Matricide at St. Martha's (17 page)

‘What’s happening?’

‘There’s a meeting of the College Council to decide who’s in charge now the Mistress is dead.’

‘It rather smacks of indecent haste, doesn’t it?’

‘You’re telling me, but somehow or other Bridget persuaded the Deputy Mistress to call it. My guess is she’s hoping the Bursar won’t be back for it in time.’

‘You don’t know where she is?’

‘Enjoying a night of passion with Myles Cavendish, presumably, but I’ll be very surprised if she isn’t here early tomorrow. She’ll know bloody well that they will get up to no good in her absence and contrary to appearances, Jack has a very highly developed sense of duty. More whisky?’

‘No, thank you. I’ve had more than enough.’

‘Ah, good. You’ve recovered. So what does tomorrow hold for you?’

‘Well, we’ll spend tomorrow morning sorting out timings and alibis and all that kind of thing, so with a bit of luck we’ll end up with a shortlist of suspects.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks, Robert. I’d better be off. How are you fixed tomorrow night?’

‘I can be free if you want me.’

‘I’ll pick you up at the gate at eight in a taxi. I know a restaurant in Grantchester where we’re unlikely to run into anyone.’

‘Good night. Watch yourself tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

‘You know what he’s trying to do, don’t you?’

‘Who?’

‘Romford. He’s trying to save you. He was just softening you up tonight.’

‘Well, he can’t do it while on duty and the only way he’s going to see me off duty again is if he kidnaps me. Anyway, we Pooleys have been pillars of the Church of England since the Reformation and we’re not going to break the tradition now.’

He closed the door behind him with a decisive bang.

Amiss’s prediction about the Bursar was right. A quarter of an hour before the time fixed for the College Council, he sneaked down to her office on the off-chance she was back and found her there, pink-cheeked, full of beans and with the light of battle in her eye.

‘Have you had a nice break, Bursar? You certainly chose your moment.’

‘One must always seize the moment, Robert – grab the opportunity. That’s what distinguishes the men from the boys.’

‘What about distinguishing the dykes from the straights?’ he said testily. ‘It’s a bit baffling for us simple-minded folk when a knight on a white charger makes off with an elderly maiden wearing the logo “DYKE POWER”.’

‘I like to keep people guessing.’

‘You do a very good job of that, Jack, or should I call you Ida?’

‘Young Pooley blabbed, I see. Well if I were you, young Robert, I would not be too free with this knowledge. We Troutbecks do not easily forgive or forget. Now, have you anything worth telling me?’

‘I’ve discovered Mary Lou isn’t what she seems.’

‘Well that was blindingly obvious. I always knew it from the glint in her eye.’

‘Knew what?’

‘A bit of a goer and bored with the company of Sandra. She’s a potential recruit for the Virgins. I’ll give it my attention.’

She fished her badge out of her pocket and pinned it to her lapel.

‘Why are you persisting in wearing that? It’s hardly going to cut much ice with the Dykes since you reverted to your old ways.’

‘Rubbish. This is for the benefit of the students, nipping any revolution in the bud. They’re so muddled now, poor little dears, they wouldn’t know which of us to follow. I have taken out the main enemy ammunition dump; now it’s time to deal with the generals.’

‘It’s lucky you came back. I think they were trying to hold the meeting without you.’

‘I thought they’d do something like that. That’s why I rang Emily last night and got the low-down. There seems to be an unholy alliance between the ghastly Bridget and the different but equally ghastly Deborah.’

‘What’s our strategy?’

‘You keep mum and leave it to me.’

20

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There was a full turn out at the College Council. Sitting in the Mistress’s chair, Dr Windlesham was brief.

‘We are here to express our collective sadness at the death of our friend and colleague and to elect her successor.’

The Bursar broke in. ‘You are not proposing that we do that today?’

‘It is of the essence, Bursar. The college is in a state of crisis; it must not remain leaderless.’

‘I agree,’ said Bridget.

‘So do I,’ said Sandra.

Carol Carter, the dim Student Representative, nodded vigorously.

‘Oh dear, well I suppose so,’ squeaked the Senior Tutor.

The Bursar looked around, visibly calculated numbers, shrugged and sat back in her chair.

‘I should like to propose the Deputy Mistress,’ said Bridget Holdness. She ignored the baffled expressions of most of those present. ‘At a time like this I think continuity is all; we must present a united face to the world.’

