by C. P. Snow
At last he went. The door closed behind him, and Jago turned to Arthur Brown with a ravaged look. ‘Well?’
‘Well,’ said Brown comfortably, ‘if the election had been this afternoon, you would have got in nicely.’
‘Did everyone here–’
‘Everyone you’ve seen said that, as things stood at present, they were ready to vote for you.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Jago’s face lit up the room. ‘That’s wonderful.’
His smile was still radiant, but became gentler as he added: ‘I’m touched to think of dear old Eustace Pilbrow throwing away his prejudices and being ready to support me. I don’t suppose we’ve agreed on a single public issue since I became a fellow. We’ve disagreed on everything two men could disagree on. Yet he is willing to do this for me.’
‘You ought to be touched about young Luke,’ said Brown. ‘He’s the most enthusiastic supporter you’ve got. And he’s acting against his own interests.’
‘Ah, I think I’m better with young men than with people my own age.’ He added with a flash of extraordinary directness and simplicity: ‘I don’t have to show off to them, you see.’ Roy caught my eye. His smile was sharp.
Then Brown spoke: ‘I don’t want to be a skeleton at the feast, because I’ve been feeling very gratified myself, but I think it would be remiss not to remind you that the thing’s still open.’ Brown settled himself to give a caution. ‘You oughtn’t to let yourself think that we’re completely home. If the election had come off today, as I told you, you would be Master. But you realize that these people can’t give a formal pledge, and one or two actually made qualifications. I don’t think they were important qualifications, but you mustn’t think it’s absolutely cut-and-dried. The picture might just conceivably alter – I don’t think it’s at all likely, but it might – before things happen to the present Master as they must.’
‘But you’re satisfied?’ said Jago. ‘Are you satisfied? Will you tell me that?’
Brown paused, and said deliberately: ‘Assuming that the college was bound to be rather split, I consider things couldn’t look much healthier than they do today.’
‘That’s quite good enough for me.’ Jago sighed in peace, and stretched his arms like a man yawning. He smiled at the three of us. ‘I’m very grateful. I needn’t tell my friends that, I think.’
He left us, and we stood up and walked towards the window. It was a clear winter evening, the sky still bright in the west. The lamps of the court were already lit, but they seemed dim in that lucid twilight. The light in the Master’s bedroom was already shining.
‘I hope I didn’t say too much,’ said Brown to Roy Calvert and me. ‘I think it’s all right. But I’m not prepared to cheer until I hear the votes in the chapel. Some of us know,’ he said to me, with his wise, inquisitive smile, ‘that you’ve got astonishing judgement of men. But, if you’ll believe anyone like me, there are things you can only learn through having actually been through them. I’ve seen elections look more certain than this one does today, and then come unstuck.’
I was beginning to watch Jago walk slowly round the court.
‘You see,’ said Brown, ‘we haven’t much weight in our party. Pilbrow doesn’t count for very much, and you’re too young, Roy, and Eliot hasn’t been here long enough. I suppose Chrystal and I are all right, but we could do with a bit more solid weight. Put it another way: suppose another candidate crops up. Someone who was acceptable to the influential people on the other side. I think it’s just imaginable that Chrystal would feel we hadn’t enough weight to stand out against that. He might feel obliged to transfer. You noticed that he covered himself in case that might happen. I don’t say it’s likely, but it’s just as well to keep an eye open for the worst.’
Jago was walking very slowly round the court, past the door of the Lodge, past the combination room window, past the hall, back under Brown’s window. He walked slowly, luxuriously, with no sign of his usual active, jerky step. He began to walk round again, and as he turned we saw his face. It was brilliant with joy. He looked at the grass as though he were feeling: ‘my grass’. He trod on the path, and then strayed, for the love of it, on the cobbles; ‘my path, my cobbles’. He stood for a long moment in the middle of the court, and gazed round him in exaltation: ‘my college’.
He glanced at the lighted window in the Lodge, and quickly turned his head away.
