‘Indeed.’ The headmaster appeared to be brooding over this evidence of female precocity. ‘Then you think,’ he said presently, ‘that it’s something more serious than that?’
Miss Parry assented. ‘In a way.’
The headmaster eyed her with some apprehension; they had spoken of sexual matters before, but for the most part in general and hyperbolic terms, and at the moment directness seemed called for.
‘Seduction?’ he murmured uncertainly.
Miss Parry volleyed courageously. ‘I had thought of that,’ she admitted – and then leaned forward with a gesture almost of impatience. ‘But I’m inclined to rule it out. You’ll allow me to speak frankly?’
‘I should welcome it,’ said the headmaster gallantly.
Miss Parry smiled – a small, nervous smile so out of keeping with her habitual candour that it was a kind of revelation to him; he realized suddenly that she found such topics objectionable not out of prudery or obscurantism, but because their discussion was a real derogation of some unacknowledged ideal of decency to which she subscribed. He liked and respected her for it, and he smiled back.
‘There are two possibilities,’ she said. ‘A rape, which she couldn’t help; or a seduction, which she regretted afterwards.’
Miss Parry hesitated. ‘I know it’s unpalatable,’ she went on, ‘to talk about a girl of sixteen in terms like that, but I hardly see how it can be avoided…If it is a rape, then I scarcely imagine that one of your boys is responsible…’
‘Agreed,’ said the headmaster. ‘To my knowledge, there isn’t a boy in the school who’d have the nerve.’
‘And as to seduction…Well, in the first place, Brenda is a self-possessed and knowledgeable child, quite capable of taking care of herself. And in the second place—’
‘Yes?’
‘In the second place, I asked her outright this morning if anything of that sort had occurred. Her only reaction was surprise – and I’m positive it was genuine.’
‘I’m greatly relieved to hear it.’ The headmaster pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed perfunctorily at his forehead. ‘But in that case I don’t understand what upset the girl – or why she should be so secretive about it.’
Miss Parry shrugged. ‘No more do I. As far as I can see, sex is out of it, and although there are a good many conceivable alternatives, there’s no actual evidence for any of them.’
‘Then how can I help you?’
‘All I want is to establish, as far as possible, that nothing untoward happened during the rehearsal, or on the premises here. My responsibility ends with that.’
‘I see. Well, that should be easy enough. I’ll speak to Mathieson, who’s producing the play…If you like, I’ll do it now. I believe he’s teaching this period, so I can easily get hold of him.’
‘There’s no immediate hurry.’ Miss Parry rose and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘The whole affair is probably an ignis fatuus. Perhaps if you could telephone me later on…’
‘By all means.’ The headmaster, too, had risen. He pointed to a statuette of Aphrodite which stood on a rosewood side table by the door. ‘I’m very glad,’ he said, ‘that that woman isn’t responsible. When we have trouble with the play it’s generally safe to assume that she’s at the bottom of it.’
Miss Parry smiled. ‘The Platonic halves…’ she said.
‘The Platonic halves,’ said the headmaster firmly, ‘are best kept apart until they’ve left school. Apart from anything else, a little enforced abstinence makes the eventual impact much more violent and exciting…’ He became belatedly aware of the duties of hospitality: ‘But won’t you stay to lunch?’
‘Thank you, no. I must be back by the time morning school finishes.’
‘A pity. But you’ll be at the – ah – celebrations tomorrow?’
‘Of course. Who’s giving the prizes?’
‘It was to have been Lord Washburton,’ said the headmaster, ‘but he’s fallen ill, so I’ve had to get a last-minute substitute – the Oxford Professor of English, who’s an acquaintance of mine. He should be interesting – in fact, my only fear is that he may be too interesting. I’m not quite sure that he’s capable of the sustained hypocrisy which the occasion demands.’
‘In that case I shall come to the speeches. As you know, I avoid them as a rule.’
‘I only wish I could,’ said the headmaster. ‘Not in this particular instance, but in general…Well, well. I suppose these crosses helped to justify my three thousand a year.’
He showed Miss Parry out, and returned to the correspondence which lay on his desk. A Mrs Brodribb, it appeared, had much to say on the subject of Henry’s School Certificate results – a matter on which the headmaster himself was only imperfectly informed. There was to be a meeting of the Headmasters’ Conference in a fortnight’s time. Someone wished to endow a prize for the best yearly essay on The Future of the British Empire… The headmaster groaned aloud. There were far too many prizes already. The boys wasted too much of their time competing for them, and the masters wasted too much of their time setting and correcting them. Unluckily, the donor in this instance was too eminent to be offended; the only gleam of comfort was that with tact he might be induced to read the essays, and award the prize, himself.
The headmaster glanced rapidly at the remaining letters, and then put them aside. The problem of that lasciva puella, Brenda Boyce, had aroused in him a mild curiosity – and since the matter had to be dealt with, it might as well be dealt with now. He went to a dark green metal filing cabinet and investigated its contents; they revealed the fact that Mathieson was at present teaching English to the Modern Lower Fifth. The headmaster picked up his gown and mortarboard and, carrying them under his arm, made for the door.
‘For I have learned,’ said Simblefield, a small, spotty, cowardly boy, ‘to look on nature not as in the hour of thoughtless youth but hearing oftentimes the still sad music of humanity nor harsh nor grating though of ample power to chasten and subdue.’
He paused, and an expression of pleasure appeared on his unprepossessing features. Simblefield’s highest aim, in the recitation of poetry, was to get through his allotted portion without actually omitting any of the words; and this he had succeeded in doing. That there were subtleties of interpretation beyond and above this simple ambition he was, of course, vaguely aware, but in the flush of his present triumph he held them of no account.
In the silence which followed his breathless intoning, Mr Hargrave, the school’s most savage disciplinarian, could be heard in the next room booming Latin at his cowed and sycophantic form. Simblefield looked expectantly at Mr Mathieson, who was gazing with
