The Troubadour

by Simon Raven

  ‘I never snubbed them, Canty.’

  ‘You packed them off pretty sharpish after the game…I’m glad you’ll be a brick about money, Thea, like Rosie said you would be.’

  ‘There will be a few conditions – let us say, suggestions for sensible economies. About those I shall be telling you later.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘When I have thought about the matter,’Theodosia said.

  ‘Have a nice time with Canteloupe?’ the Benenden scorer said, without any malice, to Rosie.

  ‘A nice time?’

  ‘It was pretty obvious. You could hardly sit still from the moment he came in. That’s why I left you two alone. Not because her ladyship high-hatted my silly louts of brothers, but so that you and Canteloupe could have the place to yourselves.’

  ‘That was very kind of you. We did have a pleasant talk.’

  ‘Canteloupe said there wasn’t to be any talking. Scoring was such torture, he said. But as long as you kept your book straight…’

  ‘Oh yes. I kept it straight. Canteloupe was a very keen cricketer, you see. He played for this school for a start. Someone once told me that he cut the ball later and finer than any man in England. He would have played for his county – for his country, perhaps – if it hadn’t been for the war. So he was watching all the time,’ babbled Rosie, ‘and when I made a mistake, he put it right.’

  ‘Like there?’ said the girl, leaning over Rosie’s scoring book and pointing to a line of Quink which wavered, wobbled, and then ran straight off the page. ‘You be careful. You’re still throbbing a bit.’

  ‘The new bowler at the far end is called Carolyn Blessington,’ Rosie said.

  Canteloupe and Theodosia sat down by Ivan Blessington just as Carolyn started to bowl. Ivan would very much have resented the arrival on his bench of anybody else, but he adored Theodosia (quite apart from having been made a rich man by her patronage) and he had served in the same regiment, and for a time in the same squadron (though much the junior), as Canteloupe; so these two, of all the world, he was very glad to see.

  Carolyn’s first two balls (off-breaks) were swept over square leg’s head for four. The third ball kept straight on and toppled the batsman’s leg stump.

  ‘That’s my good girl,’ Ivan Blessington said.

  The three of them on the bench clapped happily, while Carolyn stood bashfully by the umpire, waiting for the next batsman to come in.

  ‘What did that brute, Conyngham, have to say?’ said Ivan to Theodosia. ‘Do you think he’ll keep on banging away at me about selling Buttock’s Hotel? I know Tessa’s against it.’

  ‘In so far as he does go banging on about that,’ said Theodosia, ‘I think it is because in that respect and most others he is genuinely anxious to do his best for Teresa. Thus he is very keen, she tells me in her letters, that she should have enough ready money and not be wholly dependent on her income from the hotel.’

  ‘I put his mind at rest about that,’ Ivan said.

  ‘But over one thing,’ said Theodosia, ‘he is getting ready to turn nasty. He has some plan, he tells me, in which he has allotted a simple but essential role to Teresa. This plan is harmless from my point of view and Teresa’s – or so he assures me – and her part in it is an easy one. But if she should disoblige him in this matter, he will keep her from me.’

  ‘Why should she disoblige him?’ Canteloupe said.

  ‘He refuses to say what the plan is; but one thing is evident – that he envisages the possibility that Teresa might refuse to assist him. The plan itself, therefore, must be shady, and he himself must be in doubt about the propriety, from Tessa’s point of view, of her co-optation.’

  ‘But if the plan is harmless –’ began Ivan.

  ‘– Why is he keeping it secret?’ said Theodosia.

  ‘For the same reason, perhaps, as one keeps an agreeable surprise a secret,’ Canteloupe contributed.

  ‘Perhaps,’ conceded Theodosia. ‘But why, if the thing is agreeable, is he afraid lest Teresa should reject her role in it?’

  ‘The role could be in some way burdensome even if the plan itself were designed to bring happiness.’

  ‘Teresa would never refuse drudgery or boredom,’ said Lady Canteloupe, ‘if they were a necessary condition of bringing good to another. But when was a plan of Raisley Conyngham’s ever designed to bring good to anybody?’

  Carolyn’s first over had ended without further incident. Her second brought two wickets, both clean bowled, in the first two balls.

