The Meaning of Night (79 page)

house, and there the chestnut tree by the gate. No school today, so I run, exulting,

towards the semi-circles of white-painted stones that edge the flower-beds on either side

of the gate. Billick has not yet mended the rope ladder, but it still serves; so up I clamber,

into the branches, into my crow’s-nest. I have my spy-glass with me and lay down to scan

the shining horizon. In my mind, every sail is transformed: to the east, a vanguard of

triremes sent by Caesar himself; to the west, low in the water, a Spanish treasure-ship

freighted down with Indies gold; and, coming up from the south, slow and menacing, a

horde of Barbary pirates intent on ravaging our quiet Dorset coast. Then there is a clatter

of plates from the kitchen. Through the parlour window I can see Mamma at her

work-table. She looks up and smiles as I wave.

Then I awoke and began to weep – not for what I had lost or for the times that

would never come again, not even for my poor broken heart, least of all for the death of

my enemy, but for Lucas Trendle, the innocent red-haired stranger who would never

more send bibles and boots to the Africans.

By my hand,

Edward Charles Glyver, —

MDCCCLV

Finis.

46:

Post scriptum?

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The Rectory

Evenwood, Northamptonshire

22nd December, 1854.

Mr dear Tredgold, —

I write in gratitude for your letter of sympathy to my wife and I. Of course I

remember very well meeting you, with Mr Paul Carteret, on the occasion you mention.

It has been a very terrible time for us, made worse by the inexplicable nature of

my son’s death. In answer to your enquiry concerning the circumstances, I can therefore

say very little. A footman by the name of Geddington, temporarily engaged for the

evening, is suspected; but beyond this, nothing is known. The weapon has been found,

though it affords no clue to its owner. Robbery has been discounted – what little money

my son was carrying that evening was still in his pocket-book, and no attempt was made

to take his watch and chain – of considerable value, and given to him by Lord Tansor.

The murder, for such it is deemed by the authorities, seems therefore, on the face of it, to

be completely random and motiveless. I have been informed by the police that they

believe there may be a connexion with the killing of Mr Lucas Trendle, of the Bank of

England, which apparently demonstrates many similarities to my son’s. It is supposed

that this Geddington may be some kind of madman.

Evenwood, as you may imagine, has been thrown into turmoil. My wife, for

whom Phoebus was everything, though she was his mother only by marriage, is

inconsolable; and Lord Tansor also is deeply stricken. We have lost a son; and he has lost

his heir. And then there is poor Miss Carteret. What grief that young woman has had to

bear is beyond comprehension. First her father brutally attacked and killed, and now her

intended husband. She is a most pitiful sight. I hardly recognized her when I saw her last.

As for myself, I have the comfort of my faith, and the certain knowledge that the

God of Abraham and Isaac has taken Phoebus unto Himself. My son was held in such

high esteem by everyone who knew him, and by the many readers of his works who did

not know him, that we have been overwhelmed by kind expressions of condolence.

These, too, are a great comfort.

As so often in times of trial, I turn to Sir Thomas Browne. On opening the Religio

Medici, soon after the news was brought here of my son’s death, my eyes fell on these

words:

What is made to be immortal, nature cannot – nor will the voice of God –

destroy.?

This is my faith. This is my hope.

I remain, my dear Sir, yours faithfully,

A.B. Daunt

May I add here a small request? Will you give my very best regards to Mr Edward

Glapthorn, if he is still in your employ? He is a most remarkable young man whom I

greatly admire. He will, I’m sure, go far in the world. A.B.D.

Marden House

Westgate, Canterbury

Kent

9th January, 1855.

Dear Captain Le Grice,—

I am in receipt of your enquiry concerning Edward Glyver.

He left England a little before Christmas, and when I last heard from him was in

Denmark. From your letter it appears that you have been the recipient of various

confidences concerning Edward’s history. This, I may say, came as something of a

surprise to me; I had thought I was the only person in whom he confided. But it seems

none of us can truly claim to know Edward Glyver: to emphasize the point, I am now in

correspondence with a Miss Isabella Gallini, with whom, I gather, Edward has enjoyed a

close relationship for some time past but which he has never mentioned to me.

He has, I believe, completely given up the idea of pursuing any further the

business we both know about, but which it would be unwise of me to describe further. He

came here before he left for Denmark and seemed a changed man – and not only because

of his beardless state. That strange haunted light in his eyes, which I’m sure you must

have seen, has been extinguished; and though I do not think he will ever have the comfort

of a quiet soul, yet I hope he can now learn to be happy again. He was tormented by the

desire to possess something that Fate had decreed could never be his; but I think he has

come to understand at last that he is who he was destined to be; that he is Edward Glyver,

and no other. I believe he has been helped to this understanding by his feelings for Miss

Gallini, and by hers for him. I pray, with her help, that he may continue in his

recuperation; for he has been cruelly used – I need not name the lady to you. For a time I

feared that, following the unfortunate death of a certain person, he might feel at liberty to

throw himself on the mercy of this lady; but, having seen him and spoken to him, I am

assured that he will commit no further folly on her behalf. She suffers, I am told; but the

business has at least cured Lord Tansor of his irrational aversion to the collateral line, and

so she will have the comfort in due course of inheriting both the Tansor title and all the

property associated with it. It may be wrong of me, but I have not informed Edward of

this, and do not intend to. I think it would be wise if we could agree to keep this

information to ourselves – for his own good.

