Lord Dismiss Us (22 page)

‘No. No, I don’t.’

He was watching Allen out of the corner of his eye. As a younger Senior he had been deputed to hand round the strawberries. Carleton could bear the heartache and the apartness no longer. He decided he was going to act.

‘You should take it up,’ said Antonia.

Allen passed just behind her.

‘What?’

‘Riding. It’s the only sport.’

She was examining him in a peculiarly cold way. It was most embarrassing to be observed by nearly the whole Staff, not to mention everyone else, talking with the Beauty of the Day. It was true, there was a kind of radiance about her; a different, and definitely unapproachable kind. He supposed he should have been getting a kick out of this. He only wanted to escape.

‘There’s a school two miles from here. I go on Wednesday afternoons.’

‘Oh.’

‘They have some pretty bloody horses. But Daisy and Nigger are O.K.’

‘Oh.’

‘What do
you
do on Wednesday afternoons?’

‘Me? Well, we’ve a half-holiday. There’s usually cricket.’

She spooned in a strawberry.

‘Always?’

‘No. Not always.’

‘Would they let you have a riding lesson?’

This was unbelievable. She looked so bored. He was afraid.

‘But I don’t want one,’ he said quickly.

She inserted another strawberry.

How surprised she would be, he thought, if I gave her an account
of her brother.

She raised her head, looked him straight, coldly, in the eye, and said: ‘Where
will
you meet me, then?’

His legs seemed to disappear beneath him.

‘What for?’ he murmured.

‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ was her reply.

It was unkind, since his question had been largely genuine. It was almost impossible to comprehend that one was supposed to enter into some sort of relationship with this strangely constructed creature.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t,’ he muttered, and was thinking, I’ve said that before, when luckily there was a ‘Hi’, and Peggy came up with Bewick.

The Head had been watching, while half-listening to Miss Hutchins. He more than suspected that Carleton lacked the school spirit; but, even so, it was one of the few rewarding sights of the afternoon. Pretty girl too. No, they were
not
mixing; and Miss Hutchins kept on telling him so.

‘Steele . . . the uh . . . is it removed?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘I shall need to know what it said.’

‘Beware of rape, Sir,’ said Steele.

Miss Hutchins bristled. The Head’s mouth had clamped down. He had meant at another time. Steele was a rock, but he could be monumentally unsubtle.

And at that moment, from that very same gateway, which was near at hand, there came a roar, as of a jet engine, and a white sports car had halted on the driveway.

A mad-looking individual in a cap was standing up in the passenger seat and shouting: ‘Hurray for the Sabines!’

Everyone watched in silent astonishment.

The driver was grinning like an idiot.

‘Steady the Buffs!’ roared his companion. ‘Come over here, Blondie, you bastard child!’

Beauchamp was hurrying over to the car. He looked flustered, for once.

The Head glanced at Miss Hutchins, and saw that this was probably the beginning of the end.

‘It’s an orgy, I tell you! A veritable orgy!’

Beauchamp could be heard expostulating – ‘Shut up, Freddie, for God’s sake!’

But suddenly he was perched up in the back of the car, and it was roaring away up the drive. The Head’s House, the whole school, seemed to be reverberating. There was a flash of white, out from among trees, and the car was speeding away, past the farm, down the other drive and so out the main gates.

Instinctively, they awaited its reappearance. A grounding in British comic films told them that it would repeat the circuit almost indefinitely. But no. Even odder, considering Beauchamp was a passenger, it did not return.

‘Girls!
Time to go!’

These were very nearly the last words that Miss Hutchins was prepared to speak.

The Head himself could find little to say. This outrageous incident had destroyed his already diminishing confidence.

They straggled up the slope; girls in one group ahead; boys in another group behind.

The Head was not sure now what he had expected. Even without those two gross eventualities, the day would not have been a success. He suspected – correctly – that Miss Hutchins was planning to cancel their reciprocal visit. Something else, something more, was required to wipe the slate clean at Weatherhill.

