Nonsense – there had been nothing there. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that the thing – the pallid patch – whatever one called it – must have been a trivial consequence of tiredness acting upon her imagination, and that there had been nothing really there on the bridge. Alternatively there was a simple physical cause, which the science of optics could explain in a flash. It was probably connected with the headache.
For some reason she wondered what John Holdsworth would say if she told him of these absurd thoughts. She shivered again. She was growing a little cold, and perhaps she should make herself eat something. She must keep up her strength, after all, for everyone knew that lack of food could give a person quite absurd fancies.
42
Mrs Phear made Augustus work for the privilege of having her roof over his head. He was up before dawn and set to cleaning shoes and scouring pots. Dorcas had her own tasks; and besides she was cross and there were dark smudges under her eyes. ‘That Tabitha,’ she muttered as they passed each other in the scullery, ‘she don’t let me rest. Worse than the old cow herself.’
Mrs Phear sent him away in time for him to join the crowd of college servants waiting for admission on the forecourt outside Jerusalem. Early though it was, he found Mr Whichcote already out of bed. Still in dressing gown and nightcap, he was at the table in the little study with his papers spread out before him. He swore at the boy, but absent-mindedly, and set him to tidying the rooms and laying out clothes.
Slowly the college came to life. The bell rang for chapel. The footboy had just begun to brush his master’s coat when Whichcote sent him out to fetch breakfast.
With a feeling of release, Augustus ran downstairs. He joined the queue of servants at the college kitchens. After chapel, everyone wanted breakfast at once, some in hall, some in their own rooms. The worst part of the waiting were the smells – hot rolls and coffee in particular – which seduced his tastebuds and set his mouth watering.
There was a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up. Mulgrave was looking down at him, his mouth pursed and nose wrinkled.
‘Do you know how to find Mr Oldershaw’s rooms?’ he demanded in an undertone.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Cut along there now.’
‘But, sir, Mr Whichcote’s breakfast -’
‘This won’t take long. You won’t get served for at least another ten minutes. I’ll hold your place.’
Augustus hesitated.
‘See that?’ Mulgrave pointed to the weal on his cheek. ‘That devil Whichcote did it to me. If you’re not careful he’ll do worse to you. You don’t want to stay with a master like that. This is your chance, boy, so for Christ’s sake take it while you can.’
‘There’s not much time,’ Holdsworth said. ‘Listen carefully.’
They were alone because Frank was still in his bedroom. Holdsworth stared down at the boy, who was standing with his head bowed and his scrawny little body trembling.
‘You’re in want of another situation. As I told you yesterday, Mr Oldershaw is a very rich man. He and his family have many servants. He has promised he will find you a position. I don’t know in what capacity yet but I assure you it will be vastly more satisfactory than the one you have now.’
The boy raised his head. ‘But what do I have to do, sir?’
Holdsworth concealed his relief. ‘Mr Whichcote brought certain papers into college with him. He intends to use them to cause harm. I wish to remove them before he can do so. Do you remember when I called on him yesterday after dinner?’
Augustus nodded.
‘He was sitting in the little room when you opened the door to me. I think he was working on these papers then. Do you know the ones I mean?’
‘Yes, sir. He keeps them in the little valise. He takes them out when he’s writing his letters.’
‘Letters? To whom?’
‘Don’t know, sir.’
‘This valise – I believe I saw it on the table.’
‘It’s got his crest on, sir, and two big locks. Most particular about locking up, he is, every time – the valise and the study door.’
‘And where does he put this valise when he is not there?’
‘There’s a cupboard in the window seat. They keep extra coals there in winter.’
‘Good. One more thing. If Mr Whichcote forms the design of leaving college, for any reason, you must find a way to let me know.’ Holdsworth felt in his pocket for a coin. ‘Here – take this.’
He held out a half-crown. Augustus moved as if to take it but then stopped when his hand was a few inches away from Holdsworth’s.
‘Dorcas, sir?’
‘What about her?’
‘Can Mr Oldershaw find her a situation too?’
‘Mr Oldershaw is always generous to those who have rendered him a service,’ Holdsworth said, wondering whether this was in fact true. ‘I have already told him of her frankness yesterday. He will find a position for her if she wishes to leave her mistress.’
He let the coin fall. Augustus caught it in mid-air.
When Augustus had gone, Holdsworth walked up and down the room. By talking to Augustus and Dorcas, he had inevitably placed himself in their power. But there was no other way to achieve what he wanted. If they exposed him, which was possible, he would become an embarrassment to Frank and to Lady Anne. He thought the Oldershaws would protect him but he could not be entirely sure. On the whole, the great ones of the world had become great and remained great partly because they resolutely placed their own interests first.
The bedroom door opened and Frank emerged.
‘I heard voices – how did you fare with the lad?’
‘I think you are not the only one.’
‘What?’
‘The boy says that Whichcote is writing letters,’ Holdsworth said. ‘He has other victims. The archives of the club are full of them.’
‘Will the boy help us?’
‘He says he will do it. But he’s in want of a situation, here or in London, and so is that friend of his. Can it be arranged?’
Frank shrugged. ‘Cross will see to it. The boy seems obliging. I met him yesterday, you know. I saw Archdale last night and he said I might tell you about it.’
‘Why should there be any secret?’ Holdsworth asked.
‘Because it concerns Soresby. Harry has a bee in his bonnet about the man. He asked me not to mention it before.’
‘Why?’
‘He feels sorry for him, I think. Or some such nonsense. Mulgrave tipped us the wink that Soresby is Tom Turdman’s nephew. Soresby kept that very quiet, which I suppose is not to be wondered at. And nothing would satisfy Harry but that we should go and ask Tom where Soresby might be. Mepal knew where to find him and Whichcote’s footboy showed us the way. It was the damnedest thing, Mr Holdsworth – Tom wasn’t there but his old wife was. And she was wearing a pair of slippers. Just as we were leaving, the boy pipes up and says they were his mistress’s slippers.’
Holdsworth frowned. ‘His mistress?’
‘He meant Mrs Whichcote.’
‘Then surely the boy was mistaken?’
‘No. You do not understand – I recognized them too. I chanced to be with Mr Whichcote when he bought them.
