confided in him concerning the punitive action taken by Mr Abraham Gabb and company, Le Grice had come to the same conclusion as I: that, even without the assistance of Pluckrose, Daunt still posed a threat to my safety. But I had not wished to admit the fact, given Le Grice’s impending departure for the East; and so I had given him a false assurance that he need not concern himself on that score.

‘I am certain that Daunt will do no harm to me. What possible reason can he have? He is to be married soon, and I am nothing to him any more. I can never forgive him, of course, but I intend to forget him.’

‘And Miss Carteret?’

‘You mean, of course, the future Mrs Phoebus Duport. I have forgotten her too.’

Le Grice’s face darkened.

‘Forget Daunt? Forget Miss Carteret? You may as well say that you intend to forget your name.’

‘But I have forgotten my name,’ I replied. ‘I have no idea who I am.’

‘Damn you, G,’ he growled. ‘I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. You know as well as I do that the danger from Daunt is real, Pluckrose or no Pluckrose. For the sake of our friendship, I urge you to go travelling. Give it all up. Go away – the longer the better. If I were Daunt, I’d want you dead for what you knew about me. Even though you can’t prove what you know, things might still be made jolly awkward for him if you had a mind to do so.’