Read Online The Black Seraphim by Michael Gilbert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Gilbert
Tags: The Black Seraphim
Ads: Link
“It’s a matter of trying to cram three half-pints into a pint pot. General education, music, sport. When there aren’t enough hours in the day for everything, something has got to go.”
“I see,” said the Archdeacon smoothly. “That makes us two all. I suppose I should have a casting vote, but I would be unhappy to use it in favour of my own project without rather more support from the committee. I think I shall hand my vote over to the headmaster.”
“Good idea,” said Canon Lister. “He’s the one who has to deal with the parents.”
Mr Consett looked far from happy at the idea of having to give the casting vote. He said, speaking slowly, as though the words were being forced out of him: “Canon Lister mentioned that some of our boys might be sitting scholarships. I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that. To get into any public school a boy has to pass what’s called the Common Entrance exam. It used to be just that. A common qualifying exam. If the boy could pass it, he was eligible. It’s not like that now. With the competition for places at the leading schools, a boy has to pass high up to get in at all. The whole thing’s become competitive.”
When he had finished, there was an uncomfortable silence, broken by Canon Lister, who said, “I think that’s conclusive, Archdeacon, don’t you?”
“Having asked for the headmaster’s views,” said the Archdeacon, “it would be pointless not to accept them. I will press the scheme no further.” There was neither surprise nor resentment in his voice. “If there is no other business, I will declare the meeting closed.”
As they were leaving, Mr Consett said, “There is one matter I’d like to mention, Archdeacon. Not committee business.”
“Then perhaps we can discuss it in your study.”
When Dora Brookes left the meeting, she walked back to the house next to the Theological College which her husband occupied in his capacity as Chapter Clerk. She found him in the back kitchen, a large, cool, stone-flagged room. Like many of his friends in those days of high prices, he had turned to winemaking; not always with total success.
He said, “You remember that peach wine that didn’t quite come off?”
His wife made a face and said, “I shall never forget it.”
“It wasn’t very nice, was it? What I thought was I might try to turn it into brandy.”
“Then we’ll drink it ourselves,” said his wife firmly. “I’m not going to risk it at a dinner party.”
“How did your meeting go?”
“Very well, until right at the end.” She explained about the opera company. “I was sorry we had to turn it down.”
“How did the Archdeacon take it?”
“He doesn’t like not getting his own way. I thought it was courageous of Consett to oppose him. After all, it’s the Archdeacon who appoints the headmaster.”
“My dear, Lawrence Consett is an excellent headmaster. A first-class scholar and very good with the boys. You don’t, surely, imagine that a rebuff in committee would turn the Archdeacon against him.”
“I don’t know.” Dora Brookes’ placid face was troubled. “He’s an odd man. He doesn’t like opposition. I think he’d have made a good managing director or chief accountant or something like that.”
“The real trouble,” said Brookes, “is that he isn’t managing director of Melchester Cathedral. That post happens to be filled by someone else.” He added, “Someone who also likes getting his own way.”
The Archdeacon went directly from the school meeting to the North Canonry and tugged the brass bell pull. The door was opened by Canon Maude’s mother. Mrs Maude was well on into her eighties, a small compact woman, a little deaf, but with all her wits about her. Since Canon Maude was clearly incapable of looking after himself, it was, as everyone observed, providential that his mother was still alive and active.
She said, “I expect it’s Mervyn you want,” and trotted ahead of him down the
“I see,” said the Archdeacon smoothly. “That makes us two all. I suppose I should have a casting vote, but I would be unhappy to use it in favour of my own project without rather more support from the committee. I think I shall hand my vote over to the headmaster.”
“Good idea,” said Canon Lister. “He’s the one who has to deal with the parents.”
Mr Consett looked far from happy at the idea of having to give the casting vote. He said, speaking slowly, as though the words were being forced out of him: “Canon Lister mentioned that some of our boys might be sitting scholarships. I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that. To get into any public school a boy has to pass what’s called the Common Entrance exam. It used to be just that. A common qualifying exam. If the boy could pass it, he was eligible. It’s not like that now. With the competition for places at the leading schools, a boy has to pass high up to get in at all. The whole thing’s become competitive.”
When he had finished, there was an uncomfortable silence, broken by Canon Lister, who said, “I think that’s conclusive, Archdeacon, don’t you?”
“Having asked for the headmaster’s views,” said the Archdeacon, “it would be pointless not to accept them. I will press the scheme no further.” There was neither surprise nor resentment in his voice. “If there is no other business, I will declare the meeting closed.”
As they were leaving, Mr Consett said, “There is one matter I’d like to mention, Archdeacon. Not committee business.”
“Then perhaps we can discuss it in your study.”
When Dora Brookes left the meeting, she walked back to the house next to the Theological College which her husband occupied in his capacity as Chapter Clerk. She found him in the back kitchen, a large, cool, stone-flagged room. Like many of his friends in those days of high prices, he had turned to winemaking; not always with total success.
He said, “You remember that peach wine that didn’t quite come off?”
His wife made a face and said, “I shall never forget it.”
“It wasn’t very nice, was it? What I thought was I might try to turn it into brandy.”
“Then we’ll drink it ourselves,” said his wife firmly. “I’m not going to risk it at a dinner party.”
“How did your meeting go?”
“Very well, until right at the end.” She explained about the opera company. “I was sorry we had to turn it down.”
“How did the Archdeacon take it?”
“He doesn’t like not getting his own way. I thought it was courageous of Consett to oppose him. After all, it’s the Archdeacon who appoints the headmaster.”
“My dear, Lawrence Consett is an excellent headmaster. A first-class scholar and very good with the boys. You don’t, surely, imagine that a rebuff in committee would turn the Archdeacon against him.”
“I don’t know.” Dora Brookes’ placid face was troubled. “He’s an odd man. He doesn’t like opposition. I think he’d have made a good managing director or chief accountant or something like that.”
“The real trouble,” said Brookes, “is that he isn’t managing director of Melchester Cathedral. That post happens to be filled by someone else.” He added, “Someone who also likes getting his own way.”
The Archdeacon went directly from the school meeting to the North Canonry and tugged the brass bell pull. The door was opened by Canon Maude’s mother. Mrs Maude was well on into her eighties, a small compact woman, a little deaf, but with all her wits about her. Since Canon Maude was clearly incapable of looking after himself, it was, as everyone observed, providential that his mother was still alive and active.
She said, “I expect it’s Mervyn you want,” and trotted ahead of him down the
Similar Books
