The Meaning of Night (61 page)

‘We have been so dreadfully dull here this morning, Mr Glapthorn,’ she said,

resuming her place next to Miss Carteret and tossing her book onto a nearby table. ‘Like

two old spinsters. I declare I might have gone quite mad if you hadn’t come to see us.

Emily, of course, can sit for hours on her own and never minds it; but I must have

company. Don’t you love company, Mr Glapthorn?’

‘Only my own,’ I replied.

‘Oh, but that is terrible. You are as bad as Emily. And yet you were such a lively

companion the other day, in the Park, was he not, Emily?’

All through this exchange Miss Carteret had sat, book in hand, impassively

regarding her friend. Then, ignoring her friend’s question, she turned towards me and

took off her spectacles.

‘How is your employer, Mr Glapthorn?’

‘My employer?’

‘Yes. Mr Christopher Tredgold. I understand from Lord Tansor that he has

suffered a seizure.’

‘He was very poorly when I last saw him. I’m afraid I cannot say whether his

condition has since improved.’

Mademoiselle Buisson gave a little sigh and crossed her arms, as if she was

piqued by the suddenly serious turn of the conversation.

I had hoped for a warmer, less restrained, reception than this from her, and was

unsure of what to say next. Then, on the wall behind Miss Carteret, a well-executed

painting of a red-brick house set in pleasant gardens caught my eye.

‘The Red House at Ashby St John,’ she said, seeing my interest. ‘My

grandparents’ house, where my father grew up. When Grandfather Carteret was ruined,

the picture was bought by my maternal grandfather, Mr Charles Hunt-Graham. It passed

on his death to my aunt, Mrs Fletcher Manners.’

‘Is Mrs Manners at home?’ I said, feeling it would be polite of me to ask.

‘She is visiting a friend,’ Miss Carteret replied, ‘and will not return until this

evening.’

‘Mrs Manners is a person who likes company very much,’ Mademoiselle Buisson

observed with a toss of her head.

‘I think Mr Tredgold mentioned to me thatMrs Manners was your mother’s

youngest sister?’

‘That is correct.’

‘With whom you resided when you were in Paris?’

‘You are very curious about my family, Mr Glapthorn.’ The rebuke – if the

remark was intended as such – was spoken in a soft, almost coquettishly teasing tone,

which strongly conveyed to me the notion that she was, after all, disposed to maintain the

friendly relations we had established during the course of our afternoon in Green Park.

This encouraged me to take a little risk with my response.

‘I am curious about your family, Miss Carteret, because I am curious about you.’

‘That is a rather bold statement, and curious in itself. What possible interest can

my dull life hold for someone such as you? For I conceive, Mr Glapthorn, that you are a

person of wide experience and interests, with a certain largeness of view that I have

observed before in men of strong intellect who have lived a good deal in the world on

their own terms. You live by your wits – I am sure I am right to say this – and this gives

you, if I may say so, a kind of feral character. Yes, you are an adventurer, Mr Glapthorn.

I do not say that you can never be tamed, but I am sure you are not destined for

domesticity. Don’t you agree, Marie-Madeleine?’

Mademoiselle had been regarding Miss Carteret and I with an expression of

intense interest, her eyes darting from one to the other as each of us spoke.

‘I think,’ she said slowly, pursing her lips in concentration, ‘that Mr Glapthorn is

what I have heard called in English a dark horse. Yes, that is what I think. Tu es un

homme mystère.’

‘Well,’ I smiled, ‘I am not sure whether to be flattered or not.’

‘Oh,’ said Mademoiselle, ‘flattered, of course. A hint of mystery in a person is

always an advantageous characteristic.’

‘So you think I am mysterious?’

‘Assuredly.’

‘And what do you think, Miss Carteret?’

‘I think we are all mysterious,’ she replied, opening her eyes to their fullest

extent. ‘It is a question of degree. Everyone has things they would prefer to hide from the

view of others, even from those to whom they are close – little secret sins, frailties, fears,

even hopes that dare not be spoken; yet, on the whole, these are venial mysteries and do

not prevent those who love us best from knowing us as we essentially are, both for good

and bad. But there are those who are not at all what they seem. Such people, I think, are

wholly mysterious. Their true selves are deliberately and entirely masked, leaving only a

false aspect for others to know.’

