The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (39 page)

“Perhaps you should ask her when she returns,” he said.

“I certainly intend to!” the squire snapped, then turned to stalk back up the path toward his waiting carriage. He jerked his arm away from the footman’s assistance and sprang up into the seat himself, barking an order to the driver to get on the way.

“Whew!” Andrew blew out his cheeks. “Did you understand any of that?”

“Every bit of it.” Julia sat down on the bench again, and Andrew did the same. “He’s fond of Mrs. Kingston.”

“Yes? Well, surely she doesn’t return that sentiment. During the flower show she had not one kind word for him.”

“Oh, but that was because she wanted to win the blue ribbon. Now that it’s hers, she can afford to be magnanimous.”

“You mean she likes him too?”

“Very much so. They’ve been seeing each other quite a bit lately.”

Now Andrew’s forehead was as drawn as the squire’s had been. “But if she’s fond of him, then why would she leave without telling him?”

Julia gave him an affectionate smile. He was completely without guile, so naturally he wouldn’t understand the games that women sometimes felt compelled to play to advance a courtship. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you, my dear. Loyalty to my gender forbids it.”

“Loyalty to your gender?”

“Yes. It’s one of those secrets among women. Will you forgive me?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he raised a hand to touch her cheek. “With you smiling at me like that, Julia Hollis, I could forgive Napoleon.”

Being prepared for the next day’s lectures was vital if one was to succeed at the Josiah Smith Preparatory Academy for Boys. The students were reminded often that in the headmaster’s office was a waiting list of over thirty boys who would gladly trade places with any of them—and the list grew longer every week.

The gaslights were shut off promptly at nine o’clock every evening, and so a student had to learn to manage his time wisely and complete his studying before then. This was not difficult for Philip, who went to the library with Gabriel Patterson as soon as classes were finished for the afternoon. Neither had any desire to join the boys at play on the lawn. Even Philip’s love of cricket wasn’t strong enough to compel him to spend any more time than necessary with the older students.

He was certainly getting enough exercise, having been ordered by Westbrook to spend his lunch break running around the grounds three times since Monday. On Saturday, after a morning devoted to transcribing a chapter from his Latin text and then lunch, there would be intramural competitions of cricket and tennis. Although Gabriel dreaded the thought of tomorrow because of his inexperience with sports, Philip was reassured that at least housemasters would be present to keep score and hopefully would keep bullying to a minimum.

The best thing about getting at their studies as soon as lectures were finished was that the library was practically empty. Most students waited until after supper to open their texts. By then, Philip and Gabriel would be in their dormitory room, settled on one or the other’s bed lost in novels. Occasionally they gave their eyes a rest and talked quietly so as not to disturb those who studied in their beds, describing for each other their homes and families.

“You should be the writer,” Gabriel said that evening. With a plump hand he marked his place in the pages of
The Moonstone
by Wilkie Collins. “I can almost see Gresham and the
Larkspur
from the way you describe them.”

Philip smiled, ignoring the lump of homesickness that had settled in his chest since waking.
You haven’t been here a week
, he reminded himself.
It’ll get better
. “That’s because you have a writer’s imagination, Gabriel. Your mind paints pictures.”

“Well, doesn’t yours?”

“Yes, but only of people I want to cut open and make well.”

This brought a rare grin from Gabriel. Glancing at the prefect’s empty bunk, he whispered, “I wonder what you would find if you cut Westbrook open?”

“Snakes and lizards, I would guess. I wonder how he got to be a prefect?”

“The work-study program. That’s how a few of the older ones can earn their tuition, if they were students here as underclassmen. Didn’t you know that?”

Philip shook his head.

“I’m sure that’s why they hate us—because they think we’re rich.”

“
I’m
not rich,” Philip protested.

“But you’re not poor either. Westbrook most likely is.” Gabriel sighed. “The prefects hate us because we’re not poor, and the upperclassmen hate us because we’re not older.”

“And the teachers likely hate us because we’re not Newton or Pasteur. Do you ever wish you could wake up and discover this place was all a bad dream?” At first Gabriel didn’t reply, making Philip wonder whether he’d understood the question. But then he noticed the sheen that had come to his friend’s eyes.

“Every day,” Gabriel finally mumbled after an audible swallow. Because of his size and meekness, he presented more of a target for ridicule than any of the other underclassmen.

“It’s going to get better, Gabriel. I mean, it can’t get any worse.”

“Yes, thank you.” His friend gave him a grateful smile and they returned to their novels.

Philip became so caught up in Mark Twain’s
Innocents Abroad
that he was totally caught off guard when Westbrook’s sharp voice declared, “Lights out in ten minutes.”

It was a scramble to ready himself for bed, for the fifteen other residents of the room had the same intention. He accomplished everything but cleaning his teeth, and by the time he had a turn at the lavatory basin, Westbrook had extinguished the gas lamps. He had to find his way back by touching and counting trunks at the ends of the beds.

“Is that you, Hollis?” Milton Hayes’ voice came from the bed on his right. He was a quiet boy of medium height. It was likely his ordinary, nondescript features that saved him from the intense bullying that Gabriel Patterson suffered, for he seemed to fade into the background.

“It’s me,” Philip answered, pulling his blanket up to his shoulders. He listened for the boy’s response but there was none save a sniff.
So he doesn’t have it so easy after all
. “Sleep tight, Hayes,” he whispered.

