Ways and Means Read online

  ‘Indeed? I shall be most interested to hear about him. I always follow up our boys’ careers with great interest. Do you know, madam, that we have produced three cabinet ministers and a field-marshal, not to mention poets, novelists, composers and others — but, tell me, how long ago did he leave?’

  ‘He’s only just left. I’m afraid it was under rather a cloud.’

  ‘A cloud, madam?’ He had got into the habit of addressing all his remarks to Elizabeth even when he was answering Basil.

  ‘A cloud, madam?’ he repeated. ‘But —’ And then the awful thought occurred to him. They couldn’t have come about young Wesley-Hart. He had already had three interviews with the parents and, at the last, he had been compelled to call the porter and ask him to show the lady and gentleman out. He had nearly had to add: ‘Whether they like it or not.’ This lovely creature couldn’t surely have any connexion with that disgraceful episode. But who else could it be? No one but Kenneth Wesley-Hart had left his school under a cloud. Oh dear, oh dear, he thought, and I was going to ask them to tea. I should still like to do so, but I can’t have that dreadful case gone into again. Elizabeth, realizing what was going on, gave him ten rounds rapid and five deliberate. She was a little dismayed to find that, although they all must have hit the target, it remained intact.

  ‘You can’t be referring to —’ he paused, hoping against hope.

  ‘To young Wesley-Hart?’ said Basil. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. We have the boy’s interests very much at heart, and his parents’.’

  Elizabeth was now firing steadily, but with too little effect. Mr Riddington stood up.

  ‘I’m extremely sorry, but the case is closed. Quite closed. Finished. Done with. Over. There is nothing to be said on the subject.’

  ‘I fully appreciate your feelings,’ said Basil. ‘It must have been most distressing for you.’

  ‘It was a disgrace,’ said Mr Riddington, ‘and we are trying to forget it.’

  ‘How well I understand,’ said Elizabeth, firing now almost frantically.

  ‘The truth is,’ said Basil, ‘that the boy’s parents believe in his innocence, and nothing that anyone can say can shake them.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Riddington, ‘but there’s nothing more I can do about it. The boy has only himself to blame.’

  ‘They are talking about bringing a law action to clear his name.’

  ‘An action?’ said Mr Riddington. ‘I can’t think what for. But they must do as they are advised.’

  ‘It would be so unpleasant for the school, though, to have Court proceedings.’

  ‘Most unpleasant, but I can’t help that, I’m afraid. It will be more unpleasant for the parents. Such proceedings are costly, I gather.’

  ‘They don’t worry about that. They look upon it like the Archer-Shee case and don’t mind what it costs them.’

  ‘The Archer-Shee case? Oh, yes — you mean the case where a man called Rattigan appeared in some capacity. But there’s nothing I can do. If they choose to make fools of themselves and ruin themselves into the bargain, that’s not my fault.’

  ‘One thing had occurred to me — and to my wife,’ said Basil, inclining his head slightly towards Elizabeth, who was busy reloading. ‘The Wesley-Harts rely upon us a great deal, and if we can satisfy them that there is nothing more to be done it may be that they’ll take our advice.’

  ‘But I gather you’ve already so advised them.’

  ‘We have, but, of course, we’ve never seen the proof for ourselves. Now we’ve seen you and had your assurances on the subject, that should be a help.’

  ‘Well, you have them.’

  ‘I wonder if we could also just see the boy Leader? The Wesley-Harts have never seen him. Now, if we could report that we’d seen him and heard his denials and were satisfied that it was hopeless to do anything more, they might at last be persuaded by us.’

  ‘But why should I do this? Why should the boy Leader be worried any more about it?’

  ‘For the good of the school, Dr Riddington,’ put in Elizabeth, coupling her remarks with intense rapid fire and giving him a doctorate to which he was not entitled.

  ‘It would be horrible,’ she went on, ‘to have this lovely school made a headline in the newspapers. You can’t stop people bringing law actions.’

  ‘Think of the effect on your pupils,’ added Basil. ‘What work would they do while the case was in progress? They’d be reading the papers all the time — that includes the picture papers too.’

