Wilberforce (43 page)

—The last thing I want is to create awkwardness, Jamie was saying, but I wouldn't be doing anyone any favors if I simply left the room to survey the stained glass.

—You'd be doing me a favor, Burton said.

—Not in the long run.

—You aren't Headmaster yet, Burton bristled.

Jamie adopted a strained, patient smile John recognized, only the last time he'd seen that expression had been on the face of Jamie's father.

—I am, actually. Acting from ten July, but technically, as of … an hour ago …

John watched the two in appalled fascination. Burton's complexion had turned what people called purple. John wanted to advise him to breathe before he broke blood vessels. Jamie, too, was blushing, across his cheekbones as he always had. It had the unfortunate effect of making him more attractive. Here was Burton, undergoing an epic humiliation, and not only that, but undergoing it before an audience of a junior colleague and a pupil who had embarrassed, disappointed, and outraged him in equal measure. He was enduring the extermination of what must have been a long-standing dream.

And Jamie, standing so diffidently, the world his, as it had always been. John could see him calculating how to minimize Burton's humiliation and prepare the ground for alliance. He could see that Jamie was embarrassed for Burton and for the way the scene had unfolded, yet he could see that Jamie did not intend to cede ground. He looked no more accustomed to being thwarted than he had been in childhood. John couldn't see the justice in it, in people such as Jamie who had everything handed to them without trying, or in the maneuvers of a high-handed Board that had double-crossed a loyal man in the name of—what? Why
had
they engaged Jamie? He was a year younger than John, had only been teaching two years (was it?), and knew nothing of St. Stephen's and its unspeakably intricate affairs. John could only conclude that the Board had been dazzled by Jamie's fraudulent charisma, as everyone had been his whole life long.

—Perhaps we ought to speak privately, Jamie suggested.

Burton snapped out of his paralyzed fury.

—Wilberforce! he barked. Go and stand in the corridor.

—Yes, sir.

—You're not to speak with anyone. Is that clear, or do you need to stand in a corner somewhere?

—It's clear, sir.

—Get out.

Wilberforce fled.

—Thank you, Grieves, we'll take it from here, Burton said.

Jamie stepped across his path:

—Please stay. We need you.

—That's quite all right, John stammered, I've got to—

—It wasn't a request, Jamie said.

John felt as though he'd been punched in the solar plexus.

—Drink? Jamie asked.

—No.

—You need one.

Jamie poured two measures from Burton's decanter.

—Our Grieves is an abstainer, Burton told him.

The knot in John's chest eased. For the first time, he felt comforted and protected by Burton's proprietary manner. Jamie let his surprise show, but then he combined the drinks into one glass and took it for himself:

—Shall we?

He gestured for them to sit. Burton took the straight-backed chair. Jamie drew the wooden armchair closer. John was left to occupy the settee Wilberforce had just abandoned.

—This is all very awkward, Jamie began, so let's try to sort things out as quickly as possible.

He looked to them, but they did not reply.

—What's to be done with this boy Wilberforce?

Burton sighed uncomfortably, as if he were suffering indigestion.

—Unless I missed something, Jamie continued, he has just confessed to fornicating with a village girl on the site of that appalling tragedy the
Mail
squawked about. That and beating another boy to something like a pulp. Is there any question of keeping him on?

—Yes, Burton replied.

—You're joking?

—I'm dead serious.

—He's a jolly good bat, but we can't let athletic heroes get away with bullying and fornication.

—One fight is hardly bullying, John protested.

—How old is this other boy … what's his name?

—Pearl minor, Burton said. Fourteen.

Jamie looked shocked.

—
That
boy is a menace, John argued. He's been responsible for … a good deal more than is generally known!

—Enlighten me.

—Grieves, Burton warned.

—John, you know I'll find out eventually, Jamie said. Can't you save the song and dance and simply tell me?

