“Andrew’s old school, eh?” Joe addressed the remark to his two passengers sharing the back seat. “I think he must have been well pleased with it.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jackie dimly. “Daddy liked it here. Before he went up to Haileybury. He has lots of stories.”
Dorcas leaned forwards and put a paper into Joe’s hand. “You’ll be needing this. Andrew’s telegram.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He put the insignificant folded sheet of brown paper carefully into his inside pocket. “I’ll give it back to you, Jackie, when it’s worked its magic. For your scrapbook.”
The telegram had been delivered while they were still at the breakfast table. With all eyes on him, Joe had opened it, read, and summarized the contents for his audience. “It’s from India. From Andrew Drummond. He’s conferring temporary parental powers to me (to be confirmed by his London lawyer who is receiving instructions) until such time as Jackie’s mother can arrive in England to assume control. He’s sent a similar statement to the head at St. Magnus. Nancy is on her way and is expected to arrive early next month. In three weeks’ time.… Three weeks. Good Lord! Oh, and at the end he says they both send their love to you, Jackie. Well, that’s all right then! This gives us the edge we need!” Deep in thought, he began to fold the sheet.
Dorcas had deftly plucked it from his hand and passed it to Jackie, who was sitting next to her. The boy clutched it and read with trembling lips, running a finger under the printed words. An arm around his shoulders, Dorcas bent to whisper the meanings of the long words and the Latin legal phrases as he struggled through. Joe reached for the marmalade and held it up to the light, making distracting remarks about the sun shining through the Cooper’s Oxford, pretending he hadn’t seen Dorcas hurriedly dabbing up with her napkin the teardrops that splashed onto the flimsy sheet as Jackie neared the end. At a look from Dorcas, Joe had made no attempt to take it back.
He parked neatly by the front door of the school and turned to speak. “Ten o’clock. We made good time, and we got here an hour before our advertised arrival. We may catch them on the hop. What’s likely to be happening in there at the moment, Jackie?”
“They’ll be nearly at the end of the first lesson. Ten minutes to go.”
“Good. A moment of calm, then. Look, stay here with Dorcas for a minute, will you, while I go and alert the head master.”
As he got out of the car a young man flung the door wide and came forwards with an air of enquiry. He stopped in his tracks, stared at the car, then started forwards again, holding out a hand. “Sandilands? You must be Assistant Commissioner Sandilands? Sir, you are expected … but you arrive a little earlier than we looked for you. No matter—Mr. Farman is in his study and will see you straight away.” The man’s attention was immediately switched to Jackie, and he bustled over to the car door to help him out. “Hullo there, Drummond! Good to see you. Look, before we go any further, you ought to hear that I’m your new form master.”
Jackie greeted this news with a squeak of pleasure, and Joe looked with increased interest at the man the school had chosen to go out in front bearing the standard. A good choice, he decided. Impeccably suited and confident, yet having an edge of modern informality. And, a feature of instant appeal to small boys—and to Joe himself, he admitted with amusement—the man had the intriguingly battered features of a boxer.
“Mr. Gosling! Oh, good! Uncle Joe, this is Mr. Gosling who teaches games. Mr. Gosling, this is my cousin Dorcas who’s been looking after me.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Joliffe, would that be?” The master shook her hand. “Delighted! We were told you were coming. If you’ll give me your keys, sir, I’ll see to your motor. No, no! Let me take Drummond’s things. Now, what’s he got? Ah. I see he’s acquired a suitcase in the interval? And the old Afghan bag, I think I recognise.”
Gosling heaved the luggage out of the car and placed it without further comment a careful distance away from a second, much larger, collection. A trunk with two further suitcases and a pile of books tied together with string sat waiting by the side of the carriage sweep.
Dorcas eyed this arrangement casually. “Comings and goings this morning, Mr. Gosling?”
“Always comings and goings in a school this size,” was the noncommittal response.
He seemed eager to bustle them straight inside, but Jackie with a sharp cry went over to the pile of luggage and was staring at the books. He bent and turned over a luggage label. “Spielman! These are Spielman’s things!”
Gosling stopped in his tracks and, with a sigh, went over to Jackie and exchanged a few quiet words. Turning to Joe he spoke with an air of resignation: “Only to be expected, of course. The first of many abrupt withdrawals, I’d calculate. News spreads fast up at that level. Our parents are … of a certain status in society, if you understand. Diplomats, politicians, Civil Service posted abroad—that sort of thing. The kind of people who can’t be doing with the slightest whiff of scandal. Spielman’s father is a diplomat so we’re not surprised that he’s the first to get wind of the—er—sad occurrence. And—worse—he’s got a very fussy mother. It’s Madame Spielman who’ll be the instigator of this panicking rush for the exit.”
He turned again to Jackie. “I think you knew him better than most,” he said gently. “Look, he’s sitting waiting in the trunk room just inside. Would you like to say goodbye?”
At that moment, a Daimler purred in stately fashion up the drive and braked behind the Morris. A chauffeur in grey uniform stepped out and saluted Gosling. “I’m here for Master Spielman,” he announced. He glanced at Jackie. “Is this him?”
“No, no! Wait a moment, will you? If you’d like to start loading these things, I’ll just go and get the young gentleman.”
He went inside and reappeared a moment later with a small boy.
“Spielman!”
“Oh, hullo, Drummond,” the child said warily. “You got away with it, then?”
“Can’t say. I don’t know what ‘it’ was, Spielman! They’ve brought me back to have it out. But where are you going?”
“My people have sent for me. Mama doesn’t want me staying in a place infested with murderers and such riff-raff.”
“Oh. We’d better say goodbye then,” said Jackie politely.
The chauffeur had finished his loading and jangled his keys in a marked manner. Spielman stepped forwards, eager to be off.
“Look—I’ll miss our talks about books,” Jackie said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “Wait a minute!” He dashed to his Afghan bag and took out his copy of Treasure Island. “Here, take this. I’ve finished it.”
“Oh, I say. Are you sure? Can I put my name in it? Thank you very much, Drummond. I’ll say goodbye then.”
The chauffeur held the door for him and the small figure, clutching his book, scrambled into the back seat. He didn’t look around as they drove off.
Joe noted the swift pat on the head Jackie received from his new form master.
As he led them down the corridor, Gosling leaned to Joe out of earshot of Dorcas and Jackie and muttered, “Sorry about that, sir. You weren’t supposed to witness the departure. Bad for morale. They tried to schedule it discreetly.”
“At least the two friends had time to say their goodbyes,” Joe remarked.
“Not sure ‘friends’ would be the right word for that relationship,” Gosling said. “I don’t think Drummond will be heartbroken. Spielman didn’t fit in here. Made no effort to fit in. Not a sporting type. Only happy when his nose was in a book. And he had certain physical problems which are not best catered for in general schooling. It was all getting too much for Matron, I’m afraid. He wrote every week to his parents asking to be taken away, so, at last, he’s got his own way.”