“Hold there, you chaps!”
William paused in his efforts to heave his portmanteau across the yard and glanced up to see a tallish lad running towards them.
“There’s a man here will see to that sort of thing,” the boy continued as he slid to a halt, sticking out his hand at Elijah in greeting. “Spencer, Alexander. You must be Bartlett and Price, the scholarship boys.”
To have their lowly status so gleefully and publicly declared made William cringe, and wish yet again that his mother had won her battle to keep him home. For his own part William would have been quite content to attend the local grammar, a situation that his uncle grudgingly accepted until word of the scholarship to St. Peter’s reached his ears. Then the old man would settle for nothing less than packing his nephew off to school.
Elijah, it seemed, was not embarrassed in the slightest. Agreeing amiably to the shameful designation, he proceeded to introduce himself and then William.
Spencer grabbed William’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “This will be tremendous fun. There’s only Bonny and myself in the lower fourth and the regular boys are rotten bullies.”
“Bonny?” William queried.
“Thomas Osborne. Bonny,” Spencer looked around and said, “Where is he? I swear he was behind me not a moment ago.”
The yard was emptying rapidly as the newcomers found servants to transport their luggage up to the school and were escorted there themselves by boys selected as guides. Finally despairing of locating his friend by conventional means, Spencer shrugged and let out a high pitched whistle.
From behind a nearby oak tree sauntered a boy, even smaller than William, his hands stuck deep in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the floor. His hair, an unusual shade of orange, stuck up in great tufts like a fox’s brush and his clothing was scruffy and ill-kempt.
“There you are,” Spencer crowed in salutation, bouncing in place as though eager to be elsewhere. “Keep these chaps out of trouble will you, while I go find a man to carry the trunks.”
With that Spencer took to his heels and vanished, leaving William and Elijah alone with this strange and silent apparition.
“Price,” Elijah introduced himself.
The reply came in the form of a squint and a nod, as was William’s when he attempted a similar greeting. The formalities exchanged they stood in uncomfortable silence until Bonny opened his mouth and said, “Rain later.”
“Indeed,” William agreed, desperate for any way to break the ice. “I thought that exact same thing myself, didn’t you, Elijah?”
Elijah’s eyes opened wider and he gazed up at the vivid blue autumn sky with nary a cloud marring its brilliant colour. Foreseeing his new friend was about to disagree, William elbowed him firmly in the ribs and Elijah took the hint; “Yes, yes, absolutely. Rain before the day is out to be certain.”
“Take your luggage, sirs?” a servant said, appearing from nowhere. “And young master Spencer bade me tell you he was detained and would see you later in the close.”
On their agreement, the man quickly organised his helpers and very soon the trunks were being hauled away in the direction of the main school buildings. Without a word Bonny turned on his heel and began to walk away. Elijah and William exchanged glances and then followed, concluding that, even if their new acquaintance didn’t wish for their company, they had little choice but to tag along.
The close was all a-bustle when they arrived, with several games of fives in progress along the chapel wall and a wrestling match being fought out in the opposite corner. Bonny ignored all and continued his stroll, weaving between boys twice his size oblivious to calls of “Heads-up,” and “Fetch the ball, Thompson, and no slacking.”
Completely overwhelmed, William did his best to keep up, the sheer numbers of boys making his head spin. Never in his entire life had he seen so many in a single place at a single time; why, there must be a hundred at least.
“Damn it all, watch where you’re going!” a voice snapped as a ball hit William solidly in the side of the head. He staggered but managed to keep his feet, or would have if a shove hadn’t sent him careening face down in the dirt.
“So-so sorry,” he stuttered clambering to his knees and feeling around for his spectacles. His hand closed around them just a foot came to rest on top of both exerting sufficient pressure to make the precious frames creak. “Please,” he said looking up into the hard dark eyes of his persecutor. “Don’t break them.”
“Oh, I think I will,” the boy answered. “T’would be a jolly jape and your father shall send another pair quickly enough.”
“Jones!” Another boy pushed through the small but growing crowd, and the foot moved allowing William to snatch up his glasses and cram them back on his face. When he glanced up the hard eyed boy was gone and in his place stood a lad with a shock of light brown hair and sharp blue eyes.
“You all right, young pup?” he asked, patting William on the shoulder. “Take no note of Jones and his chums. Brigands and cowards the lot of them.”
“Thank you,” William replied, climbing to his feet and dusting the worst of the grime from his trousers. “I didn’t mean to get in the way of their game but…” He looked around hopelessly but could see neither hide nor hair of Elijah and Osborne.
“Lost are you?” he was asked and then a hand was extended. “Munro, Lyall, and you are?”
William introduced himself and said that, yes, he was lost, having misplaced his friends during the ruckus.
“Then we shall find them for you. It wouldn’t do to have a new chap wandering around on his own.” An arm snaked possessively round William’s shoulders and he discovered that Munro, despite his authoritative presence, was actually a little smaller than himself.
“Don’t bother,” Bonny said materialising out of the crowd. “He’s with me.”
For a second Bonny and Munro faced each other like a couple of juvenile stags across a short yard of grass until Munro laughed, tightened his hug briefly, and let William go.
“Look after him, Osborne,” he said. “When I came to his rescue, Jones was all for smashing his spectacles. Goodness knows what he may have moved on to afterward.” Then without a backward glance, Munro strolled away, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his coat.
