And so it was, with my sodden stockings muffling the sound of my footsteps on the stairs, that I came upon Fordyce Jukes bending down at my door, preparing to slip something underneath it.
He screamed like a stuck pig as, throwing my dripping boots on the stairs, I grabbed him by his miserable neck, and hurled him to the floor.
Holding him still by the scruff, like the cur he was, I unlocked the door, and kicked him inside.
He cowered in the corner, his hand across his face.
‘Mr Glapthorn! Mr Glapthorn!’ he whimpered. ‘Whatever is the matter? It is me, your neighbour Fordyce Jukes. Do you not know me?’
‘Know you?’ I snarled back. ‘Oh yes, I know you. I know you very well for the villain you are.’
He leaned back a little into the corner, letting his hand drop away from his face to reveal a look of genuine alarm. I had him now.
‘Villain? What can you mean? What villainy have I done to you?’
I advanced towards him, as he frantically forced himself back yet further into the corner, the heels of his boots scraping noisily on the boards, in a futile attempt to escape the beating that I was now preparing to administer. But something held me back.
‘Well, let us see now,’ said I. ‘Perhaps this will serve as an instance.’
I turned away from him and went back to the door, picked up the paper he had been pushing under it when I had arrived unnoticed behind him, and began to read it.
It was written in a highly distinctive hand; but it was the distinctiveness of the professional scribe, the practised hand of a solicitor’s clerk. It bore no resemblance at all to either of the notes that Bella and I had received. And the message it contained? An invitation for Mr Edward Glapthorn to join Mr Fordyce Jukes, and a few other friends, at a dinner to celebrate his birthday, at the Albion Tavern, on Saturday evening, 12th November.
I stood in silent befuddlement.
What on earth could be happening? I had caught the rogue red-handed, or so I had thought; and now – this! Was it some kind of diabolical variation on his usual game to throw me off the scent? And then, as I considered the matter, the clearer became the possibility that I might have been mistaken – dangerously mistaken – about the identity of the blackmailer. But if not Jukes, then who was it?
My stomach knotted as the threatening figure of the solitary rower rose up before my mind’s eye. The anxiety that I had earlier experienced returned; but the truth had not yet begun to form itself, and I could not see what I should have seen, when I had tried to force the blackmail note to give up the identity of its author.
Still Jukes cowered in the corner, but he had seen my discomposure on reading the invitation, and his attitude had relaxed somewhat.
‘Mr Glapthorn, please. Allow me to stand.’
I said nothing, but walked instead over to my arm-chair by the fire and threw myself down, still clutching the piece of paper.
I heard him pick himself up from the floor, dust himself down, and walk across to where I was sitting.
‘Mr Glapthorn, please, I meant no harm, no harm at all. Perhaps coming on me like that – it is quite dark on your landing, is it not? – I can see – that is, I expect you mistook me for some house-thief or such. A shock, I’m sure, to find someone here. But no harm intended, sir, no harm at all, no, none at all …’
And so he went on, repeating the same sentiments over and over, and wringing his fat little hands to emphasize his contrition and regret at the trouble caused.
I took a deep breath, rose from my chair, and faced my neighbour.
‘Mr Jukes, I apologize. Sincerely and completely. It is I who have done you wrong. Much wrong. You are right. In the gloom of the landing I thought that someone was attempting to break into my rooms. I have been on the river, you see, and am a little fatigued and dizzy from the exertion. I did not recognize you. Unforgivable.’
I screwed up all my will-power and held out my hand.
He limply reciprocated, at which I immediately withdrew myself to my work-table and sat down again.
‘I thought that we see so little of each other these days, Mr Glapthorn,’ I heard him say, though my mind was already far away from the stunted figure in old-fashioned breeches and tailcoat, standing on my Turkey rug, still wringing his hands, and looking about him nervously. ‘You are so rarely in the office now, and I used to so enjoy our little chats. Not that we have ever been friends as such, I realize, but we are neighbours, and neighbours, you know, should be neighbourly. And so I thought, perhaps Mr Glapthorn is in need of some company? And then I thought, couldn’t I bring together a few friends to partake in a little celebratory dinner – it being my birthday on Saturday – and invite Mr Glapthorn—’
He had paused.
‘I’m afraid I am not free on Saturday, Mr Jukes, but I thank you for your invitation.’
‘Of course. I understand, Mr Glapthorn. You are a busy man, I’m sure.’
He edged a little towards the door.
‘Well,’ he said, in an effort to brighten his tone, ‘I shall take my leave.’
I was preparing to apologize again for my rough behaviour, but he forestalled me with a rapid shake of his head. ‘Pray, say no more, Mr Glapthorn. All a mistake. No harm done, none at all.’
I nodded. Then a thought struck me. Perhaps I might be wrong in acquitting him.
‘A moment, Mr Jukes.’
He looked up.
‘Are you a religious man?’
‘Religious?’ he said, evidently surprised at my question. ‘Well, I suppose I am as observant in that way as most. I was brought up strictly, though perhaps I have relaxed a little in my ways. But I attend the Temple Church every Sunday morning, and read my Bible every day, sir – every day.’ He raised his head as he spoke the last words, and pulled his shoulders back in a little gesture of defiance, as if to say, ‘There now. Here is villainy!’
‘Every day?’ I said, quizzically.
‘Every day. Regular as clockwork, a few pages before I take Little Fordyce for his walk. It is surprising how much one gets through. I am coming towards the end of the Old Testament for the second time this twelvemonth.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘that is excellent. Excellent. Good-day, Mr Jukes, and—’
He held up his hand again. ‘No need, sir, no need at all.’ With which he turned, smiled wanly, and closed the door.
I sat, still in my dripping clothes, looking out of my little dormer window at rags of clouds, drifting like smoke over a battlefield, until I heard him descend the stairs and bang his own door shut.
*[‘In doubt’. Ed.]
*[‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’ was published in The Examiner on 9 December 1854. The poem was reprinted in Maud, and Other Poems (1855). Ed.]
8
Amicus venus*
The following morning, a note came from Le Grice apologizing for his over-consumption of champagne the previous day, and announcing that he would be at the Ship and Turtle at his usual hour that evening, if I cared to join him.
He was in voluble mood, and I happily let him regale me with reports of what this fellow or that had been up to, who had said what at the Club, and where so-and-so had been, the gossip supplemented by an excited account of all the business upon which he was then engaged, preparatory to leaving for the war. I was sorry that he was going, and was of course anxious for his safety; but it was impossible not to become caught up in his enthusiasm, to the extent that I almost began to regret that I had never thought of going for a soldier myself.
We parted just before midnight. He was heading back to his rooms in Albany† when he suddenly stopped short.