‘He looks happy, doesn’t he?’ said Arthur Brown, in a steady, affectionate, protective tone. ‘He takes everything so much to heart. I only hope we manage to get him in.’
Part Two
Waiting
13: Progress of an Illness
The light in the Master’s bedroom shone over the court each night; the weeks passed, and we still had to pay our visits, talking of next year’s fellowships and how soon it would be before he could come into hall. Chrystal could not bear it, and made some ill-tempered excuse for not going into the Lodge. Hearing the excuse and taking it at its face value, Lady Muriel was contemptuous: ‘I always knew he was common,’ Roy Calvert reported her as saying.
Roy had become Lady Muriel’s mainstay. He was the only man from whom she would ask for help. It fell to him to spend hours at the Master’s bedside, keeping up the deception – and afterwards to sit with Lady Muriel in the great drawing-room, listening to doubts and sorrows that she could never manage to articulate.
Roy loved them both, and did it for love, but he was being worn down. For any of us, this service would have been nerve-racking; for Roy, with melancholia never far away, it was dangerous. But it was he who had to watch the Master’s astonishment, as, after weeks of pseudo-recovery, he found himself getting thinner and more exhausted.
We all knew that soon Lady Muriel would have to tell him the truth. Many of us wanted her to do it, just to be saved the pretence at the bedside. Men as kind as Brown and Pilbrow could not help thinking of themselves, and wanted to be saved embarrassment even at the cost of agony for the Master and his wife. Theirs was the healthy selfishness which one needs for self-protection in the face of death. If one sees another’s death with clear eyes, one suffers as Roy Calvert was suffering. Most of us see it through a veil of our own concerns: even Brown wanted Lady Muriel to tell the Master, so that Brown himself need no longer screw up his self-control before he went into the Lodge. Even Brown wanted her to tell him – but not before the feast, with everything arranged to receive Sir Horace Timberlake. As Brown said, with his usual lack of humbug: ‘It can’t make things worse for the Master if we have the feast. And we may not find another chance of getting Sir Horace down. So I do hope Lady Muriel doesn’t have to break the news till afterwards.’
As the day of the feast came near, that hope became strong all over the college. Some of us were ashamed of it; one’s petty selfishnesses are sometimes harder to face than major sins. Yet we did not want to have to cancel the feast. As though by common consent, although we did not discuss it, not a hint was dropped in the Lodge. They were not likely to have remembered the date, or to have heard of Sir Horace’s visit. We were too much ashamed to mention it. Lady Muriel must be left, we thought, to choose her own time.
The feast was fixed for Shrove Tuesday, and on the Sunday before I met Joan Royce in the court, both of us on our way to the Jagos for tea. She made a pretext for bringing in Roy’s name with the first words she spoke: and I thought how we had all done the same, in love.
The Jagos kept open house for fellows at Sunday teatime, but when we arrived they were still alone. Mrs Jago welcomed us with a greater assumption of state than ever: she had been telling herself that no one wished to see her, that Jago’s house was deserted because of her. In return, she mounted to great heights of patronage towards Joan and me.
Jago was patiently chaffing her – he was too patient, I thought – as he handed us our cups. The tea, like all the amenities which Mrs Jago chose, was the best in college; her taste was as fine as Brown’s, though not as rich. Joan, who was not domesti
cated but enjoyed her food, asked her about some shortbread. Mrs Jago was feeling too umbraged to take the question as a compliment. But then, by luck, Joan admired the china.
‘Ah, that was one of our wedding-presents,’ said Mrs Jago.
‘I suppose,’ said Joan thoughtfully, ‘there are some arguments in favour of a formal wedding.’
Mrs Jago forgot her complaint, and said with businesslike vigour: ‘Of course there are. You must never think of anything else.’
‘She means,’ said Jago, ‘that you’ll miss the presents.’
Mrs Jago laughed out loud, quite happily: ‘Well, they were very useful to us, and you can’t deny it.’