Her unwavering gaze was uncomfortable, and the ensuing silence even more so.

She was speaking generally, of course; yet there was an unmistakable pointedness to her

words that struck me very forcefully. Mademoiselle gave a sigh, indicative of impatience

with her serious friend, whilst I smiled weakly and, in an attempt to steer the

conversation in another direction, asked Miss Carteret how long she would be staying in

London.

‘Marie-Madeleine leaves for Paris tomorrow. I shall remain here for a few days

more, having little to go back to Evenwood for.’

‘Not even Mr Phoebus Daunt?’ I asked.

At this Mademoiselle Buisson gave out a little scream of laughter and rocked

back and forth on the sofa.

‘Mr Phoebus Daunt! You think she would go back for him? But you are teasing, I

think, Mr Glapthorn.’

‘But why would Miss Carteret not wish to see her old friend?’ I asked, with an

exaggeratedly innocent expression.

‘Ah, yes,’ replied Mademoiselle, smiling, ‘her old friend and playfellow.’

‘Mr Glapthorn does not share the world’s admiration of Mr Phoebus Daunt,’ said

Miss Carteret. ‘Indeed he holds quite a severe opinion of him. Isn’t that right, Mr

Glapthorn?’

‘But Mr Phoebus Daunt is so utterly charming!’ cried Mademoiselle Buisson.

‘And so clever, and so handsome! Are you jealous of him, Mr Glapthorn?’

‘By no means, I assure you.’

‘Do you know him, then?’ asked Mademoiselle, smiling.

‘Mr Glapthorn knows him only by reputation,’ said Miss Carteret, also smiling,

‘which he believes to be sufficient grounds for disliking him.’ They looked at each other

as if they were playing some sort of game, the rules of which were known only by the

two of them.

‘Do I infer, then, Miss Carteret,’ I asked, ‘that we share a similar view of Mr

Daunt’s character and talents after all? When we last spoke on this subject you appeared

inclined to defend him.’

‘As I implied then, I owe Mr Daunt the courtesy due to a long acquaintance, and

to a close neighbour. But I do not seek to defend him. He is well able to defend himself,

against your opinion, and against mine.’

‘Well,’ said Mademoiselle, ‘if you wish to have my considered opinion of Mr

Phoebus Daunt, here it is. He is insufferable. That is my opinion – the long and the short

of it, as you say in English. So you see, Mr Glapthorn, we are all of one mind on the

subject.’

I said I was glad of it.

‘But you know, Emily,’ she continued, turning to her friend, ‘I can think of an

excellent reason for you to go back to Evenwood.’

‘And what is that?’ asked Miss Carteret.

‘Why, Mr Phoebus Daunt is not there!’

Mademoiselle Buisson seemed excessively pleased by the cleverness of her

riposte. She clapped her hands together, kissed Miss Carteret on the cheek, and leapt to

her feet. Then she began to dance around the room, skiping and twirling, and singing,

‘Où est le soleil? Où est le soleil?’, until she sat down once more next to Miss Carteret,

flushed and bright-eyed.

‘And where has the sun gone?’ I asked.

‘To America,’ said Miss Carteret. As she spoke, she regarded her friend with a

quizzical uplift of her eyebrows, and again I felt an unmistakable undercurrent of

complicity. ‘He has embarked upon a lecture tour.’

‘And what is he to lecture on?’ I asked.

‘His subject, I believe, is to be “The Art of the Epic”’.

I could not stop myself from letting out a contemptuous guffaw. The Art of the

Epic! Of all things! Then I checked myself, thinking I might perhaps be reprimanded by

Miss Carteret for my discourtesy towards her old playfellow; but I was gratified to see

that both she and Mademoiselle were also laughing, Miss Carteret quietly and discreetly,

her friend more openly.

‘You see, Emily,’ said Mademoiselle at length, ‘Mr Glapthorn is a kindred spirit.

He feels things as we do. We can tell him all our secrets, and never fear that he will

betray us.’

