Charles Snow - The Light and the Dark

“Of course not, sir. You’ve never been one for whisky, have you? I spotted that as soon as you came on my staircase. It was different with an old gentleman I used to have before your time, sir. When I had you instead of him, it made a big old difference to my life.”

“I gave you an order for one bottle last week. The buttery say that when you handed it in, that order was for four bottles.”

Bidwell’s face darkened, and instantaneously cleared.

“I meant to tell you about that, sir. I may have done wrong. You must tell me if I have. But I heard the stock was running low, and I took it on myself to bring away what you might call a reserve—”

“Come off it, Bidwell,” said Roy clearly. “We know you’ve been cheating us. And you know we know.”

“I don’t like to hear you saying that, sir—”

“Look here,” said Roy, “we like you. We hope you like us. Do you want to spoil it all?”

Bidwell ceased to be impassive.

“It would break my heart, Mr Calvert, if either of you went away.”

“Why have you done this?”

“I’m glad you’ve both spoken to me,” said Bidwell. “It’s been hurting me — here.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “I know I oughtn’t to have done what I have done. But I’ve got short of cash now and again. I don’t mind telling this to you two gentlemen — I’ve always said that everyone has a right to his fancy. But it’s made me do things I shouldn’t have done. I haven’t treated you right, I know I haven’t.”

His mouth was twitching, his eyes were tearful, we were all raw and distressed.

“Just so,” said Roy quietly. “Well, Bidwell, I’m ready to forget it. So is Mr Eliot. On one—”

“You’ve always been every inch a gentleman, sir. Both of you.”

“On one condition,” said Roy. “Listen. I mean this. If anything else goes from these rooms, I go straight to the steward. And you’ll be sacked out of hand.”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Wait a minute. Listen again. I shall go through Mr Eliot’s bill myself each week. You can trust me to do it, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Eliot can never be bothered with his old bills, sir.”

“I can,” said Roy. “You’ve got it clear? If you take another penny from either of us, I shan’t stop to ask Mr Eliot. I shall get you sacked.”

“Yes, sir. I’m very much obliged to both of you gentlemen.”

Bidwell went out, his face once more rubicund, open, benign and composed. Both Roy and I were puzzled. His emotion was genuine: yet he had pulled it out with his intuitive cunning. How had he played on that particular note, which was certain to affect us both? Was there a touch of triumph about his exit? Like Arthur Brown, Bidwell’s was a nature that became deeper and tougher when once one was past the affable fat man’s façade.

Roy teased me because I — “the great realist”, as he called me — was upset at Bidwell’s duplicity. He told me that I bore major treacheries better than domestic ones. For my part, I was thinking how final his own manner had become. In giving his ultimatum to Bidwell, his voice was keen, as though it were a relief to take this action, to take any kind of action. He was restless, he was driven to do things once for all.

I heard him speak with finality again before that term ended. The college chaplain had just resigned, as some friendly bishop had given him preferment. As soon as he heard the news, Arthur Brown set unhurriedly to work: the chaplaincy did not carry a fellowship, it had no political importance in the college, but Brown’s instinct for patronage was too strong for him: he was obliged to keep his hand in. So he went round “getting the feeling of a few people”, as he explained to Roy and me. The upshot was that, before he spoke to us, he had invited Udal to spend a night in college. “I’m not committing anyone, naturally,” said Arthur Brown. “But I thought it might be profitable to explore the ground a little. I’m afraid I’ve rather taken it for granted that you wouldn’t object to the idea, Calvert, if we get as far as mentioning his name. I remember that you backed him strongly at several meetings.”

Roy gave a slight smile — I wondered if it was at his own expense.

“I don’t know how you’d feel about it, Eliot? I’m inclined to think myself that Udal would be rather an addition to the combination room.”

“If you all want him,” I said, “I’m ready to fall in.” I looked at Roy: he smiled again, but the mention of Udal had disturbed him.

Udal arrived in time for dinner, and Arthur Brown brought him into hall. It was one of the few occasions that I had seen him wearing a dog-collar. He towered above the rest of us in the combination room, polite, cheerful, perfectly at ease. If he wanted the job, I thought in hall, he was doing pretty well. Perhaps he was a little too casual; most societies liked a touch of nervousness when a man was under inspection — not too much, but just a fitting touch. Udal would have been slightly too natural in any company or any interview.

After we had drunk port in the combination room, we moved on to Brown’s rooms — Brown and Udal, Roy and I. The room was warm, the fire bright as usual: and as usual Brown went straight to unlock his cupboard.

“I don’t know what the company would say to a sip of brandy,” he remarked. “Myself, I find it rather gratifying at this time of night.”

We sat round the fire with our glasses in our hands, and Brown began to speak with luxurious caution.

“Well, Udal,” he said, “we were a bit rushed before dinner, but I tried to give you the lie of the land. We mustn’t promise more than we can perform. The chaplain is elected by the college, and the college is capable of doing some very curious things. Put it another way: I never feel certain that we’ve got a man in until I see it written down in black and white in the order book. I shouldn’t be treating you fairly if I gave you the impression that we could offer you the chaplaincy tonight. But I don’t think I’m going further than I should if I say this — let me see” — Brown chose his words deliberately — “if you see your way to letting your name go forward, I regard it as distinctly possible that we should be able to pull it off. I can go as far as that. I’ve spoken to one or two people, and I’m fairly satisfied that I’m not being over-optimistic.”

This meant that Arthur Brown had a majority assured for Udal, if he decided to stand. There would be bitter opposition from Despard-Smith, but the old man was losing his power, even on clerical matters. Step by step Arthur Brown had become the most influential person in the college.

“It’s very nice of you to think of me,” said Udal. “In many ways there’s nothing I should like better. Of course, there’s a good deal to weigh up. There’s quite a lot to be thought of for and against.”

“Of course there must be,” said Arthur Brown, who had a horror of premature decisions. “I should have thought you ought to sleep on it, before you even give us an indication of which way you’re going to come down. I don’t mean to suggest” — Brown added — “that you can possibly give us an answer tomorrow. But you might be able to produce one or two first impressions.”

I was certain that Udal would not take the job, and so was Roy. I did not know about Brown. He was so shrewd and observant that he must have caught the intonation of refusal: but it was part of his habit to proceed with negotiations for a decent customary period, even when it was clear that the other had made up his mind. Brown’s intuitions were quick, but he disliked appearing to act on them. He preferred all the panoply of reasonable discussion. He knew as well as any man that most decisions are made on the spot and without thought; but it was proper and wise to behave as though men were as rational and deliberate as they pretended to be. So, with every appearance of interest and enjoyment, he answered Udal’s questions about the chaplaincy, the duties, stipend, possibilities of a fellowship: he met objections, raised some of his own, compared prospects, examined the details of Udal’s living. He even said: “If, as I very much hope, we finally manage to get you here, Udal, there is just one slightly delicate matter I might take this opportunity of raising. I take it that you wouldn’t find it absolutely necessary to introduce observances that some of us might think were rather too high?”