Mr Cross gave a little shake of the head. ‘I’m sure it will be. Lady Anne has every confidence…’
He changed the subject swiftly, and became almost cheerful when dealing with the matter of money. He advanced Holdsworth fifteen pounds for his expenses, and gave him a letter of credit addressed to an attorney in St John’s Lane, whom Holdsworth might approach if he needed more funds. At this point, Mr Cross looked very serious and said that her ladyship would expect to see detailed accounts for all his expenditure, down to the last farthing.
As the meal drew to its close, Mr Cross mellowed and became almost confidential. ‘I must confess I am glad not to be going back to Cambridge myself. Mr Frank’s behaviour came as a terrible shock. I am not as young as I was.’
‘There was no reason for it?’
‘None that I could see. All I said was that I was come to take him back to her ladyship, and she would soon make all well again. And then he gave a great cry and lashed out at me. I have seen the young gentleman fly into a passion before – most young gentlemen do – but nothing like this. I took it very hard, sir, very hard indeed. When he was in short-coats I used to dandle that boy on my knee.’
‘You must not refine too much upon it, sir. He is clearly not himself.’
Mr Cross shook his head. ‘I know not what he is now. It is Cambridge that has done this to him. Ever since he went there, he has been a different person. Tell me, do you know the place?’
‘I was never there in my life.’
‘Then have a care, sir,’ Mr Cross whispered. ‘It is meant to educate our young men but to my mind it blights them. And you must be constantly on your guard at Jerusalem. Lady Anne has a good deal of influence there but she is not universally beloved.’ He broke off suddenly, as if aware he was straying into dangerous territory. ‘To put it in another way, the college has its own interests to protect, which is quite natural.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘But I run on. I am sure you have much to do before tomorrow morning.’
‘What is the college’s interest in this? How does it differ from hers?’
‘Oh – that.’ Mr Cross stuffed the watch back in one waistcoat pocket and took out his snuffbox from the other. ‘Well, you see, this business – it is not good for them at all.’
‘Because her ladyship may turn against them?’
‘Not exactly. Though that is a consideration. But these scandals attached to Mrs Whichcote and Mr Frank have the power materially to affect them in more ways than one. A college does not attract young men of rank and fortune overnight. It has taken Jerusalem years to develop its reputation as a desirable establishment for them. I understand there are fashions in these things as in all else. What has been built up over years may be blown away in a matter of days. No, sir, when you are at Jerusalem, you must never forget that for many of the gentlemen there this is more than a little matter of a ghost, a suicide and an unfortunate boy: it is also a matter of money.’
7
On Friday, 26 May, after dining as usual by herself, Elinor Carbury sat in her parlour at a table by the window, which overlooked the Master’s Garden. The garden was still laid out in the old-fashioned style with parterres, shrubs and trees, all deployed with the mechanical regularity of a regiment of soldiers upon a parade square. It was bounded largely by the sweeping curve of the Long Pond, beyond which were more college gardens.
In front of her on the table was Dr Johnson’s Rasselas, a novel she had read several times before. She heard a muffled knocking on the hall door downstairs. She turned a page and appeared absorbed in her reading when Susan, squirming with excitement, announced Mr Holdsworth.
He bowed from the doorway. Elinor responded with a civil inclination of the head. She closed the book and stood up. ‘Dr Carbury had hoped to be here to greet you, sir, but he was unfortunately called away. I trust your journey was uneventful?’
‘Yes, madam,’ Holdsworth said.
‘Would you care to take some refreshment, perhaps?’
‘No, thank you.’
She disliked the way he stared at her almost as much as his lack of conversation. He was uncouth, she decided, a veritable bear of a man. He must have intimidated that poor wife of his. The maid lingered in the room, eyeing the visitor with ill-concealed interest. Elinor told her to leave them.
‘I understand that Mr Cross has informed you of all you need to know,’ she said when they were alone. ‘So -’
‘I wish that were true.’
‘Sir? You are pleased to be droll?’
‘No, ma’am, I spoke no more than the truth. For example, Mr Cross told me little about Mr Oldershaw’s encounter with the ghost. When I inquired further, he referred me to you and Dr Carbury.’
She offered him a chair, partly to give herself time to regain control of the interview. She returned to her seat at the table and looked sternly at him. ‘There is little to say. Mr Oldershaw was in low spirits already, why I do not know. On the evening before he saw – whatever he saw – he had drunk a good deal of wine and his gyp says he also took a dose of laudanum as he retired to bed.’
‘His gyp?’
‘A gyp is a species of servant we have at the University – they condescend to work only for those undergraduates who can afford to pay their exorbitant charges.’
‘A reliable witness?’
‘I do not know the man. His name is Mulgrave. Dr Carbury says he is nobody’s fool, and he is sober in his manner of life. When Mulgrave left Mr Oldershaw at the end of the evening, he believed he was asleep. The rest is speculation, until the porter on duty heard a great shouting and splashing near the Long Pond. If you wish, you may see the spot from here.’
He joined her by the window. The unfashionably large cuff of his shabby black coat brushed her shoulder.
‘You see the water, sir?’ she said. ‘And the great plane tree on the further bank? That was where they found him. He was bellowing like a baby.’
‘What time was it?’
‘A little after two o’clock. The porter raised the alarm and pulled Mr Oldershaw out of the water. He fell into a swoon, and indeed his life was despaired of for several hours, for he was chilled to the bone. When he awoke after dawn, it was found that his reason had fled, and that he could babble of nothing but ghosts.’ She paused. ‘Or, to be more precise, of Mrs Whichcote’s ghost. In a day or two it became clear that his reason had still not been restored, though in other respects he was recovered. Dr Carbury communicated with Lady Anne, and she ordered his removal to Dr Jermyn’s.’
‘Tell me, madam, why -’
A knock at the door interrupted them. Susan announced Mr Richardson. Elinor hoped her face did not betray her irritation. A small, slightly built clergyman came towards her, took the hand she held out to him and bowed low.
‘Your servant, ma’am,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘A thousand apologies – I did not realize you had a visitor.’
‘I am afraid the Doctor stepped out after dinner, sir,’ she told him. ‘I believe he intended to call in at Trinity.’
‘No matter. I shall probably see him later this evening.’
Elinor turned to Holdsworth. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. May I present Mr Richardson? And this, sir, is Mr Holdsworth, who is come down today from London.’
The two men bowed to each other. Richardson was about fifty, a good-looking man with a gentlemanly manner. He had neat, delicate features and bright eyes like chips of glass.
‘Mr Richardson is our senior fellow,’ Elinor continued when they were all sitting down. ‘Dr Carbury informs me that this University holds few scholars who can match the breadth of his learning and the penetration of his intellect.’
‘The Master is so very kind,’ Richardson replied with a smile. ‘But perhaps my reputation sounds more glorious to the ears of a stranger than in fact it is.’ He turned the smile on Holdsworth. ‘I fear that scholars are such a minority in this University now that the labours of those who remain shine with a lustre they do not necessarily deserve. And you must be Lady Anne’s emissary, sir. Dr Carbury told me you would arrive today or tomorrow.’