  ‘Picture papers?’ said Mr Riddington, with some horror.

  ‘Yes, you can’t stop the Press taking photographs, and they get in everywhere. Just imagine “The Hall at The Summit”, “The Baths at The Summit”, “Cricket in progress at The Summit”, “The Laboratory at The Summit”. By mistake it would probably be a picture of the lavatories, but you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Then the Press would try to interview your boys. “What do you think of your Headmaster?” they’d ask. The best boys would describe you as you really are, but just think what some of the young rascals .might say. The public would lap it up. It would be horrible and so undeserved.’

  ‘I should think of you when I read about it,’ said Elizabeth sympathetically, and firing (metaphorically) from the hip.

  ‘D’you mean to say they could do all this by bringing a trumpery action of some kind which is bound to fail?’

  ‘Not only could, but will, unless we can stop them. That’s why we’re here. It seemed such a shame,’ said Basil.

  ‘We hadn’t met you then,’ said Elizabeth, ‘but now that we have, we feel even more strongly about it. Do let us help you,’ she said imploringly, firing volley after volley.

  The attack was in too great strength and Mr Riddington capitulated.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there can be no great harm in your seeing the boy. And, if that will finish it all, I shall be much indebted to you, madam.’

  ‘How wise you are,’ said Elizabeth, and relaxed. She was now only firing an occasional sniping shot, just to make him keep his head down.

  Mr Riddington rang the bell and told the porter to bring Leader to him. The boy soon arrived.

  ‘These are my friends.’ At the word ‘friends’ Mr Ridding-ton paused and looked for a second at Elizabeth to see if she confirmed the word. She did, and he went on: ‘My friends, Mr and Mrs Merridew.’

  Leader looked at them, but said nothing.

  ‘Come along, my boy, where are your manners? Say how d’you do?’

  Basil and Elizabeth shook hands with the boy, and then Mr Riddington continued:

  ‘Now, my boy, I’m sorry to have to worry you again but, for reasons which don’t really concern you, I want you to assure my friends that it was Wesley-Hart who cheated last term and not you.’

  Leader remained silent.

  ‘Come along, my boy, speak up,’ said Mr Riddington. ‘I expect he’s nervous,’ he added. ‘There’s no need to be, my boy. There’s nothing to worry about. Just say that to Mr and Mrs Merridew and then you may go.’

  Leader still said nothing. Mr Riddington became a little irritated.

  ‘Come along now. Do what you’re told,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Leader.

  ‘Nonsense, boy. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You didn’t give the boy away. On the contrary, in a misguided sense of loyalty, you stood up for him until I found out the truth. Now that that is known, there’s no need whatever for you to behave like this. Come along, then, speak up.’

  ‘I can’t,’ repeated Leader.

  ‘You not only can, but you will,’ said Mr Riddington, who did not like the lovely Elizabeth to see him almost defied by a small boy.

  ‘You wouldn’t have me lie to them, sir, would you?’ said Leader.

  ‘Of course not. I only want the truth. Repeat what you told me — that it wasn’t you who cheated.’

  ‘But it isn’t true,’ said Leader, hanging his head.

  For a moment, Mr Riddi
ngton said nothing. Then, in almost a whisper, but very distinctly, he said: ‘What did you say, boy?’

  ‘It was I who cheated, sir.’

  There was no doubt about it this time.

  ‘You?’ said Mr Riddington in loud and horrified tones.

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid so.’

  ‘And yet you told me over and over again that it was not you, and you let me expel another boy in your place.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, sir;’ said Leader.

  ‘Sorry, sir?’ said Mr Riddington. ‘Sorry. Before this matter is done with, you will be so sorry — But why have you not told me before?’

  ‘I was frightened, sir.’

  ‘Then why now?’

  ‘My conscience, sir. That talk you gave us on playing the game, sir. It was more than I could bear. I was just going to tell you about it when you sent for me, sir.’

  ‘Very well, Leader, you may go for the moment. I will see you afterwards. We shall have a long and painful interview. Go away now — you wicked, abominable boy.’

