The Masters (25 page)

Brown had been watching me as I answered. Then he watched Chrystal, and sank into silence, his chin set so that one noticed the heavy, powerful jowl. He thought for some time before he spoke.

‘I’ll join a discussion if you arrange one. I don’t like it but I’ll join in.’ He had weighed it up. He saw that, with skill and luck, it might turn out well for Jago. He saw the danger more clearly than anyone there. But he was apprehensive that, if he did not join, Chrystal might make an overture on his own account.

He added: ‘I shan’t feel free to express myself enthusiastically if we do meet the other side. Unless they put it all plain and above board. And I shall not want to bring any pressure on the two candidates.’

‘So much the better. If you and I disagree, they’ll feel there isn’t a catch in it,’ said Chrystal, with a tough, active, friendly smile.

Next morning Chrystal was busy paying visits to some of the other side. He saw Brown and me before lunch, and announced that he had arranged a conference for the coming Sunday night. There was a crowd dining that Sunday, and I heard Despard-Smith’s usual grating protest – ‘all avoiding the cold supper at home’; the number of diners that night helped to disguise the gap when six of us left after hall, but even so I wondered whether any suspicious eyes had noticed us.

We walked through the second court to Chrystal’s rooms. It was an autumn night of placid loveliness; an unlighted window threw back a reflection of the hunter’s moon; our shadows were black before us, and the old building rested in the soft radiance of the night.

It was warm, but Chrystal had a bright fire burning. His sitting-room was comfortable, rather in the fashion of a club; on a small table, a pile of periodicals was stacked with Chrystal’s unexpected, old-maidish tidiness; upon the walls stood out several cases with stuffed birds inside, which he had shot himself.

‘Do you want to bring chairs by the fire?’ said Chrystal. ‘Or shall we get round the table?’

‘I suggest round the table, if you please,’ said Winslow. ‘Your fire is so remarkably hospitable, my dear Dean. Almost excessively hospitable for this particular night, perhaps.’

Chrystal did not reply. He seemed resolved from the beginning not to be drawn by Winslow. With a plan in his mind, his temper had become much more level. So we sat round the table away from the fire – Despard-Smith, Winslow, and Francis Getliffe on one side, Brown and I on the other. Before Chrystal took the chair at the head, he said he could not offer us Brown’s variety of drinks, and filled for each of us a stiffish tumbler of whisky.

We all drank, no one had begun to talk, while Chrystal packed and lit his pipe. Suddenly he said: ‘We’ve reached a stalemate over this election. Do you agree?’

‘It looks like it,’ said Francis Getliffe.

‘How do you all regard it?’ said Chrystal.

‘I regard it as disastrous,’ Despard-Smith replied. His expression was lugubrious, his voice solemn; but he had already nearly finished his glass, and he was watching each word and movement on our side of the table.

‘It makes me think slightly less warmly than usual,’ said Winslow, ‘of the mental equipment of some of my colleagues.’

‘That is
amusing
,’ said Chrystal, but he did not pronounce the word with his customary venom. ‘But it doesn’t get us anywhere, Winslow. We shan’t get far if we start scoring points off one another.’

‘I associate myself with you, Dean,’ said Despard-Smith, with bleak authority.

‘I am still unenlightened as to where we are trying to get,’ said Winslow. ‘Perhaps others know the purpose of this meeting better than I do.’

‘It’s simple.’ Chrystal looked at the three of them. ‘This election may go to the Visitor. Are you content?’

‘The possibility hadn’t escaped us,’ said Winslow.

‘I expect that most of us have thought of it occasionally,’ said Brown. ‘But somehow we haven’t really believed that it would happen.’

‘I have found it only too easy to believe,’ said Despard-Smith.

‘Are you content?’ asked Chrystal.

‘To be honest,’ said Winslow, ‘I could only answer that – if I knew the mysterious ways in which the Bishop’s mind would work.’

‘I should consider it a c-catastrophe,’ said Despard-Smith. ‘If we can’t settle our own business without letting the Bishop take a hand, I look upon it as a scandalous state of affairs.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ said Chrystal. ‘Now I’m going to put our cards on the table. If this election does go to the Visitor, I’ve got a view as to what will happen. It won’t mean your candidate getting in. It won’t mean ours. It will mean a third party foisted on us.’

‘What do you think?’ Francis Getliffe asked Despard-Smith.

