The Anatomy of Ghosts

by Andrew Taylor

  Frank said, ‘Isn’t that Whichcote’s footboy?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mepal said. ‘He’s attending Mr Whichcote.’

  ‘Whichcote?’ Frank spoke so loudly that the boy heard and raised his head. ‘Do you mean to tell me he’s here in college?’

  Augustus picked up a small but heavy black valise stamped with Whichcote’s crest and secured with two brass locks. He staggered with it to the bedroom door.

  ‘Not in there,’ Mrs Phear said. ‘In the other room, the little study.’

  Augustus changed direction. Dorcas was already there, setting up a writing desk on the table.

  The pile of baggage stood just inside the sitting-room door. Mrs Phear was at the table. Whichcote stood on the hearthrug in front of the empty fireplace, his thumbs hooked in his waistcoat pockets.

  ‘Words cannot express how obliged I am –’ he began.

  ‘Words need not express anything at all, my dear Philip.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Mr Richardson made no difficulty?’

  ‘None in the slightest. He’s not a fool. He grasped the situation in an instant.’

  ‘Still, I am surprised he did not need more convincing.’

  ‘Two reasons for that, I fancy, ma’am. The first is that he was already late for a meeting in the combination room. And the second reason, the more important, is that the situation at Jerusalem is particularly delicate at present.’ He winced as Augustus allowed the edge of the valise to graze the corner of the table.

  ‘The reason for the meeting?’

  ‘On the surface, at least – there is some scandal afoot involving one of the sizars. He was caught red-handed in a theft and now he’s run off. But the real news is the Master. It appears he is very ill.’

  Mrs Phear’s eyes slid away from the window. ‘Dying?’

  ‘I believe Richardson thinks he may be. Certainly he wishes it. And if he does, there will be an election. The very last thing Richardson will want is anything else that smacks of scandal. A word or two in the right ears would quite destroy his chances. To be a head of house, the Master of Jerusalem, is the very summit of his ambitions.’

  There was a clatter from the study and a sharp intake of breath. When Augustus and Dorcas came out of the room Mrs Phear beckoned them over.

  ‘A faithful servant is pleasing in the eyes of God,’ Mrs Phear announced. ‘A faithful servant never prattles of his master’s business. He is always on the watch to find any way he may serve his master better. On the other hand, an unfaithful servant infallibly lives to regret his treachery. He will weep bitter tears. And then, after his miserable death, he will go to hell.’

  The children stared at the carpet. The tips of Augustus’s ears turned red. Dorcas dug her nails into her pale, freckled forearms, which were already covered with scratches.

  ‘Well, get along with you,’ Mrs Phear said indulgently. ‘Satan soon finds work for idle hands.’

  In a touching display of quasi-feudal loyalty, the bedmaker showed her joy at seeing Mr Frank by throwing her apron over her head and weeping loudly. Embarrassed, Frank fulfilled his side of the bargain by asking Holdsworth to give her half-a-crown on his behalf. When matters had been settled to everyone’s satisfaction, the bedmaker departed in search of hot water and Frank made a tour of his rooms.

  Holdsworth sat at the table with pen and ink and began to write a letter. He had hardly begun when Frank returned to the sitting room and stood over him, blocking the light. The young man dropped something metallic on the table, a gilt button that sparkled in the sunlight.

  Holdsworth touched it with his forefinger. It was the missing button from Frank’s coat in the club livery. Mr Richardson had mentioned that it was on the dressing table when he showed Holdsworth the rooms.

  ‘Sans souci,’ Frank said. He swallowed. ‘Devilish funny, ain’t it?’

  ‘Why?’

  Frank did not reply but a flicker of movement passed across his features. His eyes had filled with tears. He turned aside and examined the spines of the volumes in the bookcase.

  ‘What is it?’ Holdsworth said.

  ‘Nothing.’ Frank did not turn. ‘Nothing at all.’

  After a moment, Holdsworth dipped his pen in the ink and continued the letter.

  ‘Anyway, what are you doing?’ Frank said, still staring at the books.

  ‘Writing to her ladyship to acquaint her with what’s happened and inform her that you are back in residence in Jerusalem. And therefore I intend to resign my responsibilities.’

  Frank swung round. ‘No, Mr Holdsworth, pray don’t do that.’

