The Meaning of Night

Lord Tansor’s son could never be pursued. ‘Your continuing silence has given me great anxiety,’ he wrote.I do not well know what I can do to assist you, if you will not inform me of your present circumstances. You will understand, of course, that I am unable to take up your cause directly with Lord Tansor. There would be consequences – of the most serious character – if my part in the conspiracy carried out by his Lordship’s late wife were to become known. I care nothing now for myself, or for my reputation; but the standing of the firm – well, that is a very different case. Greater than even this consideration, however, is the solemn vow I took in the Temple Church, never to betray your mother. This vow I shall never willingly break. When the truth is known, as it may soon be, then of course I shall face whatever comes, for your sake. But I cannot and will not, of my own volition, reveal it to Lord Tansor. That responsibility is yours, dear Edward, and yours alone. But I wish to speak to you so very badly, about these matters, and when and how you intend to communicate with his Lordship, and how I may offer what help I can, within the limits of my ability. Come soon, my dear boy.On the back of the letter was a postscript:I have to thank you – as I am confident that you were responsible – for the copy of the ‘C—of V—’^* that arrived yesterday. The accompanying note from the bookseller announced that it had been obtained for me, after much searching, on the instructions of a valued customer of his, who wished to remain anonymous. I do not need to say how grateful I am that my cabinet now contains such a fine copy of this most interesting work, or how much I miss our regular bibliographic conversations. I have no one now with whom I can share my little enthusiasms; no one, indeed, to whom I can turn in the confident anticipation of delight in their company. But these are matters that belong to a former, and happier, time.

With a sigh, I laid the letter on my work-table. I had nothing to say in reply, and there it would remain, unanswered. Even if I had still possessed the proof of my identity that had been taken from me, through the perfidy of Miss Carteret, I would have been unwilling to request Mr Tredgold to intercede with Lord Tansor on my behalf. I saw only too clearly that the risk of catastrophe for the firm, and of professional opprobrium and scandal for him, would have been too great; and I would not for the world, not even to regain everything I had lost, have asked him to betray the woman he loved. Now it was too late. The proof had been destroyed, and there was no help left. Feeling a sudden, crushing oppression of spirits, I retired to my bed.

I awoke suddenly, at a little before midnight. For two nights past, I had experienced that most fearful dream of mine, in which I find myself alone in the midst of a vast columned chamber in the depths of the earth, my flickering candle revealing nothing but Stygian darkness without end on every side; but then, as always, I realize – with suffocating terror – that I am not alone, as I had believed. Maddened with fear, I await each time the expected soft pressure on the shoulder, and the little stream of warm breath, caressing my cheek as it extinguishes the candle’s flame.

I could not face it a third time, and so I got up and tried to light the fire in my sitting-room, but it would not draw and soon puttered out. Wrapped in a blanket against the cold, I took up the third volume of the Bibliotheca Duportiana, and sat before the dreary blank mouth of the fireplace.

I had reached the letter ‘N’: Nabbes’s Microcosmus: A morall maske (1637); the works of Thomas Nashe; Pynson’s Natura Brevium of 1494; Fridericus Nausea’s Of all Blasing Starres in Generall, published in English by Woodcocke in 1577; Netter’s Sacramentalia (Paris, Francois Regnault, 1523).^* I lingered for a moment over Dr Daunt’s description of this rare work of doctrinal theology – an exceptionally rare work; a most improbable work for a solicitor’s clerk, on eighty pounds a year, to possess.

At eight o’clock the next morning I was standing at the top of the stairs, listening. At last I heard it: the sound of Fordyce Jukes’s door closing behind him. Once at the bottom, I lingered for a moment or two, smelling the cold damp air coming in from the street. The door was locked, as I expected, but I had come prepared with a large selection of skeleton keys, acquired during the course of my work for Mr Tredgold, and soon gained entry.

The apartment was as I remembered it from my last uninvited visit: neat and comfortable, swept and polished, and containing an extraordinary number of fine and valuable objects. But only one of them interested me at that moment.

The lock of the cabinet presented no difficulty. I reached in and took out what I sought: Thomas Netter, Sacramentalia – folio, Paris, Regnault, 1523. It bore the same bookplate as that of the first edition of Felltham’s Resolves, secreted by Miss Eames in Lady Tansor’s burial chamber. There were a dozen or so other books of rare quality in the cabinet. They all carried the same plate. The books; the paintings and prints on the walls; the objets in the cabinets – all of the first quality, all portable, and all undoubtedly stolen from Evenwood. I carefully replaced the book, re-locked the cabinet, and then the stair-case door.

This, then, had been Daunt’s ‘new tack’, as revealed to me by Pettingale. Like the despicable ingrate that he was, he had removed these rare and exceedingly valuable items from his patron’s house, and had stowed them away here, in the rooms of his creature, Fordyce Jukes, until he should have need of them. How he came to employ Jukes in this way did not concern me; but it was now clear to me how my enemy had been apprised of all my movements. There would be no trail leading back to Daunt, that was sure. But Jukes – who had no doubt also been engaged to watch me – was a different matter.

Back in my room, I composed a short letter, in capital letters and using my left hand:DEAR LORD TANSOR, —I WISH TO BRING TO YOUR ATTENTION A MOST SERIOUS MATTER, CONCERNING A NUMBER OF VALUABLE ITEMS THAT I BELIEVE HAVE BEEN UNLAWFULLY REMOVED FROM YOUR COUNTRY RESIDENCE. THE ITEMS IN QUESTION, WHICH INCLUDE SEVERAL BOOKS OF GREAT RARITY, MAY BE FOUND, QUITE OPEN TO VIEW, IN THE ROOMS OF F. JUKES, SOLICITOR’S CLERK, I TEMPLE-STREET, WHITEFRIARS, GROUND FLOOR.I ASSURE YOU, MY LORD, THAT THIS INFORMATION IS PERFECTLY ACCURATE, AND THAT I HAVE NO OTHER MOTIVE IN SETTING IT BEFORE YOU THAN A SINCERE REGARD FOR YOUR POSITION AS THE PRESENT REPRESENTATIVE OF AN ANCIENT AND DISTINGUISHED FAMILY, AND AN EARNEST DESIRE TO SEE JUSTICE DONE.I AM, SIR, YOUR VERY OBEDIENT SERVANT,‘CHRYSAOR’^*

So much for Fordyce Jukes.

Windmill-street, dusk.

The drabs, all rouged up for business, were beginning to swarm out of the surrounding courts and into the streets. I lingered for a while in Ramsden’s coffee-house, and then sauntered along to the Three Spies.^† A dirty little gonoph^* tried to pick my pocket as I stood lighting my cigar, but I turned just in time and knocked him down, to the general amusement of all around.

Several of the drabs gave me the eye, but there was nothing that took my fancy. Then, as I was about to move off, a girl came out of the Three Spies, carrying an umbrella. She looked up at the sky, and was preparing to walk past me when I stopped her.

‘Excuse me. Why, of course! Mabel, is it not?’

She eyed me up and down.

‘And who, may I ask, wants to know?’