R. Delderfield & R. F. Delderfield (42 page)

In our view he is certain to gain exemption from matriculation. Dismissal now would have a disastrous effect upon his career.

Signed,

T. S. CARTER, M.A. (London)

'Good God,' David exclaimed, 'this is a bit of a belly-crawl, isn't it?'

'Yes, it is,' said Carter, readily, 'but that's the point. An appeal like that, signed by all the old hands, will be a feather in Alcock's cap, even if it means him climbing down. If that petition is in his hands before Monk's train leaves, I've got a feeling he'll act on it, in his own interests. It isn't blather, either. The old Stoker is aiming for the F.O., and expulsion would put paid to that, unless he could bring some powerful influence to bear. I happen to know he couldn't. His father is an ironmonger. Will you do it, P.J.? For him, and for me? I can't tell you how much I'd appreciate it.'

It was not only Carter's pitiful earnestness that prevailed but David's curiosity concerning the reaction of Alcock and the staff to his extraordinary petition. Especially, now that he came to think about it, that of men who had been his own and Carter's colleagues for more than ten years. One assumed that one got to know people very well in these confined circumstances, but clearly this was taking too much for granted. Why if Howarth, Barnaby and old Rapper Gibbs were friends, was he quite unable to predict in advance how any one of them would respond to a move that would diminish them in the eyes of Alcock. There were several unknown factors here. How much loyalty and comradeship existed between them, now that Algy had retired? How many would be likely to put themselves in Carter's place? Or in Stoker Monk's place? How much dignity would, say, Howarth, be prepared to sacrifice in the cause of Carter and Monk? Answers to these imponderables might be interesting.

Tucking the letter into his jacket pocket he said, 'I'll give it a try, Carter. I haven't got much faith in it working but you'd probably do the same for me.'

'I would, I would, P.J.'

'Maybe you'll have to, if things don't take a turn for the better,' and to bypass Carter's gush of gratitude he hurried out, crossing the quad and making his way up the staircase over the Fifth to Barnaby's quarters.

It would be best, he thought, to start with an easy one, and Barnaby was by far the most congenial man on the staff. Aware of the need to cut corners he explained the situation in a few sentences, then produced Carter's plea, having added his own signature before knocking on Barnaby's door. At least one man was predictable. Barnaby, regarding the thing as a huge joke, signed without hesitation.

'We seek tears from the Noble Stoic of the woods? I think the hope is vain, P.J., but I should be delighted to be proved wrong. Whom will you tackle next? Howarth? He'll refuse, shooting quills in all directions. Come to think of it, I doubt if he'd sign a bleat like that for you, much less Carter.'

Bouncer and Rapper both signed, the one gladly, because he agreed with Carter that the sack for smoking was 'a bit much'. His standard punishment, four penal marks, would have been more seemly, he thought. Rapper Gibbs, the music master, signed reluctantly, and after a good deal of persuasion on David's part.

'I'm not doing it for Carter or Monk,' he grunted, 'but because you've got yourself mixed up in it. Seems to me I owe you a favour or two, Powlett-Jones, but maybe you've forgotten.'

'I'm afraid I have. What favour do you owe me?' Rapper sniffed and rubbed his long nose, a habit he had picked up from Algy during the countless operatic rehearsals they had shared over the years.

'Well, not you, exactly,' he said, 'your wife.'

'Beth?'

'I was very fond of her, did you know that? Best leading lady we ever had, and the easiest to coach. No sulks and no temperament, just hard graft, ending in a rattling good performance, even when she was carrying those twins of yours.' He looked glum for a moment. 'They were the salad-days, Powlett-Jones. We aren't likely to see their like again under him. This is the first year since 1904 we haven't produced a Gilbert and Sullivan.
He
thinks they're frivolous, you know. So what did we have to cheer us along last Christmas?'

'Excerpts from Molière.'

