Gaudy Night

by Dorothy L. Sayers

  ‘Hullo, Reggie!’ cried the young woman, ‘looking for me?’

  ‘Oh, good morning,’ said Mr. Pomfret, rather taken aback. Then, catching sight of a handsome leonine head over the student’s shoulder, he added with more assurance, ‘Hullo, Farringdon!’

  ‘Hullo, Pomfret!’ cried Mr. Farringdon. The adjective ‘Byronic’ fitted him well enough, thought Harriet. He had an arrogant profile, a mass of close chestnut curls, hot brown eyes and sulky mouth, and looked less pleased to see Mr. Pomfret than Mr. Pomfret to see him.

  Mr. Pomfret presented Mr. Farringdon of New College to Harriet, and murmured that of course Miss Flaxman was known to her. Miss Flaxman stared coolly at Harriet and said how much she had enjoyed her detective talk the other night.

  ‘We’re throwing a party at 6 o’clock,’ went on Miss Flaxman to Mr. Pomfret. She pulled off her scholar’s gown and stuffed it unceremoniously into her bicycle-basket. ‘Care to come? In Leo’s room. Six o’clock. I think we’ve room for Reggie, haven’t we, Leo?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Mr. Farringdon, rather ungraciously. ‘There’ll be an awful crowd anyway.’

  ‘Then we can always stuff in one more,’ said Miss Flaxman. ‘Don’t mind, Leo, Reggie; he’s mislaid his manners this morning.’

  Mr. Pomfret appeared to think that somebody else’s manners had also been mislaid, for he replied with more spirit than Harriet had expected of him:

  ‘I’m sorry; I’m afraid I’m engaged. Miss Vane is coming to tea with me.’

  ‘Another time will do for that,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Mr. Pomfret.

  ‘Couldn’t you both come along, then, afterwards?’ said Mr. Farringdon. ‘Always room for one more, as Catherine says.’ He turned to Harriet. ‘I hope you will come, Miss Vane. We should be delighted.’

  ‘Well—’ said Harriet. It was Miss Flaxman’s turn to look sulky.

  ‘I say,’ said Mr. Farringdon, suddenly putting two and two together, ‘are you the Miss Vane, the novelist . . .? You are! Then, look here, you simply must come. I shall be the most envied man in New College. We’re all detective fans there.’

  ‘What about it?’ said Harriet, deferring to Mr. Pomfret.

  It was so abundantly clear that Miss Flaxman did not want Harriet, that Mr. Farringdon did not want Mr. Pomfret, and that Mr. Pomfret did not want to go, that she felt the novelist’s malicious enjoyment in a foolish situation. Since none of the party could now very well get out of the situation without open rudeness, the invitation was eventually accepted. Mr. Pomfret stepped into the street to join Mr. Farringdon; Miss Flaxman could scarcely get out of accompanying Miss Vane back through the quadrangle.

  ‘I didn’t know you knew Reggie Pomfret,’ said Miss Flaxman.

  ‘Yes, we have met,’ said Harriet. ‘Why didn’t you bring Miss Cattermole home with you last night? Especially as you must have seen she was unwell.’

  Miss Flaxman looked startled.

  ‘It was nothing to do with me,’ she said. ‘Was there a row?’

  ‘No; but did you do anything to prevent it? You might have done, mightn’t you?’

  ‘I can’t be Violet Cattermole’s guardian.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Harriet, ‘you may be glad to know that some good has come of this stupid business. Miss Cattermole is now definitely cleared of all suspicion about the anonymous letters and other disturbances. So it would be quite a good idea to behave decently to her, don’t you think?’

  ‘I tell you,’ said Miss Flaxman, ‘that I don’t care one way or the other about it.’

  ‘No; but you started the rumours about her; it’s up to you to stop them, now you know. I think it would be only fair to tell Mr. Farringdon the truth. If you do not, I shall.’

  ‘You seem to be very much interested in my affairs, Miss Vane.’

  ‘They seem to have aroused a good deal of general interest,’ said Harriet bluntly. ‘I don’t blame you for the original misunderstanding, but now that it is cleared up – and you can take my word for it that it is – I am sure you will see it is unfair that Miss Cattermole should be made a scapegoat. You can do a lot with your own year. Will you do what you can?’

