Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

I had brought with me a dozen dark slides containing negatives prepared according to the process recently introduced by Monsieur Blanquart-Evrard. *For three hours I worked away, and was satisfied that Lord Tansor would be well pleased with the results.

I had just finished taking several views of the Orangery, and was stepping through a little gate set in an ancient fragment of flint wall, when I was brought up short by the sound of someone laughing. Before me was a broad sweep of close-cut grass on which four figures, two ladies, and two gentlemen, were engaged in a game of croquet.

I would not have been aware of his presence had he not laughed; but as soon as I heard that distinctive note, and the concluding snort, I knew it was him.

He seemed to have grown taller, and was broader in the shoulder than I remembered; and now he had a dark beard, which, with the silk handkerchief that he had tied round his head, gave him a distinctly piratical air. There he was, in the flesh: P. Rainsford Daunt, the celebrated poet, whose latest volume, The Conquest of Peru , had just been published, to great acclaim.

I stood spellbound. To see him here, leaning on his mallet, and to hear his voice paying gallant compliments to his partner, a strikingly tall young lady with dark hair, seemed to twist the knife into the wound that had been festering within in me for so long. I considered for a moment whether I should make myself known to him; but then, looking down at my dusty boots, I noticed that I had a tear in the knee of my trousers where I had kneeled down on the gravel of the entrance court to adjust my tripod. Altogether I made a rather sorry sight, with my dirty hands and high colour, for it had been warm work, pulling the trolley from one location to the next. Daunt, by contrast, stood elegantly at his ease on the new-mown lawn, waistcoat shimmering in the sunlight, unaware of his former friend concealed in the shadow of a large laurel bush.

I confess that I could not help feeling envious of him, which gave the knife yet another little turn. He looked so assured, so settled in comfort. If I had known then the full extent of his good fortune, I might have been tempted into some rash deed. But, in my ignorance, I simply stood observing him, thinking of when we had last spoken together in School Yard, and wondering whether he still remembered what I had whispered to him. I doubted it. He looked like a man who slept well. It seemed almost a pity to disturb his peaceful slumbers; but one day my words would come back to him.

And then he would remember.

I remained out of sight behind the laurel bush for a quarter of an hour or more, until Daunt and his companions picked up their mallets, and returned to a small shaded terrace, where tea had been laid out for them. He strolled back with the tall young lady, whilst the other two followed behind, chatting and laughing.

It was now a little before five o’clock, and so I returned to the entrance court. I was beginning to pack up my things when Mr Tredgold appeared on the steps.

‘Edward, there you are. I trust you have had a productive afternoon? Very good. My business with his Lordship is concluded, but there is one more thing you might do before we leave.’

‘Certainly. What is it?’

He gave a little cough.

‘I have persuaded his Lordship that it would be a great thing, for his posterity, to have a photographic likeness of himself made. I urged him to consider what it would mean for his descendants to have an unmediated image of him as he really is, at this very time. I said it would be as if he lived again in their eyes. I hope it will not be too much trouble for you? His Lordship is waiting for us on the Library Terrace.’

The Library Terrace was on the west side of the house; Daunt and his friends were taking tea on the south. I quickly weighed up the risks of our meeting each other, and decided that they were small. Besides, the opportunity to study the man whom I believed to be my father was irresistible; and if Daunt did appear, I was confident that my recently acquired moustachios would prevent discovery.

‘Not in the least,’ I replied, as calmly as I could. ‘I have two negatives left, and will be very glad to oblige his Lordship. If you will allow me a moment to gather up my things …’

When we arrived at the terrace, Lord Tansor was pacing up and down, the silver ferrule of his stick clattering on the stones, the sunlight glinting off his immaculate silk hat.

‘Your Lordship,’ said Mr Tredgold, advancing towards him. ‘This is Mr Glapthorn.’

‘Glapthorn. How d’ye do. You have all your instruments, cameras, and what not, I see. A travelling chest? Everything to hand, what? Very good. That’s the way. Now then, let’s get on.’

I began to set up my tripod as Lord Tansor continued to walk up and down, conversing with Mr Tredgold. But I found that I could not take my eyes off him.

Now in his fifty-ninth year, he was a smaller man than I had expected, but with a straight back and strong shoulders. I became immediately fascinated by his little mannerisms: the left hand placed behind him as he walked; the way he tilted his head back when he spoke; the gruff, staccato phrases, and the barking interrogatives with which his speech was punctuated; the impatient tic in his left eye when Mr Tredgold directed some observation to him, as if his toleration were about to expire at any second.

Above all, my attention was held by the complete absence of either humour or vulnerability in the heavy-lidded, close-set eyes, and especially in the small, almost lipless mouth. I noticed the curious fact that one rarely saw Lord Tansor’s teeth. His mouth appeared to be permanently fixed shut, even when he spoke, which naturally conveyed the impression that here was a man in whom disapproval and suspicion of his fellow human beings was instinctive and irreversible. Everything about him was tight, ordered, contained. There was so much concentrated potency and will in the way that he looked you up and down, and in the stance of purposeful readiness that he habitually adopted – shoulders pulled sharply back, feet slightly apart – that you quickly forgot the shortness of his stature. I have met many impressive men, but few have impressed me with the completeness of their self-possession, born of the long exercise of personal and political authority, as he did. I have strong arms and a strong body, and am a giant compared to him; but as he approached to ask whether all was ready, I could hardly look him in the eye.

Yet I believed he was my father! Could it be true? Or had I been deluding myself? Say that he was my father, standing next to me in the bright June sunshine, and seeing only a stranger busying himself with his camera and tripod. Would the day ever come when I would turn and face him as my true self?

The sun had moved westwards, and was now illuminating the far end of the terrace, beyond which was a raised pavement, with a half-glazed door set in the return. We stepped down to a gravel path, and Lord Tansor – grasping his stick firmly in his right hand, and holding his left arm straight to his side – positioned himself a foot or two in front of this pavement, with the door behind his left shoulder. Through the lens of my camera, each individual detail of his appearance increased in clarity and definition: his square-toed boots, brightly polished as always; the surmounting gaiters, grey like his trousers and waistcoat; his black four-button coat and black stock; his gleaming hat. He stood straight and still, tight-lipped, white side-whiskers trimmed to perfection, small black eyes gazing out over bright pleasure-grounds and sunlit parkland, and beyond to the distant prospect of farms and pasture, rivers and lakes, woods and quiet hamlets. Lord of all he surveyed. The 25th Baron Tansor.