'Ah, yes. Lot of piffle. Who the devil wants to listen to a lot of French gibberish? Nobody, save that rackety chap. Molyneux. Place isn't what it was, is it?'

'If it was I wouldn't be standing here asking you to put your name to a
document of this kind,' David said, and Gibbs signed, advising him to try Molyneux next, for Molyneux and Carter had 'once been thick, hadn't they?'

If they had the relationship must have cooled, David had never been close to the man who took Ferguson's place as French master. He was well up to his work, they said, but difficult to know, another who seemed unable to identify with Bamfylde, in the way the Old Guard had before and throughout David's time. He had private means and drove a red sports car to and from his lodgings in the village. He was also reckoned a highbrow, on account of regular visits to town and Bristol where he patronised obscure productions in club theatres. Molyneux got along reasonably well with the new man and now confirmed as much, refusing to co-operate in any way. 'Ridiculous gesture,' he said, returning the petition. 'Damned surprised at Carter going to these lengths, and even more surprised at you and the others abetting him. Kind of thing that belongs in the Lower Third, doesn't it?'

'We don't think so. Carter has a point about the effect it might have on Monk's career.'

'Monk is Outram's pigeon. He certainly isn't mine. Try Howarth, and see what change you get from him.'

But David went first to Irvine, where another shock awaited him. Irvine also refused to sign, on the grounds that Alcock would interpret his signature as a climb-down regarding the disputes between them concerning the amount of emphasis to be placed on games.

'But that's ridiculous,' David argued. 'This has damn all to do with games.'

'Indirectly it has. I've stood up to him about free periods for training, and I mean to tackle him again when the cricket season opens. This would give him the edge on me and, in any case, what the devil has Carter ever done for any of us? He's always had his eye on the main chance.'

David left him and made his way up to Howarth's study, where Howarth heard him out, his expression even bleaker than usual. He said, 'Can't understand why you're trotting about the place pulling Carter's chestnuts out of the fire. I realise you and he had signed articles, but Carter is still Carter, isn't he?'

'I don't think he is,' David said, voicing a persistent thought that had kept recurring to him since he quitted Carter's study. 'Something odd is happening to Carter. He seemed to me almost hysterical. He's been brooding a lot about Alcock over the last two terms, mostly about Alcock taking house decisions out of his hands,
but he's not had a direct confrontation as I have. Or not until now.'

'Let me see that silly petition again.'

Howarth took it, adjusted his pince-nez, and read it very carefully. 'Well, there's a hint of hysteria here,' he said, and then, shrewdly, 'I hope to God it isn't rubbing off on you, P.J.'

'I'll survive it,' David said. 'And survive Alcock too, I wouldn't wonder. I suppose the truth is we all had it pretty soft under Algy. He was my sole experience of a head.'

'He wasn't mine, and there's no tyranny like it if you happen to strike it unlucky.' He pondered a moment. 'I'll sign the damned thing. Monk has potential, and who the devil am I to penalise a boy for smoking? If you denied me my forty a day they'd soon be calling for me in a plain van.'

He took a pen and signed with a kind of snarl and David thanked him and withdrew.
'What
the devil is happening to us?' he asked himself, moving down the steps and recrossing the quad to Outram's. 'In spite of occasional bickering we used to be a team. Now everybody's pulling a different way.'

4

Carter's hunch was correct. Within an hour of receiving the petition, signed by Carter, David, Barnaby, Acton, Gibbs and Howarth, Alcock relented, if that was the word. The reprieve was granted on two conditions, both, to Carter's way of thinking, harsh. Monk would be allowed to sit the examination and finish the school year but there could be no question of his staying on after that. He was also required to submit himself to a public dressing-down in Big School that night and concerning this Carter had misgivings.

'Even Alcock can't beat a man in the Upper Fifth,' he told David, and when David suggested that he might make an exception, Carter shook his head. 'He's against corporal punishment. I know that from something he said during our discussion.'

