Geoffrey dangled the timepiece from his fingers, watching it swing back and
forth. It was valuable, he could tell that much from the fine engraving on the
gold, and probably foreign. He peered more closely and then flipped open the
casing. Swiss - Geneva, in fact - which meant it was very high quality. Was
Jones thinking of selling it? Was the boy really so hard done to that he would
consider stealing from his fellow pupils in such a fashion?
Enough, Geoffrey admonished himself, there was no proof the pocket watch was the one Cropper had lost and this trinket may well turn out to be Jones’ own. Perhaps a treasured gift from his father, a man who, if Craven remembered rightly, was serving his Queen in India. That would best explain why the watch had been concealed so far beneath layers of clothing and books in the bottom of the boy’s trunk.
“Craven, sir?”
Geoffrey glanced up at the sound of his name. William stood in the doorway twisting his fingers nervously in his jacket.
“Brutus is fetching Jones up from the refectory. He said they should be here in a little while.”
*
Breaking his fast only served to concentrate Philip’s unease over Andrew’s absence and, as he chewed his way through slices of dry beef and well buttered bread, his mind wandered, turning over events that could have conspired to keep the boy from his bed. Cropper was the obvious culprit; though, since Bartlett and Price had joined the sixth former’s stable, his interest in Andrew had thankfully waned. Philip entertained no illusions of being able to hang on to his personal catamite if Cropper attempted to win him back.
In his more cowardly moments, Philip considered speaking with Osborne, and asking for whatever protection he was able to extend, but that would mean changing the habits that had earned him respect in the first place and so the prospect held no real appeal. Not to mention his deep unease of how the other boy had won his influence with Cropper; it defied all the laws of logic and no one had been able to fathom the true reason behind it.
No, he simply needed to hold his nerve until Cropper and Brutus were gone. Then Philip could protect what was his and claim more.
“I missed Andrew last night.”
Philip grunted a reply, unwilling to enter into an exchange that may result in having to demonstrate outward concern, and focused on finishing his food. His relationship with Salomon was based on expediency rather than any genuine attachment, and any show of weakness could easily be used against him in future negotiations.
“You don’t think he’s drowned, do you? I mean, the last place we knew he was going was the pools, and I’d hate to think he had been caught in the weeds and we’d done nothing to help him.”
Hating that the tremor of worry in Salomon’s voice echoed his own concern, Philip snapped, “They would have found his body and the entire school would know by now. It is far more likely he spent the night hiding in a cupboard somewhere.”
Salomon opened his mouth to speak again, but Philip silenced him by glowering over his tea cup until the other boy flinched and returned to his own plate.
A sudden ruckus broke out by the door to the quad and Philip glanced over to see Forster being restrained by Brutus.
As he met the other boy’s eye, Andrew yelled, “Run, Philip! They know!”
Philip shot up from the table, tumbling the bench over behind him, and scrambled for the other exit. Blinded, partly by rage at Andrew’s obvious duplicity and partly by sheer terror at having been caught out, he stumbled over the leg of a table and measured his length on the bare floor. Brutus was on him in a moment, and Jones yowled as his arm was captured and twisted cruelly up his back.
“Keep it down, boy,” Brutus snapped, “or do you want everyone to know what a yellow bellied coward you are?”
Biting back the sob that threatened to escape, Philip hissed, “What are you going to do? It’s not as though you can tell the school board that I’m going to steal your toys.”
Brutus’ chuckle did nothing to calm Philip’s nerves, neither did his comment. “Toys are the least of your worries, Jones. The board doesn’t tolerate thieves though, you have that much right.”
*
It was nigh on an hour before Brutus appeared, frog-marching the unfortunate Jones in front of him up the corridor. William leapt to his feet, preparing to join them for the interrogation, only to stare in confusion as Brutus strode past without so much as a word or a gesture. He caught a brief glimpse of Craven still sat on the bed before the door slammed in his face leaving him alone in the corridor. With a sigh, William slid back down the wall to resume guard outside the dormitory and eavesdropped on events unfolding within.
When Philip saw Craven, he didn’t know what to think. Expecting to find Cropper waiting for him, he had prepared his case and decided that, if all else failed, he would cut a deal. Craven’s presence indicated matters had progressed well past that point. It meant he was to be accused of some serious misdemeanour, and that they had evidence against him. It probably meant being sent down from school.
“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” he protested, wrenching free of Brutus’ grip. The bigger boy released him suddenly and Philip stumbled, only avoiding a tumble by grabbing the curtain that surrounded his sleeping space.
Craven stood up, towering over them both, and held out his hand. Nestled in his palm was a gold pocket watch, engraved on the outside with the words ‘Lehre und lerne’.
“This was found in your trunk,” Craven said.
Philip stared at it, and then up at the head boy. Craven’s normally open face was shadowed with disappointment and Philip couldn’t see the why of it.
“It isn’t mine,” he stated. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“And yet there it was. Tucked under your Sunday shirts and covered in cheap penny novels.”
“How the hell would you know, Brutus. You weren’t even here.”
“Will was. D’ya want me to send for him?”
The two boys measured up, nose to nose. Brutus embodied the very meaning of casual intimidation and Philip clenched his fists at his sides, trembling with rage.
“Tell me who’s it is,” he shouted, “you-you-” he couldn’t think of a name foul enough to call Brutus. Or at least, not one that wouldn’t land him in trouble with Craven.
“You’re so blasted clever, how about you tell me?”
“Brutus,” Craven interjected and gestured for Brutus to answer Philip’s question.
“It belongs to Cropper. A gift from his mentor, Herr Boehm,” Brutus shared grudgingly. “I have seen it many times and Cropper told me the tale of its presentation. The words engraved on the casing, ‘Live and Learn,’ were a parting message when he left for school four years ago.”
The facts suddenly slid into place. Panic-stricken, Philip’s gaze flew from Brutus to Craven and back again, only to find the same disgusted expression on both their faces. “I didn’t steal it,” he argued, knowing it was useless but unable to keep his peace. “Someone must have planted it in my things, or-”
“You’re accusing someone of making you their fall guy?” Craven asked. “Why would they do that?”
‘Because I threatened to take over their damned empire!’ Philip wanted to shout. But one glance at Brutus’ face told him it was pointless. The fight finally drained out of him, his shoulders slumped and he mumbled, “I don’t know,” into his chest instead.
“I think that tells us all we need to know.” Brutus’ fist closed around Philip’s collar again and he started for the door dragging Philip with him. “I’ll be taking this one. I trust you can handle the board.”
Craven nodded and turned away, slipping the stolen watch into his pocket. “I’ll keep this as evidence. Tell Cropper he’ll get it back once a pronouncement’s been made. In the meantime, the thief is yours, or Cropper’s anyway. He can answer for his crimes the traditional way.”