  Leader left and the Headmaster remained speechless for a moment or two after he had gone. He paced up and down the floor. ‘But what I can’t understand is why the other boy admitted it — it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Ah, but it all makes sense now. Kenneth has always told his parents that he only confessed because he was sorry for the other boy. I expect you noticed when he was at school that he was a very generous boy — always helping other boys and giving things away.’

  ‘I hadn’t,’ said Mr Riddington. ‘Quite the contrary, but no matter. Appearances are sometimes deceptive.’

  ‘They must be, Dr Riddington,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I spoke to Kenneth about it. “Didn’t you think of your own parents?” I asked? “Aren’t they as important as the other boy?” He broke down then, and that’s really why we’re here. At first he wouldn’t allow us, but when I pointed out about his own people, he began to see that he was wrong.’

  ‘This is a terrible situation,’ said Mr Riddir1gton. ‘I don’t know what to do. How could I tell which of them it was? What can I do?’

  ‘Let us help you, dear Dr Riddington. We are your friends,’ said Elizabeth. She was now mounted and leading the victorious charge. The battle was over.

  Shortly after tea, Basil and Elizabeth left The Summit, taking with them an unqualified apology signed by the Headmaster and addressed ‘To whom it may concern’. In it he absolved Kenneth from all blame except an excess of quixotism. He described him as a boy of sterling worth and lofty ideals who would be a credit to any school which was lucky enough to have him.

  As soon as Basil and Elizabeth had left, Mr Riddington sent for Leader.

  ‘And now,’ he said, ‘now, you miserable, wicked creature, what have you to say before I pass sentence upon you? You can expect no mercy — be sure of that, but I will listen to anything you have to say in extenuation of your terrible offence.’

  ‘Please,’ said Leader, ‘what I said wasn’t true.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Mr Riddington. ‘I know it only too well. But why wasn’t it true? Why did you lie to save your own miserable skin and to ruin the prospects of your innocent schoolfellow?’

  ‘He wasn’t innocent, sir. When I said it wasn’t true, I meant that what I said just now wasn’t true. It was Wesley-Hart who cheated, not I.’

  ‘Heaven give me patience,’ said Mr Riddington. ‘What have you said?’

  ‘I lied to you and the lady and gentleman, sir.’

  ‘You lied to us?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why, in Heaven’s name?’

  ‘I suddenly felt so sorry for Wesley-Hart, sir, and — and —’ He broke off.

  ‘Yes, and what else?’

  ‘And the lady was so very beautiful, sir.’

  ‘You abominable scoundrel, how am I to know when to believe you? First you say you didn’t cheat, then you say you did, and now you say you didn’t. How can I tell which is the correct version?’

  ‘Wesley-Hart confessed, sir.’

  ‘And are you aware, you’ — he could not think of strong enough language which did not go beyond the proper bounds — ‘are you aware that I have just signed a document acknowledging that Wesley-Hart did not cheat?’

  ‘Well, that’s all right, sir. That’ll make it O.K. for him. No one else will know.’

  ‘Well, boy, whatever else happens, you shall have the soundest thrashing you have ever known. Whether or not you cheated — and I don’t know now who it was — you have admittedly lied to me. Either you did so when you said you cheated or when you said you didn’t. There’s no gainsaying that, is there?’

  ‘It sounds logical, sir.’

  ‘Logical, eh? Impertinent as well. We shall see if you feel either logical or impertinent in ten minutes’ time.’

  ‘I shouldn’t punish me, if I were you, sir.’

  ‘Oh — you wouldn’t, wouldn’t you? Well, you are not me — not I — not me — and I am not you, and I shall now deal with you as I think fit, not as you do.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t, sir, if I were you. You see, sir, if you say nothing about this, neither shall I — honour bright — if you’ll forgive the expression — but, if you take it out of me, sir, I’ll take it out of you, sir, with interest, and I’ll prosecute you for assault as well. Twill not willingly be thrashed by you. I can’t prevent you, of course, but you’ll look a bit funny in the Magistrates’ Court when the doctor describes the bruises as due to unmerciful punishment (you didn’t use the word, sir, but you meant it), and when I produce the letter you’ve just signed (Wesley-Hart and I are on quite good terms really and I could get hold of it quite easily) and show that you really thrashed me because you’d made such a mess of it all, sir, if you’ll excuse my saying so — well, sir, bearing all that in mind, hadn’t we better cry quits?’

