‘I see. Very well. Pray have the goodness to remember that Mr Oldershaw is my pupil, and in future I shall take it kindly if you make it your business to tell me how he does.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now leave the key on the table and be off with you.’
Mulgrave bowed again, lifted the valise and limped to the door.
Richardson waited until the door shut behind Mulgrave. His face had grown pale. ‘It is insupportable. The Master has gone behind my back and no doubt Mulgrave was well paid to keep quiet about it. He’s a gyp in more ways than one.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Holdsworth said.
‘Eh – oh, the word “gyp” is said to be derived from the Greek word for “vulture”. If so, it is entirely apposite. Such parasites make a fortune from their fees and vails.’ Richardson paused, breathing deeply. ‘ You see, a gyp is not like the ordinary run of college servants. He works for himself, and offers his services to whomsoever he chooses. Were I able, I should exile the entire tribe of gyps from Cambridge.’
‘You speak with some heat, sir.’
‘I speak as I find, Mr Holdsworth. Forgive me, however, I have allowed my feelings to become overheated. When one spends one’s life in a college, seeing the same men day in, day out, these little things can mean a great deal to us. Little passions grow vast, and take monstrous shapes.’ He forced a laugh. ‘When I was a sizar here, thirty years ago, the gyps looked upon us as their rivals, and treated us accordingly. I remember Mulgrave then – he was but a boy, of course – he used to hop about and take great pleasure in humiliating us.’
Holdsworth moved to the nearest window, one of the pair looking out over lawns towards the Long Pond, with the wall of the chapel immediately to the left and the great dome of the oriental plane tree beyond. Had Frank Oldershaw stood here on the night he saw the ghost? Had he seen something that drew him outside?
Richardson, his self-possession now entirely restored, smiled. ‘You must do me the honour of allowing me to be your Cicerone. When our Founder laid down our statutes, he included a stipulation that there should always be a suite of apartments for any of his descendants who might wish to study here. I think I may say without fear of contradiction that only the Master has better accommodation. This is the principal apartment, the parlour or keeping room, as we often style it here. That door there leads to a bedroom and the one beside it to a study. And the little door beyond the fireplace leads to what we call the gyp room, which is the province of Mulgrave and the bedmaker.’
‘It is splendidly furnished.’
‘Lady Anne saw to all that. Naturally she wished her son to live in a manner suitable to one of his rank and expectations.’
Holdsworth moved from room to room. The little study overlooked a small, sunlit garden on the southern side of the range. The room itself was square and high-ceilinged, almost a perfect cube. Here was some evidence that Frank Oldershaw had occasionally pursued his studies – a few volumes of Tacitus, Virgil and Livy, and several works on mathematics, such as Waring’s Meditationes Analyticae and Vince’s Conic Sections.
‘Did Mr Oldershaw apply himself to his books?’ Holdsworth asked.
‘Rarely. His mind is not framed for scholarly pursuits. What he really cared about was racing his phaeton against Archdale’s, or the number of snipe he could bring down in a morning’s sport.’
Holdsworth opened the door opposite the window and found that it gave into a closet containing a commode and a large wardrobe. The door on the other side of it communicated with the bedroom. He looked through the clothes – wigs and coats, breeches and stockings, and shoes and boots and hats and gloves and topcoats.
‘There’s enough to clothe an entire village,’ he said over his shoulder to Richardson. ‘A village inhabited solely by the quality.’
‘Her ladyship never stints him anything that may increase his consequence. He will have a great position in the world when he comes of age, and will move in the first rank of society. Which is why his present situation is particularly galling to her.’
‘Because of pride?’
‘That’s certainly part of it. I do not mean, however, that she does not feel a mother’s love for her son. But few of us can boast of simple sentiments, unalloyed by considerations of self-interest. Even the great ones in this world.’ Richardson pulled out the sleeve of a bright green coat. ‘This is the livery that Mr Archdale will wear with such pride on Wednesday. The HG Club. The buttons have the club motto on them – Sans souci. A sad irony for Mr Oldershaw, wouldn’t you say?’
Holdsworth looked down at the cuff. ‘It’s lost a button.’
Originally there had been a line of three gilt buttons on the cuff. Now there were only two.
‘It’s on the dressing table.’ Richardson glanced out of the bedroom window. ‘The chapel clerk is on his way to ring the dinner bell. But one thing before we go, sir.’ He laid a hand on Holdsworth’s sleeve. ‘Pray, have a care.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It pains me to say this, but Dr Carbury serves only himself. If he sees a means of gaining advantage with Lady Anne at your expense, he will not scruple to use it. You must be on your guard.’
The bell began to toll.
‘Now we must hurry,’ Richardson said in a bright, cheerful voice. ‘If I do not take my seat at high table before they read grace, I shall have to pay a fine of two bottles of wine.’
14
After dinner, Elinor Carbury ordered her maid to bring the tea things to the parlour. She had hardly settled herself before she heard voices in the hall below and steps on the stairs. The door burst open and Dr Carbury advanced into the room. Behind him was Mr Holdsworth.
‘Ah – Mrs Carbury!’ her husband exclaimed, clinging to the back of a chair for support. ‘And that is the tea urn! What is it that Cowper says? “The bubbling and loud-hissing urn throws up a steamy column, and the cups that – that…”’
‘ “Cheer but not inebriate,” sir, I believe,’ Elinor said, acknowledging Holdsworth’s bow.
‘Yes, yes,’ Carbury said, throwing himself in a chair with such force that its legs moved an inch or two backward.
‘Pray be seated, Mr Holdsworth,’ Elinor said. ‘I am about to make the tea, and I am sure Susan is already bringing more cups.’ She smiled at him and saw an answering smile on his face; it quite transformed his countenance. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. I had thought you engaged with Mr Richardson this afternoon.’
Carbury suppressed a belch. ‘Later. The bishop is dining at St John’s, and Mr Richardson wished to wait on his lordship. For the usual reasons, no doubt.’
Elinor was still looking at Holdsworth. ‘Dr Carbury means that the bishop may be able to put Mr Richardson in the way of preferment.’
‘I do not hold out much hope in that quarter,’ Carbury said. ‘We shall have to put up with him a while longer.’
Elinor stirred the teapot with unusual vigour, and the clatter of the spoon was enough to stop her husband in his stride, as she had hoped. He broke off, and swiftly changed the subject, asking Holdsworth how Frank Oldershaw was. While Holdsworth was talking, Elinor passed the cups to the men.
‘Ah – poor fellow,’ Carbury said. ‘So the long and the short of it is that Jermyn is making no progress?’
‘He believes it will come in time.’
Carbury took a sip of his tea, wrinkled his nose and set down the cup, spilling some of its contents into the saucer. ‘But something must be done now! This brings the college into disrepute, it displeases her ladyship.’ His voice rose in volume. ‘And what about this ghost, Mr Holdsworth? If you could show it’s nothing but the boy’s wild imaginings, that would be something. A ghost means gossip, and there’s been too much of that already. Why, I fear we shall have fewer admissions next year, and merely because of this wretched story. No one wishes to send his son to an establishment with a ghost.’ He broke wind in a long rumble. ‘It is scarcely genteel. If you can scotch that foolish rumour, we shall be eternally grateful to you.’