Lord Dismiss Us (40 page)

‘Frankly, Carleton,’ the Doctor said, ‘It is inconceivable to me that it matters a damn in hell whether you meet this creature or not. You don’t realise it now, but this is merely childish emotion – skin deep. It is of no interest whatever to adult people, and of no real seriousness.’ He looked up. ‘Candidly, Carleton, that’s how it strikes me.’

‘But you’re not me,’ Carleton said.

‘Answer that,’ said Ashley.

The bell began ringing.

‘I don’t have to answer either of you,’ said Rowles, who was now very angry. ‘I have an exam to take.’ He stood up and went to collect his gown, which was hanging in a corner. ‘Put that in the waste-paper. It’s all it is. Remember this, Carleton – allow the emotions to rule you, and you turn into diseased rubbish.’

‘You wouldn’t have your Shakespeare to read without them.’

It was extremely impertinent, and Rowles looked as if he might hit him.

‘You stay here and explain it to him, Ashley. God knows, you’re well equipped. Do one thing of value in your misbegotten life.’

He hoisted the gown round his shoulders. It fell to his ankles. ‘Oh,’ he said, remembering something, and putting a hand in his pocket, ‘I read this one. It’s been there a week.’

He stepped out and banged the door behind him.

The postcard to Ashley said: ‘Wedding next month. Counting on you. How are you, you old so-and-so? Will discuss further on last night of term. We’re coming up to embarrass the shellfish. The new job is great and pays double. You should try it. Marriage too. Be seeing you. Love, Jimmy and Nancy.’

He threw it away on the desk.

They faced each other. Carleton didn’t know what to do. Ashley was looking at him in a different way. Admiration? Yes – and tenderly too. It made him nearly as uncomfortable as the more usual sneer.

‘There’s a slight truth in what he says,’ he said. ‘But I shouldn’t worry. You’re leaving. That’s the end of it.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘What?’

‘It isn’t. He’s coming to Oxford. We’ll go on the same.’

Ashley made a mad noise . . . a kind of laugh. His old expression was back.

‘The same? My dear fellow. You poor creature, you haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes, I have.’

Ashley picked up the note, and threw it in the waste-paper basket. He perched himself on the end of the desk with his legs dangling.

‘You haven’t the faintest idea what the world’s like outside here. Not the faintest. Have you considered it for a single moment? Do you know what you’d have to endure every single day of your life from other people – spoken and unspoken?’

Things seemed easier suddenly: almost a conversation between friends. Carleton said: ‘I suppose I haven’t really had to think about it. But let them if they want. It’d be a thousand times worth it!’

Ashley actually smiled – like he used to do, though maybe more sadly.

‘Would it?’ he said. ‘Would it? Dear friend, you’ve no notion what you’re saying. Condemnation by majority decision. Living a prison offence. . . . You cannot conceive how these things would eat into you.’

‘They seem to eat into you,’ Carleton said, knowing his daring. ‘But we’re different.’

Ashley didn’t appear to be angry.

Carleton went on – ‘
You
seem to think and worry a terrible lot.’

Ashley smiled. It was very strange.

‘Damn your impertinence,’ he said quietly. ‘Every single day it would occupy and trouble a part of your mind. Every day. Writing would certainly be your only hope – at least you have that. I wish I did. Must you meet?’

‘Um . . . oh . . . yes. Yes.’

Ashley looked down at his brown hand-made shoes as he swung them above the carpet.

‘I thought of going for a long walk this afternoon. Here you are. This is the key of my room. Lock the door. If anyone knocks, don’t answer. If they send the police, there’s always a way in to the Dispensary.’

‘But. . . .’

‘Take it.’

Carleton took it.

‘But . . . this . . . it’s mad.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘But why? Why would you risk . . . ?’

‘Because I detest them, and their beliefs,’ said Ashley quietly. ‘Because I understand your need. Because you have changed and grown, or else I was blind before. Because you have beautiful ears. . . .’

‘Oh . . . gosh . . . no.’

Ashley laughed.

‘And because you make me laugh. And ten minutes ago I came here in despair.’

Carleton had turned white.

‘Take this back,’ he said faintly.

‘Don’t be a fool. If you arrive and leave separately, nobody can possibly know. I’m sorry about the ears. I won’t do that again. Don’t you want to meet?’

‘Yes. . . . Yes. . . . But I don’t know if he’ll do it.’

‘Of course he will. Ask him. If he won’t, he won’t. I’ll be out all afternoon. Go away now.’

Carleton hesitated. What had this man said?

But they might meet.

