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“My wife is most anxious that you should dine with us one evening,” he fabricated. “She is concerned to know your views on the question of lady tutors for our female undergraduates.”
“Lady tutors?” said the Senior Tutor. “Lady tutors?”
“Naturally as a coeducational college we shall require some female Fellows,” the Master explained.
“Charming,” said the Dean nastily.
“This comes as something of a shock. Master,” said the Senior Tutor.
Sir Godber helped himself to stilton. “There are some matters. Senior Tutor, that are essentially feminine if you see what I mean. You would hardly want a young woman coming to you for advice about an abortion.”
The Senior Tutor disengaged himself from a mango precipitately. “Certainly not,” he spluttered.
“It’s an eventuality we have to consider, you know,” continued Sir Godber. “These things do happen, and since they do it would be as well to have a Lady Tutor.”
Down the table the Dean smiled happily. “And possibly a resident surgeon?” he suggested.
The Master flushed. “You find the topic amusing. Dean?” he enquired.
“Not the topic, Master, so much as the contortions of the liberal conscience,” said the Dean, settling back in his chair with relish. “On the one hand we have an overwhelming urge to promote the equality of the sexes. We admit women to a previously all-male college on the grounds that their exclusion is clearly discriminatory. Having done so much we find it necessary to provide a contraceptive dispenser in the Junior lavatory and an abortion centre doubtless in the Matron’s room. Such a splendid prospect for parents to know that the welfare of their daughters is so well provided for. No doubt in time there will be a College crèche and a clinic.”
“Sex is not a crime, Dean.”
“In my view pre-marital intercourse comes into the category of breaking and entering,” said the Dean. He pushed back his chair and they stood while he said grace.
As he walked back through the Fellows’ Garden the Master felt again that sense of unease which dining in Hall always seemed to give him. There had been a confidence about the Dean that he distrusted. Sir Godber couldn’t put his finger on it exactly but the feeling persisted. It wasn’t simply the Dean’s ma
Skullion returned from the Thames Boatman at closing time. He had had no supper and eight pints of Gui
“Skullion, what on earth are you doing here?” asked the Dean. There was nothing hangdog about the Porter now.
“Come to tell the General about being sacked,” said Skullion grimly.
“Sacked? What do you mean? Sacked?” The Dean rose to his feet, and stood with his back to the fire. It was a good traditional stance for dealing with truculent servants.
“What I say,” said Skullion, “I’ve been sacked.”
“Impossible,” said the Dean. “You can’t have been sacked. Nobody’s told me anything about this. What for?”
“Nothing,” said Skullion.
“There must be some mistake,” said the General. “You’ve got hold of the wrong end of…”
“Bursar sent for me. Told me I’d got to go,” Skullion insisted.
“Bursar? He’s got no authority to do a thing like that,” said the Dean.
“Well, he’s done it. Yesterday afternoon,” Skullion continued. “Told me to find other employment. Says the College can’t afford to keep me on. Offered him money too, to help out. Wouldn’t take it. Just gave me the sack.”
“This is scandalous. We can’t have College servants treated in this high-handed fashion,” said the Dean. “I’ll have a word with the Bursar when I get back.”
Skullion shook his head sullenly. “That won’t do any good. The Master put him up to it.”
The Dean and Sir Cathcart looked at one another. There was in that glance a hint of triumph which grew as Skullion went on. “Turned out of my own house. Sacked after all the years I’ve given to the College. It isn’t right. Not standing for it, I’m not. I’m going to complain.”