  Miss Flaxman, perplexed and annoyed, and obviously not quite clear what status she was to accord to Harriet, said, rather grudgingly:

  ‘Of course, if she didn’t do it, I’m glad. Very well. I’ll tell Leo.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Harriet.

  Mr. Pomfret must have run very fast both ways, for the prescription appeared in a remarkably short space of time, along with a large bunch of roses. The draught was a potent one, and enabled Miss Cattermole not only to appear in the Hall, but to eat her lunch. Harriet pursued her as she was leaving and carried her off to her own room.

  ‘Well,’ said Harriet, ‘you are a young idiot, aren’t you?’

  Miss Cattermole dismally agreed.

  ‘What’s the sense of it?’ said Harriet. ‘You have contrived to commit every crime in the calendar and got dashed little fun out of it, haven’t you? You’ve attended a meeting in a man’s rooms after Hall without leave, and you oughtn’t to have got leave, because you gatecrashed the meeting. That’s a social crime as well as a breach of rules. In any case, you were out after nine, without putting your initials in the book. That would cost you two bob. You came back to College after 11.15 without extra leave – which would be five shillings. You returned, in fact, after midnight, which would be ten shillings, even if you had had leave. You climbed the wall, for which you ought to be gated; and finally, you came in blotto, for which you ought to be sent down. Incidentally, that’s another social crime. What have you got to say, prisoner at the bar? Is there any reason why sentence should not be passed upon you? Have a cigarette.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Miss Cattermole, faintly.

  ‘If,’ said Harriet, ‘you hadn’t, by this silly piece of work, contrived to clear yourself of the suspicion of being the College lunatic, I should go to the Dean. As it is, the episode has had its usefulness, and I’m inclined to be merciful.’

  Miss Cattermole looked up.

  ‘Did something happen while I was out?’

  ‘Yes, it did.’

  ‘Oh-h-h!’ said Miss Cattermole, and burst into tears.

  Harriet watched her for a few minutes and then brought out a large clean handkerchief from a drawer and silently handed it over.

  ‘You can forget all that,’ said Harriet, when the victim’s sobs had died down a little. ‘But do chuck all this nonsense. Oxford isn’t the place for it. You can run after young men any time – God knows the world’s full of them. But to waste three years which are unlike anything else in one’s lifetime is ridiculous. And it isn’t fair to College. It’s not fair to other Oxford women. Be a fool if you like – I’ve been a fool in my time and so have most people – but for Heaven’s sake do it somewhere where you won’t let other people down.’

  Miss Cattermole was understood to say, rather incoherently, that she hated College and loathed Oxford, and felt no responsibility towards those institutions.

  ‘Then why,’ said Harriet, ‘are you here?’

  ‘I don’t want to be here; I never did. Only my parents were so keen. My mother’s one of those people who work to get things open to women – you know – professions and things. And father’s a lecturer in a small provincial University. And they’ve made a lot of sacrifices and things.’

  Harriet thought Miss Cattermole was probably the sacrificial victim.

  ‘I didn’t mind coming up, so much,’ went on Miss Cattermole; ‘because I was engaged to somebody, and he was up, too, and I thought it would be fun and the silly old Schools wouldn’t matter much. But I’m not engaged to him any more and how on earth can I be expected to bother about all this dead-and-gone History?’

  ‘I wonder they bothered to send you to Oxford, if you didn’t want to go, and were engaged.’

  ‘Oh! but they said that didn’t make any difference. Every woma
n ought to have a University education, even if she married. And now, of course, they say what a good thing it is I still have my College career. And I can’t make them understand that I hate it! They can’t see that being brought up with everybody talking education all round one is enough to make one loathe the sound of it. I’m sick of education.’

  Harriet was not surprised.

  ‘What should you have liked to do? I mean, supposing the complication about your engagement hadn’t happened?’

  ‘I think,’ said Miss Cattermole, blowing her nose in a final manner and taking another cigarette, ‘I think I should have liked to be a cook. Or possibly a hospital nurse, but I think I should have been better at cooking. Only, you see, those are two of the things Mother’s always trying to get people out of the way of thinking women’s sphere ought to be restricted to.’