  ‘Write to your mother?’

  ‘No – resign. I have turned it over in my mind and – well, I spoke hastily just now. I’d much rather you stayed with me for a little while yet.’

  ‘I consider I have discharged what her ladyship hired me to do, sir.’

  ‘And so indeed you have, as far as it touches me. Still, I would take it as a favour if you would delay your departure. I might have a relapse, after all, and there’s the matter of the college library and my father’s books, remember. My mother will still want your advice on that.’

  Holdsworth looked at him without speaking. Then he shrugged. ‘I will make a bargain with you, sir. I will agree to stay for two or three nights, to conclude my survey of the library for her ladyship.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, I take it kindly, I do indeed, and –’

  ‘On one condition. That you do not cause a scandal with Mr Whichcote. If you encounter him while you are here, you must ignore him as far as possible. You must not offer him any provocation.’

  ‘But, sir, I cannot –’ There was a knock on the door and Frank stopped speaking. Unexpectedly his face broke into a smile. ‘Very well, sir,’ he murmured to Holdsworth. He raised his voice. ‘Come in.’

  The door opened, and Mr Richardson entered. The tutor seized Frank’s hand and shook it up and down. He congratulated Frank on his restoration to health. Such was his emotion, he too wiped away what appeared to be a tear from his eye.

  ‘Well, sir, I won’t pretend I’m not glad to be back,’ Frank said. ‘But pray tell me, what’s Mr Whichcote doing here? We saw his footboy as we came in and Mepal says he’s staying in college.’

  ‘That’s quite correct, Mr Oldershaw.’

  ‘I wish he wasn’t, sir.’

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Whichcote’s affairs are somewhat embarrassed. When he asked me for refuge, I could hardly deny him. It’s not easy to turn away an old Jerusalem man in distress.’

  ‘I hear more writs are on the way,’ Holdsworth said.

  Richardson bowed. ‘You’re well informed, sir. But the bailiffs cannot reach him here. He will be perfectly safe as long as he does not stir from the boundaries of the college during the day, except on Sundays. He will have leisure to arrange his affairs and find the way out of his difficulties. But now let us talk of something more pleasant. I hope you will prolong your stay in Jerusalem, Mr Holdsworth? We must not forget the library.’

  ‘Just what I’ve been saying, sir,’ Frank put in. ‘My mother would insist on it.’

  ‘In that case you must not refuse us, sir. By the way, did you tell Mr Oldershaw the sad news about our library clerk, Mr Soresby?’

  Holdsworth shook his head.

  ‘Soresby?’ Frank said. ‘The sizar? What of him?’

  ‘I regret to say he stands accused of stealing a book from the library,’ Richardson said. ‘Such a promising young man, too, and with the world at his feet. To compound the matter further, he has run off.’

  ‘How very tiresome,’ Frank said mechanically. ‘Oh, and by the way, sir, Mepal says the Master is indisposed. Where will Mr Holdsworth stay? He had better not go back to the Master’s Lodge.’

  ‘If I am to be here for another day or two, I’ll find lodgings in the town,’ Holdsworth said.

  ‘No, no,’ Frank said. ‘I am sure Mr Richardson would not hear of it – eh, sir?’

  ‘The college would be delighted to entertain
you, Mr Holdsworth. Leave it with me, and I shall see what can be done. We shall find you somewhere in New Building, I am sure.’ Richardson turned to Frank. ‘You will dine in hall with us, I hope, Mr Oldershaw? That is, if you are well enough. Perhaps you would prefer to rest after your journey from Whitebeach.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, I am perfectly well,’ Frank said testily. ‘I shall dine in hall. And Mr Holdsworth too.’

  Richardson smiled. ‘Oh yes, of course – and Mr Holdsworth.’

  39

  ‘Remember,’ Mrs Phear said, ‘you must not stir outside the college walls during the day.’

  ‘Why, ma’am, I can hardly forget with those jackals waiting at the gates.’

  There came the sound of breaking crockery from the gyp room where Augustus and Dorcas were clearing away the tea things.

  Mrs Phear screwed up her mouth. ‘Dorcas,’ she said, not troubling to raise her voice unduly.

  Her maid appeared, wiping her hands on her apron, and curtsied clumsily.

