Charles Snow - The Masters

When I went away, the three of them were still at the table, and Crawford and Winslow were emptying the bottle.

The next evening, half an hour before dinner, I heard Francis Getliffe’s firm, plunging, heavy step on the stairs. He used to call in often on his way to hall; but he had not done so since our quarrel.

‘Busy?’ he said.

‘No.’

‘Good work.’ He sat in the armchair across the fire, took a cigarette, cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable and constrained, but he was looking at me with mastery.

‘Look, Lewis, I think it’s better for me to tell you,’ he said. ‘Your majority for Jago has been broken.’

He was triumphant, he enjoyed telling me — yet he felt a streak of friendly pity.

‘Who’s gone over?’ I said, but I did not need to ask.

‘Nightingale. He told Crawford himself last night. Winslow was there too.’

I blamed myself for having left them together with Nightingale in that condition. Then I thought that was not realistic: it could have made no difference. And I did not want to show concern in front of Francis Getliffe.

‘If it weren’t for the vote, which is a nuisance,’ I said, ‘I should wish you joy of him.’

Francis gave a grim smile.

‘That makes it 6–5. Neither side has a clear majority. I hadn’t reckoned on that. I don’t know whether you had.’

As soon as Francis Getliffe left me, I rang up Brown. He said that he was kept by a pupil, but would get rid of him and come. The moment he entered, I told him the news.

‘So that’s it,’ said Brown. He accepted it at once.

‘Things happen as they must,’ he added in a round, matter-of-fact tone. ‘They’ve gone pretty smoothly for us so far. We’ve got to be ready for our setbacks. I don’t say this isn’t a confounded nuisance, because it obviously is. Still, repining won’t get us anywhere, and there’s plenty to do if we’re going to retrieve the position.’

‘I shall be astonished,’ I said, ‘if Nightingale changes sides again.’

‘I expect you’re right,’ said Brown. ‘But we’ve got other people to look after, too, you know. Mind you,’ he went on, with a trace of irritation, ‘I always thought we handled Nightingale badly. We ought to have taken him round to Jago’s that first afternoon. It would have been well worth waiting for him. I was wrong not to stick in my heels.’

But Brown did not spend much time blaming Chrystal or himself. He was thinking realistically of what it meant. 6–5 now. For Crawford — Winslow, Despard-Smith, Getliffe, Gay, and Nightingale. For Jago — Brown, Chrystal, Calvert, Eliot, Pilbrow, and Luke. ‘It’s bad to lose a clear majority. It affects your own party,’ Brown reflected. ‘Just at the moment, I should guess they’re more confident than we are. We must take care that a rot doesn’t set in.’

‘Shall you do anything tonight?’

‘No,’ said Brown. ‘We’ve got to wait. We needn’t tell Jago yet. There’s no point in worrying him unnecessarily. You see, we’ve only learned this from the other side. It explains a dig Winslow gave Chrystal today, by the way. But we shall be well advised not to take any action until we hear from Nightingale himself. Remember, he’s always tried to do the proper thing, and he’s bound to let Jago know. A decent man couldn’t just cross over without sending some sort of explanation. And there’s always the bare chance that he may think better of it.’

For once, Brown’s patience guided him wrong. Gossip was going round the college that night and next morning; apparently Nightingale had already spoken with venom against Jago and ‘his clique’. Jago had heard nothing of it, but I received accounts from several sources, differing a good deal from one another. Brown spoke to Chrystal, went back on his tactics laid down the previous night, and decided it was time to ‘have it out’. They were planning to get Nightingale alone after hall, as though by chance. As it happened, Saturday, that very night, was made for their purpose. The number of men dining varied regularly with the days of the week; Sunday was always a full night — ‘married men escaping the cold supper at home’, old Despard-Smith used to complain. Saturday, on the other hand, was a sparse one, usually only attended by bachelors living in college. That particular Saturday happened to be specially sparse, for Despard-Smith had a cold, and there was a concert in the town which removed Pilbrow and also Roy Calvert, who was escorting Mrs Jago. Chrystal and Brown put their names down to dine that night, and there arrived in hall only the three of us, Nightingale and Luke.

Nightingale was silent during dinner. Brown kept up a stream of comfortable, unexacting conversation, but all the time, through the amiable remarks on college games, his glance was constantly coming back to Nightingale’s defensive mask.

‘How long is it since you saw the Lent races, Nightingale?’ Chrystal asked directly.

‘I haven’t time for anything like that,’ said Nightingale. They were his first words since we sat down.

‘You’ll make yourself ill,’ said Chrystal, with genuine sympathy. ‘Come on the towpath with me next week. It will do you good.’

‘I can look after myself’ said Nightingale. Up to that night, he had held on to his politeness, but now it slipped away.

‘I’ve heard that before,’ said Chrystal. ‘Listen to me for once.’

Nightingale’s eyes were blank, as he sat there, exposed to Chrystal’s crisp voice and Brown’s rich, placid one: he knew what to expect.

Luke left immediately after hall. His work was occupying him more than ever, and he said that he had to work out some results. Whether or not it was because of his precocious tact I did not know. Brown said: ‘Well, that does make us a nice little party.’

He ordered a bottle of claret and took his place at the head of the table. Nightingale was still standing up. He started to move towards the door. He was leaving, without saying goodnight. We were exchanging glances: suddenly he looked back at us. He turned round, retraced his steps, sat down defiantly at Brown’s right hand. There was something formidable about him at that moment.

The decanter went round, and Brown warmed his glass in his hands.

‘Has Jago been dining recently? I haven’t seen him all the week,’ Brown asked casually.

‘He’s not been here any of the nights I have,’ I said.

‘I’ve only dined once this week,’ said Chrystal. ‘He wasn’t here.’

Nightingale stirred his coffee, and did not reply.

‘Has he coincided with you, Nightingale?’ Brown asked.

‘No.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Brown in the same conversational tone. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time. How are you feeling about the Mastership now?’

‘How are you?’ Nightingale retorted.

‘I’m still exactly where I was,’ said Brown. ‘I’m quite happy to go on supporting Jago.’

‘Are you?’ Nightingale asked.

‘Why,’ said Brown, ‘I hope you haven’t had any second thoughts. At least, not enough to upset your commitments—’

‘Commitments!’ Nightingale broke out. ‘I’m not going to be bound because I made a fool of myself. I can tell you, here and now, I’ve thought better of it.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear it,’ said Brown. ‘But perhaps we—’

‘And I can tell you I’ve good reasons to think better of it. I’m glad I had my eyes opened before I’d done the damage. Do you think I’m going to vote for a man who’s taking it for granted that he’s been elected and is behaving like the Master before the present one is dead? And whose wife is putting on airs about it already?’ He stopped, and asked more virulently: ‘Do you think I’m going to put up with a Master who’s backed by people who are getting the college a bad name —?’