Miss Carteret rose, walked to the window, and looked out into the street.

‘It’s so stuffy in here,’ she said. ‘Shall we walk out for half an hour?’

It did not take long for the two ladies to procure shawls and bonnets, and soon we

were walking through carpets of fallen leaves in Hyde-park. We rested for a while on a

bench overlooking the Serpentine; but Mademoiselle Buisson was restless and, after a

minute or two, she wandered off a little way, leaving Miss Carteret and I alone for the

first time.

‘Miss Carteret,’ I ventured, after we’d sat for a few moments looking out over the

water, ‘may I enquire whether the police are any closer to apprehending your father’s

attackers?’

Her eyes remained fixed on some distant point as she made her reply.

‘A man from Easton – a known ruffian – was questioned, but has since been

released without charge. I have no hope at all that the police will ever identify those

responsible.’

She said this in a rather pat way, as if my question had been anticipated, and the

answer prepared. Her beautiful face looked strained, and I noticed that she was playing

with the fringes of her shawl in a distracted manner.

‘Forgive me,’ I said softly. ‘The question was insensitive.’

‘No!’ She had now turned to look at me, and I saw that her eyes were full of tears.

‘You speak out of kindness, I know that, and I am grateful for your concern, truly I am.

But my heart is so full – with grief for my father, and with uncertainty as to what I shall

do now. My father’s death has thrown everything into doubt. I have no way of earning

my living, and do not even know if I shall have a home any more.’

‘Surely Lord Tansor will be sensitive to your position, and to the duty he owes to

you as his relative?’

‘Lord Tansor will only do what serves his own interests,’ she replied, somewhat

tartly. ‘I do not complain that he has never shown me consideration in the past, but he is

certainly under no obligation to do so in the future. He gave my father employment at the

behest of his aunt, my grandmother; but he did so with some reluctance, though the

appointment proved of inestimable benefit to him. My father was his cousin, yet he was

sometimes treated no better than a servant. I do not deny that our material circumstances

provided compensation; but we owned nothing. Everything we had was in the gift of

Lord Tansor; we lived by the grace and favour of his Lordship, not as members of the

family in our own right and dignity. I could never make my father see the inequity of our

situation, but I felt the shame and injustice of it greatly. How can I, then, consider my

relationship to his Lordship to offer any guarantee of security and independence?’

‘But perhaps his Lordship will treat you generously, after all.’

‘He may. I have Duport blood in me, and that is always of the greatest

consideration to Lord Tansor. But I cannot count on things turning out to my advantage,

and do not wish to be perpetually beholden to Lord Tansor.’

I then made the observation that a lady always had another means at her disposal

to settle herself in a comfortable way of life.

‘You mean marriage, I suppose. But who would want to marry me? I have no

money of my own, and my father left little enough. I am twenty-eight years old – no, do

not say that my age is of no account. I know very well that it is. No, Mr Glapthorn, I am a

lost cause. I shall live and die a spinster.’

‘There is one person, surely, who would marry you.’

‘And who is that?’

‘Why, Mr Phoebus Daunt, of course.’

‘Really, Mr Glapthorn, you are quite obsessed by Mr Phoebus Daunt. He seems to

have become a fixed idea for you.’

‘But you admit that I am right?’

‘I admit no such thing. Any inclinations in that direction that Mr Daunt might

have harboured have long since withered away. Even if my father had approved of him,

which he did not, I could never have reciprocated his feelings. I do not love Mr Daunt;

and, for me, having had the example of my parents constantly before me, love is the only

reason for marriage.’

‘And yet he has tremendous prospects, does he not? The woman who marries Mr

Phoebus Daunt will be comfortable indeed when he inherits Lord Tansor’s fortune. Such

a consideration might mitigate the absence of love.’

‘Your knowledge of Mr Daunt’s affairs appears to be extensive.’

‘I have some professional acquaintance with them, yes.’

‘Ah, from your position at Tredgolds. I see. But I would have expected such

matters to have remained confidential.’

‘I think I am right in saying that Mr Daunt’s position with regard to Lord Tansor’s

will is public knowledge; otherwise, of course, I would have observed professional