The planned farewell was almost a mockery. Steele gave three cheers for Gillingham, and Peggy Wyckham for Weatherhill; and their cheers were feeble indeed. Miss Hutchins shook his hand and said, ‘You’ll be hearing from me, Headmaster,’ and followed her girls into the coach. There was an uncomfortable silence as the two vehicles departed – and then uproar.

Yes, even in his presence; while he and his wife were still climbing the steps to enter their own abode, there were shouts of – ‘Steady the Buffs!’ and ‘It’s an
or
g
y
!’

They were scattering.

Carleton had deliberately stood close by. He said quietly – ‘Allen.’

He stopped. His companions went ahead.

‘I’ve got to see you. After Tea.’

‘Where?’

How calm. How expressionless. But there was intimacy, somehow. Yes, he was blushing. There was love.

How stupid. He couldn’t think of anywhere.

Allen solved it.

‘The Music Building. I’ll be practising in Number
5
.’

He ran away.

Fired by their cries, the Head was making angry resolutions as he went through his front door: six for Beauchamp, and a threat of future expulsion; an address to the whole school in the morning, demanding the culprits’ names, or else all exeats would be cancelled. But above and beyond all that – sterner measures, yes, much more severe measures.

Chapter Fifteen

Two hours later it was Tea proper. Miss Bull was ladling baked beans again, behind the vast hot plate by the door, but only the Junior School, who had missed the strawberries, had much appetite.

Carleton, seated at the head of his table for the day, was surprised to hear that, in spite of everything, certain connections had been made. Several notes had been received and were passed about the Dining Hall. He was not interested: he had committed himself now, and was waiting excitedly – and with apprehension – for their meeting afterwards. Sexy Sinnott had received one, signed ‘Phoebe French’, which said simply – ‘I’m crazy about you. Send me your photo and I’ll send you mine.’

This was shown to Jimmy Rich, who was parading as the Master on Duty. He read it and handed it back, without a smile, without a word.

This was extraordinary. They had never seen Jimmy Rich in a bad mood before. He looked peculiar. He looked flushed and angry.

There was a crash. Rich had banged a silver cup down on the unattended High Table. He was standing on the dais with his back to it.

At last the voices ceased.

They assumed he was about to give them leave to go.

But no.

‘Silence now, silence now. I want no more talking now, lads, till you hear what I have to say.’

They began to be excited already. Something was brewing. Something good.

‘Carleton, boy.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘There’s the key. . . .’

A large rusty object came flying down to Carleton. He caught it.

‘Lock the door, boy!’

He hesitated. He glanced at Steele, for possible guidance. Something subversive was in the air. But Steele just looked stunned.

‘Do as you’re told, boy, I haven’t all night!’

The entire School watched as Carleton walked down the aisle. As he locked the door he heard Rich say – from the distance – ‘That’s it, boy. We don’t want the old Crab poking his nose into our business, do we, lads?’

There was an astonished silence; and then a brave voice said faintly – ‘That’s right, Jimmy.’

Carleton went back to his place – a conspirator. Steele gave him a nasty glance.

‘Now then, lads, I’ve a wee statement to make, it’s not a pleasant matter and I’ll try to get it over with as quickly as I can. There’s a state of affairs going on, and I want you lads to know all about it. And when you’ve heard what I have to say, you’re going to tell me that
you
’
re
not standing for it any longer either.’

Super. It was thrilling. It was going to be some drama which left them safe. This was great!

Steele rose.

‘Mr Rich, I’m afraid . . .’

‘Sit down, boy, or I’ll larrup you!’

Steele sat.

‘Now then, to start with . . . and I’m sorry you lads have got to hear this, but I’ve no alternative. . . . Ma Crab has been going round spreading filthy lies about me and Nancy.’

You could have heard a baked bean drop. This was incredible. It was terrific.