‘I’m reluctantly bound to say that the Dean is right,’ said Despard-Smith. He spoke, like Chrystal a few days before, as though he had the certainty of inside knowledge. I wondered if he had discovered anything through his clerical acquaintances. I wondered also if it was from him that Chrystal had picked up the hint. They were supporting each other at this table. And Despard–Smith’s support was still, at the age of seventy, worth having. He was completely certain of his judgement. He poured himself another large whisky, and delivered an unshakeable opinion. ‘I deeply regret to say it,’ said the old clergyman, ‘but the Dean is right. The way the Bench is appointed nowadays is of course disastrous. The average is wretchedly low. Even judged by that low average, this man doesn’t carry a level dish. He can be relied upon to inflict some unsuitable person upon us.’

‘Do you want that?’ said Chrystal vigorously.

‘I don’t,’ said Francis Getliffe.

‘I don’t myself,’ said Chrystal.

‘It doesn’t sound specially inviting,’ I said.

Winslow gave a sarcastic smile.

‘It somewhat depends,’ he said, ‘whether one would prefer either of our candidates to an unknown. I dare say some of you might. It may not be a completely universal view.’

‘You mean there may be people who won’t mind it going to the Visitor, Winslow,’ said Chrystal. ‘If they’re determined to keep one of the candidates out at any costs.’

‘Precisely, my dear Dean,’ said Winslow.

Brown looked from Winslow to Chrystal: his eyes were sharp but troubled as they moved from his opponent to his ally.

‘I think the time has almost come to explain where we stand,’ he said. ‘My own position hasn’t altered since last January. I’m convinced that Jago is the right man for us, and so I’ve never thought any further. I think I can say that Crawford wouldn’t be my second choice, if I’m forced to speak offhand.’

‘My dear Brown,’ said Winslow, ‘Jago wouldn’t be my third choice. I don’t find it easy to decide what number of choice he actually would be.’

‘That being my position,’ said Brown, ‘I shouldn’t be averse to passing the decision to the Visitor, if we couldn’t scrape up a majority for Jago.’

‘My reason is the exact opposite,’ said Winslow. ‘But I find myself surprisingly in agreement with the Tutor. I shan’t worry if the Bishop has to use his wisdom.’

‘I shall,’ I said. ‘For once I disagree with Brown. I’d rather have either of those two than anyone in the field. I’d certainly rather have either than anyone the Bishop is likely to choose.’

‘Good work,’ said Francis Getliffe, in a quick, comradely manner, as in the days when we were always on the same side. ‘I’m with Eliot there. I’m not in favour of Jago, but I’d rather put up with him than the Bishop’s nominee.’

We all turned to Despard-Smith. He took a long sip from his glass, and said with deep solemnity: ‘I too find myself among the Laodiceans.’ He added, so gravely that no one took account of the anticlimax: ‘I’ve never been ready to buy a p-pig in a poke.’

‘Yes,’ said Chrystal. ‘Well, none of you will be surprised to hear how I feel.’ He was addressing himself to Brown. ‘I’m not voting for Jago to keep Crawford out. I’m voting for him because I think he’s the better man. But either will do.’ He went on: ‘So that’s four of us flat against letting it go to the Visitor. I regard that as enough reason to explore a bit further.’

Brown was looking flushed and concerned, but he said: ‘I have made my reservations, but I am sure we should all like to hear what the Dean has in mind. We all know that it’s bound to be valuable.’ He was uneasy, I knew, but his affability covered him. I wondered whether it was friendship for Chrystal or party loyalty which had caused him to give help at this point. Almost certainly both – it was like him to mix policy and warm-heartedness without thinking, it was just that mixture which made him so astute.

‘Would you like to stay and hear it, Winslow?’ said Despard-Smith.

‘If you please,’ Winslow said indifferently. ‘If you please.’

‘Right,’ said Chrystal. ‘First of all I want to count heads. I regard Jago as having five votes certain as far as votes can be certain in a college – I mean three of us here and our two young men, Calvert and Luke. Pilbrow has promised to vote several times – but I’m not going to mince matters either way. He may even not come back, he’s not specially interested in this election.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ said Francis Getliffe with a sudden creased smile.

Chrystal went on: ‘I regard your side as having four votes certain. Yourselves and Nightingale. Nightingale can’t cross over again, or he’ll make the place too hot to hold him. You’re also counting on Gay, but I set him off against Pilbrow. He may have forgotten the name of your candidate before the election. He may vote for himself.’