As against this, what did it matter what had been spoken?

‘O.K.,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

He went out.

Ashley remained seated on the Doctor’s desk. Amazing: the company of another brought happiness out of the air. The greatest trick of all.

It had disappeared with equal magic. Almost instantly there was loss and longing.

But wait . . . had Master Carleton really been so shocked, so revolted, or even so surprised? Hope is strong. Ashley thought not.

Chapter Twenty-seven

He was beside the Head at lunch – for the last time.

Though this was normally the source of dull dread all morning, today it was not; simply because of that ‘last time’. It was a little sad. Still, when Carleton came to take his place he was thinking of something else.

The Beatle had managed to fit in the twenty minutes before lunch, in helping them put the final polish on their ‘Canada’ song. And Nicky had whispered, ‘There was nothing there.’

‘I know. It’s all right. Eric Ashley has lent me the key to his room. He’s out for the day. I’ll be there at four. Come at ten past. It’s dead safe. No one could guess.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘No.’

‘But why?’

‘He’s on our side. I’ll explain. Will you do it? Please.’

‘Um . . . all right.’

Thinking of this in expectation, delight and alarm, Carleton hadn’t noticed that the Head was talking to them all, even before Lloyd had served the soup. The Prefects were leaning forward around the silver cups, and trying to hear against the din down the Hall. On the other side of the Head, Ma Crab was looking at the ceiling with a nasty smile of satisfaction.

‘Yes,’ said the Head, ‘I’m glad to say the culprit – or culprits, as it happens – have been detected.’

They waited tensely. No one dared ask bluntly who. Instead, Steele said, round a silver cup, ‘How, Sir?’

‘They came from outside. They are no longer one of Us. Which to my mind makes it even more offensive to the School. When old Gregory heard the bell ring he came out of the gate-lodge and walked up the drive, looking for the fire. He found something else.’ The Crab pulled down the corners of his mouth.

‘What, Sir?’ – from Steele.

‘His torch fell on two bicycles propped against a tree. He was shrewd enough to hide them in the farmyard and he himself hid behind the wall. Shortly, two youths came running down. They found their bicycles gone, searched for a while, and then became afraid, and vanished down the drive.’

‘Did he know them, Sir?’ asked Pryde.

‘Yes.’

The tension was terrific.

‘Who?’ said Steele.

‘Bond and Tyson,’ said the Crab, tightening his lips.

The High Table was silent.

‘I’ve telephoned Bond,’ the Crab added. ‘They’re both returning for their bicycles on the quarter to four bus. It will be their last visit, you may be sure of that.’

Everyone was wondering at this strange news. Everyone except the Crabtrees knew Bond and Tyson. They had only left at the end of the previous term. They had been Starlings. They had been despised. They had been no good at work and no good at games. They did not wash. They kept a jackdaw and other filthy creatures up in the wood. They had lived their own lives, and never joined in. Never.

Some of them were whispering. Not Carleton. He was merely feeling sorry towards Gower, in spite of Gower’s vengeance on
himself. But others were roused. The unspeakable indignity was now changed to something even worse: a deliberate act of mockery
and revenge by two ex-Starlings.

Finally, Steele said – ‘Sir, we do feel that these people should be told what we think of them.’

‘Well, Steele,’ replied the Head. ‘I can only repeat to you what I have just said to the Staff in the Common Room. It is the School that has been outraged, and if the School sees fit to pull together in this matter, it is no concern of ours.’

‘I see, Sir.’

Ma Crab spoke, dropping her eyes down to the tablecloth.

‘The Headmaster has, in fact, advised the Staff to remain indoors,’ she said.

‘That is so,’ the Head agreed.

‘Oh boy,’ said Pryde, rubbing his hands, ‘I can hardly wait.’

‘Yeh,’ said Rogers. ‘This is going to be good.’

‘Pity about Gower, though, wasn’t it?’ said Johns.

‘Oh we don’t care a fig about that now,’ said Pryde. ‘We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

They were in the Common Room after Rest. The news had spread fast, and nobody had rested much; agog for the return of Bond and Tyson. Some Juniors didn’t understand; and the Starlings only with alarm; but in general the wrath of the Seniors had infected everyone.

‘But what’s the idea?’ Carleton asked. ‘What’s to be done?’

‘Steele is working it out,’ Rogers replied. ‘We’re to meet later.’

‘I’m not,’ said Johns. ‘I can tell you that.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ said Pryde.

‘I don’t think I will either,’ Carleton ventured. ‘I don’t see any point in making a business of this.’