‘I want you to listen to this, lads, I want you to listen to this. She has been paying her own daughter to follow us round the grounds!’ Suddenly his voice was raised to a shout – his fist struck the air – ‘
Two and sixpence an hour
!
’

They gasped. This was big money. They went for long walks.

‘Now I’ve nothing against Lucretia, lads. The girl has owned up. She’s decided to chuck it in. She’s owned up to Lawson, over here. She took him up an oak tree when Nancy and me were sitting by the lake below. Lawson, boy, stand up, tell us what happened.’

Baffled, deeply envious, they watched as this wretched Starling rose embarrassedly to his feet.

‘She said . . .’

‘Go on, lad, let’s have it.’

‘She said we’d watch you from there, and I said why, and then she came out with it and said it was worth a lot of cash. But she said she was tired of it, so I persuaded her to give it up, and she said she was owed seven and six but she wouldn’t claim it.’

‘Thank you, lad – and Nancy wants to thank you too. Sit down, lad. Boys, this is only the half of it!’

Hurray.

‘I want you all to know now, lads, what that old witch has been saying in extra Latin. Bolton, Forrester, stand up lads!’

Two members of Remove were on their feet.

‘Come on, now, tell them!’

‘She said . . .’ began Bolton.

‘Come on.’

‘She said . . .’ began Forrester.

‘She said we’d been fornicating by the lake. Right?’

They nodded.

‘Sit down, men.’

They sat down.

He waited for them to take it in; for their shock to be complete.

A large minority longed to know what it meant. You couldn’t ask: you’d be savagely mocked, probably by boys who didn’t know either. Parents said nothing. There were rumours you did something face to face, but it seemed incredible. Did women have nothing, or what? How rotten for them. Impossible to find out.

‘Now I want to tell you, lads – and Nancy wanted to come and tell you too, but she’s too shy, God bless her – that this is nothing but a dirty rotten lie.’

All at once there was a gentle, inquisitive knocking on the door.

Steele rose again.

‘Sit down, or I’ll have the hide off you, Steele!’

Steele sat.

‘That’s the old Crab. He’ll stay out till I’m done. Now then . . . this is what I want to tell you, lads. I fell for this lovely girl last Guy Fawkes Night. I daresay I’m not the only one, but I’m the lucky one. Nancy’s wild about Jimmy.’

Suddenly, a total change. He was beaming. It was Jimmy Rich!

Someone shouted, from the far end – ‘Good for you, Jimmy!’

‘Ssh, lad, ssh. And do you know what I’m going to tell you, lads? . . .’

The knocking began again. It was slightly louder.

‘Do you know what I’m going to tell you? . . . We’re in love, lads, and we’re going to be married!’

There were several voices this time – ‘Hurray!’

‘Ssh, lads, ssh. . . .’

There was louder, insistent knocking.

‘And this is what I want to say . . . that girl is something wonderful to me, lads, and
I wouldn
’
t harm a hair on her head
!’

‘Good for you Jimmy!’

‘And I only hope that you’ll be as happy in later life,’ shouted out Rich above the growing tumult of voices.

There was fierce banging on the door.

‘Pay no heed to that. And this is what I’m going to ask of you now. Next time that old cow comes to you with her wicked lying tales, you’ll tell her where she gets off, you’ll send her away with a flea in her ear. I want this promise from you, and I want it now. I want to hear one great big “Yes” from you, and I want to hear it now. Will you do it, lads, will you do it for me and Nancy?’

‘YES!’

Their instant roar even drowned the maniacal hammering at the wooden panels.

‘Let’s hear you say that again, lads!’

‘YE—SS!!’

‘Right, lads.’

He was grinning with delight. And suddenly they were singing, while a number were rushing up to shake him by the hand – ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s. . . .’

Steele strode down the aisle, forging a way against the growing stream of admirers, and unlocked and opened the door.

Philomena Maguire stood there, with a troupe of maids about her. She spoke from behind her hair. ‘What’s the big idea?’ she said.