The Meaning of Night

I sat up before the fire for half an hour or so, smoking a cigar, then went to bed in a state of suppressed anxiety. Images came crowding in upon me: the dying smile of Lucas Trendle, elephants, Bella laughing in the autumn sunshine, a carriage making its way up a deserted street.

Then, when sleep eventually took hold, came a dream, which haunts me still.

I am walking through an unimaginably vast subterranean chamber, the echoes of my footsteps receding into endless depths of shadow on either side of what seems like an aisle or nave of titanic stone columns. In my hand is a candle, which burns with a steady flame, revealing an open space beyond the columns. Into this space, the boundaries of which are indiscernible, I now pass.

I walk on for some time, feeling a vast and oppressive emptiness pushing in all around me. I stop, and the reverberating echoes of my footsteps slowly die away in a sickening diminuendo into the surrounding immensity. The candle’s flame reveals only darkness, limitless, entire; but then, suddenly, I know that I am not alone, and a choking terror begins to take hold. There is something fearsome here, invisible but present. All is silence; I have heard no sound of footsteps other than my own; and yet I know that danger is near. Then, with inconceivable horror, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder and warm breath on my cheek and hear the faint hiss of exhaled air. Someone – some thing – standing just behind me softly blows out the candle. I drop the extinguished flame, and collapse in utter helplessness and revulsion.

I awoke three or four times from this nightmare in a sweat, my heart thumping, clutching at tangled sheets. Finally, at first light, I arose with a parched mouth and a ferocious headache. As soon as I entered my sitting-room I saw it: a rectangle of white paper, slipped under the door as I had slept.

It was a black-bordered card, written in the same hand as the note that had been sent to Bella. It seemed to confirm all my fears.

The quotation from the Burial Service at first seemed merely apt; but, as I considered it further, the words began to call to mind some other time and place – a face, already receding into the shadows of memory; a place of sorrow; rain and solemn music. It puzzled me, and worried me, though I could not say why. Then I concluded that I was seeing significance where there was none, and threw the card aside.

Seven days. There was time to prepare myself. I did not expect any further communication; the blackmailer’s next move would no doubt come – presumably in person – on the day of the funeral. And if not in person, then he would have to reveal something more of himself in another communication in order to attain his objective; and that might allow me the advantage that I was seeking. In the meantime, I resolved to try to put all thought of this business out of my mind, as far as I could. I had other pressing matters to attend to. For the time of reckoning with my enemy, Phoebus Daunt, was nigh.

^*[‘Forewarned, forearmed’. Ed.]

^†[The society, founded by Sir Ashton Lever in 1781, was at the forefront of the revival of archery at the end of the eighteenth century. It obtained a lease from the Crown to establish its grounds in the Inner Circle of Regent’s Park in 1833. Ed.]

4

Ab incunabulis^*

On the evening after Bella returned from Dieppe, the 2nd of November 1854, I took her to dinner at the Clarendon Hotel.^† Mrs D had been enchanted by the house they had viewed and had stayed on in France to begin arrangements for its purchase.

‘She means to retire there as soon as circumstances permit,’ said Bella, ‘which of course means that my own position will change sooner than anticipated.’

She did her best to maintain her old easiness of manner, but I could see the effort that it was causing her. At length, she set aside all pretence.

‘You have read the note?’

I nodded.

‘What does it mean, Eddie? I must know the truth.’

‘The truth of what?’ I cried angrily. ‘The truth of a lie? The truth of some vague and baseless slander? There is no truth here, none, I can assure you.’

‘But who has sent me this?’

‘Someone who wishes me harm for a reason that I cannot imagine, someone whose resentment of me – or perhaps of you …’

She was taken aback by the suggestion.

‘Of me? What can you mean?’

‘Think, my love: is there any member of The Academy who might have a reason to cause you harm? Someone, perhaps, who has received a visit from Mr Braithwaite on your behalf?’ I asked the question in the full knowledge that this matter had nothing to do with The Academy.

‘No, none.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Sir Meredith Gore – you remember? – was lately ejected, but I was not the only one to complain of him. He is presently travelling on the Continent, and is not expected to return for some time, so I do not think it can be him. Besides, what possible benefit could he gain from this? And do you know the gentleman?’

I had to concede that Sir Meredith and I had enjoyed no personal contact, other than a chance meeting on the stairs at Blithe Lodge one evening; but, persisting to lay this false trail, I pointed out that it would be perfectly possible for him to invent some calumny against me without personal knowledge, to gain revenge on her for his expulsion.

‘No, no,’ said Bella, shaking her head vigorously, ‘it’s too implausible – impossible. No, it cannot be Sir Meredith.’ She paused as the waiter came up with more champagne.

‘You say,’ she continued, toying with the stem of her glass, ‘that the implied accusations are baseless. But how can I be sure? There must, after all, be some reason why the note was written to me. I know that your father died before you were born, and that your mother, whom you have told me you loved dearly, was an authoress; and you have spoken often of your years abroad. But are there things in your past – important things, perhaps – that you have deliberately withheld from me, to which the note may refer? If so, I beg you to tell me now.’