The Meaning of Night

‘A moment of your time, Miss Carteret.’

She saw the resolve in my eyes, and felt the superior strength of my grip; in a moment, she surrendered to the inevitable, and her resistance ceased.

‘Well, sir?’

‘Let us sit in our old seat in the window. It is such a pleasant place to talk.’ I held out a shepherding arm.

She threw off her cloak and walked over to the window-seat. Before joining her, I locked the door.

‘I see I am a prisoner,’ she said. ‘Are you going to kill me?’

‘You are pretty cool if I am,’ I replied, standing over her. She only gave a little shrug by way of reply, and looked out of the window at the rain-lashed gardens.

‘You mentioned a marriage,’ I continued. ‘To Mr Daunt. I don’t mind admitting that this comes as something of a surprise to me.’

‘Then you are a greater fool than we thought.’

I was determined to maintain an air of unconcerned bravado; but the truth was that I felt as helpless as a baby. Of course I had the advantage of physical strength; but what use was that? She had played me for a damned fool, right enough; and, once again, Phoebus Rainsford Daunt had taken what was rightfully mine. And then I suddenly found myself laughing uncontrollably, laughing so much that I had to wipe the tears away with my sleeve; laughing at my stupidity, my utter stupidity, for trusting her. If only I had taken Mr Tredgold’s advice!

She watched me for a while as I stumbled about the room, shaking with laughter like some maniac. Then she stood up, anger boiling up once more in her great black eyes.

‘You must let me go, sir,’ she said, ‘or it will be the worse for you. Unlock the door immediately!’

Ignoring her demand, I returned to where she was standing and threw her back into the window-seat. Her eyes began to dart round the room, as if she were looking for some means of escape, or perhaps for a weapon with which to attack me. If she had only smiled then, and confessed that it had all been a silly joke! I would have instantly folded her in my arms and forgiven her. But she did not smile. She sat bolt upright, breathing hard, her furious eyes wide open, larger than I had ever seen them before.

‘And may I enquire whether you love Mr Phoebus Daunt?’

‘Love him?’ She leaned her cheek against the glass, and a sudden calm came over her, almost as if she were in a trance.

‘I simply ask because you gave me the clear impression – as did your friend, Miss Buisson – that he was repellent to you.’

‘There is no word to describe what I feel for Phoebus. He is my sun, my moon, my stars. My life is his to command.’ Her breath had misted the pane, and she began slowly tracing out a letter, then another, and then a third and a fourth: P-H-O-E …

Stung now to real anger, I snatched her hand away and rubbed out the letters with my sleeve.

‘Why did you lie to me?’

Her reply was immediate.

‘Because you are nothing to me, compared to him; and because I needed to keep you fed with lies, until you delivered up to me the evidence of your true identity.’

She glanced towards the portrait of young Anthony Duport in his juvenile finery, hand on hip, a dark-blue sash across his chest. Her words were like a knife to the heart. In two strides, I was standing beneath the portrait. I took hold of it with one hand and attempted to open the cupboard it concealed with the other; but it was locked.

‘Would you like the key?’ She reached into her pocket. ‘I said I would keep everything safe.’ Smiling, she held out a little black key.

I saw her face, and knew then that all was lost; yet even in the agony of my despair, I took the key, inserted it in the lock of the cupboard, and the little panelled door swung open. Snatching up a candle from a nearby table, I peered inside. But I could see nothing. I stood closer and felt all around. The cupboard, of course, was empty.

‘You see,’ I heard her say. ‘All safe. No one will find your secrets now. No one.’

I did not have to ask where the papers were. He had them now. The keys that would have unlocked the gates of Paradise for me were now in my enemy’s hands.

And then I knew that I had been defeated; that every hope and dream I had cherished had been turned to dust and ashes.

What do you know? Nothing.

What have you achieved? Nothing.

Who are you? Nobody.

I was still standing with my back to her, staring into the empty cavity, when she spoke. Her voice had dropped to a rapt whisper.

‘I have loved him ever since I can remember. Even when I was a little girl, he was my prince, and I was his princess. We knew then that we would marry some day, and dreamed of living together in some great house, just like Evenwood. My father always disliked and distrusted Phoebus, even when we were children; but we quickly learned to feign indifference to each other in public, and grew more cunning in our ways as we grew older. No one suspected the truth; only once, at a dinner given in honour of Lord Tansor’s birthday, did we forget ourselves. It was such a little thing – not much more than a glance – but my father saw it. He was angry with me – angrier than I had ever seen him; but I persuaded him that he was wrong, and that Phoebus meant nothing to me. He believed me, of course. He always believed me. Everyone did.’

‘But Daunt killed your father!’ I cried. ‘How could you continue to love him?’