  ‘Conyngham is well known as a superb teacher,’ said Canteloupe when they had finished clapping the second wicket. ‘That way he must bring good, and plan to do so.’

  ‘Do you mean that he gets good examination results for his pupils,’ said Ivan, ‘or that he lights a fire in their breasts which will not be put out?’

  No one really knew the answer to this, for it was a question that required a lot of notice. All prudently said nothing, until,

  ‘I wonder whether Carolyn will get her hat-trick,’Theodosia said.

  But even as she wondered, the Captain of Benenden, a high and spindly girl with a fierce, pocky face, stalked out of the pavilion waving a declaration, and the girls left the field slowly and sedately, as at the command of a Priestess of Mysteries.

  A few minutes later, Jakki, Carolyn and Tessa, wearing the pink blazers of the Girls’ XI (conferred, out of deference to their sex, on invitation to play, not fought for and awarded, like Marius his cap), came walking over Harlequin’s, all in line.

  ‘Tea. Tea, tea, tea,’ they said.

  Jakki and Carolyn took one arm each of their father, and Tessa took one of Theodosia’s. Canteloupe could have taken the other, had not Teresa and Theodosia moved off together too deftly, leaving Canteloupe spare.

  But only for a moment. Soon came Rosie and the hawk-nosed girl, to claim him.

  ‘I’m sorry I was rude about your wife,’ said the hawk-nosed girl. ‘Rosie will explain to you later.’

  The order of march was now as follows: Theodosia and Tessa in the lead, then Canteloupe, Rosie and the boyish Benenden number, and Blessington with his daughters (who had loitered over family photographs) last. They all made for the terrace above the 1st XI ground, because tea for the Girls’ XI was to be served in the 1st XI pavilion on the far side of Green (there being no room for reflections in the log cabin by Harlequin’s) before the 1st XI and the Butterflies had theirs, which would not be for another half hour.

  As Canteloupe and his chums came along the terrace, the Captain of the School XI, which was now fielding, held up his hand to suspend play, came up the steps from Green to the terrace, took off his cap, and said to Canteloupe:

  ‘You are Lord Canteloupe.’

  ‘Pray, sir, call me “Canteloupe”,’ Canteloupe replied.

  The rest of the 1st XI, both batsmen and both umpires, and the Butterfly men who had been watching on the boundary came up the steps after the Captain of the School XI.

  ‘Canteloupe,’ said the Captain, a round and laughing boy called Robert Oliver, ‘that was once called Detterling; who many years ago made 222 on this ground. We have often heard of it from the Senior Usher, who died last year, and there is a plaque in the changing room, recording that you are the only boy who ever made a double century on Green in a school match. And so now… Canteloupe that once was Detterling we ask that you will walk across Green with us, you with the two ladies you have on your arms, and the other ladies and gentlemen of your company.’

  The School 1st XI and the Butterflies made a half circle behind Canteloupe and his friends, and walked with them across Green to the 1st XI pavilion, gently clapping as they went. Then Canteloupe said, ‘Thank you, gentlemen; I shall remember your courtesy’, and led his party into the pavilion for tea, while the cricketers replaced their caps and ran back on to Green at a smartish pace, in order to make up for lost time.

  Raisley Conyngham had observed this scene from a bench halfway down a long row of trees whic
h began just below the terrace. It gave him nothing but pleasure, as he approved of this kind of compliment when paid to the old, the distinguished, and the noble. The Headmaster, who was sitting with Raisley, did not approve, as he was not only progressive but mean-minded with it. What a good thing, thought Raisley, that this time next year this disagreeable man beside me will be at Brydales. Brydales was a crank school, at which, oddly enough, Raisley himself had been educated, somewhere in the West Country; and Raisley knew, though his companion and Headmaster did not, that he (the Headmaster) had been chosen from the short-listed applicants to take up the ‘Eldership’ of Brydales from the following September. Had the telegram service still operated, the Headmaster would already have known this himself; but as it was he had been sent an express letter (the Brydales telephone line having been cut by one of the many delinquent pupils) which he would receive, with a bit of luck, next morning.

  How then did Raisley Conyngham know of this decision?

