‘This place. This talk of masters and tutors and fellows.’
‘That is because Jerusalem is a world within a world. So is any college in this University, or perhaps at any University. A college is a world with its own laws and customs.’
‘It might be a world of savages for aught I know.’
Elinor repressed a most unladylike desire to laugh, converting the bubble of mirth into a cough. ‘I was situated as you are when I first came here. Worse, indeed, for I am a woman, since a college is a place exclusively composed of men. I might have made landfall on some undiscovered island on the far side of the world, but for the fortunate circumstance that the inhabitants speak English.’
He looked surprised. And then he smiled. ‘Suppose, madam, that I too have made landfall on this island. Suppose I am a shipwrecked sailor, another Crusoe. But I have been fortunate enough to come across you on the strand the waves have cast me upon; and you are kind enough to enlighten me as to the place where we find ourselves.’
Holdsworth’s smile took her by surprise after his surly, almost boorish behaviour earlier. ‘First, sir, you must consider that Jerusalem is a species of miniature country. It is governed by a handful of gentlemen, who are obliged to follow, at least in theory, a regimen laid down for them by the college’s Founder, and enshrined for perpetuity in the statutes. Jerusalem was founded by one of Lady Anne’s ancestors in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. We attach much importance to our Founder’s kin at Jerusalem: for not only do they have some influence upon how we may interpret our statutes, they also have the power to appoint two of our fellows, and they have been the source of many benefactions. So you see that -’
A loud, low voice was speaking indistinctly on the stairs. Footsteps were approaching, dragging and heavy. A moment later, Susan flung open the door and a large, elderly man built like a barrel advanced into the room.
‘Dr Carbury!’ Elinor cried. ‘How – how delightful. I did not dare expect you so early.’
‘Your servant, madam.’ The voice was like the man: full, slow, deep and a trifle unsteady. ‘I tore myself away as soon as I could. I did not wish to delay the pleasure of welcoming our visitor.’
It was nine o’clock before they sat down to supper. The room was lit by candles on tables and in wall sconces, creating uneven and shifting pools of light among the gathering shadows. The portraits of dead masters on the walls were granted a dim and spurious life by the flickering flames that illuminated them. The balcony above the screens at the far end of the room was almost invisible.
The high table was on a dais at the eastern end, flanked by two great bay windows. There were some ten or twelve men scattered round the great slab of oak, with Dr Carbury, as of right, in the middle. Beneath the dais, several long tables stood in the body of the hall. Only one of these was occupied. It was at the further end, nearest the buttery and the kitchens. Here sat a dozen or so young men. They were eating rapidly as though their very lives depended on the speed with which they consumed their food.
‘I had expected to see more undergraduates, sir,’ Holdsworth said to Dr Carbury, who was fighting his way through a large slice of mutton pie.
‘Eh? Nowadays the majority take supper in their own rooms or in those of their friends. The ones you see below are of the poorer sort – sizars in the main, that is to say, undergraduates who are supported by the foundation.’
‘It is a fine thing for them to have such a chance of advancement.’
‘Very true. But I wish they were not such a hangdog, out-at-elbows crew.’
Mr Richardson, who was sitting opposite, leaned towards them. ‘Why, as to that, Dr Carbury, one might turn the argument upon its head. If you look around this table, at least half or more of the men you see were once sizars, here or at another college. Most of our other undergraduates do not trouble themselves overmuch with work. Many do not take a degree. So the college needs its sizars as much as they need us. Most of our scholars will come from their ranks.’
‘Well, sir, it is natural that you of all people should -’
At this point there was a burst of drunken laughter in the court beyond the big window on Holdsworth’s left. Dr Carbury broke off and looked sharply in the direction of the sound.
‘Ah,’ said Richardson blandly. ‘I believe I recognize the merry tones of Mr Archdale. At least our sizars are not noisy. You must allow that.’
Carbury picked a shred of meat from his teeth. ‘That young man grows rowdy.’
‘I am afraid so, Master.
A tall young man sitting near the end of the table said with a gasp of half-suppressed amusement, ‘I believe he has been dining with Mr Whichcote, sir. I fancy that might explain it on this occasion.’
‘Indeed, Mr Dow.’ Carbury glowered down the table at him. ‘You do not seek to make excuses for Mr Archdale, I trust? You would not make light of his behaviour?’
‘No, no, Master. A virtuous mind allied to a cultivated understanding must ever -’
‘Depend upon it, I shall have a word with Mr Archdale tomorrow,’ Richardson put in smoothly. ‘A word in time saves nine, as they say. After all, Horace’s recipe advises only a dash of folly in one’s wisdom, and Mr Archdale appears to have mistaken the proportions in his moral cookery.’
The little witticism raised a general laugh around the table, though Holdsworth noticed that Carbury did not join in. When the meal was over, the company moved to the combination room, which lay immediately behind the dais. Two tables had been set up, each with its own kettle to hand; one was for the tea drinkers, and the other for those who preferred punch. Some of the party continued with their wine.
Mr Richardson was among the tea drinkers. He turned to Holdsworth with a smile and offered him the chair on his left. Dr Carbury took the seat at the head of the table with the decanter at his elbow. He leaned towards Holdsworth, and was on the verge of speaking when he was interrupted by a shout of laughter from the other table, where most of the younger fellows had gathered.
‘What is it?’ Carbury asked. His thick lips were stained purple with wine. ‘Why are they making that damned racket?’
‘Mr Miskin has proposed another wager, Master,’ Richardson answered. ‘No doubt we shall soon learn its nature.’
Not five minutes later a college servant appeared at Richardson’s shoulder and murmured that Mr Miskin begged permission to enter a wager in the wager book. Richardson graciously gave his consent.
‘The younger men derive much enjoyment from their wager book,’ he told Holdsworth. ‘And some of the older ones, I am afraid. We shall soon find out what it is – before the wager is officially enacted, it must be approved by me; and to do that, I must see the book and initial the entry. By virtue of being the senior fellow, you see, I am president of this combination room.’
‘We must not bore our guest with the minutiae of our parlour,’ Carbury interrupted. ‘His time is too valuable. Mr Holdsworth, sir, will you take a glass with me?’
Holdsworth could not decently refuse. Richardson watched them, and for an instant the pink, wet tip of his tongue flickered between his lips.
‘You must let me know how I may be of service to you,’ Carbury said once he had drained his glass. ‘I shall place myself quite at your disposal.’
‘Yes,’ Richardson said, drawing out the monosyllable. ‘After all, Mr Holdsworth is here on behalf of Lady Anne, and I know you like to oblige her ladyship. As of course we all do.’
The words seemed innocuous, but Carbury flushed a deeper colour.
Richardson turned to Holdsworth. ‘I wonder, sir, when would you find it convenient for me to show you our library? I am at liberty tomorrow morning.’
‘I’m afraid I shall be engaged in the morning.’ Holdsworth saw in Richardson’s face a fleeting change of expression, a sharpening of interest, instantly smoothed away. ‘But after dinner, perhaps, if you could spare me an hour or so?’
‘With all my heart. At six o’clock? Would that be agreeable? I shall speak to my library clerk, too – you must call on him for assistance while you are here.’
‘At what hour do you dine?’
‘Three o’clock,’ Richardson said. ‘We are sadly rustic, I am afraid. Indeed, until a few years ago we continued to dine at one o’clock, just as our fathers and grandfathers had done. In Cambridge, three o’clock is considered almost shamefully
