Tom Brown's Body

13. The Prince of Darkness

*

'Twas to her I was oblig'd for my Education.

IBID. (Act 1, Scene 2)

'IT would be interesting to know,' said Mrs Bradley to the local inspector of police, 'whether Mr Loveday's keys have ever been missing.'

'He says they haven't, but he seems a vague sort of gentleman to me,' the inspector replied.

'What does Miss Loveday say?'

'She says she wouldn't put anything past the boys. But, of course, it's not boys we're after, whatever the Superintendent may say.'

'What does the Superintendent say?' asked Mrs Bradley, who had not heard the conversation between the Superintendent and Mr Wyck on the subject of boys and their possible misdoings.

'He says we've got to remember that Home Office affair, but that's all poppycock, if you'll pardon the expression, being one not often used by ladies. Young gentlemen like these at Spey don't go about murdering their schoolmasters. But what does seem to me the point about this business is that more than one person was concerned in it. A gang of boys and a pretty clever leader is the Super's idea, and he makes a proper sort of case for it. Of course, I suppose it could have been that, but only theoretical, like, if you under- stand me. What do you think about it being some of these boys, ma'am?'

Mrs Bradley ran her mind with agile ease over Scrupe and Micklethwaite, and then over Prince Takhobali. She also considered the temperamental and knowledgeable Issacher. She shook her head.

'Unlikely,' she said briefly. 'Most unlikely. But, of course, not quite impossible.'

'You've said it, ma'am. Unlikely, but, of course, not quite impossible. Began as a lark, most likely, and then it went a bit too far. Very high-spirited and a bit revengeful and determined, some of these young gentlemen, ma'am. You'd be surprised.'

Mrs Bradley did not contradict this last statement, although she knew it to be untrue. She would not have been surprised by anything which either boys or their seniors would do. She left the inspector and wandered off to watch a practice game of Rugby football on the upper field. She arrived in time to see a couple of ebony knees and two thin, almost delicate hands and a shining black face set round a wide, appreciative smile, collect a loosely-slung pass and streak for the line like a water-snake.

'A promising player,' she observed to a large, slouching, slightly scowling youth who was also watching the game.

The youth raised his tasselled cap and smiled politely.

'Yes, he's not bad,' he replied. 'He's a bit light and small for Big Game at present, but I should certainly consider playing him in the First Fifteen next season if I were here, which I shan't be. Only trouble is, he bites.'

'Literally?' Mrs Bradley enquired. The youth nodded, and answered gloomily:

'Doesn't mean to, I suppose. Gets excited, and the next thing you know is that he's literally chewing pieces out of anybody he has to tackle in the game. He's being thrashed out of it, of course, but it makes things awkward at present.'

'I believe he is Prince Takhobali?' Mrs Bradley enquired.

'Yes. Nice enough kid, too. Just goes getting carried away by his emotions.'

'I wonder whether you would care for me to take him over and treat him?' Mrs Bradley enquired. Cranleigh – for it was that great man in person – stared, smiled, straightened up, scratched his jaw (looking suddenly younger) and said:

'Do you mean you could stop him biting?'

'Oh, yes,' Mrs Bradley replied. Cranleigh studied her, and made up his mind.

'If you could do that,' he said, 'I'm not sure I wouldn't play him against Fieldbury.'

Mrs Bradley had heard of Fieldbury. It was a very famous school, a great deal larger than Spey.

'Are they strong this year?' she enquired.

'Very strong,' Cranleigh responded, 'and we've never beaten them yet. Our only chance would be to play a scrum-half they didn't know. They're banking on our playing Tickner. If I played young Tar-Baby instead, and put Tickner out for this one match . . .' He stopped. 'I'm boring you,' he concluded. But Mrs Bradley was very far from being bored.

'Do I know Mr Tickner?' she enquired.

'I don't see why you should. He's a bit of a wart,' said the captain of football candidly. 'He's not a bad half- back, but the trouble is that he only left Fieldbury at the beginning of this half. He played regularly for their Second Fifteen all last winter, and, of course, their First know all there is to know about his game. So, if I could depend upon Tar-Baby's goings-on. . .'

'You can,' said Mrs Bradley with a superb self-confidence which Cranleigh, himself not utterly lacking in amour propre, was swift to appreciate. 'Send him to the School sanatorium immediately this game is over.'

'The san?' said Cranleigh. 'Right. He won't want to come, but I'll jolly well see that he's there. Pass, you silly owl!' he suddenly yelled, resuming his study of the game. Mrs Bradley walked back to Mr Loveday's House to inform Miss Loveday that Takhobali would be late for his tea, and then she walked over to the sanatorium to borrow a room from the sanatorium matron. The matron, who was the terror of every Housemaster and by whom even Mr Wyck was secretly overawed, gave way at once to Mrs Bradley, for Mrs Bradley held the sacred status of a Doctor o Medicine besides that of being a grandmother in her own right. The matron, in short, gave Mrs Bradley a choice of four excellent rooms, and placed her staff at Mrs Bradley's orders.

Mrs Bradley selected the pleasantest of the four rooms, ordered a fire to be lighted, demanded hot buttered tea-cake, China tea, and a couple more cushions, impounded the matron's personal vase of late chrysanthemums, and generally contrived to electrify the matron's maid into wondering whether the last trump was about to be sounded.

Takhobali turned up shining from his changing-room bath, damp-haired and beautifully dressed, and blinked in astonishment at the sight of the cosy room.

'Sit down, Prince,' said Mrs Bradley, briskly. Takhobali, with a terrified grin and a gesture which Mrs Bradley recognized as the one used in his Protectorate for keeping off evil spirits, sat on the edge of a chair, but very soon, what with the lassitude which resulted after his game, the delicious food, the crackling fire, and the general air of ease which gradually overtook him, he relaxed, Mrs Bradley was relieved to note, and was soon conversing blithely on casual matters cunningly introduced by his hostess.

'And now,' she said, 'I expect you feel thoroughly sleepy. Put your feet up, close your eyes, and I'll get the tea cleared away. No, I don't want any help, thank you.'

'Now, why,' asked the Tar-Baby, curling himself up like a lithe and sleek young leopard, 'why am I brought to this place?'

'For treatment,' said Mrs Bradley.

'But I have no injuries. I am not sick.'

'No. But you are a biter,' said Mrs Bradley distinctly. 'And until you cease to be one, you will not be put into the School Fifteen. Am I right?'

'Oh – yes,' said Takhobali, raising his head and giving a broad smile. 'I do bite. I do not mean to. It is all for love.'

'I understand that so well,' Mrs Bradley agreed. 'All the same, you must agree, I think, that it would be better for you not to do it any more. If you really wish me to cure you, I can do so.'

'Cranleigh has tried. He beats me. It is so good of him. But always I forget, and his trouble goes all to nothing,' said the Tar-Baby, with frank and delightful regret. 'I am so tiresome.'

'You haven't co-operated with him, that's all. You have said to yourself, He will cure me; you have not said, I will cure myself once and for all. Shall we say that here and now? . . . Close your eyes; relax; breathe a little more deeply . . . and slowly . . . and deeply . . . and slowly ...'

So natural and uninhibited was the Prince that she soon had him under light hypnotic control, and then she