a third or a half of the verses but I thought them a trifle pinguid.’
‘Eh?’
‘Pinguid, Mr Archdale – which is to say, unctuous, even turgid, as Tully called Asiatic rhetoric.’
‘If you say so. Anyway, that would be more than enough for my uncle to be going on with. He might like it, in fact – he verges on the pinguid himself.’ Archdale could feel his hangover drifting away from him. ‘Go and fetch it right away. After dinner, and after you’ve been to Pranton’s, you shall cram it into me as far as you’ve got, and then you can work on the remainder at your leisure. You will not be the loser for it, I promise. Here, ring the bell, will you? I believe I could take a little toast.’
13
Mr Richardson was seated at a table in his parlour. Standing beside him was a portly young man. They both turned towards Holdsworth as he came in.
The tutor stood up. ‘Mr Holdsworth – this is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘But I see you’re engaged, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘No matter – I shall have the pleasure of seeing you later at the library.’
‘No, pray stay – Mr Archdale and I have finished our business. Mr Holdsworth, may I present Mr Archdale, one of our fellow-commoners? And Mr Archdale, this is Mr Holdsworth.’
Archdale blinked rapidly and sketched a bow to Holdsworth. The young man had a pink, round face dominated by large, loose lips that looked as if their owner’s tongue might slip between them at any moment. ‘Your servant, sir,’ he muttered. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
‘Mr Holdsworth has already heard you, if not seen you,’ Richardson went on. ‘We were strolling through Chapel Court last night and you were in full cry.’
Archdale became even pinker. ‘I – I beg your pardon, sir. Some – some of the men – were a little merry.’
‘I am sure it will not happen again, Mr Archdale.’ Richardson smiled at him. ‘Well, I am glad that you will have something to show Sir Charles tomorrow, and I shall inform him of the good news when I call on him this evening. After I have seen him, I should like to discuss the course of reading you should pursue next, and your plans for the Long Vacation. Perhaps you would make it convenient to call upon me on Wednesday. At about seven o’clock?’
Archdale stopped, his hand already on the door. ‘I regret it infinitely, sir, but I’m already engaged.’
Richardson raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed?’
‘The HG Club, sir. I have been elected to it.’
‘Ah yes.’ A flicker of emotion passed over Richardson’s delicate features. ‘You will not wish to miss that.’
‘Mr Whichcote was most pressing.’
‘In that case, let us make it Thursday. Seven o’clock. You shall come and drink tea with me.’ Richardson looked consideringly at him. ‘You must go carefully at the HG Club. It has something of a reputation, I understand.’
‘Yes, sir. Much obliged, I’m sure.’
Archdale bowed, first to Richardson and then to Holdsworth. The door closed behind him.
The tutor sighed. ‘We have too many young man like that, Mr Holdsworth. No harm in him, but sadly dissipated. The tragedy is, he’s not entirely a fool and he has some shreds of scholarship about him. He could do well enough if he were to apply himself. Still, I must not weary you with my little concerns. You’ve been to see Mr Oldershaw this morning, have you not? How did you find him?’
‘Sound in body, but not in mind,’ Holdsworth said.
‘No improvement then?’
‘It would appear not. Dr Jermyn is sanguine but only if Mr Oldershaw stays with him. The doctor has great faith in his system.’
‘Moral management,’ Richardson said. ‘They say it transforms the treatment of the insane.’
‘I cannot say I like what I have seen of it so far. It is more like bullying than anything else.’
‘In all events, it is kinder than chaining the poor devils to their beds as they used to do, and leaving them to rot in their own filth. Were you able to talk with Mr Oldershaw?’
Holdsworth shook his head. ‘When Dr Jermyn introduced me, he became violent and had to be restrained. Which reminds me: Mr Archdale mentioned Mr Whichcote just now. I heard his name at Dr Jermyn’s too.’
‘As I think I said yesterday, Mr Whichcote is much at Jerusalem.’
‘And so, I believe, was his late wife.’
Richardson raised his eyebrows. ‘Ah. I see we have no secrets from you. Not that the poor lady’s death is in any way a secret, of course. There are some who say that Mr Whichcote goes into society more than he should so soon after his bereavement. But we should be charitable, I believe. We should not begrudge the poor man his consolations.’
‘Why should Mr Oldershaw believe he had seen the ghost of Mrs Whichcote?’
‘There you have me, my dear sir. Why indeed? He knew the lady, of course. But the poor fellow’s wits are disordered. He does not need a reason for his fancies, surely?’
‘Were there signs that his wits were disordered before that?’ Holdsworth asked. ‘Her ladyship wishes to know all there is to know so you will not mind if I press you a little further.’
‘I cannot tell you much more than you already know. Mr Oldershaw was at Lambourne House the very evening before Mrs Whichcote died. The circumstance had affected him – he was a little melancholy, I should say. But that’s nothing out of the way – young men always find something to sigh about, do they not?’
‘How did he seem on the day before he saw the apparition? And what was he doing in the garden in the middle of the night?’
‘I believe he dined at the Hoop with Mr Archdale, and supped privately in college with Mr Whichcote.’
‘Perhaps that brought the memory of Mrs Whichcote to mind in a particularly vivid way.’
‘Perhaps. In any case, I fancy he must have woken in the middle of the night and wished to visit the necessary house – the undergraduates’ privies are on the other side of the garden.’
‘I wonder if I might see Mr Oldershaw’s rooms?’
‘Nothing would be easier. They are as he left them. Her ladyship did not wish to alarm Mr Oldershaw’s friends unnecessarily. A sudden recovery seemed perfectly possible at the time of his confinement, and even now we live in hope of such a happy eventuality.’ Richardson’s eyelids fluttered. ‘Lady Anne has given out that her son is indisposed, his nerves are fatigued from his labours at the University.’
‘When would be convenient?’
‘We might pay a visit now if you wished.’ Richardson stepped up to the window overlooking the court and looked up at the clock on the pediment. ‘We have a good half an hour before the dinner bell.’
He shrugged himself into his gown, locked his door and led the way outside. They walked up to the door in the south-eastern corner of the court. Among the half a dozen names painted on the board inside the entrance to the staircase were those of Oldershaw and Archdale, who had the sets of rooms on the first floor. When Richardson turned the key in Oldershaw’s heavy outer door, nothing happened. He frowned and increased the pressure. Still the key would not move. He reversed the direction of the turn and the lock immediately engaged with a loud click.
Frowning, he glanced at Holdsworth. ‘Strange.’
‘The door was unlocked?’
Richardson twisted the key again, pulled open the outer door and turned the handle of the inner door beyond. It led into a spacious room, larger and loftier than Richardson’s. Directly in front of them stood a small man in dark clothes. He was carrying a pile of shirts.
‘Mulgrave!’ Richardson said. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
‘Fetching clean linen for Mr Oldershaw, sir. And Dr Jermyn asked me to bring in a few of his books.’
‘Why did you not come to me for the key?’
‘Beg pardon, sir. Didn’t want to bother you, and Dr Jermyn gave me Mr Oldershaw’s key.’
‘It’s most irregular, Mulgrave, as you very well know. We cannot go about handing college keys to all and sundry.’
‘Yes, sir. Beg pardon, sir. As it was Mr Oldershaw, I thought you’d made an exception.’
‘I had not,’ Richardson said. ‘You must surrender the key to me.’
