The Meaning of Night

rose from her chair to greet me, and apologized for her dreaminess.

‘I have been thinking of Papa and Mamma,’ she said, ‘and of all the happy years we spent here.’

‘But you are not leaving Evenwood, I think, only the Dower House.’

For a moment her face took on a guarded look; but then she inclined her head slightly and looked at me teasingly. ‘How well informed you are, Mr Glapthorn, on all our little doings! I wonder how you do it?’

As I did not wish to give away the identity of my informant, I said that there was no mystery to it; a passing remark from Dr Daunt, nothing more, adding that I was glad that Lord Tansor had recognized his duty towards her.

‘Well then, I have my explanation,’ she said. ‘But perhaps I should begin to inform myself a little about you, if we are to be friends. Come and sit by me, and tell me all about Edward Glapthorn.’

She made room for me on the little sofa on which she was sitting, and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for me to begin. I remained for a second or two entranced by her beautiful face, and by the closeness of her person.

‘Have you nothing to say?’

‘Nothing, I’m sure, that would interest you.’

‘Come, come, Mr Glapthorn, no false modesty. I sense that you have a great deal to say, if you would only allow yourself to do so. Your parents, now. What of them?’

The truth was on my lips; but something held me back. Once I had declared my love for her, and should it be returned, I had resolved in my heart to tell her everything; to trust her as I had trusted no one else, not even Bella. But for now, until all was certain, I felt obliged to speak the truth only as far as I was able, and to apply a little dab of falsehood to the rest.

‘My father was a Captain in the Hussars and died before I was born. My mother supported us by writing novels.’

‘A novelist! How fascinating! But I cannot recall an authoress by the name of Glapthorn.’

‘She wrote anonymously.’

‘I see. And where were you brought up?’

‘On the Somerset coast. My mother’s family were West Country people.’

‘Somerset, do you say? I do not know it well myself, but I have heard Lord Tansor speak of it as a beautiful county – his first wife’s people came from there, you know. And do you have brothers or sisters?’

‘My older sister died when she was very young. I never knew her. I was educated at home by my mother, and then at the village school. Later, after my mother died, I studied at Heidelberg and then travelled a good deal on the Continent. I came to London in 1848 and found my present employment at Tredgolds. I collect books, study photography, and generally lead a rather dull life. There you have it. Edward Glapthorn, en tout et pour tout.’

‘Well,’ she said when I had finished my resume, ‘I still accuse you of false modesty, for I infer from your account that you undoubtedly possess some remarkable talents to which you are not prepared to admit. Photography, for example. That is something which calls for both scientific knowledge and an artistic eye, yet you mention it almost off-handedly, as if its secrets could be mastered by any Tom, Dick or Harry. I am greatly interested by photography. Lord Tansor has an album containing some excellent views of Evenwood. I’ve often looked through it with admiration. The same photographer, I believe, was responsible for the portrait of Lord Tansor that stands on his Lordship’s desk. Do you know, I believe that I should like to have my portrait taken. Yes, I think I should like that very much. Would you take my portrait, Mr Glapthorn?’

I searched her eyes, those great dark pools, infinitely deep, but they gave back no suggestion of any ulterior meaning to her question. I saw only frankness and honesty, and my heart leaped within me that she should look upon me in such a way, without the reserve that had once seemed so unyielding. I told her that I would be pleased and honoured to take her portrait, and then, recklessly perhaps, tumbled out an admission that, at Mr Tredgold’s instigation, I had been responsible for producing the photographic views of Evenwood that she had admired, and for the portrait of Lord Tansor.

‘But of course!’ she cried. ‘The portrait carries the initials EG – for Edward Glapthorn! What an extraordinary thing, that you should have come to Evenwood to take your photographs and I never knew! To think that we might have met then, or passed each other in the grounds as strangers, unaware that we were destined to meet one day.’

‘So you think our meeting was destined?’ I asked.

‘Don’t you?’

‘As you know, I am a fervent believer in Fate,’ I replied. ‘It is the pagan in me. I have tried to argue myself out of it, but find I cannot.’

‘Then it seems we are helpless,’ she said quietly, turning her head towards the fire.

Silence descended on the room, a silence that seemed deepened and made almost palpable by the faint ticking of a clock, and the sound of the logs crackling and flaring, and by the roaring wind, throwing leaves and small branches against the windows.

I felt my breath quicken with the desire to draw her close to me, to feel her hair against my face, and her breast against mine. Would she push me away? Or would she instantly yield to the moment? Then I saw her head drop, and knew that she was weeping.

‘Forgive me,’ she said, almost in a whisper.

I was on the point of assuring her that no apology was required for her display of feeling; but then I saw that she had not addressed her remark to me, but to some other person, absent in body but present in her mind.

‘You should not have died!’ She was speaking now in a kind of moan, and shaking her head rapidly from side to side; then I understood that the sudden thought of her father’s dreadful death must have come upon her unexpectedly, as fresh grief often will.