John looked to Burton, who waved his fingers in a resigned fashion. And so John told Jamie about Pearl minor and the Fags' Rebellion, at least as Wilberforce had narrated it to him in his unhinged condition after Spaulding.

—What a very resourceful community you have.

Jamie was going for wry humor, but Burton took it as sarcasm. John plunged forward with his narrative before Burton could further poison his relationship with his future—current—employer. He gave a précis of the McKay's barn debacle and followed it up with his analysis of Wilberforce's character, venturing before he realized into an account of Wilberforce's night ramble last term, his visit to John's digs, and their unorthodox interview. Not seeing how to extricate himself, John continued until he ran out of words.

Burton looked stunned. Jamie looked as though he'd opened a pie and discovered unsavory ingredients. John wondered where he'd set his lemonade. There it was, across the room.

—Quite a portrait, Jamie said drily. But how do you reconcile your obvious enthusiasm for the boy with the revolting confession he's just offered?

John was suddenly parched.

—Not to mention his egregious habit of disobedience.

—It isn't as though that doesn't go on all the time! John protested.

Burton sucked in his breath; Jamie's brow leapt.

—I don't mean—that is, the school's not—not all the time, I only meant that Wilberforce—

—I understand exactly what you meant, Jamie said. And I think I'm beginning to understand what it is I've been dropped into.

—I beg your pardon? Burton protested.

—May I speak plainly?

—Have you not been?

—And in strict confidence?

Burton threatened thunder but nodded.

—With a few exceptions, Jamie proceeded, present company included amongst them, I have been singularly unimpressed with the SCR. In due course, I intend to make changes. Burton-Lee, despite the innate antagonism between us, I wish you to know that I have the greatest respect for what you've done here.

—Is that so?

—Yes, Jamie continued, it is. Having perused Overall's audit, having read the
Mail
, and having endured the Board's blatant and frankly desperate propaganda, I had assumed the school I was about to visit would be a dissipated Dotheboys Hall, fit for little besides shutting up as quickly as possible.

—I refuse to sit here and—

—But plainly my expectations were mistaken, and I credit you with the discrepancy.

Burton fluffed and hemmed. John felt amusement and, towards Jamie, awe.

—I'm sure we are going to disagree about a good many things, Jamie said, but I've absolute confidence that we are batting for the same side when it comes to this school.

—Well, Burton said, trying to recover, cricket metaphors are rather tired, but point taken.

—And John, Jamie said turning that magnetic stare on him, I've no idea what you're doing mucking about in the village here, but it's got to stop.

—What do you mean
mucking about
? If you're suggesting—

—I'm going to need you as a Housemaster, that's all.

John uttered something, but it could hardly be classed as language. Jamie turned to Burton.

—Don't you agree?

Burton frowned:

—I suppose anyone would make a better fist of it than Hazlehurst.

—Good, Jamie said, that's settled.

—Just a minute!

John's wits were returning. He adjusted himself on the settee, but it failed to give him a more commanding position.

—I am not taking on a House. I'm not taking on anything. I was going to resign at the end of term, but since you've put yourself in authority, I'll do it right here and right now!

Burton sighed in exasperation:

—I thought we'd been through all this at Easter.

—That was before—

John was spluttering but he didn't care.

—Just what was the nature of your relationship at Marlborough? Burton asked.

—Nothing! We knew one another. We—he—the House—that is—

—We were friends, Jamie said.

—And you want to resign? Burton asked.

—I do resign!

—I don't accept your resignation, Jamie replied coolly.

—Damn you! What do you mean?

—What I say.

John got up from the settee:

—You can't make me stay here if I refuse. I'm a free man!

—If you don't stay, I'll not only see that this Wilberforce is expelled, but I'll make sure no decent school will ever take him.

The room tilted.

—You wouldn't.

—You know me better than that.

