Andrew Taylor - The Anatomy Of Ghosts

‘But the information, Mr Archdale. I simply do not know what to do. It weighs on my conscience. Is it my duty as a Christian to tell someone or should I simply let it lie? Or perhaps I should see Mr Richardson and make a clean breast of everything?’

Archdale sighed. The fresh air was making him hungry. ‘This information, Soresby – is it of a sort that would damage the college if it came out?’

Soresby nodded.

‘Surely that would have some weight with Ricky?’

‘Perhaps not in this case.’

Harry felt his bewilderment grow. Ricky identified his own interests with the college’s. If Carbury died, and he became the next Master, that identification of interests would strengthen rather than diminish.

Unless there was something that Ricky thought was a greater good? Or was this not a matter of deriving benefit so much as satisfying hatred?

He stared at Soresby’s pale, thin face, which was sprinkled with muddy freckles like small sultanas. The sizar’s expression reminded Harry of a stray dog fearing a kicking but hoping against all hope for a pat. It was true he was an able scholar and a good teacher; if Harry were going to pursue his studies any further, then Soresby’s assistance might be useful, though not irreplaceable. Over and above this, Harry felt that he had acquired without conscious volition a sort of responsibility for Soresby. It was as if he had patted the stray dog once or twice and the brute had responded by selecting him as his master throughout all eternity.

‘Damnation,’ he said aloud.

‘What’s wrong, Mr Archdale?’

Harry opened his mouth to tell the fellow to go to the devil but, as he was about to speak, he glimpsed a way that might resolve the problem, or at least transfer it. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘If Carbury’s too ill to see you and Ricky hates you too much, there’s only one person who can be of any use. Only one person who can protect you: and that’s Lady Anne Oldershaw.’

‘But she’s in London, Mr Archdale, and I -’

‘I don’t mean you should go to her directly. That wouldn’t answer at all. But you could talk to her man Mr Holdsworth. He’s back in Jerusalem with Mr Oldershaw now, did you know? You may depend upon it, Mr Holdsworth can tell you what to do if anyone can.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Holdsworth,’ Elinor said.

‘And how is Dr Carbury, ma’am?’

‘He is awake now, and more comfortable in himself. He has just eaten a little soup. Susan and the nurse are changing his nightgown. He asked after you when he woke. I shall ring for Ben and send him to ask whether my husband is in a fit state to receive you.’

‘Shall I ring the bell?’ Holdsworth moved towards the rope that hung to the left of the fireplace.

‘No – one moment, if you please, sir. I have been turning over that… that other matter we discussed.’ Elinor paused, and through the open window of her sitting room came the chimes of the chapel clock working its way through the quarters before striking two. ‘It occurred to me that you might not find it easy to – to dispose of the materials we discussed earlier.’

He bowed, thinking that she was a woman of such quick perceptions it was sometimes hard to keep up with her.

‘There is a brazier at the back of our little yard,’ she went on in a lower voice that made them conspirators. ‘The gardener uses it a good deal at this time of year and Ben too when there are things to be disposed of. Sometimes they leave it smouldering away all evening.’

‘So if something were burned after dark, say, no one would remark on it?’

‘It’s most unlikely it would even be noticed. At present the servants hardly stir from the house. When they retire, they are out of the way – Susan sleeps in an attic overlooking the front and Ben lodges in a cottage outside college.’ She frowned. ‘Besides, if there were any difficulty, they would do as I tell them.’

‘And the brazier – is it visible from the college gardens or any of the windows?’

‘It’s not overlooked at all. It’s quite secluded.’

Holdsworth had already fixed in his mind that the best time to set to work would be while Whichcote was at supper. Assuming all went well, it would be better to move the valise entirely away from New Building, for Whichcote might well suspect that Holdsworth had had a hand in its removal.

‘Well, sir? Do you think it would answer?’

‘In many ways, yes, ma’am. But there is a difficulty. I cannot knock at your door in the evening and demand admittance without someone noticing. And to get here, I must pass the combination room or the hall, and Mr Whichcote might well -’

‘I have thought of that. I will make sure the gate over the bridge is unlocked, with the key on the ground beside the gatepost, the one nearer the oriental plane. All you would have to do is cross the bridge, open the gate and slip into the garden. If you lock the gate behind you, you will be safe from interruption.’

He smiled at her, glad of the excuse. ‘I believe you have hit upon the perfect solution.’

She smiled back, turning towards him, which showed the swanlike curve of her long neck. For an instant she seemed to him not at all like a woman whose husband lay dying a few yards away. The fact they were conspirators brought a dangerous sweetness in its train.

Before he could stop himself, he took a step towards her and raised his hand, reaching for hers. Her face changed instantly. She rose abruptly from her chair and rang for Ben.

Neither of them spoke. Holdsworth stared at an engraving on the wall. Elinor returned to her chair and picked up a book.

When Ben came, she inquired whether the Master was ready to receive Mr Holdsworth. Shortly afterwards, the servant conducted Holdsworth along the passage to the sickroom.

Susan opened the door when Ben knocked. She had a bundle of dirty sheets in her arms. Dr Carbury was in bed, propped up with pillows, but he waved feebly, beckoning Holdsworth towards him. His nightgown was very white and so was his nightcap, accentuating his grey skin, which hung in folds from the cheekbones as though the skull within had shrunk. His jaw was covered with greasy stubble, for he had not been shaved since being confined to bed. The nurse was tidying the bottles and pillboxes that littered the night table.

Holdsworth approached the bed. The curtains were open and he glanced out at the sunlit court below, where Mr Miskin and Mr Crowley were deep in conversation. People might live and die in the place but Jerusalem itself continued, blandly indifferent. He began to make the conventional inquiries but Carbury cut him short. He tugged at the sleeve of the nurse’s gown.

‘Go away, woman.’

‘But, sir -’

‘Do as I say.’ His hand twitched on the bed, digging the horny nails into the coverlet. ‘You too, girl. Shut the door behind you.’

Susan followed the nurse out of the room.

‘They tell me young Oldershaw is back,’ Carbury said, forcing the words out. ‘Safe and sound?’

‘Yes, sir. He seems himself again.’

Carbury winced. ‘What ailed him?’

‘I believe that Mr Whichcote and the Holy Ghost Club had done him no good whatsoever. They had undermined his health and encouraged him to all sorts of folly and dissipation. And the death of Mrs Whichcote on the very night he joined the club quite overthrew him – it was the final straw. He believed he was in some sense responsible.’

‘Absurd.’ Carbury’s nails now scratched the freshly laundered sheet. ‘But I am heartily glad to hear he is himself again. What of Lady Anne?’

‘I have written to her, naturally, and so has Mr Frank and of course Mrs Carbury. She should have received our letters today.’

‘I would not wish her ladyship to think ill of us, particularly now.’ Carbury’s head dropped to his chest. His eyelids closed.