Quincunx
Charles Palliser
More praise from both sides of the Atlantic for
THE
QUINCUNX
“Compulsively readable … Fascinating … A novel that is not only in the Victorian tradition, but beyond it.… Its plot is as complex as the labyrinths of ‘Bleak House’ or ‘The Woman in White,’ and in its hero, John Huffam, Palliser has created a character who combines the two greatest qualities of the Victorian protagonist.… Few novelists these days have the courage and strength to write a novel of this length, depth, breadth and imagination.”
Roger Ebert
“A novel of great descriptive power … A genuine reproduction of a full-bodied 19th-century page-turner of a novel, thick with characters of all classes, with plots, counterplots, forebodings, reversals and interpolated tales.… You read the first page and down you wonderfully fall, into a long, large, wide world of fiction.
The New York Times Book Review
“A brilliant and deeply eccentric attempt to reproduce one of those glorious, rambling epics from the Golden Age of English fiction … By the end, the reader has toured the whole of late-Regency society, from verminous thieves dens to glittering ballrooms.… Occasionally, Henry James tousles with Dickens to gain control of Charles Palliser’s inspired quill pen.”
The Independent [London]
“That Palliser succeeds in capturing this distant world of Victorian fiction is impressive enough for openers. That he makes The Quincunx a gripping read throughout most of its length is practically miraculous.”
Time
“Marvelously skillful … Readers with their own ample yen for teasing order out of misery can hardly do better than to step inside The Quincunx.”
USA Today
“Charles Palliser has set out, and indeed succeeded, to recreate a 19th Century English novel in all its expansiveness and love of detail.… You will be repeatedly surprised … and you will begin to look with doubt upon everyone around you.… But you will not, in the end, be disappointed, though you may indeed find yourself amazed.”
Chicago Tribune
“A bulging, beguiling recreation of a Victorian novel, written in elegant period prose. The style may draw you in, but it is the story that will entrance you, particularly once our young hero reaches rough-and-tumble London.”
People
“Positively and unabashedly Dickensian … Palliser keeps you interested and keeps the unraveling of the mystery of relationships and chicanery fluid.… A great read.”
Detroit Free Press
NOTE ON COINAGE
Twelve pence make one shilling (1s.). Twenty shillings make one pound (1£).
There are also these coins: A farthing, four of which are worth a penny (1d.). A ha’penny, two of which are worth a penny. A crown which is worth five shillings and a half-crown (2s. 6d.) A sovereign which is worth one pound. A guinea which is worth twenty-one shillings (1£ 1.s.).
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 1989 by Charles Palliser
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. First published in Great Britain in 1989 by Canongate Publishing Limited and in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1990.
Map detail from the Horwood Map (1813 edition) are reproduced here with permission, and from film supplied, by Harry Margary, Lympne Castle, Kent in association with The Guildhall Library, London.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 90-84770
ISBN: 0-345-37113-5
eBook ISBN: 978-0-8041-5240-2
Illustrations by Jenny Phillips
v3.1
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Map
PART ONE
THE HUFFAMS
Book I: A Wise Child
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Book II: Friends Lost
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Book III: Fathers
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Book IV: Speculations
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Book V: Relations
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
PART TWO
THE MOMPESSONS
Book I: Spoiled Designs
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Book II: Understandings
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Book III: Secret Benefactors
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Book IV: Faces from the Past
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Book V: The Coming of Age
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
PART THREE
THE CLOTHIERS
Book I: Inheritances
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Book II: Honour Among Gentlemen
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Book III: The Wedding Night
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Book IV: The Veil
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Book V: Friend of the Poor
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
PART FOUR
THE PALPHRAMONDS
Book I: The Best of Intentions
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Book II: The Release
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Book III: Grandfathers
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Book IV: A Friend on the Inside
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Book V: Marriage Designs
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
PART FIVE
THE MALIPHANTS
&n
bsp; Book I: The Wrong Hands
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Book II: Caught in the Web
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Book III: Old Friends in a New Light
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Book IV: Weddings and Widows
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Book V: The Key
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Alphabetical List of Names
Dedication
About the Author
Quid Quincunce speciosius, qui, in quamcunque partem spectaveris, rectus est? (Quintilian)
PART ONE
THE HUFFAMS
MAYFAIR AND SOHO (Scale: 1″=115 yards)
The top of the page is West
A Wise Child
CHAPTER 1
It must have been late autumn of that year, and probably it was towards dusk for the sake of being less conspicuous. And yet a meeting between two professional gentlemen representing the chief branches of the law should surely not need to be concealed.