‘To tell you the truth,’ said Joan, ‘I was thinking the same myself.’ Jago’s eyes were glinting with sadistic relish.
‘You two!’ he said. ‘You pretend to like books. But you can’t get away from your sex, neither of you. How dreadfully realistic women are.’
They both liked it. They liked being bracketed together, the ageing malcontent and the direct, fierce girl. They were both melted by him; his wife, for all her shrewishness, still could not resist him, and Joan smiled as she did for Roy.
Then the two women smiled at each other with a curious tenderness, and Mrs Jago asked gently and naturally about the Master’s state.
‘Is he in any pain?’
‘No, none at all. Nothing more than discomfort sometimes.’
‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ said Mrs Jago.
Joan said: ‘He’s losing weight each day. And he’s getting a little weaker. My mother knows that the truth oughtn’t to be kept from him any longer.’
‘When will she tell him?’
‘Almost at once.’
Jago and I exchanged a glance. We did not know, could not ask, whether that meant before Tuesday.
‘It must be a terrible thing to do,’ said Mrs Jago.
‘It’s worse for them both now,’ said Joan, ‘than if she had told him that first night. I’m sure she should have done. I’m sure one should not hold back anything vital – we’re not wise enough to know.’
‘That’s a curious remark,’ said Jago, ‘for a girl your age. When I was twenty, I was certain I knew everything–’
‘You’re a man,’ said Joan, biting back after his gibe. ‘Men grow up very late.’
‘Very late,’ said Jago. He smiled at her. ‘But I’ve grown up enough now to know how completely right you are about – your mother’s mistake. She should have told him then.’
‘I hope I shouldn’t have shirked telling you, Paul,’ said Mrs Jago, ‘if it had happened to you.’
‘I should be surer of your courage,’ said Jago, ‘than I should of my own.’
She smiled, simply and winningly. ‘I hope I should be all right,’ she said.
Perhaps she would always rise, I wondered, to the great crises of their life. I wondered it still, after Joan left suddenly to go to a party and Mrs Jago was once more affronted. When Joan had gone out, Jago said: ‘There’s fine stuff in that young woman. I wish she didn’t look so sulky. But there’s wonderfully fine stuff in her.’
‘I dare say there is,’ said Mrs Jago. ‘But she must learn not to show that she’s so bored with her entertainment.’
‘It’s ten to one that she’s going to this party on the off-chance that Roy Calvert will be there,’ I said.
‘I hope she gets him,’ said Jago. ‘She would supply everything he lacks.’
‘No woman ought to get him,’ cried Mrs Jago. ‘He’s too attractive to be tamed.’
Jago frowned, and for a second she was pleased. Then she began to nag. She had been cherishing snubs all afternoon, and now she let them out. Lady Muriel, cried Mrs Jago, was too much a snob, was too much above the wives of the fellows, for anyone like herself to know the inside of the Lodge.
She could not very well ask Joan: but how did Jago expect her to make plans for furnishing it ready for them to move in?
It was then I wondered again how she would rise to the great moments.
‘I can’t think, Paul,’ she was saying, ‘how you can expect me to have the Lodge fit to live in for six months after we move. I shall be a burden on you in the Lodge anyway, but I want a fair chance to get the place in order. That’s the least I can do for you.’
It would be awkward if she spoke in that vein to others, I thought as I walked back to my rooms. Nothing would give more offence, nothing was more against the rules of that society: I decided Brown, as manager of Jago’s caucus, must know at once. As I was telling him, he flushed. ‘That woman’s a confounded nuisance,’ he said. For once he showed real irritation. Jago would have to be warned, but of all subjects it was the one where Jago was least approachable. ‘I’m extremely vexed,’ said Brown.
His composure had returned when he and Chrystal called on me after hall.
‘It’s nothing to do with the Mastership,’ he said affably. ‘We just want to make sure that we’ve got everything comfortable for Sir Horace.’
‘Can you give us a line on his tastes?’ said Chrystal.
‘We noticed last time that he took an intelligent interest in his dinner,’ said Brown. ‘We thought you might have picked up some points that we missed.’