  ‘What was broken? Who was responsible?’

  ‘If you please, ma’am, it was a teacup, and it slipped out of my hand, ma’am, I’m terrible sorry, I –’

  ‘You’re a wicked, clumsy girl,’ Mrs Phear observed without anger, as one expressing a fact. ‘You shall go without your dinner today. I have noticed before, an overfull stomach makes you inattentive and stupid.’

  ‘If you please, ma’am,’ Augustus said, from the doorway of the gyp room. ‘Please don’t be hard on her, it was my fault, she was handing it to me, and I –’

  ‘Be silent,’ Whichcote snapped.

  Mrs Phear turned back to Whichcote and said in the sweet, soft voice she reserved for him, ‘I shall leave you, my dear. I must have my dinner and you will soon want yours.’

  ‘You must allow me to escort you, ma’am.’

  ‘At least as far as the gates.’ She smiled at him. ‘But mind you lock your doors here. The door of the study, as well as your oak. Your future is there.’

  Followed by Dorcas, Mrs Phear and Whichcote went downstairs and into the sunshine. Mrs Phear paused on the way to admire the majestic spread of the oriental plane.

  ‘It is truly charming,’ she observed. ‘If you have to spend a few weeks in exile, there are worse places to be.’

  They strolled through the arcade and across Chapel Court to the main gate. Mepal was not in his lodge but outside on the forecourt by St Andrew’s Street, engaged in conversation with two men wearing black.

  Mrs Phear laid her hand on Whichcote’s arm. ‘Ah – your jackals, I fancy.’

  They shook hands. But before Mrs Phear passed through the gateway, they heard quick, light footsteps behind them. Augustus ran up to them with a handkerchief that he held out to Mrs Phear with a low, swift bow, like a duck tucking its head underwater.

  ‘Found it on your chair, ma’am.’

  Mrs Phear nodded to Dorcas, who stepped forward, head bowed, and took the handkerchief from Augustus. Whichcote saw the girl’s sidelong glance at Augustus, and his at her. Surely Mrs Phear’s beanpole and his own grubby dwarf could not be sweethearts? The very idea struck him as so bizarre that he almost laughed out loud.

  When Mrs Phear had gone, Whichcote walked back to his rooms. He paused outside his staircase in New Building. As chance would have it, Frank was coming from the direction of the Jericho, looking across the garden as he walked. He did not see Whichcote until it was too late to avoid him.

  ‘I am rejoiced to see you in college,’ Whichcote said blandly. He was alert for any possibility of violence; he would not be caught off guard again. ‘Dare your friends hope that this means you are entirely recovered? I do hope so.’

  Frank muttered something and tried to slip past him.

  Whichcote moved to block him. ‘We shall be near neighbours. Augustus, go upstairs and wait for me outside my door.’ He waited until the boy was gone. ‘I have come into residence myself for a few days, or even a few weeks. I’m here in New Building – in G4. You must do me the honour of calling on me.’

  ‘I’ll see you damned first.’

  ‘That remains to be seen. If I were to tell the authorities what you did to that girl and bring witnesses to support the accusation, it is very probable that you would be damned before me.’

  ‘What do you mean – what in God’s name do you want?’

  ‘All in good time. I am sure we shall discuss this further. You may be interested to hear that I took the precaution of bringing the archives of the Holy Ghost Club when I came into college. They are exquisitely absorbing. For example, there’s your signature, all duly witnessed, in the membership book. You were pleased enough to become an Apostle, weren’t you? And you did so on the very night the girl died. On the very night that all these people saw you with her, about to seize her and deflower her. Yes, just before she died. The implication must be that the one led to the other.’

  Frank seized Whichcote’s arm. ‘You blackguard,’ he hissed. ‘How dare you? Is this your revenge for Sylvia? And for me giving you a ducking?’

  Whichcote stared at him but said nothing. Frank was larger than he was and Whichcote already knew the young man’s capacity for violence. But he also knew that power takes many forms. After a few seconds, Frank released his grip and took a step back.

  Whichcote straightened the sleeve of his coat. ‘We shall talk later. No doubt you will want to run to your bear-leader, Holdsworth, and cry on his shoulder. You must not let me detain you. But I warn you, it won’t answer. You and I will have to come to an accommodation sooner or later.’