‘I have no doubt,’ said Despard-Smith, ‘that Gay will weigh his vote.’

‘No, we’ve got to be fair,’ said Francis Getliffe. ‘We can’t rely on him. Chrystal has been quite objective.’

‘Remarkably so,’ Winslow added. ‘But what does it all lead to? Bring it to a point, my dear Dean.’

‘I shall get there in one minute,’ said Chrystal. ‘But I didn’t want to hide the facts. Jago is in the stronger position. There are no two ways about it. I don’t want to hide it: if I did, you would have a right to think I was going in for sharp practice. What I’m going to suggest may put Jago in. It will almost certainly put one of the two in. It will save us from the Visitor.’ He paused and then said with extreme crispness: ‘I suggest that we make ourselves clear to the two candidates. We tell them that four of us – or five or six if Brown or Winslow like to come in – will not tolerate this matter going to the Visitor. We tell them that they must vote for each other. It’s the only way to bring a majority within reach. If they refuse, we say that we’ll form a majority for another person. This will be someone
we
decide on. Not an outsider fobbed off on us by the Bishop. If we’re forced to have a third candidate, we’ll choose him ourselves.’ Chrystal broke into a smile. ‘But it will never come to that.’

‘I must say that it’s a beautiful thought,’ said Winslow.

‘It doesn’t look unreasonable,’ said Francis Getliffe.

‘I take it that it hasn’t escaped you, Dean,’ said Winslow, ‘that your candidate commands a probable six votes – and Crawford’s will neatly get him home?’

‘I went out of my way to explain that,’ said Chrystal. ‘I said perfectly clearly that it might happen. I repeat: this is a way to escape the Visitor. So far as I can see; it’s the only way.’

‘That may very well be true,’ said Francis Getliffe.

‘I cannot remember any step of this kind during my association with the college. It is a grave step even to consider. It is absolutely unprecedented,’ said Despard-Smith. ‘But I feel we owe it to the college to consider the suggestion with the utmost seriousness. To let the Visitor s-saddle us with some incubus of his own would in my judgement be an unmitigated disaster.’

From those first moments it was certain that Despard-Smith and Francis would support Chrystal’s move in the long run. Their first response was ‘yes!’, however much they wrapped it round later. They seemed to be saying yes spontaneously even though it looked like giving Jago the game. They seemed to have lost their heads. Yet they were each of them strong-willed and hard-headed men.

I had no illusion that they were not calculating the chances. They thought, rightly or wrongly, that this was the best move for Crawford, although I could not imagine how they arrived at it.

I felt more than ever certain that they must have learned at least some piece of gossip about the Bishop’s intention. They must have become quite certain that, if the Bishop had the power, Crawford would stand no chance. For a second, I suspected also that they had some information, unknown to us, about one of Jago’s side. But later I doubted it. It did not seem that they had any well-backed hope. It seemed most likely that in secret they were sure of Gay, and had a vague hope of Pilbrow and even (so I gathered with incredulity from a chance remark) of Roy Calvert, some of whose comments Despard-Smith took literally and misunderstood. So far as I could detect, they knew nothing definite that we did not know.

Those seemed their motives on the plane of reason. But they were also moved by some of the inexplicable currents that sweep through any intricate politics. Despard-Smith and Francis, just like Chrystal and I myself, suddenly panicked at the idea of an outsider for Master. It was as though our privacy were threatened: magic was being taken from us: this intimate world would not be so much in our power. It was nonsense when we thought of it in cold blood, but we shied violently from the mere idea. And also we enjoyed – there was no escaping the satisfaction – the chance of asserting ourselves against our candidate. There are some hidden streaks in any politics, which only flash to the surface in an intense election such as this. Suddenly they leap out: one finds to one’s astonishment that there are moments when one loves one’s rival – despises one’s supporters – hates one’s candidate. Usually these streaks do not make any difference in action, but in a crisis it is prudent to watch them.

Despard-Smith let fall some solemn misgivings and qualifications; Francis Getliffe was guarded, though anxious to seem open to reason; but Chrystal knew he had won them over. He took it as a triumph of his own. And in fact it had been an impressive display. For the first time in this election, he had thrown his whole will into the struggle. He had something definite to achieve; and, even against men as tough as his opponents, his will told.