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‘Mmm. Why do you think the author implied it was you?’
‘Because Hugo and the Feynshams would have sued, and to accuse Aaron would be to call Ella a liar. You and Prue are tediously plebeian, and it would besodisappointing if it was a passing lunatic or sneak thief after all. Thus, me.’
‘Yes, I suppose that covers it.’
‘Don’t read the book,’ Nicky said. ‘It’s more of the same, but this time you learn how many of our fellow students were prepared to share memories with a muckraker. There is a full chapter onCymbelinealone.Quiteunflattering.’
He sounded as light and sardonic as he always did; that cool, uncaring manner that never displayed hurt or shame. Jem didn’t want to know the depths it masked. ‘I’m surprised you read it.’
‘I had a copy prominently displayed on my shelves for a while,’ Nicky said. ‘In the nature of a warning, you understand. If you insist on reading the bloody thing, you may have it. Throw it away when you’ve done. I suppose we should dress. One never knows when a student may appear; the place is infested with them.’
Very light, very amusing, no feelings. Jem propped his elbows on his knees and his head on his hands. ‘Nicky, I should love to have dinner with you tonight, and to talk to you, and to come back here and—I don’t know, whatever elaborate Restoration comedy way you have of sayinggo to bed. I missed you too. But that’s why I have to keep asking questions, to find an answer. And I’m sorry if the person who killed Toby did it for good reason, but he isdead, and I can’t imagine a reason good enough for that.’
Nicky swung his legs off the bed and stood, long and lean. ‘Do as you must.’
He tossed Jem his clothes. They dressed in silence, Nicky disappearing into the study before Jem started to work the surgical stocking and built-up shoe back onto his foot.
He checked that he looked respectable rather than ravished, finger-combed his hair into some sort of order, and emerged. The shutters were open, and Nicky was back in his chair with his reading glasses and a pile of papers, just as Jem had first seen him. Jem looked at the pallor of his hair, the prominent bone structure, and quite suddenly he saw an old man, alone for a lifetime in a room of dead words.
‘Nicky…’
‘Lovely to have you visit.’ Nicky spoke with deliberate, dry insincerity, and then looked up before Jem could react. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. Jem—’ He stopped there and put up a hand. ‘Well. Off you go.’
‘Um, the book?’
‘Of course.’ Nicky put down his papers and went to the bookshelves. Jem followed and noticed a shelf with several stacks of monographs. TheWulf and Eadwacerone he’d seen before, and one that looked older, the cream cover faded with sun or time.The Wife’s Lamentation: a new translation and consideration. DrNicholas Rook.
‘Can I have one of these?’
‘Are you taking up a course of study?’
‘I’m just interested.’ He wanted to see how Nicky turned an ancient language into poetry, but it felt like too much of an admission to say so.
‘Help yourself. It’s never too late for education. I hate to hurry you, but?—’
‘Tutorials. I know. Goodbye, Nicky. And, well. Thanks.’
Nicky was still for a second and then gave a tiny shake of his head. ‘Dear boy…you’re welcome.’
FIFTEEN
Jem wasn’t looking forward to tea in the Master’s lodgings. DrEarnshaw had been an intimidating and superior figure even in the days when Jem had been a star of the college and invited to drink champagne. He wasn’t keen on meeting him as a failure.
The Master welcomed him with a handshake that betrayed age. He was smaller than Jem remembered, almost completely bald. An old man in a room that looked like a museum exhibit of the mid-Victorian era.
‘Well,’ he said, as they sat with china teacups, after the inevitable enquiries as to his parents’ health and his occupation, and the inevitable awkwardness at his answers. ‘And what brings you back to Anselm’s, MrKite?’
‘For one thing, I wanted to see DrRook.’
‘You were always great friends.’
‘We were.’
The Master was watching his face with eyes that were clouded with age, but sharp for all that. Jem sipped his tea.
‘It was a terrible business,’ the Master said eventually. ‘Poor MrFeynsham’s affair, that is. I know all of you suffered; the college suffered greatly too. We have weathered much over our history, and will doubtless weather more, but blood is a stain that is hard to wash away.’
‘Yes.’ Jem turned the thin, delicate porcelain teacup. The handle was angular and uncomfortable to hold. He’d never seen the point of posh china. ‘I loved my time at Anselm’s, until the end. I learned a great deal more than mathematics here. Things like intellectual honesty and the pursuit of truth.’
