The Anatomy Of Ghosts

48

The combination room was a scholarly beehive, humming with speculations and subdued excitement. Everyone knew that Dr Milton was at the Master’s bedside and that the chaplain had called at the Lodge to read the Order for the Visitation of the Sick, including the Commendatory Prayer for a person on the point of departure.

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 -’

‘I don’t mean that.’

Frank poured himself more brandy and drank it off. ‘Well, it’s all done with now, ain’t it? And tomorrow we’ll be in London. You know, I don’t think I shall come back to the University – it don’t suit me, you see, and I don’t suit it.’

Holdsworth had the sensation that he stood at a crossroads. Behind him was the past, and before him was a multiplicity of futures, most of them dark and unattractive. He felt tired and angry and full of regret. ‘On the night Sylvia died, someone heard a struggle at the back of the Master’s Lodge. Her slippers were later found near by. She was with someone. I think it was you, Mr Oldershaw.’

‘What? You are mad. You must be.’

‘How else could you know which cloak she was wearing? Even the shape of the clasp on the cloak? No one else mentioned it. And of course she would have wanted you to escort her through the streets. Who better to escort her than her lover?’

Frank stared up at him. ‘You’re a fool, Holdsworth, as well as mad. Did you know that? Don’t you know I shall ruin you?’

‘A witness heard a scream. Was she going to wake the college, Mr Oldershaw, and make a scandal about her husband? And no doubt you feared what her ladyship would say. She is an indulgent mother but even her indulgence must have its limits. Perhaps you tried to hush Mrs Whichcote and you succeeded too well. I cannot think you wanted to kill her.’

‘This is – this is nonsense. I cannot now recall who told me about the cloak – Dr Carbury, perhaps, or one of the college servants. But someone did. They must have done.’

At the door, Holdsworth looked back. He had nothing to lay before a magistrate but a cluster of suspicions. ‘You kept a cool head,’ he said. ‘You must have locked the Master’s gate behind you and thrown away Sylvia’s key as you fled back to Lambourne house.’

Frank was staring at him, red-faced, with the empty glass in his hand. He looked a child again, and on the verge of tears. ‘Damn you,’ he said. ‘She said I must make Whichcote divorce her, and that I must marry her.’

‘Well?’

‘But it was quite impossible. Her ladyship would have prevented it. And besides…’

‘Besides what?’ Holdsworth said quietly.

Frank shrugged. ‘She was only a woman, after all. She was older than me – she had no fortune – no connections. No, no – it would not have done. You must see that.’

‘So you killed her?’

‘But I – I didn’t mean to.’

‘You attacked her.’ Holdsworth thought what a fool he had been, for the evidence had been before him all the time. What had Dr Jermyn called it? Mania furibunda. ‘Just as you attacked both myself and Mr Whichcote at the mill, and Dr Jermyn in Barnwell, and poor Mr Cross. When a difficulty presents itself to you, you are inclined to address it with violence.’

‘You can prove nothing, remember that. I’ll see you committed for slander, I’ll -’

‘You’ll travel alone tomorrow, Mr Oldershaw.’ Holdsworth paused in the doorway. ‘And remember this: you will never escape her now. Sylvia will be with you always.’

Chapel Court was deserted. The night was cloudy. Few stars were visible. Holdsworth walked through the arcade and into the darkness beyond. He crossed the wet grass towards the oriental plane and the Long Pond. There had been nothing scientific about this investigation, he thought, nothing that a man could write up in a pamphlet and put before the world. It had been a matter of shadows and nuances, of things half seen, half heard and half understood.

A matter of ghosts?

It was dark under the tree. With his arms outstretched before him, Holdsworth moved slowly beneath its canopy until he came to the bank of the Long Pond, close to the spot where Sylvia Whichcote had been found in the water. He looked through the branches. Lights burned in the first-floor windows of the Master’s Lodge. Colours had faded and shapes had become fluid, their outlines dissolving into the gathering night.

Maria. Georgie. A matter of ghosts.

The names formed in Holdsworth’s mind. With them came the memories, together with that familiar sense of emptiness. He touched them delicately with his full attention, as the tongue probes a sore tooth to assess its condition. Something had changed during these weeks in Cambridge. Something had shifted. The beloved dead were a little further away.

There was a flicker of movement on his extreme left, which he caught on the very edge of his vision. He turned his head quickly. The footbridge from the Master’s Garden was just visible, a grey curve over the water. For a moment, he thought there was something pale at the apex of the shallow arch – a sort of lightening of the gloom rather than a shape, partly obscured by the handrail. But the more he looked, the less he saw. His eyes were playing tricks on him.

Elinor?

What was he to do? He had wronged her. He had been foolish and cruel. But he could not help rejoicing too. She was innocent. Would she listen to him if he went to her?

While he stood in the darkness, with his hands in his pockets, thinking of Elinor, he became aware of sounds elsewhere in the college. In the distance, a door opened and closed. There were running footsteps in Chapel Court.

He must go to her, he thought, as soon as he possibly could, beg her forgiveness and throw himself on her mercy.

His eyes were still fixed on the bridge. For an instant, he was sure that there was someone on it, someone moving.

Elinor? His heart pounded. Nonsense, he told himself – what would she be doing outside at this time? It must be a trick of the light, a trick of the dark. But still his heart pounded and still the possibility of her remained.

There was only one way to make sure. He walked slowly along the water’s edge towards the bridge.

As he was doing so, the college bell began to ring. It sounded strange, as if further away than usual and filtered through a fog. Holdsworth stopped to listen. The bell tolled on, muted, solemn and sombre. Doors and windows were flung open. Everyone in Jerusalem was coming to unnatural life, as if this were daytime, not night.

But not quite everyone.

A muffled bell tolled for the dead: so Dr Carbury had gone at last. Elinor was free.

Holdsworth glanced at the bridge. The paleness in the dusk had slipped away.