  He had bribed several members of the selection board, with whom he had been acquainted since his school days in the place, to ensure precisely this result, some ten days before.

  Money well spent, Raisley was now thinking; rather a lot of money (it was amazing how avaricious the alumni of high principled establishments like Brydales could become) but unquestionably well spent, had it been four times the figure. This sanctimonious and prying fool will be out of the way by the beginning of next Oration (Michaelmas) quarter. Why any man (Raisley thought) should wish to be ‘Elder’ of Brydales, rather than Headmaster of this ancient and civilised school, must pass rational comprehension; but so it is, and it suits my purpose well enough. If all goes to plan, I shall be in a position to have the medical and psychiatric complex (and the personal relations laboratory) dismantled before next Christmas, and an attractive museum devoted to pagans, apostates and heretics (with a particularly enticing presentation of Catharism) set up instead.

  When Jeremy and Fielding reached Xanthos, Jeremy said:

  ‘Very odd that Carmilla hasn’t sent us a single word all this time. Do you suppose that Milo forgot to tell her which places we were going to?’

  ‘No. Milo is much too keen on sucking up to forget to deliver a message.’

  ‘Of course you’re right,’ said Jeremy, ‘though I wish you wouldn’t put it so balefully… But if she knew where we were going to be, she might have sent us a nice, newsy letter, even if she didn’t want us, just to keep us in touch.’

  ‘Perhaps she hasn’t got any news for newsy letters,’ Fielding said; ‘or perhaps she’s too busy with her mediaeval diseases.’

  ‘Isn’t that Marigold Helmutt over there, getting on that bus?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fielding. ‘I was just looking at this tomb. The inscription says that the incumbent was a witch who gave birth to triplets at the age of seventy-four.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve done the Greek arithmetic right? Damn. That bus has gone. Now we shall never know whether or not that was Marigold I saw.’

  ‘Does it matter? You were right about the arithmetic. I read hepta for hexa. She was only sixty-four.’

  ‘I think it does matter,’ said Jeremy, ‘about Marigold. I think her appearance is a sign from the gods that we ought to go home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we associate her with England.’

  ‘But you’re not even certain that it was Marigold.’

  ‘Whoever it was made me think of Marigold.’

  ‘Obviously you’re going to give me no peace,’ said Fielding, ‘until I agree with you. So let’s go home. I am getting very tired of Turkish food. How shall we go? We’re rather out of the way here in Lycia.’

  ‘Dump the car for collection, take a ferry to Cyprus, and then fly.’

  ‘Suits me,’ said Fielding. ‘After all, you’re paying. Can we go to the Castle of Buffavento, in the Kyrenia Mountains, before we catch our plane from Cyprus?’

  ‘Why do you want to go to Buffavento?’

  ‘Many years ago I spent an interesting afternoon there,’5 Fielding said. ‘I don’t remember it too clearly now, but I do remember that it was absolutely breath-taking. If I retrace my steps, I may recall just what I found so exciting…and find out whether it still excites me.’

  ‘Well, and why not?’ Jeremy said. ‘Marigold or no Marigold, I don’t suppose the gods are so urgent that a day or two makes any difference.’

  Raisley Conyngham and Giles Glastonbury sat together behind the dedans of the tennis court at Lord’s, watching a spry but elderly member play with the junior pro.

  ‘Bloody boring, this,’ said Glastonbury.

  ‘Not as boring as the cricket. And much warmer. Anyway, I’ve got something entertaining to tell you.’

  ‘What’s that going to cost me?’ said Giles Glastonbury.

  ‘A word or two in somebody’s ear when the time is ripe.’

  ‘Well up, Mr Kark,’ called the junior pro.

  ‘Kark; unusual name,’ said Glastonbury, who was beginning to go to pieces and was now unable to concentrate on one thing for very long. However, he still enjoyed a good intrigue, in fact it was about the only thing he did still enjoy, so Raisley was letting him in on this one partly to do him a kindness (for Raisley could be kind) and partly because Giles could be of real if marginal assistance.

  ‘Listen carefully to me,’ prompted Raisley, ‘and you will hear something to your advantage.’

  ‘That pro just called a hazard chace wrong,’ Glastonbury grumbled; ‘can nobody get anything right these days?’

