The Meaning of Night

‘With the greatest of pleasure, Mademoiselle.’

I was back in Temple-street by half past nine to make my final preparations, happy in the now confirmed knowledge that my enemy wished me dead. It would make what I was soon to do so much easier.

On with my wig – courtesy of Messrs Careless & Sons, theatrical costumiers of Finch-lane, Cornhill – and a pair of wire-framed spectacles. A decent but shabby suit, with a capacious inside pocket, completed the ensemble. Into the pocket went the knife, wrapped in a piece of cloth, that I had purloined from the Wellington. I was ready.

I proceeded first to the Adelphi Theatre, where I purchased a ticket for the evening’s performance: this I then gave to my spy, William Blunt, who was to take my seat at the performance in order to provide me with an alibi. Near Stanhope Gate in Hyde-park, a little across from Lord Tansor’s house in Park-lane, I next located the place I had identified a few days earlier as being suitable for concealing a bag containing my best clothes. At last, as instructed by Mrs Venables, I presented myself to Mr Cranshaw at ten sharp with my recommendation from that lady.

I was soon directed to a small bare-boarded room where I was to don my livery and powder my hair – or, rather, my wig. ‘Powder,’ boomed Mr Cranshaw loftily, ‘is insisted upon by his Lordship.’ After I had wet the wig with water, I rubbed soap into it, and then combed through the wet mass before applying the powder with the puff provided. Then on with the livery: a stiff, white shirt; white stockings and silver-buckled pumps; blue plush knee breeches; a claret-coloured swallow-tailed coat, with silver buttons and matching waistcoat. Once powdered and liveried, I went along to the servants’ hall to be instructed, with the other temporary footmen, by Mr Cranshaw. Then I went quietly about the place, as if engaged on some errand or other, getting clear in my head the disposition of the below-stairs passages and rooms. The rest of the day was spent in undertaking various tedious duties – carrying chairs and flower arrangements into the dining-room, memorizing the order of dishes in case we were called upon to assist in bringing them up, rouging^* silver, familiarizing ourselves with the guest-list and seating-order (there were to be some forty persons at table); and so on until darkness began to fall, the curtains were drawn, and the candles and lamps were lit.

Lord Tansor appeared at six o’clock to assure himself that all was in order. Our little army of menials lined up in the vestibule and bowed as he passed. But of course he paid no heed to me. I was but a liveried servant.

At seven o’clock, I presented myself for carriage duty, taking up my station by the front door with two other footmen.

So far, so good. I had done what was required of me by Mr Cranshaw, and had aroused no one’s suspicion. But now I must wait upon events, for I had no plan other than to insinuate myself into the establishment and, if I could, put myself close to Daunt. Beyond that, I had no immediate thought. If this last act of our lives was destined to play out in my favour, then I would be most content. If not, so be it. I would have lost nothing – for I had nothing.

And so I waited, standing mutely just inside the front door, wondering when he would come – and when she would come.

The carriages began to arrive. First, I handed out the famous Madame Taglioni^* (for whom, though the lady was by no means in the first flush of youth, Lord Tansor cherished an uncharacteristically sentimental regard), and then the fat daughter of Lord Cotterstock (a costive old roue, with a face like weathered rock, who was already half dead from an unmentionable ailment), followed by her equally porcine mamma and brother. The carriages continued to roll in through the snow to pull up under the lantern of the porte- cochere. Ambassadors, Honourable Members, bankers, generals, dukes and earls, and their ladies: I opened their carriage doors and helped them to disembark, and no one gave me a second glance. At last the Prime Minister himself arrived, to be greeted by Lord and Lady Tansor, followed, in the very next moment, by a sleek carriage bearing the Duport arms.

As I opened the carriage door, I was met first by her perfume; then, as I bent to fold down the step, I saw her feet, encased in delicate grey-kid pumps, decorated with jet beading. She gave me her gloved hand, but I was invisible to her. As she emerged from the carriage, her warm breath misted the air; and for a passing moment, with her hand resting in mine, it was as though she belonged to me once more. The thought made me forget what I was supposed to be, and I began to close my grip gently round her fingers. She shot an angry, insulted look at me, instantly removed her hand, and swept up the steps. There she paused for a moment and looked back.

‘You there! Hold the door!’

I obeyed his command, and he stepped down from the carriage – immaculate, dressed in the highest taste and quality. I made an obeisance as he passed and, as I closed the carriage door behind him, glanced up to see him take Miss Carteret’s arm at the top of the steps and lead her inside.

After the last guests had arrived, I was sent to the dining-room to take up my station by the double doors that led into the vestibule. There I remained, still unregarded by all who passed back and forth, even by my fellow servants. I stood motionless but my eyes were busy, looking for my opportunity.

My faithless girl was seated at the head of the table, an ethereal figure in pale-blue silk, surmounted by a barege overskirt sewn with gold and silver stars, her black hair set off to perfection by a tulle and lace cap ornamented with pale-pink satin ribbon. On her left sat a dessicated young gentleman whom I identified from the guest list as the Honourable John Tanker, MP; on her right was Phoebus Daunt, in all his smiling pride.

After all the guests had settled themselves at the sumptuously decorated table, which gleamed and glittered as candlelight flashed off an abundance of gold and silver and crystal, the soup was brought in. Lord Tansor had become an enthusiast for service a la francaise, no doubt following its introduction at Evenwood when his protege had come of age; and so the soup was succeeded by fish, which in turn was followed by the entrees – a dozen in all – and the roasts, and so on, in due order, to the sweets and desserts. It was some relief to me that I had not been required to join the band of brother footmen who were handing round the dishes, for as they bent down to each guest, they had to say aloud the name of the dish that they were offering. I watched with fascinated interest as one of them brought his lips close to Miss Carteret’s ear to ask whether she would take some of the Boeuf a la flammande.^* She made the most delicate gesture of assent, and then held up her hand to prevent him placing too much of the dish on her plate. Next to her, Daunt received a much larger portion and then, just as the footman was about to turn to the next guest, called him back to request some more.

In the place of honour at the head of the board, the Prime Minister sat with Lord Tansor, engaged in close and detached conversation. Lord Aberdeen looked tired and drawn, no doubt from the increasing strain of prosecuting the campaign in the Crimea, and more than once I saw Lord Tansor place a reassuring hand on his arm. Around them conversation and laughter flowed, to a contrapuntal rhythm of tinkling glasses and the sound of the finest gold cutlery on Sevres plates.

But now the soup and fish had come and gone, and so had the entrees and roasts. The sweets and ices had been cleared away to make room for six huge branched epergnes,^* laden with dried fruits, nuts, cakes, and sweet biscuits. Lord Tansor rose to his feet, glass in hand, and his guests began