Let us imagine, then, how Law might have waited upon Equity.
Approaching a particular house in a street near Lincoln’s-inn-fields, Law, embodied in the person of a small, pale-faced gentleman of about forty years of age with a large head, mounts the steps and rings the bell. The door is immediately opened by a young clerk. The visiter steps inside, is relieved of hat, great-coat, and gloves, and is then ushered into a small dark room at the rear of the house. There he sees a figure seated at a little table at the other end of the chamber. The clerk noiselessly withdraws. The gentleman who is already there rises with the briefest of bows and indicates a chair opposite him before the fire. The newcomer seats himself while the elder man takes his chair again and brings his gaze to bear upon his guest. Equity is some fifteen years the elder, with a high-coloured complexion, a lofty nose and a face most remarkable for a pair of black bushy eyebrows.
There is a long pause and at last the newcomer clears his throat: “It has been an honour, sir, to receive and obey your summons.”
There is a note of polite interrogation in this observation but Equity appears not to hear it for he continues to gaze at his guest.
After another minute Law asks nervously: “May I know how I can be of assistance?”
“Did you take the precautions I requested?” the host asks.
“Indeed I did. I am certain that no-one followed me here.”
“Good. Then our meeting has probably been kept from the knowledge of a third party.”
“A third party? My dear sir, you intrigue me. To whom do you refer?”
“I shall ask the questions,” the other gentleman replies with only the slightest emphasis on the pronoun.
His guest flushes.
The elder gentleman takes something from his pocket and says: “Now, you have a client whose name I have written on this piece of paper which I ask you to be good enough to read.” He holds it out for a few moments and when Law has looked at it and nodded in confirmation, he replaces it: “Very well. Then I will lose no time in coming to the point: the document which your client possesses has the capacity to damage very materially the interests of the party for whom I have the honour to act, and in view of this …”
He breaks off for on Law’s face is an expression of manifest bewilderment: “My good sir, I assure you I know nothing of such a document.”
“Come, come. Not two weeks past your client sent a copy of it to us demanding money and giving your name for correspondence.”
“That may be so … that is to say, I am certain that it is so if you state it to be. But I beg you to believe that I am no more than a receiving-office in this transaction.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I merely forward letters addressed to me in my client’s name. I know no more of that individual’s affairs than a letter-carrier does of the correspondence he collects and delivers.”
The other gazes at him and says: “I am prepared to accept that that may be so.” The younger gentleman smiles but his expression alters at the next words: “Then tell me the whereabouts of your client.”
“My dear sir, I cannot.”
“Beg your pardon, I’m forgetting to put up my stake,” the elder says and brings out from his pocket something that crackles as he lays it on the table.
Law leans forward slightly to look at it. There is surely an expression of yearning on his face. Then he says: “I assure you, my dear sir, I am quite unable to oblige you.”
“Oh-ho!” the elder gentleman exclaims. “You think to bargain with me, do you? I warn you not to try it or you will find that I am able to apply quite other inducements.”
“No indeed, sir,” the other stammers. “You entirely mistake my meaning. Your generosity quite overwhelms me and I only wish I could deserve it. However, it is wholly impossible for me to assist you.”
“I advise you not to attempt any of your games with me, my good fellow,” the other says in a brutally contemptuous tone. “I have made enquiries enough to know how ill these high-principled scruples become you. I’ve ‘smoked your lay’ — isn’t that how they call it in the jargon of your clients?”
The other gentleman becomes quite pale. He begins to rise from his chair but his eyes fall on the thing on the table and he stays in his seat.
