Tom Sharpe - Grantchester Grind

'Well, Skullion-Master, that is-I have to hand it to you, you have been doing a splendid job,' said the Dean. 'You had me very worried when I first came in. But I think you've probably done enough. We are going to want that vile man's evidence and it won't look good if he goes into court gibbering. Let him be for the time being, Master. You've done everything-that is needed.'

'Just so long as he don't call me Quasimodo or hunchback again, sir,' said Skullion. 'You'd better warn him. And I don't want him praying to me neither. I'm not some blooming idol. And he calls himself a Christian too. Bloody Yank.'

'Leave it to me, Master,' said the Dean and went back into the bedroom.

'I have come to warn you,' he told Kudzuvine. 'I have come to warn you that I have persuaded the Master not to pursue the course he had in mind for you. On these conditions: you will not speak to him one word and you will on no account refer to him as Quasimodo or The Hunchback of Notre Dame. And furthermore you will behave politely and in a civilized fashion. If you fail to meet these conditions, I cannot be responsible for your safety. Do you understand?'

'Yes sir, I sure do, sir. I sure as shit do.'

'And that is another thing,' said the Dean. 'You will moderate your language It is not customary in Porterhouse to use filthy expressions. Is that clear?'

'I guess so, sir,' said Kudzuvine humbly.

'Don't guess anything. Know it,' said the Dean, and stalked out of the room.

That evening Purefoy Osbert dined in Hall for the first time and, because it was his Induction Dinner, he sat with the Senior Fellows. But first he was introduced to the Combination Room and to the Special Porterhouse Amontillado Sherry which was supposed to have been blended at the time of the Peninsular War and which was certainly very old and unusually strong. It was only drunk on special occasions and seldom more than once a year. To begin with the Dean was content to stay in the background and merely observe the Sir Godber Evans Memorial Fellow from a distance while making sure that the waiter with the decanter saw to it that Purefoy's glass was never empty.

Even the Senior Tutor, who was still taking very great care of his liver when it came to fortified wines, had agreed to be genial. 'We have got to find out what this young man has come here to do,' the Dean had told him, resisting the impulse to ask the Senior Tutor why he had not told the College Council that the anonymous donor had employed Lady Mary's solicitors. Some time later would do to score that point.

In fact Purefoy's reception was far pleasanter than he had anticipated. The Praelector and the Chaplain, who was in any case naturally amiable, were particularly friendly. Professor Pawley spoke about the measurement of time from the moment of the Big Bang and even went so far as to attempt an explanation of the importance of his discovery of the nebula Pawley One while Dr Buscott, who wanted to recruit Dr Osbert to his progressive camp, was complimentary about _The Long Drop,_ parts of which he had taken the precaution of reading in the University Library. By the time they trooped into dinner Purefoy had unwittingly drunk four glasses of the Special Amontillado and was beginning to think that his first impressions of Porterhouse had been rather too harsh. Only then did the Dean move forward.

'My dear fellow, you must allow me to introduce myself,' he said with a show of bonhomie. 'I am the Dean. You must come and sit beside me. I am so anxious to hear about your work. Your reputation is not an inconsiderable one and we are, I must confess, a rather ignorant bunch of old Fellows and don't keep up with what you young people are doing in your specialized areas of research.'

Through the excellent meat soup, the poached salmon, the deliciously underdone roast beef, the crème caramel, the Stilton and the fruit but, most importantly, through the Montrachet and the Fonbadet-a small but perfect little vineyard, as the Dean was at pains to point out-the Margaux and the Château d'Yquem, Purefoy Osbert gained confidence. He was ready to talk about anything, including his belief that Dr Crippen had been wholly innocent of the crime for which he was hanged. There had been a hiatus in the conversation at that point but a kick from the Dean under the table had silenced the Senior Tutor, who had gone very red in the face and who was on the point of saying he'd never heard such damned tommyrot in his life. The situation was saved by the Chaplain who said he had never been able to think of domestic murder as a capital crime because, as in the case of Mrs Crippen, a great many women were such dreadful nagging scolds that they deserved what was coming to them. Again the Dean had intervened.

'You must excuse the Chaplain,' he said. 'He has always been something of a ladies' man.' The remark left Purefoy so baffled by its implications that he did not know how to reply. By that time the talk had passed on to a discussion of the varying merits of Château Lafite, which the Dean maintained had a delightfully feminine quality about it, and Château Latour, which the Senior Tutor preferred as being more masculine. In other circumstances Purefoy would have found these preferences deeply suspicious. But now he was happy to have another chunk of Stilton. All his prejudices about Porterhouse had been dissipated by the combination of sherry and the various excellent wines and the conviviality with which he was surrounded. 'I'm really enjoying myself,' he confessed to the Dean, who said he was delighted to hear it.

'It is always refreshing to welcome a new face to High Table,' he said, after the Chaplain had mumbled Grace and they were going through to the Combination Room for coffee and port or brandy, whichever one preferred. The Senior Tutor stuck to coffee but Purefoy, who had never in his life drunk so much and who was decidedly tiddly, made the mistake of taking both port and cognac, much to the Senior Tutor's horror and the Dean's delight. He was achieving what he had set out to do. His only worry was that Purefoy Osbert would pass out before he could discover what the Sir Godber Evans Memorial Fellowship really entailed. And when Purefoy accepted a second cognac, the Dean intervened. 'My dear Dr Osbert,' he said, 'let me advise against it. Port is all very well on its own and in moderation but, as it is already fortified with spirit, to add cognac to it is to risk a very unpleasant Morning After The Night Before. Don't you agree, Senior Tutor?'

'I do indeed,' said the Senior Tutor. 'The other night in Corpus…But I'd rather not speak about it.'

But Purefoy had seized on the word. 'Talking about corpses,' he said, 'you know what I'm supposed to be researching here?'

'No,' said the Dean with a geniality he did not in the least feel. 'I have been wondering what your particular interest in the College is. Do tell us.'

'You'll never guess.'

The Dean smiled and preferred not to. 'I don't suppose we will.'

Purefoy Osbert swallowed the rest of his port and held out his glass for more. 'I'm here to find out for Her Ladyship which of you Fellows murdered her husband. He was Master of Porterhouse you know.'

In the silence that followed this appalling revelation the Dean had the presence of mind to say that he had heard Sir Godber mentioned as the Master but that in his opinion the real power lay with Lady Mary. 'I suppose you might say we had a Mistress of Porterhouse rather than a Master and, had I intended to murder anybody, I think I'd have chosen her rather than him. A very ineffectual man, hardly worth murdering.'

A nervous titter ran round the little group. Purefoy concentrated on this argument. It seemed logical to him but there was a flaw in it somewhere. It took him some time to spot it…'

''S right,' he said with a terrible slur. 'But you kill him and she hasn't got any power, has she?'