“And you,” the boy whispered back.

But there was no sleeping tight for anyone just yet, for at that moment a noise came from the door. Philip raised his head to see four boys enter the room, two bearing candles. Even in the muted light it was obvious they were upperclassmen. They walked over to Westbrook’s bed and there was a low mumble of voices. When Westbrook got to his feet, Philip’s stomach began to feel queasy as the group approached his bed. He dropped his head to his pillow and closed his eyes, barely daring to breathe.

“Hollis!” came Westbrook’s loud whisper.

Ignore him and he’ll go away
, Philip told himself.

A hand seized his shoulder and shook it roughly. “Hollis!”

“Huh?” Philip muttered as if just waking. “Westbrook?”

“Get up.”

There was nothing to do but obey, not if he didn’t want to run laps tomorrow with the whole school outside at intramurals to jeer him. He got out of bed and stood there in his nightshirt on the cold quarry tiles.

“Put your slippers on,” Westbrook ordered. Philip would have been grateful for the consideration coming from anyone else. As he felt with his feet under the bed for his slippers, he could see Hayes’ dark outline. The boy wisely lay as still as a corpse.

Westbrook motioned for him to wait at the foot of the bed while he roused another student. It was Sydney Jenkins, who had gotten into some trouble with Westbrook earlier today for balking when ordered to shine the prefect’s boots. When Jenkins was close enough to Philip so they could see each other’s faces, they exchanged worried looks while silently following Westbrook back to his bunk and into the dim light.

One upperclassman briefly held a candle up to inspect both faces. Philip recognized him as Tupper, the upperclassman who had ordered him to cut up his food on the first morning. To Westbrook he said, “They’ll do fine. Here’s your two-bob.”

This was too much. Philip turned to Westbrook, who stood there with folded arms. “What is this all about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Hollis,” the prefect sneered. “Any more questions and I’ll have ten laps from you tomorrow.”

After a fraction of indecision Philip decided that, ten laps or a hundred, he wasn’t going anywhere with this lot. “You can’t make us go,” he said, backing away.

A hand clamped on his arm. One of the upperclassmen said, “We aren’t going to hurt you, infant. We just have a chore for you.”

“I’ll report you to the headmaster. There aren’t any rules about your paying Westbrook for us to do chores.”

“You will, will you?” Westbrook stepped up to where their noses were an inch apart. Flickering candlelight was mixed with immense dislike in the prefect’s pale blue eyes. “I wouldn’t advise that, Hollis. You think you’ve got it tough now? Besides, you’ll have no proof.”

“No proof?” Philip turned and made a sweeping motion with his hand, for he was well aware that fourteen sets of ears were listening from beds. “We’ll all go to the headmaster.”

“Will you?” Westbrook’s face assumed its usual smirk as he took the candle from the other boy and held it out toward the rest of the darkened room. “So how many talebearers have we in here? Come forward and let us have a look at you.”

There was no response, not even the creak of a mattress. He shoved the candle inches away from Jenkins’ face. “You?”

Jenkins took a backwards step. “N-no, sir.”

Just yell
, Philip told himself.
You’ll wake one of the housemasters
. But his vocal cords wouldn’t obey, and he found himself being led roughly out the door. The candles caused strange shadows to dance upon the paneled walls of the corridor. They passed several doors and then entered one leading into another dormitory. Two more candles burned atop trunks, and combined with the candles the boys leading Philip and Jenkins held, there was a little more illumination.

“We play
Commerce
on Friday nights,” one of the older boys explained while another spread a blanket in the middle of the floor.

Philip could see that less than half of the beds were occupied with sleeping boys. Others milled about visiting in small groups. None seemed surprised at seeing them there.

“But we haven’t candlestands and daren’t turn the gas back on. Last year Barnes burned a hole in his blanket, so we daren’t keep the candles on the floor either.” He spoke in the tone one would use when addressing a servant who must take care of a situation, not a boy who had been dragged out of a warm bed.

“So you’re to be our candlestands,” Tupper explained, wearing an expression that dared him to argue. “It’s quite simple, really.”

It’s quite ludicrous, really
, Philip thought. But he actually felt some relief, for he had halfway feared they would be beaten for sport. Two hours later, when the candles in both his and Jenkins’ holders had been changed, he wondered if a beating might have been preferable. At least he would be back in bed now, bruised but allowed to sleep. His arms ached, for the six involved in the card game were not content that the candles be simply held motionless. With Jenkins behind the three boys on the opposite side of the blanket, they were supposed to stretch out the arm holding the candle in order to provide as much direct overhead light as possible. This necessitated switching arms constantly while holding the same position. If they shifted their positions too much, their naked shins became the targets of the nearest elbows.

For almost three hours they stood in this manner, while below the six upperclassmen dealt cards and cursed and gambled for pennies. Sometimes boys drifted over from their beds to watch. As long as they performed their duties correctly, Philip and Jenkins were ignored, as any other article of furniture might be. When the game was over the candles were taken from them while one of the boys nodded toward the door. They had to feel their way along the corridor, but it was such a relief to be heading back toward his bed that Philip thought he would gladly walk over hot coals to get there.

Chapter 24

“But the horses will have the stables,” Thomas said Saturday morning while holding the reins stiffly. Seth was teaching him how to drive the wagon as they hauled lumber and tools out to the back pasture to construct three-sided field shelters. “Why do they need shelters too?”