  ‘There’s a lot of money in good cooking,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Yes – but it’s not an educational advance. Besides, there’s no school of Cookery at Oxford, and it had to be Oxford, you see, or Cambridge, because of the opportunity of making the right kind of friends. Only I haven’t made any friends. They all hate me. Perhaps they won’t so much, now that the beastly letters—’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Harriet, hastily, fearing a fresh outburst. ‘How about Miss Briggs? She seems to be a very good sort.’

  ‘She’s awfully kind. But I’m always having to be grateful to her. It’s very depressing. It makes me want to bite.’

  ‘How right you are,’ said Harriet, to whom this was a direct blow over the solar plexus. ‘I know. Gratitude is simply damnable.’

  ‘And now,’ said Miss Cattermole, with devastating candour, ‘I’ve got to be grateful to you.’

  ‘You needn’t be. I was serving my own ends as much as yours. But I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d stop trying to do sensational things, because it’s apt to get you into positions where you have to be grateful. And I’d stop chasing undergraduates, because it bores them to tears and interrupts their work. I’d tackle the History and get through Schools. And then I’d turn round and say, “Now I’ve done what you want me to, and I’m going to be a cook.” And stick to it.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘I expect you want to be very truly run after, like Old Man Kangaroo. Well, good cooks are. Still, as you’ve started here on History, you’d better worry on at it. It won’t hurt you, you know. If you learn how to tackle one subject – any subject – you’ve learnt how to tackle all subjects.’

  ‘Well,’ said Miss Cattermole, in rather an unconvinced tone, ‘I’ll try.’

  Harriet went away in a rage and tackled the Dean.

  ‘Why do they send these people here? Making themselves miserable and taking up the place of people who would enjoy Oxford? We haven’t got room for women who aren’t and never will be scholars. It’s all right for the men’s colleges to have hearty passmen who gambol round and learn to play games, so that they can gambol and game in Prep. Schools. But this dreary little devil isn’t even hearty. She’s a wet mess.’

  ‘I know,’ said the Dean impatiently. ‘But schoolmistresses and parents are such jugginses. We do our best, but we can’t always weed out their mistakes. And here’s my secretary – called away, because her tiresome little boy’s got chicken-pox at his infuriating school. Oh, dear! I oughtn’t to talk like that, because he’s a delicate child and naturally children must come first, but it is too crushing!’

  ‘I’ll be off,’ said Harriet. ‘It’s a shame you should have to be working of an afternoon and a shame of me to interrupt. By the way, I may as well tell you that Cattermole had an alibi for last night’s affair.’

  ‘Had she? Good! That’s something. Though I suppose it means more suspicion on our miserable selves. Still, facts are facts. Miss Vane, what was the noise in the quad last night? And who was the young man you were bear-leading? I didn’t ask this morning in Common-Room, because I had an idea you didn’t want me to.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Harriet.

  ‘And you don’t?’

  ‘As Sherlock Holmes said on another occasion: “I think we must ask for an amnesty in that direction.” ’

  The Dean twinkled shrewdly at her.

  ‘Two and two make four. Well, I trust you.’

  ‘But I was going to suggest a row of revolving spikes on the wall of the Fellows’ Garden.’

  ‘Ah!’ said the Dean. ‘Well, I don’t want to know things. And most of it’s sheer cussedness. They want to make heroes and heroines of themselves. Last week of term’s the worst for wall-climbing. They make bets. Have to work ’em off before the end of term. Tiresome little cuckoos. All the same, it can’t be allowed.’

  ‘It won’t happen again, I fancy, with this particular lot.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll speak to the Bursar – in a general way – about spikes.’

  Harriet changed her frock, pondering on the social absurdities of the party to which she was invited. Clearly Mr. Pomfret clung to her as a protection against Miss Flaxman, and Mr. Farringdon, as a protection against Mr. Pomfret, while Miss Flaxman, who was apparently her hostess, did not want her at all. It was a pity that she could not embark on the adventure of annexing Mr. Farringdon, to complete a neat little tail-chasing circle. But she was both too old and too young to feel any thrill over the Byronic profile of Mr. Farringdon; there was more amusement to be had out of remaining a buffer state. She did, however, feel sufficient resentment against Miss Flaxman for her handling of the Cattermole affair, to put on an exceedingly well-cut coat and skirt and a hat of unexceptionable smartness, before starting out for the first item in her afternoon’s programme.