‘I second that,’ said Cyril Crowley.

‘Any other nominations?’ asked Dr Windlesham.

There was silence. ‘In that case, I must declare myself appointed. I am honoured by your trust in me and will try to live up to it. Now…’

‘I propose Dr Twigg as Deputy Mistress,’ cut in the Bursar quickly.

‘I second that,’ said Primrose Partridge.

The Senior Tutor went pink with pleasure – a squirrel who had just been given a particularly tasty peanut.

‘I propose Ms Holdness,’ said Sandra.

‘Seconded,’ said Francis Pusey.

Amiss couldn’t believe it. He tried to remember what Pusey had ever said to him about Bridget and the only words that came to mind were ‘horrid’ and ‘bullying’. He wondered why the little bastard was currying favour, but inspiration eluded him.

‘I have two valid nominations here,’ said Dr Windlesham. ‘Hands up those voting for the Senior Tutor.’

The Bursar, Primrose Partridge, Anglo-Saxon Annie, Miss Thackaberry and Amiss raised their hands.

‘And for Dr Holdness?’

Sandra, Francis Pusey, Crowley and Carol Carter put their hands up, followed, to Amiss’s disappointment, by Mary Lou. Then Bridget raised her hand.

‘Six-five,’ said the new Mistress. ‘I declare Dr Holdness elected.’

Tears came into the Senior Tutor’s eyes. ‘But we never vote for ourselves, never, ever. It’s a tradition.’

‘Traditions,’ said Bridget, ‘are there to be broken with.’

‘Mistress,’ said the Bursar. ‘I cannot believe that you want to start your period in office condoning such a betrayal of trust.’

‘You are overreacting, Bursar.’

‘As you well know, Mistress, when I overreact I overreact. I should point out that our press is bad enough at the moment without giving it further ammunition in the shape of accusations of skulduggery.’

‘Colleagues, colleagues,’ piped up the Reverend Cyril. ‘I think we should try to resolve this amicably.’

There was a general murmur of agreement.

‘Oh, very well,’ said the Mistress. ‘We’ll take the vote again.’

This time, predictably, the vote was six-all. The Fellows looked expectantly at Dr Windlesham.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘This has now come down to my casting vote. It is not an easy decision to take. On the one hand I have my old friend and colleague, Dr Twigg, whose dedication to this institution has been unparalleled. On the other we have Dr Holdness, a comparative newcomer, and, I acknowledge, felt by some to be over-zealous in the pursuit of reform.’

She cleared her throat and took a sip of water. ‘What I want is a college in which the Fellows, working in concert, lead the students to achieve ever more for the greater glory of academe. We must eschew divisiveness, we must practise tolerance, we must encourage harmony and we must remember also that age must give way to youth. So my dear friend Dr Twigg will understand that in voting for Dr Holdness I am putting the interests of the college before friendship and sentiment, as I know she would be the first to do.

‘I declare Dr Holdness elected to the position of Deputy Mistress. Now to item two on the agenda. “Funeral arrangements”.’

‘Certainly not,’ said the Bursar, ‘I want chips and plenty of them, and mind my steak is rare.’

‘No blood in mine, please,’ said Amiss to the waitress.

The Bursar looked at him askance. ‘The blood is the best bit. I like blood.’

Amiss ignored her. ‘With just a green salad.’

‘Real men don’t eat green salads. They eat chips, and plenty of ’em. What’s got into you?’ She noticed the waitress waiting patiently. ‘Oh, thank you, Maureen. Please fetch us our claret as a matter of urgency.’

She turned her attention to Amiss. ‘You will be able to force down a little wine? Or would you prefer some sarsaparilla?’

‘I shall be eating a large dinner tonight, Jack, and my stomach is less capacious than yours.’

The Bursar patted herself happily. ‘I’ve decided to stop bothering about being fat; I’ve got to build up my strength to defeat the legions of Satan. Talking of which, what the devil happened this morning? I thought you told me Mary Lou was on our side. She’s obviously either afraid to come out of the closet or she was having you on.’

‘I’m sure she wasn’t having me on.’

‘She’s probably hoodwinked you. It’s those great eyes of hers. Has she been bestowing her favours on you?’

‘I must remind you, Jack, that I am an engaged man.’

She laughed sardonically. ‘I don’t think even you can be as much of a prig as you make out. Enough of that. What’s with Francis Pusey?’

