At the end of the evening, after the other guests had departed, Bella and I stood looking out into the moonlit garden. As she laid her head on my shoulder, I kissed her perfumed hair.
‘You have been most gallant tonight, Eddie,’ she whispered. ‘Perhaps absence really does make the heart grow fonder.’
‘No absence, however long, could make my heart grow fonder of you than it already is,’ I replied.
‘I am glad of it,’ said Bella, holding me closer. ‘But I wish you would not go away so much. Kitty says I mope like a lovelorn schoolgirl when you are not here, and that sort of thing, you know, is very bad for business. I had to turn away Sir Toby Dancer last week, and he is considered a very fine man by all the other girls. So you see, you must not leave me as you do, or you will have Kitty to answer to.’
‘But, dearest, I cannot help it if my own business takes me from you. And besides, if your moping helps me keep you to myself, then perhaps I ought to stay away more often.’
She gave me a sharp pinch on my arm for my impudence and pulled away; but I could see that her chagrin was only pretended, and soon we had retired to her room, where I was allowed to admire, and then to occupy, those sweet perfections of flesh that had been denied to fine Sir Toby Dancer.
I left Blithe Lodge early the next morning, leaving Bella asleep. She stirred slightly as I kissed her, and I stood for a moment looking down at her dark hair spread out in tangled profusion over the pillow. ‘Darling Bella,’ I whispered. ‘If only I could love you.’ Then I turned away, and left her to her dreams.
Christmas came and went, and the new year of 1854 was a month old before anything of significance occurred.
On the 2nd of February, I was called before Mr Donald Orr. A rather frosty conversation ensued. Mr Orr professed himself to be aware of the fact that I was continuing to draw a salary without, as far as he could tell, doing much to earn it. But as I worked in a personal capacity for the Senior Partner, he could do nothing but look disapprovingly down his thin Scots nose at me, and say that he expected Mr Tredgold had had his reasons for employing me.
‘You are right,’ I replied with a satisfied smile. ‘He did.’
‘But this is not a situation that can continue indefinitely.’ He regarded me somewhat threateningly. ‘If Mr Tredgold – Heaven forbid – should fail to recover, then certain steps will have to be taken concerning the constitution of the firm. In that sad eventuality, Mr Glapthorn, it may prove necessary, regretfully, to dispense with your services, given your then redundant association with the Senior Partner. Perhaps I need say no more.’ On this friendly note, the interview was swiftly terminated.
That night I drank heavily, compounding my folly by succumbing to the temptation of my bottle of Dalby’s.* In my dreams I saw Evenwood, but not as I had dreamed of it as a child, nor as I had seen it in the clear light of day; but at some future time, when a great catastrophe had laid waste its former plenteousness, and toppled its soaring towers. Only the Mausoleum remained intact amidst the disfiguration and desolation. I saw myself standing once more before the loculus containing the tomb of Laura Tansor, and beating my hands against the slate slab until they bled, desperate to gain access to where she lay; but the slab remains immovable and I turn away to see Lord Tansor, perfectly attired as ever, and smiling, standing in the gloom beside me.
He speaks:
What do you know? Nothing.
What have you achieved? Nothing.
Who are you? Nobody.
And then he throws his head back and laughs until I can stand no more. I reach into my pocket, take out a long knife secreted therein, and plunge it into his heart. When I awoke, I was drenched in sweat and my hands would not stop shaking.
Then, as dawn broke, I understood what Mr Carteret had wanted to tell me.
Sursum Corda. The words themselves meant nothing. But what they were graven upon was of the greatest significance. For not only did the slab of slate that carried these words shut out the living from the abode of the dead; it also shut in the truth.
*[‘I am not what I was’. Ed.]
*[Published in 1650. Ed.]
*[Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle (1818–94), leader of the Parnassian poets. His Poèmes antiques were published in 1852. Ed.]
*[i.e. the address. Ed.]
*[Dalby’s Carminative, one of many patent medicines containing laudanum. Ed.]
38
Confessio amantis*
Long days followed, of uncertainty and near despair, interspersed with periods of fevered elation. Was I right? Did the final proof I had dreamed of finding lie within the tomb of the woman who had given me life, or had I become a deluded obsessionist? And how could I prove my conviction, except by an act of the grossest violation? Backwards and forwards, round and round, hither and thither, my mental turmoil increased. One moment I was triumphantly sure of my ground, the next prostrated by confusion. Abandoning both food and exercise, and resorting more and more to my drops, I lay on my bed trapped in the coils of hideous nightmares, oblivious to both the coming of night and the breaking of the day.
I continued thus until my bottle of Dalby’s stood empty by my bed. Incapable as I then was of going out to procure more, I subsided into a state of stuporous vacancy until I was roused by the gentle prodding of Mrs Grainger, who, finding me in this alarming condition and believing I was in the throes of death, had called upon the assistance of my neighbour, Fordyce Jukes, who now stood behind her, scratching his head.
‘This is rum,’ I heard him say, ‘very rum indeed.’
‘Is the gentleman dead, sir?’ asked Mrs Grainger plaintively.
‘Dead?’ Jukes sneered, with a contemptuous click of his fingers. ‘Dead? Why of course he’s not dead, woman. Can’t you see he’s breathing? Is there food here? No? Well, run and get some. And strong ale. Be quick now, or we’ll all have died before you get back.’
‘Should I bring a doctor, sir?’
‘Doctor?’ Jukes appeared to consider the question at some length. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘No need for a doctor. No need at all. Come along, come along!’
Though I could see and hear quite clearly, I found that I was unable to speak or to move either my head or my limbs, and I remained in this curious suspended state for some time. It seemed that Jukes had left my bedside, for I could hear the familiar creaking of the floorboards in the sitting-room. Then, some time later, though whether it was hours or minutes I cannot say, I began to find strength returning, and moved my head slightly to look about me.
On the table beside my bed stood an empty plate, with the remains of a chop and a half-eaten potato; beside it was a tankard of ale, partially consumed. Of either Mrs Grainger or Jukes there was no sign.
I concluded that food had been obtained for me, and partially consumed, and that I had then fallen asleep, though I had no memory of doing either. Slowly, I pulled myself out of bed and, on unsteady feet, dragged myself to the door that led to my sitting-room.
‘Mr Glapthorn, sir, so pleased to see you feeling better! Let me assist you.’
Jukes, who had been sitting in my chair reading a copy of The Times, sprang to his feet and ushered me over to where he had been sitting.
‘That’s it, take my arm, sir, take my arm. There we are. Goodness me, what a scrape you got yourself in, Mr Glapthorn! I’ll tell you what, sir: you appear to have stepped up to death’s very front door, sir. But all’s well now. Food and rest were what you needed, and what you must take great care to provide yourself with in the future – if I may be so bold. I’ve been sitting with you since yesterday. Oh no, sir—.’ He held up his hand and shook his head from side to side in grinning admonishment as I attempted to speak. ‘Pray don’t say a word. It would be like your good self to thank me for my trouble, but I beg to insist that you will do nothing of the sort. Trouble? Why, what possible trouble have I been put to? None whatsoever, I assure you. A fellow toiler in the Tredgold vineyard, and neighbour to boot, taken ill? Why, only one course of action possible. Pleasure, and the satisfaction of a duty done, are ample, though undeserved, reward for the little I have been able to do. And so, Mr Glapthorn, if you are feeling better, I shall leave you to your recuperation, but on the strict understanding – strict, mind! – that you will take better care of yourself hereafter, and that you will allow me to call again tomorrow morning to see how you are.’