The Meaning of Night

of, the young ladies themselves was punished with the utmost severity. Not only would the perpetrator find himself immediately barred and exposed to public scandal; he would also receive a call from Mr Herbert Braithwaite, a former pugilist of distinction, who had his own highly effective way of making delinquent patrons understand the error of their ways.

Signor Prospero Gallini, Bella’s father, the impoverished scion of a noble Italian family, having fallen on hard times, had fled his creditors in his native land in the year 1830, and had made his way to England, where he set himself up as a fencing-master in London. He was now a widower, and an exile; but he was determined to give his only daughter every advantage that his limited means permitted, with the result that she could converse fluently in several European languages, played exceptionally well on the piano-forte, had a delightful singing voice, and was, in short, as accomplished as she was beautiful.

I had lodged briefly with Signor Gallini and his alluring daughter when I first came to London. After his death I maintained an occasional, but friendly, correspondence with Bella, feeling that it was my duty to watch over her, in a brotherly sort of way, in gratitude for the kindness that her father had shown to me. Signor Gallini had left her little enough, and it became necessary for her to leave the house in Camberwell, to which her father had retired, and take employment as companion to a lady in St John’s Wood, whose acquaintance we have already made. She had answered an advertisement for this position, which was Mrs D’s way of recruiting new blood for her stable of thoroughbreds. Very few who applied found favour in Mrs D’s discerning eye; but Bella had instantly charmed her, and was not in the least shocked when the true nature of her employment was revealed to her. Although she began her career as the most junior citizen in The Academy’s little state, she quickly rose through the ranks, being exceptionally beautiful, talented, discreet, and as accommodating as any gentleman could wish. If there is such a thing as a vocation in this line of work, then Bella Gallini may be said to have possessed one.

Our intermittent correspondence continued for some years after she took up residence at Blithe Lodge. I would send a brief note every few months, to enquire how she did, and whether she was in need of anything, and she would always reply that she was going on very well, that her employer was kindness itself, and that she wanted for nothing. Then one day, in the early months of 1853, I happened to be in the vicinity of St John’s Wood and thought I would call on her, to see for myself that all was well, and (I confess) to satisfy my curiosity that she was still as beautiful as I remembered her.

I was admitted to an elegant drawing-room, displaying both taste and means. The door opened; but it was not Bella. Two giggling young ladies, unaware that a visitor was within, burst into the room. On seeing me, they halted, looked me up and down, and then looked at each other. They were a most ravishing pair, one blonde, the other dark; and both had an unmistakable look about them. I had seen it a hundred times, though rarely in such sumptuous surroundings.

They begged my pardon (unnecessarily: I would have forgiven them any liberty they chose to take), and were about to withdraw when another figure appeared in the doorway.

She was as beautiful as I remembered her; dressed to the highest point of fashion, coiffured and bejewelled, but still possessed of a natural grace of carriage, and displaying that warm and open expression with which she had greeted me when I had first come to her father’s house. After her fair companions had departed, we walked out into the garden and talked away, like the old friends we were, until a female servant came across from the house to tell Bella that she had another visitor.

‘Will you call again?’ she asked. ‘I seem to have spoken only of myself, and would so like to hear more about what you have been doing with your life, and what you intend to do in the future.’

I needed no further hint, and said that I would come again the following day, if it was convenient.

Neither of us had said anything concerning the true character of Blithe Lodge; there was no need. She saw, by my look and tone of voice, that I was not in the least shocked or disgusted by what she had chosen to become; and for my part, I could see that – as she had told me so often – she wanted for nothing, and that her professed contentment with her lot was unfeigned.

I returned the next day, when I was introduced to Mrs D herself; and the following week attended a soiree, at which were assembled some of the most eminent and well-placed of the capital’s fast men. Gradually, my visits increased in frequency, and soon brotherly solicitation began to transform into something more intimate. By special dispensation, I was not required to make any contribution to the domestic oeconomy of the house. ‘You’re most welcome here any time, my dear,’ said Mrs D, with whom I had quickly become a great favourite, ‘just as long as Bella ain’t distracted from her professional duties.’

Mrs D being a widow with no dependants, it had long been settled that Bella, who had become like a daughter to her, would in the course of time assume the reins of power in this thriving carnal kingdom. On this account, I would call her my little heiress, and she would smile contentedly as I pictured to her the days of ease that lay ahead once the inevitable mortal release of Mrs D, now in her sixty-first year, delivered the succession into her hands.

‘I don’t like to think of it too much,’ she said, as we lay together in the dark, after the incident in Cain-court, talking of Mrs D’s impending retirement, ‘seeing how fond I am of Kitty, and how kind she’s always been to me. But, you know, I can’t help feeling – well, a little satisfied at the prospect, though I’m sure I don’t deserve it.’

I rebuked her gently for her scruples, telling her that it was folly – and worse – to believe that we do not merit our good fortune, especially if it is ours by right. She kissed me and pulled me close; but I felt suddenly abandoned and alone. For was I not also an heir, and to a far greater kingdom than hers? Yet my inheritance had been taken from me, and could never now be reclaimed. This was hard enough to bear; but, through a considered act of betrayal, I had sustained an even greater loss, which had left me bereft of all hope of recovery. It is trite to speak of a broken heart. Hearts are not broken; they continue to beat, the blood still courses, even in the bitter after-days of betrayal. But something is broken when pain beyond words is suffered; some connexion that formerly existed with light and hope and bright mornings is severed, and can never be restored.

I longed to throw off the habit of deceit, and this smiling mask of carelessness I wore to conceal the rage that foamed and boiled beneath. But I could not tell Bella the truth about myself, nor why I had been driven to kill a stranger that night in Cain-court. For she had become the one sweet constant in my life through a storm of trouble and danger of which she had been unaware; yet she, too, had been betrayed, though she did not know it. I had already lost her; but still I could not let her go – not quite yet – nor confess to her what I am now confessing to you, my unknown reader.

Yet there is one person who knows what I cannot tell Bella. And soon he will also come to know how resourceful I can be.

^*[‘An introduction to a treatise or discourse’. Ed.]

^†[A shell fishmonger and supper-house at 40, Haymarket. Ed.]

^*[Nathaniel Wanley (1634–80). The book was first published in 1678. The subtitle reads: ‘A general history of man: In six books. Wherein by many thousands of examples is shewed what man hath been from