As to the deceased gentleman, the least said the better. You will infer that I do not

share the world’s good opinion of him – though I do not say that he deserved to die. (I

might add, in the strictest confidence, that Edward has satisfied me that he can account

for his movements on the night of the killing: he was watching a play by Mr Boucicault

at the Adelphi Theatre – I have seen the ticket – and says he can produce an impeccable

witness.? I have told him there is no need and that his word is enough. This, I am sure,

will be as welcome to you as it was to me.) I have it on good authority that the principal

suspect, a man by the name of Geddington, is also being sought for the recent murder of a

gentleman employed at the Bank of England, a Mr Lucas Trendle. Both attacks bear

striking similarities, being both (as far as can be ascertained) entirely indiscriminate and

having no obvious motive. It has also been firmly established that neither of the victims

had any connection with their suspected attacker, Geddington, whose description has now

been widely circulated.

When our friend will return to England is at present uncertain. When he does, I

hope he will take up an offer I made to him to settle here in Kent and assist me in my

bibliographical pursuits.

I hope this letter will find you safe and well, and I pray that God will protect you,

and all our brave soldiers. We have all been appalled by Mr Russell’s reports. ?

Yours sincerely,

Christopher Tredgold

Blithe Lodge

St John’s Wood, London

April 15th, 1855.

Dear Mr Tredgold,—

Your letter arrived only this morning, but I hurry to send you a reply.

He is much improved, thank God, & has been talking a little of his wanderings –

he went first to Copenhagen, as you know, & then to Faaborg, on the island of Funen,

where he remained in virtual solitude for nearly a month. It appears that he then revisited

some of his old haunts in and around Heidelberg before travelling first to the island of

Mallorca & then to St Bertrand de Comminges in the Pyrenees, where there is a cathedral

that he had long wished to see. It was there that he was taken ill – it was only by the

greatest stroke of luck that another Englishman staying in the hotel, a Mr Bryce Furnivall

of the British Museum, was known to him, & it was through Mr Furnivall’s good offices

that he was brought back to England.

I had not seen him since that snowy night in December last. There had been a

falling-out between us, I’m afraid, which I greatly regretted. He stood on the front step &

would not come into the house, saying only that he was leaving England for a time and

that he had come to ask if, on his return, I would be prepared to receive him again. There

was only one answer I could give.

And so he was brought here, nearly two weeks ago now. Yesterday he told me his

real name and the truth about his birth – replacing the half-truths (I will not say lies) I had

formerly been given. I am given to understand that you have been long aware of who he

really is – he speaks of you most affectionately, and with gratitude for how you have tried

to help him. It is a most extraordinary story, and I confess that, at first, I was inclined to

think it was all fancy, if not something worse; but I soon saw in his eyes that he was at

last speaking the truth. I know also about Miss C—, and how she deceived him in order

to deprive him of the proof that would have delivered everything he had dreamed of into

his hands. He has told me that he loved her, and that he loves her still. But the death of

Mr D— has changed everything. He is shocked, of course, by the dreadful fortuity of it,

even though Mr D— harboured an active hate against Edward – for reasons we both

know. It is well indeed that Edward has accounted to you for his movements on the night

Mr D— was killed, or he might himself have fallen under suspicion; but he has accounted

for them, to your satisfaction, & therefore to mine – & so I have no concern on that score.

Indeed he has been most anxious to demonstrate complete frankness about his life, of

which until now I had seen but a small part. His honesty has given us a new foundation

on which to build our lives together.

For we are to be married – Edward wishes you to be the first to know (we have

not even told my employer, Mrs Daley). Our intention is to live in Dieppe – Mrs Daley

has kindly put her house there at our disposal until we find one of our own. I have a little

money, and Edward plans to teach English, so we shall get by very well I think.

I know he does not love me – at least as I wish him to love me. But he says he

likes me more than anyone in the world – & I believe him. He has suffered too much at

Miss C—’s hands ever to abandon me for her; for the curious thing is that, though he

loves her, he does not like her, nor ever can. And because he does not pretend to love me

as he loved Miss C—, well then I will take his liking, for I believe it will outlast burning

desire and frantic pursuit, and that it will lay down roots as deep as the earth. Yes, I will

take his liking. I am foolish enough to believe that it is better to marry a friend than a

lover. And if any secrets remain to be told, then I am content for him to keep them.

Yours very sincerely,

Isabella Gallini.

(

Appendix

P. Rainsford Daunt (1820–54)

List of Published Works

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Ithaca: A Lyrical Drama (London: Edward Moxon, 1841)

The Maid of Minsk: A Poem in Twenty-Two Cantos (London: Edward Moxon,

1842)

The Tartar-King: A Story in XII Cantos (London: Edward Moxon, 1843)

Agrippa; with Other Poems (London: David Bogue, 1845)

The Cave of Merlin: A Poem (London: Edward Moxon, 1846)

The Pharaoh’s Child: A Romance of Ancient Aegypt (Edward Moxon, 1848)

Montezuma: A Drama (Edward Moxon, 1849)

The Conquest of Peru: A Dramatic Romance (Edward Moxon, 1850)

Scenes of Early Life (London: Chapman & Hall, 1852)

Penelope: A Tragedy, in Verse (London: Bell & Daldy, 1853)

American Sonnets (London: Longman, Brown, Green & Longman, 1853)

Rosa Mundi, and Other Poems (London: Edward Moxon, 1854)

The Heir: A Romance of the Modern (Edward Moxon, 1854)

Epimetheus; with other posthumous poems (2 vols., London: Edward Moxon,

1854 for 1855).

The Art of the Epic (London: J. Murray, 1856). Posthumous.

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In July 2004 I began to lose my sight for the second time. Three months earlier I

had undergone surgery on the tumour that has been residing just under my brain for many