  Elinor Carbury had a headache. She sat at her writing table and composed the third draft of her letter to Lady Anne Oldershaw. She hated herself for writing it. Life had made her do a great many things that encouraged her to hate herself.

  There was a tap on the door, and Susan entered. She closed the door and stood with head bowed, waiting for her mistress to speak.

  ‘What is it?’ Elinor said, dipping her pen in the inkwell.

  There was no reply. She glanced at her maid. There were tears running down her cheeks.

  ‘What is it?’ Elinor repeated, more sharply. ‘For heaven’s sake –’

  ‘Oh, ma’am, I have been so foolish.’ The girl cried harder. ‘So sinful,’ she gulped between sobs. ‘And you such a kind mistress! So generous! Oh, my heart could break.’

  ‘Do stop crying and tell me what it is,’ Elinor ordered.

  Susan looked up. She said quietly, in her normal voice, ‘Oh, ma’am – I’m with child.’

  Elinor had a brief and unwelcome vision of white muscular thighs pumping up and down in the wash-house. ‘You foolish girl. Whose is it? Ben’s?’

  The maid nodded. ‘I couldn’t help myself, ma’am, he was so pressing. I’m sorry to trouble you, now of all times, with the Master like he is.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am – I’ve missed my courses twice and soon it’ll be again.’

  ‘Has this been going on for long?’

  ‘Since March – he persuaded me to walk out with him one night under the big tree and … and he took advantage of me. Soon the baby will show. You’ll turn me out without a character and it’ll be the poorhouse for –’

  ‘Do stop talking,’ Elinor snapped. ‘You’re making my headache worse. Can you not marry Ben and be done with it?’

  There was a knock on the door downstairs.

  ‘He’d lose his place and so would I, ma’am. And we’ve nothing to fall back on.’

  ‘Let me turn it over in my mind,’ Elinor said. ‘You have been a very foolish girl. But perhaps something can be retrieved.’

  A visitor was coming up the stairs. Ben announced Mr Richardson. The servant’s eyes widened as he saw Susan standing red-faced by the door. Mr Richardson bowed, with a graceful flutter of his fingers. Elinor sent the servants away.

  ‘I do not wish to disturb the Master,’ Richardson said when they were alone. ‘But I wanted to find out how my dear friend d
oes. Is there any change?’

  ‘No, sir. He is sleeping. The nurse is with him and has orders to call me when he wakes.’

  ‘Ah – what does the poet tell us? – “Tir’d Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy Sleep!’’’ Richardson murmured. ‘I bring with me the good wishes of the entire fellowship, of course, and the assurance of our prayers. But one other reason I presumed to call again was that I had a piece of news. News that Dr Carbury may find cheering. And so, I believe, will you, my dear madam. Mr Oldershaw has returned to college.’

  ‘I am rejoiced to hear it. Is he paying a visit or –?’

  ‘Oh no. He seems fully restored, and I believe he intends to come back into residence, at least until the end of term.’

  ‘I shall be sure to tell Dr Carbury. What of Mr Holdsworth? Since Mr Oldershaw no longer has any need of him, I suppose he will return to London.’

  ‘Not yet. He has to complete his survey of the library, and it is not impossible that Mr Oldershaw may have need of him again. So I have arranged for him to have a guest apartment in New Building. When he heard how things were with the Master, he did not want to disturb him – or of course you, madam.’

  Elinor bowed her head. ‘Is there news of Mr Soresby?’

  ‘He appears to have vanished from the face of the earth. But we have another visitor. Mr Whichcote is in college. I hope this won’t distress you.’

  Elinor looked up and surprised an air of calculation on the tutor’s face. ‘Why should you suppose it might?’

  ‘I feared the sight of him might bring painful memories of your dear friend, Mrs Carbury. I meant nothing else.’

  She thanked Richardson for his consideration. She said nothing more and he rose to take his leave. After he had gone, she sat at her writing desk, pen in hand, but could not write another word. She thought about her dying husband, about John Holdsworth, almost within a stone’s throw of where she sat, and about Sylvia. Elinor did not know whether she loved or hated Sylvia now. Richardson had touched a sore spot when he mentioned her. All the memories were painful.