benefactress. Unsure though I was of the source of my good fortune, however, the weight of the coins, as they lay in my cupped hands, had a powerful effect, for I instantly saw that they would allow me to set my mother free from her literary labours. But she refused to countenance such a thing, and with an affronted resoluteness that I had never seen in her before. After some discussion, it was agreed that the money, except for fifty sovereigns, which I insisted that she must have, would be placed into the hands of her Uncle More, for investment in such a way as he would see fit to produce profit on the sum, until I attained my majority.
‘There is more, Eddie,’ she said.
I was to go to school – to a real school, away from Sandchurch. This special friend of my mother’s, who had loved me very much, had wished for me to be educated as a foundation boy at Eton College on reaching the age of twelve, and had made arrangements to this effect. That time had now arrived. When the summer was over, and the leaves had fallen from the chestnut-tree by the front gate, if I had succeeded in the examination, I would become a Scholar of the King’s College of Our Lady of Eton Beside Windsor, founded by that most devout and unworldly of English monarchs, Henry VI. At first, I did not well know how I should contemplate this momentous change, either for good or ill; but Tom Grexby soon put me right. It was the very best thing that could have happened, he said, and he knew – no one better – that it would be the making of me.
‘Hold fast, Ned,’ he said, ‘to what we have done together, and go forward to greater things. Your life, your true life, is not here,’ – he pointed to his breast and to the heart beating within it —‘but here,’ pointing now to his head.
The scholarship examination, taken that July, held no terrors for me, and a letter came soon afterwards with the gratifying intelligence that I had been placed first on the list. Tom and I spent the remainder of the summer reading hard together, and taking long walks along the cliffs in deep conversation about the subjects we both loved. And then the day came; Billick brought the trap round to the front gate, my cases were stowed, and I climbed up beside him. Tom had walked up from the village to see me off and give me a gift to take with me: a fine copy of Glanvill’s
‘A little addition to your philosophical library,’ he said, smiling. ‘But don’t tell your mamma – she might think I am corrupting your young mind. And be prepared, now, to be tested on it when you come home.’ At which he took my hand and shook it hard – the first time anyone had done such a thing. It impressed me strongly that I was no longer a child, but had become a man amongst men.
When all was ready, we waited in the bright and windy sunshine for my mother to come out from the house. When she did, I noticed that she was carrying something, which I soon saw was the box that had contained the two hundred sovereigns from her friend.
‘Take this, Eddie, to remind you of the dear lady who has made this possible. I know you will not let her down, and that you will work hard at your lessons, and become a very great scholar. You will write, won’t you, as soon as you can? And always remember that you are your mamma’s best boy.’
And then she took my hand, but she did not shake it, as Tom had done, but drew it to her lips and kissed it.
To Bella, I now told the story of my time as an Eton Colleger; but as it is necessary for the reader of these confessions to be apprised, in some detail, of the events relating to my time at the school, in particular the manner of my leaving it, I propose to describe them at a more suitable place in my narrative, together with the story of my life in the immediately succeeding years.
Bella listened attentively, occasionally getting up to walk over to the window as I spoke. When I had finished, she sat in thought for a moment.
‘You have said little concerning your present employment,’ she said suddenly. ‘Perhaps the answer lies there. I confess that I have never been quite clear in my mind what your duties are at Tredgolds.’
‘As I have said before, I work in a private capacity for the Senior Partner.’
‘You will forgive me, Eddie, if I say that your answer seems a little evasive.’
‘Dearest, you must understand that there are professional confidences involved, which do not permit me to say more. But I assure you that the firm is highly respected, and that my duties there – purely of an advisory nature – can have no bearing on the present matter.’
‘But how can you be sure?’
Her persistence gave me the opportunity that I had been looking for. I got up and began to walk around, as if gripped by some sudden realization.
‘Perhaps you are right,’ I said at last. ‘It may be that I have overlooked the possibility of some antagonism arising from my work.’
I continued to pace the floor, until at last she came over to where I was standing.
‘Eddie, what is the matter? You look so strangely.’
She gripped my hand imploringly.
It was cruel of me to let her suffer in this way; but as I could not tell her the truth, I had no choice but to let her think that the cause of the note lay in some matter connected with my employment. And so I resorted to the lie direct.
‘There is a man,’ I said at last, ‘a client of the firm’s, who blames me for the failure of a case he has recently brought, on which the firm advised.’
‘And do you think this man could have written the note?’
‘It is possible.’
‘But for what purpose? And the note itself – why was it sent to me? And why does it say that you are not what you seem?’
I told her that the man I suspected of writing the note was rich and powerful, but of notorious reputation; that he might have no other design than to sow discord between us, to pay me back for my perceived part in the failure of his suit. She considered this for a moment, and then shook her head.