‘I intend to find out this afternoon, even if it involves me in more cake and a lecture on the development of over-mantles in the Tudor refectory.’

‘And I’d better work over that little rat Crowley. I don’t like the smell of any of this. I fear some deals have been done which can only lead to disaster.

‘Ah, good. Thank you, Maureen. Just pour it. My friend and I are in urgent need.’ She took a great gulp. ‘Yum, yum.’

‘Don’t tell me. You like claret.’

‘I like most things, but not any of those frightful bitches. Poor little Emily. She was dreadfully hurt.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t have proposed her.’

‘Who the hell else was there to propose? Anyway, the Senior Tutor always becomes Deputy Mistress. God help us, it’s a tradition. Nor was I exactly spoilt for choice of candidate.

‘The trouble is that on my side they’re nearly all wimps. Old Maud was such a benevolent dictator that there was never any real need for the Virgins to think for themselves and by the time even they began to grasp that the Dykes were dangerous it was too late; they’d lost whatever political skills they ever had. Speaking of which, do you know the great line from Kipling? “Time and again were we warned of the dykes, time and again we delayed.” ’ She chortled long and loudly.

‘Perhaps you could get Francis Pusey to embroider it on a sampler.’

She ignored him: the Bursar always liked her own jokes best. ‘Maud imported me because she realized she needed a robust ally and I imported you for the same reason, but the way things have worked out, I’d have been better bringing in an SAS squad. I must talk to Myles about it.’

‘Myles is not quite my idea of an SAS man, Jack. With respect.’

‘Never judge by appearances, old boy.’ She closed one eye conspiratorially.

Amiss sipped his wine moodily. ‘I think our side has had it. Dame Maud’s death and its consequences have totally altered the balance of power. Fear has driven the Old Women to snuggle up to the Dykes and even the Virgins have not held firm.’

‘Something’s going on with old Windlesham, that’s for sure. That speech about harmony and unity was hilarious when you think of it. It was only Maud’s iron hand that kept her from stirring up trouble right through the years. She’s a vicious old cow, so there was nothing in the notion that she might be following the precept of making the most troublesome girl in the class Head Prefect. Bridget Holdness is a fascist who believes in acquiring power by any means available and if you know your history, you will know that when you hold out a hand of friendship to a fascist you find it’s bitten off. To do her justice, I thought that Windlesham might have spotted that.

‘Ah, excellent! This smells extremely good.’ She probed her steak anxiously with her knife. ‘Excellent, my dear, very bloody indeed. Robert, is yours as anaemic as you wanted?’

‘Thank you, Jack, it is perfection.’

‘Good. Eat up, drink up. We mustn’t lose heart; we must find out the price the Old Women have exacted and try to top it.’

Amiss spent the latter half of the afternoon fruitlessly stalking Francis Pusey and Mary Lou. In the end, he went out for a long walk from which he returned bearing some bottles, for Pooley had virtually finished his whisky the night before. At 6.15 he arrived at Pusey’s door and knocked once more.

His quarry was there. His initial slight look of alarm quickly turned to delight when Amiss, with a flourish, presented him with the best bottle of sherry the excellent wine merchant could provide. ‘Francis, I can’t go on sponging on you. I brought this to give us both an excuse.’

‘Oh, goodness me, what a very sweet gesture. Isn’t it, Bobsy? Do come in, Robert. What a treat. Sit down, dear boy. You look tired.’

‘I had a long walk this afternoon. I needed to get away from the college. I was finding it a bit gloomy.’

‘Gloomy! It certainly is. Sometimes I don’t know how we stand it here. Bobsy and I went out too and bought ourselves something to cheer us up.’

Amiss tried to think of something which Pusey and Bobsy were likely both to enjoy and fixed on cake. The reality proved to be another paperweight to add to their already substantial collection, on which Pusey discoursed at length and in grinding detail. As they finished their second glass of sherry, Pusey put the paperweight back on its little table and smiled brightly.

Before he could start talking again, Amiss broke in quickly. ‘It was rather dramatic this morning, wasn’t it?’

‘Well, it was all a bit horrid. I didn’t like seeing Emily upset; she’s a nice old thing.’

‘I don’t want to be intrusive, Francis, and you know college politics are beyond me, but I was frankly a bit baffled as to why you voted for Bridget Holdness after the things you said about her. It was largely because of your attitude that I voted for Dr Twigg, so picture my astonishment when you went the other way.’