'Well, that's at least one thing we have in common,' David said, 'for you all know my views on it. It's always seemed to me a miserable confession of failure on our part. So what else can Alcock do but jaw?'

'I don't know,' Carter said, gloomily. 'We'll soon find out.'

They soon did. Immediately before prep bell all the boys, including the juniors, were crammed into Big School, and Alcock swept in with Monk in tow.
There was just the faintest suggestion of a sigh when they appeared, prompted perhaps by the tacit implication that the old Stoker was seen as a heretic about to be burned at the stake. David noticed then that Alcock was carrying the Stoker's fourth pipe, the usual monstrosity, with a curved stem and a bowl of impressive proportions, again carved in the likeness of a negro's head. He held the ungainly thing between his finger and thumb, so that Howarth muttered, 'Looks as if the dam' fellow is handling a rattlesnake. Why the devil doesn't he throw it in the wastepaper basket and be done with it?' But Alcock had more ceremonial intentions. Standing well forward on the rostrum, with the abject Monk slightly behind him, he held the pipe aloft for everyone to see, and began: 'I am probably correct in assuming everyone present knows why we are assembled. It is to draw your attention to a disgusting habit practised by the wretched boy you see beside me, a boy I happened to catch indulging himself on school premises, with this so-called symbol of manhood in his hand. You are aware, of course, that every school has strict rules against smoking. Apart from a health hazard, it is generally regarded as a grave infraction of discipline. Yet Monk saw fit – indeed, has seen fit on previous occasions – to set the rule at defiance.'

He paused for a moment, an actor getting the feel of his audience. Then he continued, 'It had been my intention to expel Monk forthwith. The fact that I had second thoughts is due, solely, to an urgent intercession on the part of his housemaster and some of that housemaster's colleagues. All stressed the fact that I had issued no specific warning concerning the automatic penalty for smoking, adding that Monk was due to sit an important examination in June. Those reasons, although not strictly relevant, had validity. I was moved by them. I took them into account. However, you may take it as read that
no
extenuating circumstances will influence me in the future. Any boy caught smoking, or found in possession of a pipe, or cigars, or cigarettes, will be sent home within the hour, notwithstanding his age or the circumstances. In the meantime, however, in order to underline this example, I propose to destroy this implement in your presence,' and to the amazement of everyone present, including Monk, he reached into the folds of his gown and produced a claw-hammer.

David had the impression then that Alcock had quietly gone mad and was about to use his hammer on Monk as well as the pipe, but then his attention was deflected by a movement of the head's right hand, as he laid the hammer aside, raised his left arm high above his head and snapped his fingers twice.
At the signal, Potter, one of the junior kitchen staff, made a self-conscious entry carrying a tin tray, of the kind in daily use in the dining-hall. Setting it down on the desk he retreated wordlessly, stepping down from the rostrum and disappearing as unobtrusively as he had appeared. Alcock placed the pipe on the tray, picked up the hammer, tried it for balance, and then delivered his first shattering blow on the bowl, smashing it so effectively that fragments shot across the dais and ricocheted from the panelling. Five other blows followed until the pipe was in small splinters, the clang of each impact shattering the silence of the big room. As the final clang died away a loud buzz of exclamation arose and under its cover David murmured, 'He's dotty! He must be…!' but Howarth said, 'Not in the least. In his way he's an artist. It will add flavour to every cigarette I light from here on…' But by then Alcock was calling sharply for silence and at once a sense of anti-climax descended on them all. From the rear of the big room somebody was heard to smother a laugh and the sound was so distinct that everyone's head turned, trying to identify the culprit Alcock said, crisply, but still without raising his voice, 'Will the boy who finds this amusing step forward?' and there was a stir among the two ranks representing the Sixth as Sax Hoskins moved out into the central aisle and stood there, nearly six feet in height and not, David would have said, as shamefaced as he should have been.

'You, Hoskins?'