  It will be seen that Nicholas had not wasted his time with young Leader. The only piece of bad luck was that the former was not able to see his pupil performing. He was doing it very creditably — he had an excellent memory — and Nicholas would have enjoyed it. Of course, the boy had been given £100 and promised a further £100 — which was a satisfactory thought for him in case everything did not go according to plan. He felt reasonably confident, however, that, if he did not get off altogether, his threat of prosecution would prevent his punishment from being too severe, and it would easily be worth £200.

  Meantime, Mr Riddington had also been thinking. There was no doubt but that, wherever the truth lay, he had made an egregious ass of himself. He would hate that to become known in the school, let alone among the public. It was blackmail, and he did not relish the idea of being blackmailed by a small boy. But which was the lesser evil? If he gave the boy the beating he undoubtedly deserved, there was no doubt in his mind but that the boy would carry out his threat, and the law — ass that it was — might say he had been too severe. Indeed, he intended to be too severe. The idea of the Headmaster of The Summit being fined for assaulting a pupil was unthinkable. If he beat the boy at all he might still carry out his threat and, even if the case were dismissed, he would be held up as a laughing-stock over the cheating episode. It was a terrible dilemma, but he had to make a decision.

  ‘Leader,’ he said eventually, ‘you are a very wicked boy and will probably end up in gaol. You may even be hanged. But, for the sake of the school, I am not going to have this matter made public if I can help it. I do not ask for your promise, because it is valueless, but you have spoken to me of logic and perhaps you can understand this. The only reason I am not now going to punish you is to avoid publicity. If I find that such publicity occurs — through whatever agency — I will give you the punishment you so richly deserve. Fortunately, you are leaving within a year. If you had not been, I do not think I could have taken this course. Now do you understand me?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir. I no speak. You no cane. Permission to go, sir?’

  ‘Get out,’ shouted Mr Riddington, and his v
oice could be heard far beyond his study walls.

  It was tempting to Leader to break his promise. It was dreadful to have to keep the story of the interview locked up in his head. But like the good blackmailer he was, he realized that the Headmaster could be pushed too far. The fear which makes the victim pay is that of publicity. Once there is publicity, that fear is removed and the victim will turn round and attack. And, after all, he had made £200 and had had a most thrilling hour. So he contented himself with the thought that he would call on Nicholas and Petula and tell them all about it, and he kept his promise to Mr Riddington.

  The Headmaster had a very unpleasant half-hour communing with himself. ‘What else could I have done? I wish I knew who had cheated. I’d have sworn it was Wesley-Hart after he’d confessed, but this fellow Leader would be capable of cheating his comatose grandmother. Yet, if it was he, why did Wesley-Hart admit it? I doubt if Solomon could have solved this one. Oh dear, oh dear. He was right when he said I’d made a mess of things. But who wouldn’t have? I wonder what Arnold would have done.’ The Staff at The Summit found him exceptionally difficult for the next week or so.

  Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Wesley-Hart (‘you needn’t bring your son’, Basil had written) called on Basil and Nicholas and were overjoyed to hear the result.

  ‘How can we thank you properly?’ said Mr Wesley-Hart.

  ‘I wish I knew,’ said Basil, ‘but, unfortunately, I don’t.’

  ‘I fear,’ said Nicholas, ‘that virtue must be its own reward, if that is an appropriate phrase.’

  Some time later, young Leader called on them to receive his £100 and to describe the interview with his Headmaster. When it was all over, Basil said:

  ‘A few years ago we might have found considerable use for that young man. I wonder what he’ll turn into.’

  ‘A highly respectable bank clerk, I expect,’ said Nicholas. ‘Like bright sunshine first thing in the morning, he promises too early. When I was his age, I had all the makings of a highly respectable accountant. Fortunately, I outgrew it.’

  ‘I don’t know so much about “fortunately”. You’d have a regular job with regular hours. You’d come home to Petula each evening.’