  ‘Listen to me,’ repeated Raisley in a soft, comfortable voice. ‘For some time I have known that the Headmaster of my school has been hankering to go to somewhere else more modern and trend-setting.’

  ‘Your place is bad enough in that way,’ said Giles. ‘Those damned girls all over the place.’

  ‘Girls are nothing these days,’ Raisley Conyngham said. ‘Really trend-setting schools have pygmies, heroin addicts, pregnant twelve-year-olds, and homicidal teenage rapists. My man is going to a relatively moderate one, Brydales, where they are wary of the addicts and the rapists – though reputedly tolerant of vampires.’

  ‘Vampires, Conyngham?’

  ‘A new affliction, recently the subject of a celebrated television programme. Quite ordinary children suddenly wake up one morning and start chewing each others’ throats in a manner that ranges from the affectionate to the severely injurious.’

  ‘If I were your man, I wouldn’t care for that. Don’t know where you are. Better a homicidal rape, and done with it.’

  ‘However that may be,’ said Raisley, ‘going he is, and that pretty soon, and I propose to replace him in the headmastership myself.’

  ‘Surely that will interfere with all the things you enjoy – like teaching the Classics and taking long sabbaticals?’

  ‘There will be compensations for that. You should know, Glastonbury, that I am gradually assembling a special community of deeply committed people to serve certain of my ideas and purposes –’

  ‘– A sort of private intelligence network? –’

  ‘– You might call it that –’

  ‘– Max de Freville used to have one. Damned expensive.’

  ‘But not so expensive,’ said Raisley, ‘if you recruit your rank and file from the adherents of a religion or sect which has some very special appeal for them, and convince them that by serving you they serve the sect. Then they come quite cheap. And the whole business becomes positively economic, as well as far more efficient, if you procure your officer corps, Giles, from some well found and wealthy organisation, Giles, such as a major public school. You then have leaders who are largely self-financing, as they are either affluent by birth, or well placed in profitable professions, or both.’

  ‘Ahhhhh,’ said Giles, loving this: ‘So you propose to choose some of the more suitable lads and lassies from that school of yours –’

  ‘– Rather a lot of them, I hope; then give them
special treatment and training, for which I have one excellent prototype already: Master Marius Stern. I had hoped for Milo Hedley and Teresa Malcolm as further shining examples and fuglemen, so to speak, of my methods. But Milo has gone off the rails and Teresa rebelled almost from the start. But Marius I absolutely possess –’

  ‘– And if once you have control of the school, there will be many more Mariuses?’

  ‘Right,’ Raisley Conyngham said.

  ‘But first, old man, you’ve got to get yourself made Headmaster.’

  ‘Right,’ Raisley Conyngham repeated. ‘Now, I have here a list of members of the governing body. Some will respond to a direct gift of money, others to suitable kinds of flattery, others again to recommendations in my favour from highly placed and connected people, such as yourself ’ – for although Glastonbury was deteriorating mentally, he had quite a long way to go, was a distant cousin of the Monarch, and would so remain however far he went.

  ‘Call me when the time comes.’

  ‘Thank you, Giles. But there is one great big buzzing bluebottle in this delectable ointment. I refer to Luffham of Whereham.’

  ‘Peter Morrison as was? Young Jeremy’s father?’

  ‘Peter Morrison as was. Young Jeremy’s father. He mistrusts and dislikes me very much indeed, and has great influence in the affairs of the school. A distinguished and ennobled old boy, he was recently paid the highest honour which the school can offer to one of its alumni: he was arrayed in the purple gown of honour as Honorabilis et Honoratus.’

  ‘Some schools,’ said Glastonbury, who had been at Eton, ‘don’t half give themselves silly airs.’

  ‘The fact remains, Glastonbury, that Luffham of Whereham is greatly honoured by and at the school of which I wish to be Headmaster. He will do and say everything he can to prevent the appointment. He will be followed, heard, and obeyed. Therefore my first step must be –’

  ‘– To rub out Luffham of Whereham.’

  ‘Don’t be so coarse and offensive, Giles.’

  ‘We’d have thought nothing of it when I was serving with Special Intelligence in India.’