“Not, I trust, another Porterhouse Blue,” he said audibly to the Bursar, and looked at his watch, with calculated unconcern. To the Dean Sir Godber’s manifest lack of interest in his demise came as a stimulant. His face grew pale and his breathing less sibilant. He opened his eyes and stared with loathing down the table at the Master.
“As I was saying,” continued Sir Godber, picking up the threads of his speech, “the measures I have proposed will transform Porterhouse at a stroke.” He paused and smiled at the appositeness of the phrase. The Fellows stared at this fresh evidence of gaucherie. Even the Chaplain, imbued with the spirit of goodwill and deaf to the world’s wickedness, was appalled by the Master’s sang-froid.
“Porterhouse will regain its rightful place in the forefront of colleges,” the Master went on in a manner now recognizably political. “No longer will we stumble on hamstrung by the obsolescence of outmoded tradition and class prejudice, by the limitations of the past and the cynicism of the present, but inspired by confidence in the future we shall prove ourselves worthy of the great trust that has been bequeathed us.” He sat down, inspired by his own brief eloquence. It was clear that nobody else present shared his enthusiasm for the future. When at last someone spoke it was the Bursar.
“There do appear to be one or two problems involved in this… er… transformation,” he pointed out. “Not insuperable, I daresay, but nevertheless worth mentioning before we all become too enthusiastic”
The Master surfaced from his reverie. “Such as?” he said shortly.
The Bursar pursed his lips. “Quite apart from the foreseeable difficulties of getting this… er… legislation accepted by the Council, I use the term advisedly you understand, there is the question of finance to consider. We are not a rich college…” He hesitated. The Master had raised an eyebrow.
“I am not unused to the argument,” he said urbanely, “In a long career in government I have heard it put forward on too many occasions to be wholly convinced that the plea of poverty is as formidable as it sounds. It is precisely the rich who use it most frequently.”
The Bursar was driven to interrupt, “I can assure you…” he Degan but the Master overrode him.
“I can only invoke the psalmist and say Cast thy bread upon the waters.”
“Not to be taken literally,” snapped the Senior Tutor.
“To be taken how you wish,” Sir Godber snapped back. The members of the Council stared at him with open belligerence.
“It is precisely that we have no bread to throw,” said the Bursar, trying to pour oil on troubled waters.
The Senior Tutor ignored his efforts. “May I remind you,” he snarled at the Master, “that this Council is the governing body of the College and…”
“The Dean reminded me earlier in the meeting,” the Master interrupted.
“I was about to say that policy decisions affecting the running of the College are taken by the Council as a whole,” continued the Senior Tutor, “I should like to make it quite clear that I for one have no intention of accepting the changes outlined in the proposals that the Master has submitted to us. I think I can speak for the Dean,” he glanced at the speechless Dean before continuing, “when I say we are both adamantly opposed to any changes in College policy.” He sat back. There were murmurs of agreement from the other Fellows. The Master leant forward and looked round the table.
“Am I to understand that the Senior Tutor has expressed the general feelings of the meeting?” he asked. There was a nodding of heads round the table. The Master looked crestfallen.
“In that case, gentlemen, there is little I can say,” he said sadly. “In the face of your opposition to the changes in College policy that I have proposed, I have little choice but to resign the Mastership of Porterhouse.” A gasp came from the Fellows as the Master rose and gathered his notes. “I shall announce my resignation in a letter to the Prime Minister, an open letter, gentlemen, in which I shall state the reasons for my resignation, namely that I am unable to continue as Master of a college that augments its financial resources by admitting candidates without academic qualifications in return for large donations to the Endowment Subscription Fund and selling degrees.” The Master paused and looked at the Fellows who sat stunned by his announcement. “When I was nominated by the Prime Minister, I had no idea that I was accepting the Mastership of an academic auction-room nor that I was ending a career marked, I am proud to say, by the utmost adherence to the rules of probity in public life by becoming an accessory to a financial scandal of national proportions. I have the facts and figures here, gentlemen, and I shall include them in my letter to the Prime Minister, who will doubtless pass them on to the Director of Public Prosecutions. Good afternoon, gentlemen.” The Master turned and stalked out of the room. Behind him the Fellows of Porterhouse sat rigid like embalmed figures round the table, each absorbed in calculating his own complicity in a scandal that must bring ruin to them all. It took little imagination to foresee the public outcry that would follow Sir Godber’s resignation and the publication of his open letter, the wave of indignation that would sweep the country, the execrations that would fall on their heads from the other colleges in Cambridge, the denunciations of the other, newer universities. The Fellows of Porterhouse had little imagination but they could foresee all this and more, the demand for public accountability, possibly even prosecutions, even perhaps an enquiry into the sources and size of College funds. What would Trinity and King’s say to that? The Fellows of Porterhouse knew the odium they could expect for having precipitated a public enquiry that could put, would put, in jeopardy the vast wealth of the other colleges and they shrank from the prospect. It was the Dean who first broke the silence with a strangled cry.
“He must be stopped,” he gurgled.
The Senior Tutor nodded sympathetically. “We have little alternative.”
“But how?” demanded the Bursar, who was desperately trying to banish from his mind the knowledge that he had inadvertently provided the Master with the information he was now threatening to disclose. If the other Fellows should ever learn who had provided Sir Godber with this material for blackmail his life in College would not be worth living.
“At all costs the Master must be persuaded to stay on,” said the Senior Tutor. “We simply cannot afford the scandal that would ensue from the publication of his letter of resignation.”
The Praelector looked at him vindictively. “We?” he asked. “I beg not to be included in the list of those responsible for this disgraceful disclosure.”
“And what precisely do you mean by that?” asked the Senior Tutor.
“I should have thought that it was obvious,” said the Praelector. “Most of us have had nothing to do with the administration of College finances nor with the admissions procedure. We cannot be held responsible for…”
“We are all responsible for College policy,” shouted the Senior Tutor.
“You are responsible for admissions,” the Praelector shouted back. “You are responsible for the choice of candidates. You are…”
“Gentlemen,” the Bursar interposed, “let us not bicker about individual responsibilities. We are all responsible as members of the Council for the running of the College.”
“Some of us are more responsible than others,” the Praelector pointed out.
“And we shall all share the blame for the mistakes that have been made in the past,” continued the Bursar.
“Mistakes? Who said anything about mistakes?” demanded the Dean breathlessly.
“I think that in the light of the Master’s…” began the Senior Tutor.
“Damn the Master,” the Dean snarled, struggling to his feet. “Damn the man. Let us stop talking about mistakes. I said he must be stopped. I didn’t say we had to surrender to the swine.” He waddled to the head of the table, portly, belligerent and stubborn, like some crimson toad and with all that creature’s resilience to the challenges of climate. The Senior Tutor hesitated in the face of his colleague’s revitalized obstinacy. “But…” he began. The Dean raised a hand for silence.