No longer smiling, Jamie's face had the strength of granite. Burton got to his feet and assumed command of the conversation:

—I've no idea who you think you are, Sebastian, but I won't watch my colleague be bullied. If you blackmail Grieves like that—and it is blackmail, as we're speaking plainly—then I will resign, and you can do what you like with Wilberforce and the rest of the staff you admire so very much.

Jamie's gaze fluttered, but only for a moment.

—Unfortunately, he said, my acceptance of this post was dependent on your staying.

—I beg your pardon? Burton floundered.

—Ask Overall. If you leave, I won't take the post, and I don't mind how put out Overall is. He can look somewhere else for a man willing to take on this Academy of yours. Or perhaps he could talk dear old Clement into taking the helm.

The scene acquired a sheen of the surreal. John had faced off against other men, but never two at once as they also battled each other. Now Jamie had outmaneuvered them both. A flare crossed John's vision, and a searing pain his temples. He reached for support, but his hands found nothing.

—Mind yourself.

Burton was at his side, taking his elbow, pushing a chair against the back of his knees, pressing a handkerchief into his hand. John panted against the pain and held the handkerchief against his closed eyes and clammy brow.

—What's the matter?

Jamie's voice was anxious. Burton put a cool glass into John's hand.

—Drink, he said quietly.

John obeyed. The water stayed down. He recovered his breath and then his vision. His eyes felt red and swollen. Burton was sitting beside him, leaning forward, elbows on knees. Jamie, too, had sat back down, though his chair remained several feet away. Burton cast his gaze over Jamie:

—This conversation has been most unedifying.

—I agree, Jamie said. I suggest we take a moment and collect ourselves.

John blew his nose. Perspiration ran down his back, dampening his shirt and trousers.

—Father, Jamie said, let your Holy Spirit direct our words and open our hearts. Help us recognize your will, and give us the strength to stand behind it. In particular, Father, we ask that you help us deal courageously with one another and justly with those in our care. We ask this in Christ's name.

John and Burton sat flabbergasted. S-K had placed regular emphasis on prayer, but he'd never prayed extempore. And neither, so far as John knew, had Jamie.

—I suggest that we consider rationally the question of young Wilberforce, Burton said.

—Agreed, Jamie replied.

—Permit me to summarize. Wilberforce has conducted himself appallingly this term and last. He is an exceptional sportsman, an indifferent scholar, a charismatic personality, and a catastrophically unguided young man.

—And that's my fault, I suppose? John bristled. It isn't enough to issue your diktats unless you give people the authority to execute them.

—What is he on about? Jamie asked Burton.

—All you said was
sort him out
! John continued. How was I meant to do that? I remediated his stroke, stopped him cutting away to the pub during Games, persuaded Andrewes to take him this afternoon—

—And tried him by fire with that right arm of yours, Jamie said.

That voice was stabbing John's chest.

—You did exactly what I expected, Burton said quietly. I've never seen a boy bat like that.

—Neither have I, said Jamie.

Neither had John. Morgan Wilberforce had departed breakfast a wreck of a Fifth Former and arrived at tea a sensation with a cricket bat. Perhaps John had forced the advent, but what had he actually driven into being? A boy who could brave his bowling and win a match, but a boy who could …

His pulse quickened. He was not responsible for Morgan Wilberforce, not for his talent and not for his iniquity.

—What makes you think I believe Wilberforce ought to stay? John said to Burton. He's behaved unforgivably towards Polly, and if her father reacts as I would, Wilberforce will be lucky to escape charges.

Jamie's face darkened.

—Not to mention the barbaric assault on Pearl minor and the whatever-it-was that made Wilberforce choose McKay's barn for everything.

—I thought you liked him, Burton protested.

—Are you saying he should be expelled? Jamie asked.

—He certainly should!

Jamie hesitated only a moment before gesturing to the door:

—Tell the boy to come back in.

—Wait! John said. What are you—are you going to—

—You
don't
want me to sack him?

—I, well, not just like that.