round about Evenwood. It would surely have been forgivable if Mrs Daunt, surveying her work, privately allowed herself the merest smile of satisfaction. But in accomplishing her ends, she had opened a veritable Pandora’s Box, with consequences that she could not possibly have foreseen.
I sometimes like to imagine Dr Daunt, for whom I have always had a sincere regard, coming into his study of a morning – say a bright August morning in the year 1830 – and throwing open the windows to a nascent and glittering world, in a conscious gesture of satisfaction at his lot.
Observe him now, on this imagined morning. It is early, the sun new risen, and not even the servants yet about. The Rector is in high good humour, and hums a merry tune quietly to himself as the sweet cool air flows gently in from the garden. He turns from the window, and looks about him with pleasure and pride.
As I have seen for myself, his books are arranged methodically from floor to ceiling on every wall; uniform note-books (carefully categorized and labelled) and papers (sorted and docketed) are stacked neatly to hand, together with a plentiful supply of writing materials, upon a large square table, on which also stands a seasonal posy, renewed daily by his wife. All is order, comfort, and convenience – exactly as he likes it.
He stands by his desk, affectionately surveying his library. In an alcove on the far wall are the works of the Church Fathers – his eye picks out the familiar presence of his Eusebius, St Ambrose (a particularly choice edition: Paris, 1586), Irenaeus, Tertullian, and St John Chrysostom. By the door, in an ornate case, are his biblical commentaries, the writings of the Continental reformers, and a cherished edition of the Antwerp Polyglot, whilst on either side of the fireplace are ranged the Classical authors that are his enduring passion.
But this is no ordinary morning. It is, in every sense, a new dawn; for a task now lies before him which, God willing, may vindicate at last his decision to quit the University.
Late the previous afternoon, a message had come from Lord Tansor asking whether the Rector would be good enough to step up to the house as soon as was convenient. It was, as it happened, rather inconvenient just then, for Dr Daunt had earlier ridden into Peterborough on business and, on the way back, had been forced to walk the final four miles when his horse had lost a shoe. He had arrived at the Rectory hot, uncomfortable, and ill tempered, and had barely had time to remove his boots when Lord Tansor’s man knocked at the front door. But no request from the great house could easily be refused – least of all because of sore feet and an unbecoming sweat.
He was admitted to the house, and conducted through a succession of formal reception rooms, towards the terrace that runs the length of the West Front. Here he found his Lordship seated in a wicker chair in the purple evening light, his spaniel by his side. He was smoking a cigar, and contemplating the sun setting over Molesey Woods, which marked the boundary of his property on its western side.
A word or two concerning Dr Daunt’s patron. In person, he was of no more than middling height; but he carried himself like a guardsman, his ramrod back making him seem far taller than he really was. His world was circumscribed by his principal seat, Evenwood, his town-house in Park-lane, the Carlton Club, and the House of Peers. He rarely travelled abroad. His acquaintances were many, his friends few.
One did not trifle with his Lordship. It took very little for him to suspect presumption. The only thing to do with Lord Tansor was to defer to him. On that simple principle was the world of Evenwood, and all its dominions, maintained. The inheritor of an immense fortune, which he had already significantly augmented, he was a naturally accomplished politician, with influence at the highest levels. When the Duport interest demanded action, his Lordship had only to whisper quietly in the ear of Government, and it was done. By nature he was an implacable opponent of reform in every sphere; but he knew – none better – that publicly articulated principles, of whatever complexion, can gravely incommode the man of affairs; and thus he was careful so to frame his views as to remain always at the pivot of power. His opinion was sought by men from all sides. It was of no consequence who was in, and who was out: his sagacity was valued by all. Lord Tansor, in a word, mattered.
A summons from his Lordship, therefore, was always something to heed, and perhaps to be anxious about. Whether Dr Daunt was definitely anxious when he approached his patron, I cannot say; but he would certainly have been curious to know why he had been called up to the house so urgently on a Thursday afternoon.
On becoming aware of his visitor, Lord Tansor rose, stiffly proffered his hand, and gestured to his visitor to sit beside him. I have obtained a
‘Dr Daunt, I’m obliged to you.’
‘Good evening, Lord Tansor. I came as soon as I could. There is nothing wrong, I hope?’
‘Wrong?’ barked his Lordship. ‘By no means.’ Then he stood up, dropping the butt of his still-smoking cigar into a nearby urn as he did so. ‘Dr Daunt, I was lately in Cambridge, dining with my friend Passingham.’
‘Dr Passingham? Of Trinity?’
Disdaining the question, his Lordship continued:
‘You are well remembered there, sir, very well remembered. Cambridge is not a place that I have ever cared much for, though of course it may have changed since my time. But Passingham is a sound fellow, and he spoke highly of your abilities.’
‘I am flattered to hear you say so.’
‘I do not say it to flatter you, Dr Daunt. I will be frank. I deliberately sought Passingham’s opinion of your competence as a scholar. I believe, from his testimony, that you once stood pretty high in the estimate of the best men there?’
‘I had some small reputation, certainly,’ replied Dr Daunt, with increasing wonderment at the course that his interrogation was taking.
‘And you have, as I understand, kept up your learning – reading, writing articles, and what not.’
‘Certainly I have endeavoured to do so.’
‘Well, then, the case is this. I am satisfied from my enquiries that your talents recommend you for a commission of the highest importance to me. I hope I can rely on your acceptance.’
‘By all means, if it is within my power …’ Dr Daunt felt rather acutely that this qualification was redundant. He knew that he had no choice in the matter. The realization was irksome to his still doughty self-esteem; but he had learned discretion. His education in humility since coming to Evenwood from Millhead had been swift, spurred on by necessity and by the exhortations of his wife, who was ever eager to oblige the Duports whenever an opportunity presented itself.