Bonny watched him go, silent once again, before turning to look William over, his face scrunched up into a worried frown. “Hurt?” he asked, returning to his normal monosyllabic style.
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” William replied, still flinching away when Bonny reached for his face.
“Grass,” the smaller boy said, displaying the evidence between his fingers. “Hair,” he added by way of qualification.
“Crikey, are you chaps all right.” Spencer bounded into view, his dark hair flopping over his eyes and his coat unbuttoned in a most unsuitable manner. “I told you they were damned bullies.”
William blushed at the language and then told himself not to be such a nelly, it was inevitable that some of the boys at the school would curse. Neither of the others seemed to notice his reaction; Bonny staring in the direction Munro had taken and Spencer now looking with him.
“Munro?” Spencer asked eventually, and when Bonny nodded, said, “Jeepers. That’s a bit of bad luck.”
“Actually,” William intervened, “it was he who rescued me. A fellow by the name of Jones was the one trying break my glasses.” His hand went automatically to his face to check they were still there.
Strangely Spencer shrugged off the mention of Jones saying, “He is simply a bully and coward to boot. Munro on the other hand,” his face flushed hotly and his gaze dropped to his feet. “Let’s just say that he and his brother are a bad sort and the further you stay from them the better.”
William sensed more behind the bland statement and would have asked if Elijah had not chosen that moment to reappear, his face pale with horror.
“Gosh, William. Did you know they have a billiards room here? Father would be livid if he knew. And the bigger boys drink alcohol, not just beer but spirits!”
There followed an animated discussion about the merits of abstinence versus temperate indulgence wherein Elijah discovered he was in a distinct minority. The others were all regular imbibers, a habit learned at their fathers’ knees and, by the time they had agreed that Price should be introduced to the fine diversion of a small tipple, all memory of Spencer’s strange words had vanished from William’s mind.
**
There were few things that had the power to scare Philip Jones; as self-declared
ruler of the lower-fourth he was more used to having others dance to his tune
than bending his own knee. But when the command came - “Cropper wants
to see you” – his stomach clenched and his knees shook and all he
wanted to do was run.
Silent and terrified he waited outside Cropper’s study for his audience.
Forster and Salomon, his lieutenants, propped up the wall next to him, whispering
in hushed voices, their faces pale and sweating.
“What does he want, do you think?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Maybe we’ve been chosen for a naming. I’d like that, though I hear the initiation is dashed difficult. The last boy…”
They had no chance to discover exactly what tale Forster had heard because at that moment Munro appeared at the door and beckoned them inside.
The private room was warm, stiflingly so, and resonant with the smell of oil, wax and alcohol. Heavy velvet drapes covered the windows, shutting out the autumn chill and creating layers of shade and shadow that turned bookcases into threatening giants and lamps into shimmering pools. In the centre of the room Cropper reclined on his sofa, legs spread, and a glass of brandy dangling from one hand. The other he had tangled firmly in the hair of the boy lying on his lap, the one everybody called Brolly, even before he became Cropper’s pet. Exactly what the boy was doing was impossible to see, but the way his head bobbed up and down left little to the imagination.
Behind them, leaning with folded arms on the high backed couch and watching avidly, stood the strapping Irishman, Brutus, Cropper’s enforcer who, it was rumoured, had thrashed a sixth former at the tender age of thirteen.
Philip flushed, his gaze darting around the room looking anywhere but at the boys on the sofa, and shuffled his feet in the growing silence. Finally Cropper let out a hiss of air and his hand tightened briefly on the glass as his hips jerked once, then twice. Brolly sat up, heavy eyed, stared straight at the visitors and swallowed, licking his lips like a contented cat.
“You- you wanted to see me, sir?” Philip asked, trying without success to keep the tremor from his voice. Cropper’s cool green eyes pinned him in place and Philip dropped his head, scuffing at the carpet with his toe. In truth he’d rather be sent to the headmaster a thousand times than venture once into this place.
“Munro informed you of our wish to possess the new boys?”
“Y-yes, sir.” Silence. One that Philip hurried to fill. “There may be a problem. Osborne has-”
“There will be no problem.” Brutus unfolded himself from the back of the couch and cracked his knuckles.
“N-no. No problems,” Philip stuttered backing away. He’d had first hand experience of those fists and knew not to court them.
Brutus continued to advance, his eyes flashing in the dim lighting. “Mayhap you’ll be needing a small reminder, Jones, of exactly where it is you stand.”
The shaking in Philip’s legs extended to his hands and, when Brutus lunged, he couldn’t help but squeal and duck away. As it happened it was not him the Irishman was after and Brutus came back with a fist full of shrieking Forster.
“Please! Please! Put me down! I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the unfortunate boy sobbed, his hands flailing weakly at Brutus’ broad chest.
Oblivious to the weak blows, Brutus gave the boy his due consideration. “Not so pretty as the fresh sports,” he said and then turned to Cropper adding, “but I’d be thinking he’ll suffice until our other amusements arrive.”
Cropper nodded wordlessly, and Brutus put the lad down, patting him on the head. “No tears now, me boy. Your chums will soon have you back at their side, isn’t that right, Jones.”
“I – we - will do our best, sir.” Philip said determining
to capture the new ones by sundown if he could. Andrew was his and Philip had
promised to protect him. God only knew what would become of him if he stayed
here. “You shall have them by Sunday evening if not before.”