  She had little difficulty in finding Mr. Pomfret’s staircase, and none whatever in finding Mr. Pomfret. As she wound her way up the dark and ancient stairs, past the shut door of one Mr. Smith, the sported oak of one Mr. Banerjee, and the open door of one Mr. Hodges, who seemed to be entertaining a large and noisy party of male friends, she became aware of an altercation going on upon the landing above, and presently Mr. Pomfret himself came into view, standing in his own doorway and arguing with a man whose back was turned towards the stairs.

  ‘You can go to the devil,’ said Mr. Pomfret.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the back; ‘but how about me going to the young lady? If I was to go and tell her that I seen you a-pushing of her over the wall—’

  ‘Blast you!’ exclaimed Mr. Pomfret. ‘Will you shut up?’

  At this point, Harriet set her foot upon the top stair, and encountered the eye of Mr. Pomfret.

  ‘Oh!’ said Mr. Pomfret, taken aback. Then, to the man, ‘Clear off now; I’m busy. You’d better come again.’

  ‘Quite a man for the ladies, ain’t you, sir?’ said the man, disagreeably.

  At these words, he turned, and, to her amazement, Harriet recognised a familiar face.

  ‘Dear me, Jukes,’ said she. ‘Fancy seeing you here!’

  ‘Do you know this blighter?’ said Mr. Pomfret.

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Harriet. ‘He was a porter at Shrewsbury, and was sacked for petty pilfering. I hope you’re going straight now, Jukes. How’s your wife?’

  ‘All right,’ said Jukes, sulkily. ‘I’ll come again.’

  He made a move to slip down the staircase, but Harriet had set her umbrella so awkwardly across it as to bar the way pretty effectively.

  ‘Hi!’ said Mr. Pomfret. ‘Let’s hear about this. Just come back here a minute, will you?’ He stretched out a powerful arm, and yanked the reluctant Jukes over the threshold.

  ‘You can’t get me on that old business,’ said Jukes, scornfully, as Harriet followed them in, shutting oak and door after her with a bang. ‘That’s over and done with. It ain’t got nothing to do with that other little affair what I mentioned.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Harriet.

  ‘This nasty piece of work,’ said Mr. Pomfret, ‘has had the blasted neck to come here and say that if I don’t pay him to keep his blasted mo
uth shut, he’ll lay an information about what happened last night.’

  ‘Blackmail,’ said Harriet, much interested. ‘That’s a serious offence.’

  ‘I didn’t mention no money,’ said Jukes, injured. ‘I only told this gentleman as I seen something as didn’t ought to have happened and was uneasy in my mind about it. He says I can go to the devil, so I says in this case I’ll go to the lady, being troubled in my conscience, don’t you see.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Harriet. ‘I’m here. Go ahead.’

  Mr. Jukes stared at her.

  ‘I take it,’ said Harriet, ‘you saw Mr. Pomfret help me in over the Shrewsbury wall last night when I’d forgotten my key. What were you doing out there, by the way? Loitering with intent? You then probably saw me come out again, thank Mr. Pomfret and ask him to come in and see the College Buildings by moonlight. If you waited long enough, you saw me let him out again. What about it?’

  ‘Nice goings-on, I don’t think,’ said Jukes, disconcerted.

  ‘Possibly,’ said Harriet. ‘But if Senior Members choose to enter their own college in an unorthodox way, I don’t see who’s to prevent them. Certainly not you.’

  ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ said Jukes.

  ‘I can’t help that,’ said Harriet. ‘The Dean saw Mr. Pomfret and me, so she will. Nobody’s likely to believe you. Why didn’t you tell this man the whole story at once, Mr. Pomfret, and relieve his conscience? By the way, Jukes, I’ve just told the Dean she ought to have that wall spiked. It was handy for us, but it really isn’t high enough to keep out burglars and other undesirables. So it’s not much good your loitering about there any more. One or two things have been missed from people’s rooms lately,’ she added, with some truth, ‘it might be as well to have that road specially policed.’

  ‘None of that,’ said Jukes. ‘I ain’t a-going to have my character took away. If it’s as you say, then I’m sure I’d be the last to want to make trouble for a lady like yourself.’

  ‘I hope you’ll bear that in mind,’ said Mr. Pomfret. ‘Perhaps you’d like to have something to remember it by.’