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Authors: Antonia Fraser
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myself.' And Jack Iverstone rode away on his bicycle.
That night anyone within Rochester gazing at Hawksmoor's exquisite facade would have seen one patch of darkness among the lighted archways: Staircase Thirteen alone was not illuminated by an overhead light inside the arch. The impression given by this dark gap might have been mysterious and even slightly sinister. Unless a watcher reflected that a missing light bulb, far from being an abnormal phenomenon in the archway of an Oxford college, was in fact nothing out of the ordinary, given the relative durability of light bulbs and the lack of housekeeperly attention to detail in such surroundings.
It was silent on Staircase Thirteen. Visitors were not admitted to Rochester after 11.30 p.m. (although no check was made as to whether all the many visitors freely admitted throughout the day had actually left). Rochester's own undergraduates and dons were of course at liberty to move freely about the college, its two main quadrangles and the newly built library all night if they so pleased. The library, a recent gift of a rich Turk, reposed beyond the Hawksmoor quadrangle, all glass and steel, looking like some vast beached ship or ark which had sailed into classical Oxford on some vast flood tide, and been deposited there unable to float away again. There were still lights burning in the library.
After a while the wooden steps of Staircase Thirteen creaked a little as though someone was ascending. But then the steps creaked sometimes of their own accord when there was no one there at all. When a door opened on the top landing, the noise was considerable. Saffron's voice, indistinct, and his characteristic arrogant laugh could be heard. Tiggie Jones' voice was higher and clearer. She was laughing too, though giggling might be a better word. Tiggie was saying something like: 'Oh Saffer, don't, don't be a naughty boy.' There was scuffling and more laughing. The door shut.
Then there were footsteps, heavy footsteps, descending.
After that, there was a gasp, a stifled cry or shout, then a heavy protracted crash, as of a body rolling over and over down a staircase. Then there was complete silence.
Nothing happened at all. No door opened on the various landings. Professor Mossbanker's door remained shut, which was just as well for something which looked horribly inert and lifeless lay right across it, and it was doubtful that the professor could have managed to open it in any case.
After about five minutes the creakings resumed. Someone was coming very carefully and softly indeed down the stairs. There was a noise as of a body being dragged down the stairs to the basement.
A few minutes later the deep cyclical hum of a washing machine was heard from the depths of the building, the noise loud and sepulchral in the night silence.
The washing machine continued to revolve ardently, but its noise could not of course wake the dead man lying beside it. It was not until sometime later that Professor Mossbanker, in the absence of lights, stumbled down to the basement. In the darkness of the launderette the light of the machine glowed at him. He stood staring at it for quite a long time, as if not quite comprehending what he saw. Then he bent over the dark shape at his feet, much as the prowler had done earlier.
Professor Mossbanker gave a deep sigh, or something more like a sob than a sigh.
6
No Long Shadows
The police came to the conclusion that Bevis Ian Marcus (known to his friends as Bim) had died as a result of a late night fall down a steep staircase in Rochester College.
The nickname 'Bim' was not actually used by anyone at the inquest. It would have doubtless seemed too cosy, too intimate for such a grim occasion as an inquest on a twenty-year-old undergraduate who had broken his neck following some kind of party. Those who gave evidence included Miss Antigone Rose Jones, twenty-three, of Launceston Place, SW, Saffron Ivo Charles Iverstone, commonly known as Viscount
That night anyone within Rochester gazing at Hawksmoor's exquisite facade would have seen one patch of darkness among the lighted archways: Staircase Thirteen alone was not illuminated by an overhead light inside the arch. The impression given by this dark gap might have been mysterious and even slightly sinister. Unless a watcher reflected that a missing light bulb, far from being an abnormal phenomenon in the archway of an Oxford college, was in fact nothing out of the ordinary, given the relative durability of light bulbs and the lack of housekeeperly attention to detail in such surroundings.
It was silent on Staircase Thirteen. Visitors were not admitted to Rochester after 11.30 p.m. (although no check was made as to whether all the many visitors freely admitted throughout the day had actually left). Rochester's own undergraduates and dons were of course at liberty to move freely about the college, its two main quadrangles and the newly built library all night if they so pleased. The library, a recent gift of a rich Turk, reposed beyond the Hawksmoor quadrangle, all glass and steel, looking like some vast beached ship or ark which had sailed into classical Oxford on some vast flood tide, and been deposited there unable to float away again. There were still lights burning in the library.
After a while the wooden steps of Staircase Thirteen creaked a little as though someone was ascending. But then the steps creaked sometimes of their own accord when there was no one there at all. When a door opened on the top landing, the noise was considerable. Saffron's voice, indistinct, and his characteristic arrogant laugh could be heard. Tiggie Jones' voice was higher and clearer. She was laughing too, though giggling might be a better word. Tiggie was saying something like: 'Oh Saffer, don't, don't be a naughty boy.' There was scuffling and more laughing. The door shut.
Then there were footsteps, heavy footsteps, descending.
After that, there was a gasp, a stifled cry or shout, then a heavy protracted crash, as of a body rolling over and over down a staircase. Then there was complete silence.
Nothing happened at all. No door opened on the various landings. Professor Mossbanker's door remained shut, which was just as well for something which looked horribly inert and lifeless lay right across it, and it was doubtful that the professor could have managed to open it in any case.
After about five minutes the creakings resumed. Someone was coming very carefully and softly indeed down the stairs. There was a noise as of a body being dragged down the stairs to the basement.
A few minutes later the deep cyclical hum of a washing machine was heard from the depths of the building, the noise loud and sepulchral in the night silence.
The washing machine continued to revolve ardently, but its noise could not of course wake the dead man lying beside it. It was not until sometime later that Professor Mossbanker, in the absence of lights, stumbled down to the basement. In the darkness of the launderette the light of the machine glowed at him. He stood staring at it for quite a long time, as if not quite comprehending what he saw. Then he bent over the dark shape at his feet, much as the prowler had done earlier.
Professor Mossbanker gave a deep sigh, or something more like a sob than a sigh.
6
No Long Shadows
The police came to the conclusion that Bevis Ian Marcus (known to his friends as Bim) had died as a result of a late night fall down a steep staircase in Rochester College.
The nickname 'Bim' was not actually used by anyone at the inquest. It would have doubtless seemed too cosy, too intimate for such a grim occasion as an inquest on a twenty-year-old undergraduate who had broken his neck following some kind of party. Those who gave evidence included Miss Antigone Rose Jones, twenty-three, of Launceston Place, SW, Saffron Ivo Charles Iverstone, commonly known as Viscount
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