Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

‘I am glad to hear it, Mr Tredgold, though I do not know in what way I can possibly have rendered satisfaction.’

‘You have done what I asked of you, have you not?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

‘And you have done it to the best of your ability, diligently, without shirking?’ ‘I believe so.’

‘So do I. And if I were to ask you a question concerning any of the documents you have read, do you think you would be able to answer it?’

‘Yes – if you would allow me to consult my note-book.’

‘You took notes! Capital! But perhaps you found the task a little irksome? No need to answer. Of course you did. A man of your talents should not be confined. I wish to liberate your talents, Edward. Will you allow me to do that?’

Not knowing how to reply to this curious question, I said nothing, which Mr Tredgold appeared to take as assent.

‘Well then, Edward, your probationary days are over. Come to my office tomorrow, at ten. I have a little problem that I wish to discuss with you.’

So saying, he wished me a pleasant evening, beamed, and retired to his study.

*[One of the senior members of the Inns of Court. Ed. ]

*[Pietro Aretino (1492–1556), Italian poet. In 1524 he wrote accompanying sonnets to sixteen pornographic drawings by Giulio Romano, pupil of Raphael. Ed. ]

†[John Cleland (1709–89), author of the infamous Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (1749), otherwise known as Fanny Hill. Ed.]

II

Madame Mathilde

The next morning, as requested, I presented myself at Mr Tredgold’s private office. When I left, an hour later, it was as the Senior Partner’s confidential assistant, a post which, as he was at pains to emphasize, would involve undertaking a variety of duties ‘of a discreet and private kind’. These duties, to which only Mr Tredgold and I were privy, I undertook for the next five years, with, I think I may say, some success.

It may be imagined that a distinguished, and successful, solicitor such as Mr Tredgold often needed to lay his hand on information essential for a case that was not – shall we say – readily obtainable through the usual channels. On such occasions, when it was best that he remain in ignorance of the sources of such information, as well as the means by which it came to him, Mr Tredgold would summon me, and suggest a turn or two round the Temple Gardens. A problem of particular concern for the firm would be set out – theoretically, of course – and discussed (in the abstract).

‘I wonder,’ he would say, ‘whether anything might be done about this?’

Nothing further would be said, and we would make our leisurely return to Paternoster-row, discoursing on nothing in particular.

No formal instructions were issued, no records of conversations kept. But when something needed doing – of a discreet and private kind – it became my task at Tredgold, Tredgold & Orr to ensure that it was done.

The first ‘little problem’ that Mr Tredgold placed before me, for theoretical consideration, concerned a Mrs Bonner-Childs, and may be taken as typical of the work that I subsequently undertook.

This lady had been a patron of an establishment in Regent-street called the Abode of Beauty, run by a certain Sarah Bunce, alias Madame Mathilde. *Here, Madame enticed gullible females dedicated to the pursuit of eternal beauty (a not inconsiderable market, one would suppose) into parting with their – or more often their husbands’ – money, by dispensing ingenious preparations with exotic names (to effect the complete and permanent removal of wrinkles, or to preserve a youthful complexion in perpetuity) at twenty guineas a time. The establishment also offered a room sumptuously fitted out as an Arabian Bath. The unfortunate Mrs Bonner-Childs, having been tempted to partake of this last amenity, had come back to her clothes to find that her diamond ring and earrings had vanished. Upon confronting Madame Mathilde, she was informed by the proprietress that if she made a fuss over the loss, then Madame would inform Mrs Bonner-Childs’s husband – Assistant Secretary at the India Board, no less – that his wife had been using the Bath for immoral assignations.

The success of Madame Mathilde’s establishment – like Kitty Daley’s Academy – depended on the fatal spectre of public scandal doing its work on those unfortunates who succumbed to this and to other similar ruses; but in this case, Mrs Bonner-Childs immediately informed her husband of what had happened, and he, trusting completely in his wife’s innocence in the matter, instantly consulted Mr Christopher Tredgold.

My employer and I duly took a turn round the Temple Gardens. Mr Bonner-Childs was ready to prosecute if it came to it, but had expressed the hope that Mr Tredgold might be able to suggest a way by which this might be avoided, and his wife’s jewels returned. Either way, the question of the firm’s fee – at whatever level it might be set – was immaterial.

‘I wonder whether anything might be done about this?’ mused Mr Tredgold aloud, whereupon we returned to Paternoster-row, conversing as usual about nothing in particular.

The next day I set about observing the daily round of entrances and exits at the Abode of Beauty. In due course, I saw what I was looking for.

The late-morning drizzle had slowly thickened into rain. All around, the city thundered and roared. At every level of human existence, from the barest subsistence to luxurious indolence, its inhabitants crossed and re-crossed the clogged and dirty arteries of the great unsleeping beast, each according to his station – trudging through the murk and mud, insulated in curtained carriages, swaying knee to knee in crowded omnibuses, or perched precariously on rumbling high-piled carts – all engrossed by their own private purposes.

Though it was not yet midday, the light seemed already to be failing, and lamps were burning in the windows of houses and shops. It is a dark world, as I have often heard preachers say, and on that day the metaphor was made flesh.

I had been standing in Regent-street for some time, and was somewhat aimlessly glancing into the window of Messrs Johnson & Co., *thinking that perhaps I might make a present to myself of a new hat, when I saw the reflected image of a woman in the glass. She was about thirty years of age and, passing just behind me, had stopped before the Abode to look up at the luridly painted sign above the door. She hesitated, and then proceeded on her way; but she had taken only a few steps when she stopped again, and then returned to the door of the establishment.

She had an open honest face, and was wearing a fine pair of emerald earrings. I immediately stepped forward to prevent her entering. She looked momentarily shocked, but I swiftly persuaded her to move away from the door. This was my first lesson in boldness, and I learned it well. I also found, to my surprise, that I possessed a natural persuasiveness in such situations and quickly gained the confidence of the lady, who agreed, after we had retired a little way down the street to discuss the matter, to fall in with my plans.

A few minutes later, she re-entered the establishment and immediately requested a bath, taking off her clothes and jewellery in an adjoining room, as Mrs Bonner-Childs had done. Having observed that Madame Mathilde was the sole person within the premises at that moment, I had entered behind my accomplice and, waiting a few moments for her to enter the bath chamber, had the satisfaction of surprising Madame in the act of helping herself to the lady’s emerald earrings.

We exchanged a few words, with the result that Madame appeared to see the error of her ways. She lived exceptionally well from the Abode of Beauty, and could not risk prosecution, which I assured her would now be a simple matter to accomplish.