so bold.’
‘I’m glad to be back,’ Frank said with a wave that embraced the entire college and conveyed the impression that all of it belonged to him. ‘I want someone to go over to Whitebeach Mill. They must tell Mulgrave he must close up there and bring our belongings – mine and Mr Holdsworth’s – back to college. I shall want to see him as soon as he’s here. In the meantime, where’s my bedmaker?’
‘Sal, sir? She’s on your staircase now, sir, in Mr Archdale’s rooms.’
‘Send her to me. And I want a shave, too. Send for the barber as well. You’d better tell Sal I want hot water brought up. By the bye, is Mr Richardson in the way? I should call on him first.’
Mepal’s eyes slid towards Holdsworth, who had played no part in the conversation but had remained to one side, a spectator. ‘The fellows are in the combination room, sir. College meeting.’
‘Oh. So Dr Carbury will be there?’
‘I regret to say the Master is unwell, sir.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Frank glanced at Holdsworth, as if for guidance. ‘I shall go to -’ His forehead wrinkled. ‘Good God.’
He was staring past Mepal and Holdsworth. Holdsworth turned. The court itself was empty, but there were two figures, a tall, thin girl and a smaller but equally thin boy, framed in the arched opening at the right-hand end of the chapel arcade.
Frank said, ‘Isn’t that Whichcote’s footboy?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mepal said. ‘He’s attending Mr Whichcote.’
‘Whichcote?’ Frank spoke so loudly that the boy heard and raised his head. ‘Do you mean to tell me he’s here in college?’
Augustus picked up a small but heavy black valise stamped with Whichcote’s crest and secured with two brass locks. He staggered with it to the bedroom door.
‘Not in there,’ Mrs Phear said. ‘In the other room, the little study.’
Augustus changed direction. Dorcas was already there, setting up a writing desk on the table.
The pile of baggage stood just inside the sitting-room door. Mrs Phear was at the table. Whichcote stood on the hearthrug in front of the empty fireplace, his thumbs hooked in his waistcoat pockets.
‘Words cannot express how obliged I am -’ he began.
‘Words need not express anything at all, my dear Philip.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Mr Richardson made no difficulty?’
‘None in the slightest. He’s not a fool. He grasped the situation in an instant.’
‘Still, I am surprised he did not need more convincing.’
‘Two reasons for that, I fancy, ma’am. The first is that he was already late for a meeting in the combination room. And the second reason, the more important, is that the situation at Jerusalem is particularly delicate at present.’ He winced as Augustus allowed the edge of the valise to graze the corner of the table.
‘The reason for the meeting?’
‘On the surface, at least – there is some scandal afoot involving one of the sizars. He was caught red-handed in a theft and now he’s run off. But the real news is the Master. It appears he is very ill.’
Mrs Phear’s eyes slid away from the window. ‘Dying?’
‘I believe Richardson thinks he may be. Certainly he wishes it. And if he does, there will be an election. The very last thing Richardson will want is anything else that smacks of scandal. A word or two in the right ears would quite destroy his chances. To be a head of house, the Master of Jerusalem, is the very summit of his ambitions.’
There was a clatter from the study and a sharp intake of breath. When Augustus and Dorcas came out of the room Mrs Phear beckoned them over.
‘A faithful servant is pleasing in the eyes of God,’ Mrs Phear announced. ‘A faithful servant never prattles of his master’s business. He is always on the watch to find any way he may serve his master better. On the other hand, an unfaithful servant infallibly lives to regret his treachery. He will weep bitter tears. And then, after his miserable death, he will go to hell.’
The children stared at the carpet. The tips of Augustus’s ears turned red. Dorcas dug her nails into her pale, freckled forearms, which were already covered with scratches.
‘Well, get along with you,’ Mrs Phear said indulgently. ‘Satan soon finds work for idle hands.’
In a touching display of quasi-feudal loyalty, the bedmaker showed her joy at seeing Mr Frank by throwing her apron over her head and weeping loudly. Embarrassed, Frank fulfilled his side of the bargain by asking Holdsworth to give her half-a-crown on his behalf. When matters had been settled to everyone’s satisfaction, the bedmaker departed in search of hot water and Frank made a tour of his rooms.
Holdsworth sat at the table with pen and ink and began to write a letter. He had hardly begun when Frank returned to the sitting room and stood over him, blocking the light. The young man dropped something metallic on the table, a gilt button that sparkled in the sunlight.
Holdsworth touched it with his forefinger. It was the missing button from Frank’s coat in the club livery. Mr Richardson had mentioned that it was on the dressing table when he showed Holdsworth the rooms.
‘
‘Why?’
Frank did not reply but a flicker of movement passed across his features. His eyes had filled with tears. He turned aside and examined the spines of the volumes in the bookcase.
‘What is it?’ Holdsworth said.
‘Nothing.’ Frank did not turn. ‘Nothing at all.’
After a moment, Holdsworth dipped his pen in the ink and continued the letter.
‘Anyway, what are you doing?’ Frank said, still staring at the books.
‘Writing to her ladyship to acquaint her with what’s happened and inform her that you are back in residence in Jerusalem. And therefore I intend to resign my responsibilities.’
Frank swung round. ‘No, Mr Holdsworth, pray don’t do that.’
‘Write to your mother?’
‘No – resign. I have turned it over in my mind and – well, I spoke hastily just now. I’d much rather you stayed with me for a little while yet.’
‘I consider I have discharged what her ladyship hired me to do, sir.’
‘And so indeed you have, as far as it touches me. Still, I would take it as a favour if you would delay your departure. I might have a relapse, after all, and there’s the matter of the college library and my father’s books, remember. My mother will still want your advice on that.’
Holdsworth looked at him without speaking. Then he shrugged. ‘I will make a bargain with you, sir. I will agree to stay for two or three nights, to conclude my survey of the library for her ladyship.’
‘Thank you, sir, I take it kindly, I do indeed, and -’
‘On one condition. That you do not cause a scandal with Mr Whichcote. If you encounter him while you are here, you must ignore him as far as possible. You must not offer him any provocation.’
‘But, sir, I cannot -’ There was a knock on the door and Frank stopped speaking. Unexpectedly his face broke into a smile. ‘Very well, sir,’ he murmured to Holdsworth. He raised his voice. ‘Come in.’
The door opened, and Mr Richardson entered. The tutor seized Frank’s hand and shook it up and down. He congratulated Frank on his restoration to health. Such was his emotion, he too wiped away what appeared to be a tear from his eye.
‘Well, sir, I won’t pretend I’m not glad to be back,’ Frank said. ‘But pray tell me, what’s Mr Whichcote doing here? We saw his footboy as we came in and Mepal says he’s staying in college.’
‘That’s quite correct, Mr Oldershaw.’
‘I wish he wasn’t, sir.’
‘I’m afraid Mr Whichcote’s affairs are somewhat embarrassed. When he asked me for refuge, I could hardly deny him. It’s not easy to turn away an old Jerusalem man in distress.’
‘I hear more writs are on the way,’ Holdsworth said.
Richardson bowed. ‘You’re well informed, sir. But the bailiffs cannot reach him here. He will be perfectly safe as long as he does not stir from the boundaries of the college during the day, except on Sundays. He will have leisure to arrange his affairs and find the way out of his difficulties. But now let us talk of something more pleasant. I hope