‘You’ll have to,’ said Rogers. ‘You’re Second Prefect.’

‘Yeh, you’ll have to be with us,’ said Pryde.

‘Balls,’ Johns declared.

‘But I don’t understand what you’re so worked up about,’ said Carleton.

‘Oh come off it!’ said Rogers. ‘You know what the sods did.’

‘That’s it,’ said Pryde. ‘Oh boy, this is going to be good. I always hated that brave pair.’

‘That is surely not relevant,’ said Johns.

The others who had to do the two afternoon end-of-term exams were perhaps not as well concentrated as they might have been.

After that, many Juniors were occupied in cricket; which was all to the good. And the Prefects had gone about ordering everyone else except the privileged few to stay away from the farmyard, where a surprise was planned.

Shortly before the time of arrival, a select group of about a dozen was hurrying down the main drive.

Carleton walked reluctantly in the rear, irritated by the company of Sinnott, who kept on talking about ‘kicking them up the arse’. The square military head of Steele marched on in front. The check coat of Pryde, and the dandruffed shoulders of Rogers, were close beside him. Carleton had thought it advisable to be seen, before slipping away to Ashley’s room. In other circumstances he might have risked their animosity and opted out.

It was a glorious afternoon. The Junior cricketers were already out on the field down below. Senior cricket had waned, as there were no more matches. Yes, the last match was over.

It was far too nice a day, Carleton thought, for the grim arrangements of Steele and his associates. But he was really thinking about Nicky.

A stony lane led off the drive, alongside the high stucco wall of the farm – and ultimately up to the hills of gorse. A wooden gate interrupted the wall. Steele opened it, and the party followed him into the farm. Two inquisitive pigs appeared, and he shooed them away.

The dozen were now standing behind an old stone wall – about chest high – which looked on to the drive. Across, on the other side, the two muddy bicycles had been propped against a tree. Over the wall they could see the line of splendid trees running all the way down to the main gate and Gregory’s lodge.

‘As soon as we hear the bus I want everybody to duck down,’ said Steele.

‘Yeh, that’s right,’ said Pryde. ‘Everybody must get down.’

‘Nobody must be seen,’ said Rogers.

They were very excited; and unpleasantly so. That oaf Merryman, Carleton thought, was the only one who looked a bit uncertain.

They all watched the cars rushing continually past the open gates. No bus. They were quiet. Hearts were beating faster. Carleton watched Rogers fiddling with his spectacles like a lunatic. They seemed to be waiting, waiting. . . . Steele kept looking at his watch. It was just a quarter to four.

Suddenly, the top of a green single-decker bus appeared, moving slowly along, just above the wall.

‘This is it,’ said Steele solemnly from his place in the front-line trench.

Mesmerised, they watched it move. Then the whole bus appeared between the gate pillars. They waited the necessary moment to see the two figures step out. Yes, it was them! ‘Down, everyone!’ said Steele, and they all went down.

The general in command, after a moment, raised his eyes just above the wall. So did Pryde and Rogers. So, briefly, did Carleton. It was Bond and Tyson all right! Old Boys, it was true, but looking just the same, and maybe even dirtier. Bond was short and round, with fairish hair, flabby cheeks and a blubbery mouth. Tyson was stringy, with a bony, pale face, and black hair slicked back with hair oil and sticking out in spikes on his neck. They wore the same brown coats and grey flannels that everyone remembered, with additional stains. They were walking very slowly, and appeared apprehensive. But suddenly Tyson pointed. They had seen the bicycles. They hurried forward.

Obviously, they must have wondered why no one was about. But now they were at ease, and as they came up to the bicycles, Tyson was smiling. They took hold of these old familiars, and were about to mount them, when Steele, standing erect, said: ‘Good afternoon.’

Bond and Tyson turned and saw the line of faces above the wall. They took some time to react: long enough for Steele to step quickly out of the yard, and on to the drive, followed by his party.

Bond looked aghast. But Tyson smiled a sly, peculiar smile.

‘Welcome back,’ said Pryde.

‘Thank you,’ said Tyson.

‘Cut that out!’ Steele shouted.

Tyson gazed back at him, pale and surprised. Bond looked at Tyson, who eventually met his look and said, ‘Come on,’ attempting to mount his bicycle.

‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Steele said, moving forward. ‘We want you on foot. And there are twelve of us.’

Tyson paused, and evidently assented, because he began to turn his bicycle round to go down the drive.

‘No, not that way,’ Rogers said. ‘The other way.’

Before Bond and Tyson had taken this in, several of them had rushed forward and grabbed the handlebars of the two bicycles.

