‘There, that is better.’ Mrs Phear smiled at him. ‘Yes, if it pleases you, I shall agree that it is Sylvia’s fault.’
‘I did not mean that exactly, I -’
‘Sylvia is dead, my dear. That is the point. Now you must begin afresh. You are still a young man. And once you have dealt with the little matter of Mr Frank, you must forget that Sylvia ever existed.’
9
The air in the combination room was thick with the fumes of punch and tobacco. Holdsworth’s head was aching, and his eye sockets felt as though they were lined with fine sand. He begged to be excused. At once, Richardson rose from his seat and offered to walk with him.
‘Thank you, but I do not think I shall lose my way.’
‘I am sure you won’t, but should you like a turn or two in the garden before you retire? I find that a little fresh air and healthful exercise clear the head and promote sleep.’
Holdsworth accepted the invitation. Richardson led him outside into a court surrounded by buildings faced in palely gleaming ashlar. On the right were the lofty bay windows of the combination room and the hall. Richardson nodded at the nearer window. It was uncurtained, and the men they had just left were seated at the two tables in a haze of fellowship.
‘They are clubbable fellows, by and large,’ he remarked. ‘One cannot begrudge them their dull potations. But some of them will have sore heads in the morning.’
He took Holdsworth’s arm, and they strolled along the arcade in front of the chapel. There were lighted windows in the building on the other side of the court, directly facing the hall and the combination room. From one of them on the first floor came a burst of laughter and a muffled thumping as though many fists were pounding against a table.
Richardson sighed. ‘Mr Archdale continues to enjoy the pleasures of society.’
A voice began to sing, at first uncertainly but then finding the tune and gaining in volume. Other voices joined in. The sound was not melodious but it was undoubtedly vigorous. The thumping continued, beating time to the song. Holdsworth and Richardson lingered in the shadows under the arcade. The verses were short and many of the singers appeared not to know the words. All of them, however, joined in the refrain with great gusto.
‘Some of our young men do not treat the Master with the respect he deserves,’ Richardson murmured. ‘That vulgar ditty has attained a lamentable popularity among them. It is unkind indeed – Dr Carbury has a weak stomach, and was once compelled to vomit in public.’
A door opened further along the range, and a gowned man was briefly illuminated by the lantern hanging above the archway. Glancing towards the sound of the singing, he then set off at a fast pace towards the screens at the western end of the hall.
‘Mr Soresby?’ Richardson called. ‘A moment of your time, please.’
The man changed direction and made his way towards them. He was tall and thin, and he did not so much walk as scurry. He doffed his cap and bowed awkwardly to Mr Richardson. He looked towards Holdsworth, who was in the shadows of the arcade. Richardson did not introduce him.
‘Mr Soresby,’ he said gently. ‘Would you oblige me by stepping up to Mr Archdale’s? Pray present my compliments and inform him that he would do me a great service if he would close his windows and moderate the volume of his singing.’
‘I – I believe there is a porter in the lodge, sir. Perhaps it would be fitter if -’
‘I should be so very grateful, Mr Soresby.’
‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’
The man slipped away to the doorway leading to Archdale’s staircase. Richardson laid a hand on Holdsworth’s arm, detaining him. Once again, the light above the doorway fell on Soresby’s stooping figure and shabby gown. The singing continued for a few minutes more and then tailed away. To Holdsworth’s surprise, Richardson did not move. Next came a silence, followed swiftly by a great burst of laughter. In another moment, the two sash windows belonging to the room were closed and the shutters were drawn across. This was followed almost immediately by a thumping sound, as if someone had fallen down a flight of stairs, which terminated in a gasp of pain. Richardson made a sign to Holdsworth, and the two men walked away.
The arcade, which ran the entire length of the eastern range, backed on to the chapel in its centre but on either side of this were two bays that opened on to the gardens beyond. Stretching south from the arcade was another range, which the tutor said was known as New Building.
Mr Richardson led Holdsworth on to a path running eastwards into the gathering darkness. Holdsworth’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom. The flagged path glimmered before them. The stars were beginning to emerge. On their left was the chapel, and then a stretch of water crossed by a humped wooden footbridge.
‘Mr Soresby did not have an enviable task by the sound of it,’ Holdsworth said.
‘He is a sizar,’ Richardson replied. ‘It is not an enviable position.’
‘They are the very poorest of the undergraduates?’
‘Indeed they are. The statutes laid down that they should be supported partly from the foundation but that they should also earn their keep through working as menials. That has largely changed, I am glad to say. But when I entered this college as a youth of sixteen, they still waited upon the fellows and fellow-commoners as they ate, and then they dined from the scraps left over. Some of them would even act as private servants to the fellows. Even now, many are poor devils who scrimp and save to take a degree, who are not too proud to run errands to make ends meet. Yet we may be sure that among them are those who will go on to earn distinction both in the University and in the wider world. In point of fact, I was once a sizar myself.’
The night was very still. The revelry in Chapel Court had died away and they might have been in the depth of the country. Most of the windows of New Building were in darkness. They passed under the shadow of a great tree.
‘Soresby serves as my library clerk – you will meet him again tomorrow.’ Richardson gestured at the shadows above and around them. ‘By the way, we are beneath the Founder’s oriental plane. We are very proud of it here. Sir Walter Vauden planted it with his own hands. Some say it is the greatest tree in Cambridge, and certainly there is none quite like it.’
‘There was a wager concerning a plane tree.’
Richardson chuckled. ‘Members of this college take notice of plane trees wherever they find them. That one is in Herodotus. The Emperor Xerxes conceived an admiration for it and ordered it to be adorned with gold.’
‘Is this water called the Long Pond?’ Holdsworth asked.
‘Yes.’
Holdsworth waited but Richardson made no mention of the body that had been found in it earlier in the year.
The pond curved to the left and the path came to a gate set in a wrought-iron screen. Richardson unlocked it and they passed through.
‘This is the Fellows’ Garden,’ he said. ‘The ancients would have called it a
‘An enclosed garden?’
‘Just so. Enclosed and inviolate.’ Richardson’s voice was so quiet now that the other man had to strain to hear it. ‘The college itself becomes a fortress at night when its gates are locked. But here, in the Fellows’ Garden, we are doubly enclosed, and so doubly inviolate. Look to your left, my dear sir, through that opening among the branches on the other side of the water. There you see Dr Carbury’s private garden. It runs all the way from here up to the Master’s Lodge.‘
Holdsworth stared through the gap at the further bank. Directly ahead was a lighted window on the first floor of the Lodge. The window was open, and the sound of raised male voices came faintly through the still night air.