Equity goes on: “Do you wish me to give you the catalogue — or perhaps I should say, calendar — of activities in which I know you to be involved?”
When Law makes no answer Equity continues: “A little brokerage of doubtful bills, rather more squeezing of debtors, and a great deal of tutoring witnesses? Is that not so?”
The other gentleman answers with dignity: “You have misunderstood me, my dear sir. I merely meant that I do not possess the information you seek. If I had it I would most willingly give it to you.”
“Do you take me for a fool? How do you communicate with your client, then?”
“Through a third-party to whom I forward my client’s letters.”
“That’s better,” the other growls. “Who?”
“A gentleman of the highest respectability who has been some years retired from my branch of our profession.”
“Most intriguing. Now be good enough to write down that gentleman’s name and address for I cannot identify him, even though your branch of the profession is hardly replete with gentlemen to whom that description applies.”
The other laughs shortly and joylessly. Then he takes out a pocket-book, writes “Martin Fortisquince, Esqr., No. 27 Golden-square”, tears out the leaf and hands it to the other gentleman.
Equity takes the paper from him and without looking at it says abruptly: “In the event of my needing to speak to you again we will communicate as before.” He reaches into a dark corner of the room beside his chair and tugs gently at a bell-rope.
Law rises with his eye on the thing on the table. Seeing this Equity carelessly pushes it towards him and he slips it into his pocket. Just as the door opens and the clerk appears again, Law hesitantly reaches out his hand towards his host. He, however, appears not to notice the gesture and Law hastily returns his hand to his pocket. The clerk ushers him to the door, restores to him his hat, great-coat, and gloves, and in a moment he finds himself out in Cursitor-street again. He sets off at a rapid pace occasionally looking anxiously behind him. When he has rounded several corners he draws into a quiet door-way and removes the package from his pocket. He cautiously counts it, counts it again, puts it back, and then sets off again
more slowly.
CHAPTER 2
Our house, the garden, the village, and the country for a mile or two thereabouts — this was my world, for it was all I had known, until that last summer when a new one opened before me at Hougham. And now that I seek an image for the undertaking I am embarked upon, I recall a glorious afternoon during that summer when — still unaware that I was to leave so soon — I escaped from the confinement under which I had long chafed and lay, exulting not so much in my freedom as in my having stolen it, on the bank of the stream that ran through Mortsey-wood and on to the forbidden land towards the north.
Forgetful alike of my reasons for escaping and the precious minutes that were slipping by, I gazed, entranced, into the limpid depths. For there I glimpsed strange creatures that flitted away so quickly when I looked at them that I wondered if they were merely shadows — effects of the sunlight through the water upon the weeds and the dappled, pebble-strewn bed that vanished when I moved my head. And then in the attempt to see more, I poked the weed and pebbles with a stick, and only raised a dark cloud that obscured everything. And though it seems to me that the recollection is like that clear runlet, yet I have set myself to search back into my memory. And now that I clutch at my first reminiscences I recall only the sun, the warm breeze, and the garden. I remember no darkness or sunlessness or shade from that earliest time when the outlying cottages of the village marked the furthest limits of my world.
It may be that we are aware only of the warmth and the daylight and the sun at that most fortunate age, and that if there are moments of darkness and cold they pass over us like a dreamless slumber, leaving no memory behind them. Or it may be that it is only the first touch of the cold and the dark that wakes us from our earliest sleep.
The first moment that separates itself from what had come before is late on an afternoon of cloudless sunshine when the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Tired after my play, I was swinging on the gate into the lane that ran along the side of the garden. From the topmost lawn at the back of the house where we were now, a series of terraced lawns descended, linked by a gravelled path and steps and surrounded by a high red-brick wall with espaliered apricot-trees against it. On each terrace the walnut and mulberry-trees extended their long thin arms protectively over the encircling flower-beds, in one of which Mr Pimlott was now at work some distance below us. And almost out of sight at the bottom of the garden, was the tangle of stunted trees and thick bushes we called the “Wilderness”
