‘Nothing at all,’ I added.
‘Is that absolutely true?’ Chrystal was talking to Brown in a tone of great reason and friendliness. ‘Look, I’ll put up a case for you to knock down. We threatened those two prima donnas that if they didn’t play we’d settle on a third candidate. The other side were only too anxious to come in. Men like old Despard and Getliffe didn’t like this lamentable position any more than we did. And I don’t believe Crawford did. I’ve got some respect for their judgement. Did you notice that they were very forthcoming this afternoon? More than some of their own side. Well, I should like to know their line of thought tonight. What do they expect? They know it’s 6–6 as well as we do. Do you think they’ve heard about Pilbrow?’
‘I should think that it’s extraordinarily unlikely.’
‘I should like to know,’ said Chrystal, ‘whether their thoughts have turned to a third candidate again.’
Brown was flushed.
‘It’s possible they may have,’ he said, ‘but it wouldn’t be a very profitable speculation. It couldn’t get anywhere unless we were foolish enough to meet them halfway.’
‘I shouldn’t like to dismiss it,’ said Chrystal.
‘I’m sorry to hear you say so,’ said Brown.
‘We should have to feel our way. We shouldn’t have to give away a point. But I should like a chance to explore it.’
‘Have they made any approaches?’ I asked.
‘Not to me,’ said Chrystal.
‘Do you intend to?’
He looked truculent.
‘Only if I see an opening,’ he said.
‘I very much hope you won’t,’ said Brown sternly and with great weight.
‘It’s only as a last resort. If we can’t get our man in.’ All the time Chrystal was trying to placate Brown, trying to persuade him all was welclass="underline" he was working to get rid of the heavy, anxious, formidable frown that had stayed on Brown’s face. ‘After all,’ said Chrystal, with his trace of the gamin, ‘you didn’t like our last effort. But it came off.’
‘We were luckier than we deserved.’
‘We need a bit of luck.’
‘Nothing will reconcile me,’ said Brown, ‘to any more approaches from our side. They can only give the others one impression. And that is, without putting too fine a point on it, that we’ve lost faith in our man.’
He looked at Chrystal.
‘I realize you’ve always had your misgivings,’ he went on. ‘But that’s all the more reason why you shouldn’t have any dealings with the other side. This isn’t the time to give them any inkling that you’re not a whole-hogger. The only safe course is to leave them in their ignorance.’
‘If they make a move?’
‘We ought to cross that bridge when we come to it.’ Then Brown relaxed. ‘I’m sorry Jago let his tongue run away with him this afternoon.’
‘That didn’t affect me one way or the other,’ Chrystal said curtly. ‘It doesn’t alter the situation.’
‘We’d better all sleep on it,’ said Brown. ‘I expect you’ll agree tomorrow that we’ve got to sit tight. It’s the only statesmanlike thing to do.’
‘I should let you know,’ said Chrystal, ‘before I spoke to anyone.’
33: That Which Dies Last
The next day, December 12th, began for me with a letter which took my mind right away from the college. When I dined in hall that night, my private preoccupation had so affected me that I felt I was a visitor from outside. The college was full of rumours, hushed conversation, tête-à-têtes; in the combination room Francis Getliffe and Winslow spent several minutes talking in a corner. The chief rumours that night were that an informal meeting of the whole college was to be held to discuss the deadlock: and that Nightingale was just on the point of sending round another flysheet.
I had three impressions of extreme sharpness. The first was that Brown was deeply troubled, even more than he had been during the talk with Chrystal the previous night. Chrystal was not dining, and Brown slipped away by himself immediately after hall. I did not get the chance of a word with him. My second impression was that Nightingale behaved as though he had something up his sleeve. And the third, and much the strongest, was that Jago felt that night assured that he was in.
Perhaps, I thought, it was one of those intermissions that come in any period of anxiety: one is waiting for an answer, one goes to bed anxious, wakes up for no reason suffused with hope, suffused with hope so strong that it seems the answer has already come.
Anyway, Jago was quite relaxed, his voice easy; he did not have to clown; he did not make a remark which drew attention to himself. He spoke to Crawford with such friendliness, such quiet warmth, such subdued but natural confidence, that Crawford seemed out of his depth. He had never seen his rival like this before, he had never felt the less comfortable of the two.
I walked away from the combination room with Jago. He had promised to show me a small comet which had become visible a night or two before, and we climbed to the top of a staircase in the second court. There, looking over the garden to the east, he made me see a blur of light close to the faintest star of the Great Bear. He had been an amateur astronomer since childhood, and from the stars he gained, despite his unbelief, something close to a religious emotion.
The silence of the infinite spaces did not terrify him. He felt at one with the heavens; it was through them that he knew a sense of the unseen. But he only spoke of what he could observe. That night, he told me where the comet would have reached by the same time next day: how fast it was travelling: the size of its orbit: how long it would be before man saw it again.
Coming down the stairs, he was full of happiness. He was not even much excited when he saw Pilbrow’s door open and his servant lighting a fire. I went in and asked the reason, and was told that Pilbrow had sent a telegram from London, saying that he was returning by the last train.
Jago heard the servant’s answers from the landing, and I did not need to tell him that Pilbrow was coming back. ‘He’s a wonderful old boy,’ said Jago. He did not say it with emphasis; for him, the news just completed the well-being of an evening. He said a contented good-night, and walked at a leisurely pace along the path to his house. I had not seen him walk so slowly since that afternoon of our first party meeting, when he felt the Mastership lay in his hands.
Once at least he lifted his eyes to the stars.
It was well past one o’clock next morning, and I was writing by my fire, when I heard the clang of the great gate’s belclass="underline" gently once or twice, then a long impatient ring, then another. At last the porter must have woken up. I heard the opening of a door, and finally the rattle and clash as the gate was unlocked.
There were steps through the court. I wondered who had come in late, and turned back to my writing. A few minutes later, the steps sounded on my own staircase. It was Pilbrow.
‘I saw your light on my way past. I had to tidy up after the trip. I specially wanted to see you before you went to bed.’
He had burst in, looking ten years younger than his age. He was ruddily sunburned, and there were one or two patches on the top of his bald head from which the skin had peeled.
‘I had lunch in Split thirty-six hours ago. Split! Split! I like the Slavs — Absurd names. Much more absurd than the Italian names.’ He pronounced the name several times aloud, chuckling to himself. ‘Astonishing number of beautiful people. You sit in the market place and watch them… Also extremely prudish. Why do people get steadily more beautiful as you go south-east from the Brenner? The Tyrolese are lovely. The Dalmatians are better still. They also get more prudish as they get more beautiful. The Tyrolese are moderately prudish. The Dalmatians extremely… I suppose it’s a law of nature. A very stupid one too.’