Michael Cox - The Meaning of Night

‘The Lord Maldwin’s principal estate, or caput , was the castle of Tansor, in Northamptonshire – a few miles to the south of the present Lord Tansor’s seat of Evenwood – and so he was summoned to Parliament as Malduino Portuensi de Tansor . Of course the family has suffered many vicissitudes of fortune – especially during the Commonwealth; but the Duports have generally married judiciously, and by the time of George, the 22nd Baron, at the beginning of the last century, they had risen to that position of eminence and influence that they continue to enjoy.

‘This position, however, is now under threat – at least, that is how the present Lord Tansor interprets matters. The absence of an heir – I mean of a lineal heir, whether male or female – has caused him great concern; and it is this lack, and the consequences that may flow from it, that he feels may signal a decline in the family’s fortunes. His fear is that the title and property could pass to a branch of the family in which, to put things in his own terms, the qualities that have been so conspicuously demonstrated by successive generations of his ancestors are lacking. His Lordship has certainly been singularly unlucky. As you may know, the only son from his first marriage died when still a child, and his present union has so far been without issue.’

Mr Tredgold had taken out his handkerchief; but, rather than cleaning his eye-glass, he was using it instead to mop his forehead. I noticed that he had coloured a little, and so asked whether he would prefer to move out of the sun, which, though low in the sky, was unusually intense for the time of year.

‘By no means,’ he replied. ‘I like to feel the light of heaven on my face. Now then, where was I? Yes. In a word, then, it appears that there is, at present, ahem, no male heir of the direct line, which raises the distinct possibility that the title will pass to a member of one of the collateral branches of the family, an outcome to which his Lordship is deeply opposed.’

‘There are legitimate collateral claimants, then?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Tredgold. ‘His cousin and secretary, Mr Paul Carteret, *and, in due course, Mr Carteret’s daughter. But, as I say, his Lordship’s aversion to collateral succession is – well, entrenched and immovable. It is perhaps irrational, because the Barony has reverted to collateral relatives on a number of occasions in its history, but there it is. Come, I am a little tired of walking. Let us sit.’

Taking my arm, Mr Tredgold drew me to a bench in the corner of the Gardens.

‘There may yet, of course, be time for a satisfactory outcome to Lord Tansor’s predicament in the normal course of events, as it were. His physician considers it possible that her Ladyship might still be capable of conceiving an heir. I believe these things have been known. But his Lordship is not prepared to put his trust in Nature, and, after considering the matter carefully for several years, has finally come to a decision. He has wisely rejected divorce, against which I strongly advised, there being no grounds other than the lack of an heir, and it would go hard on his Lordship’s standing and reputation to behave like some Eastern potentate, and take such a step. He understands this, and so has taken an alternative course.’

Pausing once again, he looked up at the radiant blue of the sky through the branches of the tree under which we were seated, and shielded his eyes with his hand against the sun.

‘An alternative course?’

‘Indeed. A somewhat unusual one. The adoption of an heir of his own choosing.’

I cannot describe what I felt on hearing these words. An heir of his own choosing? But I was Lord Tansor’s heir! Struggling hard to maintain some appearance of composure, I began to experience the most peculiar sensation, as if I were falling through great darkness into infinite space.

‘Are you well, Edward? You look a little pale.’

‘Perfectly well, thank you,’ I replied. ‘Please go on.’

But I was far from being perfectly well. I thought my heart would burst from my chest, so assailed was I by panic at this entirely unexpected turn of events. Then I began to see that this was not the end of all my hopes; whatever such a course might mean in practice, I would still be able to claim my rightful place in the succession, if I could discover corroborative proof of my identity. All was not lost. Not just yet.

‘The firm,’ Mr Tredgold was saying, ‘has been charged with the task of modifying the provisions of Lord Tansor’s will, by the addition of a codicil. The baronial title, of course, is a separate matter; it must go whither the law dictates, to the next heir in line of succession, whether direct or collateral; which of course means that Mr Paul Carteret, through his Duport mother, may, as things presently stand, become the 26th Baron Tansor. I hope I am not being too abstruse?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Good. I wish you to be aware of the situation, as it pertains to his Lordship’s present intentions. You do understand, don’t you, Edward?’

It was such a curious question that I did not well know how to answer, but simply nodded mutely.

‘Good again. The title, then, is not in Lord Tansor’s gift. But what his Lordship possesses materially – including Evenwood, the greatest and noblest of all his possessions – is his to bestow, subject to certain legal procedures, on whomsoever he wishes – as is, in a specific sense, the Duport name. He has therefore taken a decision of great consequence. He has separated the baronial dignity, conferred by the writ that summoned Lord Maldwin Duport to Parliament in 1264, from the material interests that the family has subsequently garnered to itself, resolving that the future title-holder will inherit little but the dignity. His Lordship desires that all the entailed property that he himself inherited, as well as those possessions specifically bequeathed to him by his father, should be left to his nominated heir.’

‘And has Lord Tansor made his nomination?’

‘He has.’

Mr Tredgold paused. His china-blue eyes met mine.

‘It is to be Mr Phoebus Rainsford Daunt, the poet. You may have seen the reviews of his new volume. *It has, I believe, been very well received.’

A terrible helplessness began to grip me, such as those must feel who see their doom approaching, but are powerless to resist it. This moment I shall always count as one of the most significant of my life; for now I became absolutely convinced that I had been driven forwards, and was still being driven, by a fatality from which I could never escape. In his recollections of how we had first met, in School Yard at Eton, Daunt had likened me to some messenger of Fate, as if he knew, as I now did, that our destinies were inextricably entwined. Had the consequences of his youthful treachery been merely the precursor of this greater loss, of which he had been made the agent? This terrible possibility was like a knife of ice to my heart. But, once again, I was saved from despair by the thought that neither of us could know the end towards which we were being impelled. Who was fated to receive the final prize? The true heir, or the false? Until that question could be answered beyond all doubt, I must continue to hope and believe that I would come at last into the life that I had been born to live. Yet I remained mesmerized by the bitter humour of it all, and could not suppress a mirthless smile.

‘Is something amusing you, Edward?’ asked Mr Tredgold.

‘By no means,’ I replied, quickly assuming an expression of concern, which, indeed, I did not need to manufacture.

‘As I was saying, Lord Tansor intends, by breaking the entail, that Mr Daunt will succeed to the possession of Evenwood, and of all the other property that his Lordship inherited from his father, on condition of Mr Daunt’s assuming the Duport name and arms on his Lordship’s death.’