They were competent and thorough. They took as much trouble over putting up Sir Horace as over the campaign for the Mastership. No detail was too trivial for them to attend to. I could not help at all: anything I could have told them they had docketed and acted on already. Chrystal asked me to have Sir Horace to breakfast on the Wednesday morning.
‘He’ll have got tired of our faces by then,’ he said. ‘I want him to feel he’s moving about without us following him.’ He gave his tough smile. ‘But I don’t intend him to get into the wrong hands.’
‘Winslow was asking,’ said Brown, ‘whether Sir Horace was down for any particular purpose. And if not why we should upset the seating arrangements for the feast. He wondered whether we had mistaken Sir Horace for a person of distinction.’
‘Winslow is amusing,’ said Chrystal. He made the word sound sinister. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘things are pretty well tied up for Sir Horace now.’
‘If we get him down, that is,’ said Brown. ‘There are forty-eight hours before Tuesday, and the last I heard from the Lodge wasn’t very reassuring.’
I told them what Joan had said that afternoon.
‘I’m not ready to say we’ve got Sir Horace down here,’ said Brown, ‘until I see the feast begin and him sitting at table.’
‘It’s lamentable,’ said Chrystal.
There was a rap on the door. With surprise I saw Nightingale come in. He was looking harassed, pale and intent. In a strained effort to keep the proprieties, he said good night to me, and asked if I minded him intruding. Then he addressed himself to Brown.
‘I looked in your rooms last night and tonight. You weren’t there, so I had to try your friends.’
‘Ah well,’ said Brown, ‘you’ve found me now.’
‘Is it anything private?’ I said. ‘We can easily leave you together.’
‘It may be private,’ said Nightingale. ‘But it’s nothing that Chrystal and you won’t know.’
He had sat down, and leant over the arm of his chair towards Brown and Chrystal.
‘I want to find out,’ he said, ‘how the offices will go round, once Jago is Master.’
Chrystal looked at him, and then at Brown. There was a pause.
‘Well, Nightingale,’ said Chrystal, ‘you know as much as we do.’
‘No, not quite,’ said Nightingale.
‘You know as much as we do, Nightingale,’ Chrystal repeated. ‘The only office that can possibly be affected is a tutorship. You know as well as we do that tutors are appointed by the Master.’
‘You’re only telling me pieces out of the statutes,’ said Nightingale. ‘I can read them for myself.’
‘I’m telling you the position.’
‘I know all about that. Now I want to know how ever
ything has been arranged behind the scenes,’ Nightingale smiled, with the dreadful suspiciousness of the unworldly: it is the unworldly who see neat, black, conscious designs hidden under all actions.
‘I take you up on that, Nightingale,’ said Chrystal, but Brown interrupted him.
‘If Jago becomes Master, as we hope, you’ll find that he’ll have a completely open mind about the appointment. Not a word has been said – either by him or anyone else.’
‘That’s the fact,’ said Chrystal. ‘The normal practice is for the Master to ask for advice–’
‘I know all about that,’ said Nightingale again.
‘But he needn’t follow it.’ Chrystal’s temper was very near breaking. ‘I’ve known cases where it wasn’t followed. If you’re asking me what Jago will do, I can only tell you what I think. It won’t take you very far. I assume he will make Brown Senior Tutor. That doesn’t need saying. For the other tutor he’ll have to look round.’
‘No, it doesn’t need saying,’ said Nightingale, looking at Brown.
‘It would be an outrage if it did need saying. Anyone in his senses would offer Brown that job if he had the chance,’ I burst out angrily.
For a moment Nightingale was quiet. Then he said: ‘I’ll take your word for it that the other tutorship isn’t earmarked yet. I want you to know that I expect to be considered for it myself.’
We looked at him. He went on: ‘I’m a long way senior of all the people without offices in this college. Except for Crawford who doesn’t need them. I’ve been done out of every office since I was elected. I want to prevent it happening again.’