Andrew Taylor - The Anatomy Of Ghosts

Mr Richardson presided at supper with a long and sorrowful face. Afterwards, as they sat over their wine, the tutor took the chair next to Holdsworth’s. ‘I wish to take this opportunity to wish you Godspeed, sir. You and Mr Frank will leave too early for me to say farewell in the morning. May I have the honour of a glass of wine with you before you go?’

Richardson accompanied the wine with civil compliments about the benefits that Holdsworth’s visit had brought to both Frank and the college. Gradually he moved the conversation to Lady Anne.

‘I know her ladyship will be anxious to hear how Dr Carbury does – she takes such an interest in the affairs of the college. And it is wise that she should be forewarned, is it not? It is, I am afraid, more than possible that the prayers of Dr Carbury’s friends will not be answered and that a melancholy eventuality will soon take place – you may even carry the news of it to her yourself. In which case, her ladyship’s counsel will be quite invaluable. She has the experience we need to guide our deliberations – the knowledge of the world – and a mother’s profound understanding of what is best for Jerusalem – so natural, indeed, in one who is a direct descendant of our Founder.’

Holdsworth said he was sure she would do everything that was fitting.

‘If you have the opportunity, my dear sir,’ Richardson continued, ‘I should be greatly obliged if you would emphasize to her the importance of avoiding a lengthy interregnum in the Master’s Lodge. I fear Dr Carbury has let matters slide during his illness, and the fellowship needs a master who knows the college, and who can be trusted to direct its affairs with decision. My friends tell me I should allow my name to go forward but I think our best plan is to rely on her ladyship’s benevolence. If matters come to the crisis we fear, I am persuaded that we may depend upon her to lead us safely through our difficulties.’

Holdsworth bowed, acknowledging what Richardson had said, but not committing himself either way.

‘What a sad time this is for Jerusalem!’ Richardson glanced piously upwards. ‘Of course we must not question the ways of Providence. Troubles never come singly, do they? Poor Dr Carbury’s decline is by far the hardest blow to bear. But Mr Whichcote’s misfortunes will have their effect on the college too. Why, the entire University is prattling about that scandalous scene this morning. And outside our very gates!’

‘I suppose the unfortunate Mr Soresby is also weighing on your mind, sir?’ Holdsworth suggested.

‘Ah! That reprobate! Well, he has gained nothing by his treachery. And if poor Dr Carbury dies, he will have lost his only ally. Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit .’

‘Man doesn’t know God’s wishes in the matter, sir,’ Holdsworth said. ‘In which case God must surely intend us to do the best we can with what we have. No charge has been laid against Mr Soresby. I wonder if the facts concerning the theft are not entirely what they seem.’

‘I wish with all my heart that I could believe it,’ Richardson said. ‘But – well, sir, you were there yourself when his crime was discovered.’

‘Yes, but the evidence was in a manner of speaking circumstantial. I cannot help thinking that there might be other explanations. For example, perhaps the evidence was fabricated to discredit him.’ Holdsworth paused, staring into Richardson’s face. ‘By a malicious servant, or some such.’

Richardson looked away. ‘I cannot credit it. Forgive me, sir, this is nothing but wild speculation.’

‘But there is an element of doubt here, sir, you must admit. And it’s a pity to ruin a man’s career, simply for a doubt. Particularly a man like Mr Soresby, who has no resources and so few friends. If the matter were smoothed over, if he were allowed to resume his studies, I am persuaded it would be to the advantage of everyone.’

Richardson studied him. ‘I do not take your meaning.’

‘No scandal would attach to the college. The gesture would be seen as wise and merciful both within the college and by the college’s friends in the greater world. Of course the Rosington Fellowship would be quite another matter – if Dr Carbury dies and there is a new Master, then he may well prefer another candidate when the time comes. No one could blame him for that.’

Richardson shook his head slowly. ‘I think not, Mr Holdsworth. I do not think it would answer.’

Holdsworth bent closer, bringing his mouth close to Richardson’s ear. ‘Richenda,’ he murmured.

The tutor turned his head and looked at Holdsworth. He said nothing. His features were unnaturally still, drained of their usual animation.

‘I am persuaded that such a merciful gesture would earn her ladyship’s approbation,’ Holdsworth went on.

‘But we do not even know where Soresby is.’

‘I think we should be able to lay our hands on him when we need him, sir, without too much difficulty.’ His lips moved silently. Richenda .

‘Perhaps… in that case, perhaps we might be able to do something.’ Richardson leaned closer. ‘Tell me, sir,’ he murmured. ‘A black valise with a crest on it. Does that mean anything to you?’

Holdsworth shook his head. ‘Nothing at all, sir. Nothing in the world.’

Holdsworth did not stay long in the combination room. He went outside, where the rain had stopped and the air was cool and clean, smelling of damp earth. In Chapel Court, he looked into the uncurtained bay window of the combination room. Everyone was at Richardson’s table now and listening avidly to something the tutor was saying.

From the far side of the court came the sound of singing. Holdsworth walked towards it. The noise came from Frank’s rooms. He could not make out the words but he recognized the tune from that first evening when he had walked with Mr Richardson in the garden at Jerusalem.

There was a burst of cheering and laughter. Holdsworth hung back in the shadows of the arcade, where a solitary lamp burned above the chapel doorway. He heard footsteps and two young men emerged into the court and walked unsteadily towards the next staircase. The supper party was ending. Holdsworth waited a moment and went up to Frank’s rooms. Archdale and the others had already left, and Frank was by himself, sitting by the window in his shirtsleeves and drinking brandy.

‘Holdsworth, my friend,’ he said, stumbling over the words. ‘My dear, dear friend. A toast, sir. I insist.’

‘It is getting late, Mr Oldershaw. The chaise will be at -’

‘No, no. Charge your glass. Damn me, you’re a fine fellow. Wait till we get back to London and I shall show my gratitude.’

‘I’ve found your ghost.’

Frank rose to his feet. ‘Are you – are you gone mad?’

‘No, sir. To be blunt, you stumbled into a little maidservant waiting for her lover under the tree, and she was too terrified of the consequences to tell the world what had happened. That’s your ghost. That’s your Sylvia.’

‘No, no – you’re bamming me. I don’t believe you. The cloak, the clasp -’

‘Were Sylvia’s. You were right there, at least.’ Holdsworth stared and stared at his own dark reflection in the windowpane by Frank’s head. ‘They found the cloak in the garden on the morning after Mrs Whichcote died. Mrs Carbury gave it to her maid. There’s no mystery about it, except in your mind.’

Frank sat down. ‘But I was so sure.’

‘Perhaps because you felt so guilty.’

‘Of course – first that girl at the club, then poor Sylvia falling foul of that brute of a husband -’