Grantchester Grind

He thought Purefoy had been wise to move into digs too. 'They'd question you otherwise. Or even have you followed and we don't want that. I'll go back in my own good time when you've got everything you need down.'

So they went through the story of Sir Godber wanting to sell the College servants' houses in Rhyder Street and the sense of betrayal when Skullion was sacked and how they had made him Master after he'd killed Sir Godber and he'd had a Porterhouse Blue with the Dean and the Senior Tutor there in the room and they hadn't realized what it was and he might have died if Cheffy hadn't come round later that night and sent for the ambulance And then the years in the wheelchair and how he had stayed sane remembering who lived in what room and in which years. 'I sat and thought about it all and that's what you're getting now so it won't go to waste or get doctored up to look nice because it wasn't.'

Purefoy's interest waxed and waned with the topics. He found Skullion's assessment of the Senior Fellows most fascinating. 'Dean's not the man he was. The spirit has gone out of him and he's only left with his deviousness which he's always had. Made up for his lack of scholarship. Never published anything the Dean hasn't. Just run the College and he can't do that any more. Senior Tutor's different. He got a Two One and he did have a brain. Published a doctoral thesis on tides or rivers or something a long time back but he gave it up and became a Hearty. Wasn't Porterhouse being a scholar and he wanted to be one of them. Now I don't suppose he can think properly. Lost the habit cycling up and down the towpath with the Eights. But he fitted in which is what he wanted though he and the Dean used to fight like cat and dog. Hated one another which is what most of them do if you ask me. Spend hours thinking up things to say to one another that'll be like pinpricks. Only natural having to live on top of one another like that. Chaplain's deaf, or pretends to be. He's the one that's human. Likes the girls, the Chaplain does, girls in Woolworths and Boots. I've seen him sniffing around the perfume counter many a time just to size them up. Used to take photographs of them too. Not their bodies, just their faces when they'd let him. He loves a pretty face and who can blame him. Never did anyone any harm, the Chaplain.'

'And what about the Praelector?' Purefoy asked. 'Is he a nice man?'

'Nice? The Praelector? No, I wouldn't say he was nice. Nice isn't the word for him. He's a strange old stick, he is. Didn't say boo to a goose for years and then suddenly he's something you've never expected. English, if you know what I mean. Lost his wife when she was only forty-five and for several years he was a broken man. Took rooms in College and never looked at another woman. Something in anti-tank during the war though you'd never think it to look at him. Was a military historian and wrote books on the First World War and what fools the generals were. I ought to know. Lost my dad the second day of the Somme and two uncles at some muddy place where they had to use duckboards and if you fell off you drowned.'

That evening in the digs in City Road Mrs Ndhlovo wondered how they were going to organize the mass of material Skullion had provided in such a disorganized way. "There's a tremendous amount and half of it is overload.'

'Once we have the transcript, then I'll edit it,' Purefoy said. 'I won't cut too much out, but he does repeat himself. It must be a unique account of life in a college from an entirely different point of view.'

'And what about Lady Mary?'

'I'm not thinking about her at the moment, and anyway she'll get a full report. I don't really care if she likes it. I'm doing what she asked me to.'

39

'I've had a very peculiar letter from the Senior Tutor,' Goodenough told Mr Lapline over coffee one morning.

Mr Lapline said he wasn't in the least surprised. 'Disgusting business. You'd think a man in D'Eath's position would have more sense. If he wants to tie women up in black latex, he could at least have maintained some degree of anonymity. It makes the worst sort of impression on the public.'

'I wasn't actually talking about that,' said Goodenough who was surprised Mr Lapline read the _Sun. _'It's about that silly fellow Purefoy Osbert.'

Mr Lapline shuddered. 'I always knew that was a terrible mistake. What's the filthy brute done now?'

'I think if you read the letter yourself, you'll get a better picture of the situation,' said Goodenough and put the letter gingerly on the desk. The solicitor read it through twice.

'Abducted the Master? Abducted the Master from Porterhouse Park? Is the man completely insane? And where the devil is Porterhouse Park? I've never heard of it,' said Mr Lapline at last.

'I've no idea. He merely says that Skullion, that's the Master, was convalescing there and that Dr Osbert turned up with some woman-'

'I know what the Senior Tutor says. Not that it's a coherent letter for a supposedly educated man. But to abduct the Master, who's in a wheelchair? And what's all this about locking the whole place up so no one can call the police? And the man's gone a week and neither of them have been seen? It's utterly appalling. Goodenough, I hold you responsible for ever letting this damned swine loose on Porterhouse. I do indeed.'

'Steady on,' said Goodenough grimly. 'If you remember, you were the one who insisted on keeping Bloody Mary's account and then you went sick with that wretched gall bladder you won't have out and handed the problem over to me.'

'You volunteered,' said Mr Lapline, who still hadn't had his gall bladder out: it was playing up again. 'You specifically said you could handle the matter and keep Lady Mary happy. You then sent her a collection of sexual psychopaths and neo-Nazis knowing full well she'd reject them out of hand and finally you offer her a blighter who is into the most disgusting details of hanging and who's convinced Crippen was innocent.'

'Now wait a moment-' Goodenough began but Mr Lapline hadn't finished.

'Anyone in his right mind could have seen catastrophe coming and, as a matter of fact, you did. You said it was called putting the cat among the pigeons and now we have this bloody man abducting-I wonder he didn't call it kidnapping-the Master from his sickbed and for all we know hanging the poor chap.'

'Actually, Purefoy is very much against hanging. That's one of his pet aversions.'

'I'll tell you one of my pet aversions,' said Mr Lapline viciously, but stopped himself just in time. After all, Goodenough was a partner and very successful at handling the clients Mr Lapline least liked. Anyway the damage is done and you'll just have to tell Lady Mary-'

'Not yet, for God's sake,' said Goodenough. 'I mean there may have been some mistake.'

'May?' said Mr Lapline.

But in the end it seemed better to wait on events and hope for the best.

At Coft Castle General Sir Cathcart D'Eath had lost hope entirely. All the women servants had walked out, including his American secretary, and only the Japanese butler and Kudzuvine were left, though there was nothing for Kudzuvine to do now that the Cathcart's Catfood had been closed down. The knowledge that Sir Cathcart made a habit of having old racehorses slaughtered and consigned to tins, cats for the consumption of, had alienated everyone in the district. He had been cut in Newmarket by old friends and there had been a disturbance outside the house when some Animal Rights activists broke in and had to be dispersed by the police. Worst of all the rumour had spread that he had been breeding horses simply to satisfy the nation's cats and because horses grew faster than cows. Even his milder neighbours had been so enraged that on one occasion his Range Rover had been pelted with rotten eggs as he drove through Coft.