Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

Dulcis was the word that impressed itself on my mind when I met Mr Christopher Tredgold for the first time. Pleasant, soft, charming, mellifluous, refined: all these intangible impressions of character seemed to mix with the atmosphere of the room, its elegance and fragrance, to produce a sensation of sweet and dreamy ease.

Mr Tredgold rose from the seat he was occupying by the window, shook my hand, and invited me to make myself comfortable on the tête-à-tête chair, whilst he (somewhat to my relief) took a seat on the sofa. He smiled seraphically, and continued to beam as he spoke.

‘When your letter was passed to me – Mr … Glapthorn …’ – he hesitated for a moment as he glanced down at a little sheaf of notes he was holding —‘I thought it would be more convenient for us both if we conducted this interview in a private capacity.’

‘I am grateful to you, Mr Tredgold,’ I replied, ‘for giving up your time in this way.’

‘Not at all. Not at all. You see, Mr Glapthorn, your letter intrigued me. Yes, I may say that I was intrigued.’

He beamed again.

‘And when I am intrigued,’ he continued, ‘I can be sure that the matter in hand is out of the ordinary. It is a remarkable instinct I have. It has happened time and again. I am intrigued; I investigate the matter in a private capacity, carefully, quietly, and at my leisure; and then – it always happens – I find something extraordinary at the bottom of it all. The ordinary I can leave to others. The extraordinary I like to keep for myself.’

This statement was delivered in the smoothest of tenor tones, and with slow precision of enunciation, which gave it a chant-like quality. Before I could reply, he had consulted his notes again, polished his eye-glass, and had proceeded with what was evidently some sort of prepared introduction to our meeting.

‘In your letter, Mr Glapthorn, I find mention of Mr Edward Glyver and his late mother, Mrs Simona Glyver. May I ask what your relationship is to either of these two persons?’

‘As I stated in my letter, I have been engaged by Mr Edward Glyver as a confidential secretary, to assist him in the ordering and final disposal of his late mother’s papers.’

‘Ah,’ beamed Mr Tredgold, ‘the authoress.’

‘You know her work?’

‘By reputation.’

It did not strike me as odd then, though it did later, that Mr Tredgold was aware of the identity that lay behind the anonymous and pseudonymous works of my mother. He nodded at me to continue.

‘Mr Glyver is presently residing on the Continent and wishes to conclude his mother’s affairs as quickly as possible. As it is impossible for him to take on the whole task himself, he has delegated the business side of things to me.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Tredgold, ‘the business side. Indeed.’ Another polish of the eye-glass. ‘May I ask, Mr Glapthorn, you will excuse me, whether you have some authority on which we may proceed?’

I had come prepared for this, and reached into my coat.

‘A letter from Mr Edward Glyver,’ I said, ‘granting me temporary power of agency over his affairs.’

‘I see,’ he replied, taking the document and looking over it. ‘A little irregular perhaps, but this all looks to be in order, although of course I have not had the pleasure of meeting Mr Glyver, and I do not think we hold any correspondence from him.’

Again I was prepared.

‘A corroborating signature, perhaps?’ I asked.

‘Certainly that might suffice,’ said Mr Tredgold, and I handed him a receipt, signed of course by myself, for the supplying of a handsome pocket translation of Plato by Ficino (Lyons, 1550, in a pretty French binding) by Field & Co., Regent’s Quadrangle. This appeared to satisfy the Senior Partner, who, having polished his glass once more, leaned back and responded with a further question.

‘You spoke of a confidential matter in respect of the late distinguished authoress, Mr Glyver’s mother. May I know what it concerns?’

His cerulean eyes widened a little as he tilted his head to one side and stroked back a delicate feather of hair from his forehead.

‘I have found mention in Mrs Glyver’s papers of an agreement between herself and a certain lady, whom I have inferred must be a client of your firm’s. The late Laura, Lady Tansor?’

Mr Tredgold said nothing.

‘Unfortunately, Mrs Glyver does not seem to have retained a copy of this agreement, and her son is naturally concerned that it might contain some undertaking that he is obliged to discharge on her behalf.’

‘Most commendable,’ said Mr Tredgold. He rose from his chair, walked over to a little French writing-desk, opened a drawer, and took out a piece of paper.

‘This, I think, is the document you seek.’

*[‘The die is cast’. Ed. ]

*[Robert Browning was born at 6 Southampton Street, Camberwell, on 7 May 1812. Ed. ]

*[Louis-Jacques Mandé Daguerre (1787–1851), French photographic pioneer and inventor of the Daguerreotype process. Ed. ]

*[Lacock Abbey, near Chippenham in Wiltshire. Ed. ]

†[What Sir John Herschel later called ‘negatives’, the term we still use. Ed. ]

*[Paternoster Row was completely destroyed during the Blitz, on 29 December 1940. Ed. ]

*[A double chair, on which two people could sit side by side. Ed. ]

18

Hinc illae lacrimae *

I was amazed. I had expected lawyerly evasion and procrastination from Mr Tredgold, a firm rebuff even; but not such an easy and rapid capitulation to my request.

It was a simple enough arrangement.I Laura Rose Duport of Evenwood in the County of Northamptonshire do hereby solemnly and irrevocably absolve Simona Frances Glyver of Sandchurch in the County of Dorset from all accountability charge blame censure prosecution or crimination in law in relation to any private arrangement concerning my personal affairs that the said Simona Frances Glyver and I Laura Rose Duport may agree to or undertake and do further instruct that the said Simona Frances Glyver be exculpated and remitted from any prosecution or crimination in law in toto and in all respects from any consequences whatsoever and whenever that may arise from the said arrangement and that further and finally the provisions contained herein shall be incorporated at the proper time and place into those of my last will and testament.

The document had been signed by both parties and dated: ‘30th July 1819’.

‘This was drawn up by—?’

‘Mr Anson Tredgold, my late father. An old gentlemen then, I fear,’ replied his son, shaking his head.

I did not ask whether such an agreement would ever have held in law if challenged; for I saw that it did not matter. It had been a gesture merely, a willing acquiescence on Lady Tansor’s part to her friend’s natural desire to possess an illusion of protection, if all failed, from the clearly dangerous confederacy upon which they had been engaged.

‘I believe,’ Mr Tredgold went on, ‘that Mr Edward Glyver can be assured that nothing in this arrangement can now devolve upon him in any way at all. It remains – well, I should say it remains an unexecuted curiosity. As I said before, something extraordinary.’

He beamed.

‘Do you – did your father – have knowledge of the nature of the private arrangement referred to in this document?’

‘I’m glad you have asked me that, Mr Glapthorn,’ he replied, after a discernible pause. ‘I, of course, was not party to the drawing up of the document, having only recently joined the firm. My father was Lord Tansor’s legal adviser, and so it was natural that her Ladyship should have come to him to put her arrangements in hand. But after receiving your letter, I did undertake a little delving. My father was a methodical and prudent man, as we lawyers of course must be; but on this occasion he was, I fear, a little lax in his dealings with Lady Tansor. For I do not find he left any note or other sort of memorandum on the matter. He was, as I say, an elderly gentleman …’