‘And Mr Soresby? Will he be prosecuted?’
‘No, I hope to prevent that at least. It can serve no useful purpose. Even Richardson must see the harmful effect it would have on the college as a whole.’
‘So you will merely send him down?’
He twisted in the chair so he could look fully at her. ‘I – I have not yet decided the best course of action.’
Elinor stared at him. ‘But surely he must go? He cannot be allowed to take his degree.’
Dr Carbury said nothing. He scratched his forehead under the line of his wig with a long yellow dog’s claw of a fingernail.
Ben came into the room. ‘The chops is below, your honour. Would you like them downstairs or up here on a tray?’
35
When morning chapel was over, the congregation streamed through the west door, eager for breakfast and, in the case of late risers, to finish dressing. Harry Archdale hung back, sheltering under the arcade. Huddled in their gowns, the fellows and undergraduates of Jerusalem flowed round him. Umbrellas bobbed over the rain-slicked cobbles of the court. Gradually the stream of the congregation diminished to a trickle.
At last the tall figure of Tobias Soresby appeared in the chapel doorway.
‘Soresby? Have you a moment?’
The sizar avoided looking at Archdale. ‘I regret – I am pressed for time -’
‘You needn’t worry,’ Archdale said kindly. ‘I shan’t keep you long.’ He hesitated, his assurance dropping away from him. ‘How are you?’
Soresby tried to sidle past. ‘Very well, thank you.’
Archdale moved a pace to his left, blocking Soresby’s escape. ‘Was it you?’ he burst out.
For the first time Soresby looked directly at him. The sizar’s face was pale, his eyelids were red and swollen. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But what does that matter now?’
‘I daresay it will come right in the end,’ Archdale said.
Soresby shook his head. He tugged at his fingers as if trying to pull them off. A joint popped.
‘I am sure it will look very different in a day or two. Upon my word it will.’
‘Everyone knows.’
‘What?’
‘Everyone knows,’ Soresby repeated. ‘They’re all looking at me. They’re whispering about me.’
‘Nonsense. If I were in your shoes, I’d carry on as usual. Shall you go to Ricky’s lecture this morning? Or the library?’
‘Neither.’
‘Ah. I must go to the library at least. I wish to consult Maclaurin, and also Mr Dow’s little book on Euclid. If you change your mind, perhaps you -’
‘I have borrowed the Dow, Mr Archdale,’ Soresby said. ‘I have it in my chamber – I’ll return it. I’m sorry to inconvenience you in -’
‘Oh nonsense. You do not inconvenience me in the slightest. Listen, Soresby, even if it goes against you here, there must be many other means of employment for a man of your parts.’
‘It is easy for you to say that, Mr Archdale.’
‘Yes it is, but you must listen to me even so, for it’s no more than the truth. You must let me stand your friend, do you hear? I shall speak to my uncle, Sir Charles, and see if something can be done. You must not despair.’
‘You are too good, Mr Archdale,’ Soresby said, his eyes on the ground. Another joint popped. ‘And you are in the right of it – I must not despair.’ He bowed, a quick, nervous movement like a chicken pecking. ‘Much obliged, Mr Archdale, much obliged.’
Mulgrave had loosened his stock so it would not chafe his neck so badly. The two weals, one on the neck and one on the cheek, had darkened in colour overnight, and acquired a livid tinge. But he wore clean linen and had even shaved himself. The model of respectful sobriety, he stood before Holdsworth with his head slightly bowed.
‘Obliged if I could take a day’s leave of absence, sir – a bit of business that won’t wait. I’d take it very kindly.’
The request was less a request than a statement of intent: he would have his leave of absence, whether or not it was granted. The gyp was entirely within his rights, for Holdsworth had hired his services on Frank’s behalf, and it was a contract that could be broken at any time by either party.
‘It’s inconvenient, but if your business won’t wait, then you must attend to it. Perhaps, while you’re in town, you can supply the deficiencies of the larder. We are running short of tea, you said last night, and Mr Oldershaw expressed a sudden desire for strawberries as he was going to bed.’
After Mulgrave had gone, Holdsworth sat at the breakfast table with a book in his hands but he scarcely read a word. He had woken that morning with an odd notion in his mind: yesterday, he had hardly thought of either Maria or Georgie. It had been as if his wife and his infant son had never existed. He did not know whether he should feel guilty for forgetting them or merely relieved that he had briefly escaped their shadows. But he had thought of Elinor Carbury almost constantly and at times in a way that no man should think of another man’s wife; and was that not an even greater betrayal?
There were footsteps overhead, and then on the stairs. Frank passed through the parlour on his way to the pump and the privy in the yard. His feet were bare and he wore only shirt and breeches.
‘Good morning, Mr Oldershaw.’
Frank grunted, but did not return the greeting. Five minutes later, he came back inside, his hair dripping. He left a trail of wet footprints on the parlour flagstones. ‘Where’s Mulgrave?’ he demanded. ‘I want tea and toast.’
‘He asked leave to go to Cambridge on private business.’
‘And you let him? Without consulting me? That’s coming it a bit high.’
What happened next took Holdsworth completely by surprise: he lost his temper. ‘That’s because you were not there to be consulted. If you choose to stay in bed for half the morning, you can’t expect the world to stop and wait your convenience.’
Frank’s colour deepened. ‘You can’t talk to me like that – what do you mean by it?’
‘It means you’re labouring under a misapprehension. I can talk to you like that. There is nothing in the world to stop me.’
‘You’ll regret your insolence.’
‘Will I?’
‘For a start, you’ll leave my service instantly.’
Holdsworth laughed. ‘You can’t dismiss me. Her ladyship retained my services, not you.’
Frank lunged forward. Holdsworth moved before the blow landed, and the fist connected with his shoulder rather than his face. Before Frank could hit him again, he seized the boy’s wrist and twisted it. He spun Frank around and pushed him downwards, face first over the table.
‘You don’t use force with me, sir. I’m not your servant. You’re not my master.’
Frank struggled violently, hacking at Holdsworth’s shins with his bare heels. In reply, Holdsworth jerked the boy’s arm higher up his back until Frank cried out. Holdsworth shuffled his legs back, away from the flailing feet. For a moment, neither of them moved.
With one fluid movement, the ginger cat streaked into the still silence. It had been watching events from the kitchen doorway. Now, choosing to interpret them in its own way and judging its moment had come, it leaped lightly on to the table. It miaowed. It nudged Frank’s forehead repeatedly, demanding affection from the source that experience taught was most likely to provide it. Frank shook his head, trying to repel its advances, but the cat took the movements as caresses, primitive perhaps but worthy of encouragement. It pushed the side of its head against Frank’s hair and rubbed it enthusiastically to and fro. It began to purr.
Holdsworth trembled with suppressed emotion. The laugh erupted from him in a great bellow. The cat licked Frank’s ear, as if to inspire him to further exertions. Holdsworth felt the tension ooze from Frank’s body and from his own too.