‘Here, what are you doing?’ said Bond, as he and Tyson tried to hold on.

‘Shut up, Bond, you little rat!’

‘Clear off,’ shouted someone, pushing at Tyson.

‘All right, all right!’ said Steele. ‘Let go. Let them do the work. They’ve got the message.’

The bicycles were released.

‘All right, Tyson, quick march!’ said Pryde. ‘Up to the school.’

Tyson waited, and sized them up, and was persuaded. He began to walk with his bicycle. Bond, obviously frightened now, followed. The group walked either side of them.

‘What about ringing the bell tonight, eh?’

‘Yeh, good idea. Hell of a joke!’

‘Yeh, get everyone out of bed.’

‘Damn funny.’

‘You dirty sods!’

The parade moved slowly. Carleton lingered behind. It was pointless. It was nasty. He was doing nothing to stop it. What could he do?

‘What’s the idea, Steele?’ said Tyson. ‘You can’t touch us. We’re not schoolkids, you know.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said Steele.

‘Yeh. Shut your mouth, Tyson.’

‘They thought they’d get away with it, fellows.’

‘Yeh, that’s what you thought, Bond, you fat little runt.’

They were coming up in front of the Head’s House. Tyson glanced upwards, as if for assistance. Ma Crab and Lucretia, who were unknown to him, were seated in a window. They didn’t look helpful. Suddenly, he pulled out a scout knife from his hip, looking fierce and afraid. Some of them gasped and backed away, but it was in his left hand, and there was a rush from behind, and he was trying to hold on to the bicycle as well, and it was being pulled at and kicked, and Pryde had him by the wrist. His arm was bent up behind his back. His head fell forward, showing his spiky hairs. Pryde was terribly strong. The knife was wrenched from him. They were incensed. He stood there, white and breathless, as someone hit him in the face. Sinnott, who was in the rear, rushed at Bond, and kicked him fiercely, and Bond cried out. Pryde shoved the knife into Tyson’s face.

‘All right, all right!’ roared Steele. ‘Steady on! You’ve had it now, Tyson, you dirty swine. Get their bikes! Get on with the plan!’

The bikes were torn from them, and thrown to the ground. They were seized with their arms behind their backs, and marched forward up the steps towards the Chapel.

Carleton followed, hating it, and thinking, ‘I’m doing nothing about it, nothing.’

Up the steps they forced them, and towards the Chapel door. There were tears in Bond’s eyes. Tyson was a ghastly colour.

Steele and his commanders led them in through the open door. Everyone crowded outside. Carleton hung back, looking over their heads. It was almost four o’clock, and here was a chance to escape. The bell-rope hung just inside, extending to the red flagstone floor, on which it lay in a single coil. ‘What are you doing?’ gasped Tyson. ‘Shut up, Tyson!’ someone shouted.

He and Bond were stood back to back, and Steele tied the rope jointly about their necks. Since Bond was much shorter, it strained tight under his chin. He raised a hand to loosen it, and someone said – ‘Leave that alone, Bond.’

‘Yeh, unless you want your face smashed in.’

Bond lowered his hand. There were tears on his cheeks. A crowd was unexpectedly collecting behind Carleton; which was a help. Boys appeared from the Cloisters, the Big Schoolroom . . . everywhere. The School was pulling together.

‘Bond’s blubbing.’

‘Boo-hoo!’

‘Ugly sods, aren’t they?’

‘Look at Tyson, he’ll throw up in a minute.’

‘They might have washed for the occasion. Look at Bond’s neck.’

‘And Tyson’s hair. Ugh!’

‘We can’t do both at once, Steele,’ said Rogers. ‘Who’ll we do first?’

‘Tyson!’ said several voices.

‘Yeh. Besides, Bond will enjoy the wait.’

Carleton quietly moved away, across the Square. No one appeared to be looking. It was a planned charade. It would be over shortly. Even so, he had been revolted and ashamed at his own incapacity. No one about on the hot and dusty Square. Why had the masters accepted? Rowles up there, secure in his room, letting it happen! Loyalty to the Head, he would call it.

He ducked past the Common Room window, in case Johns was on the ottoman. Nicky must be hiding somewhere, waiting for the time. Ashley’s room. They had never met in a room before. He was nervous and uncertain. A bedroom. Somehow, the outdoors seemed more natural. If Clinton and Dotterel had obeyed the rules, they might spot him from their own windows. But the sun glinted back, and there seemed to be no sign of life. Somewhere or other, the Staff had all gone to ground.