Gaudy Night

She went into Tudor and tapped on Miss Barton’s door, asking, when she was admitted, whether she might borrow a copy of Woman’s Place in the Modern State.

“The sleuth at work?” said Miss Barton. “Well, Miss Vane, here it is. By the way, I should like to apologize to you for some of the things I said when you were here last. I shall be very glad to see you handle this most unpleasant business, which can scarcely be an agreeable thing for you. I admire exceedingly anyone who can subordinate her own feelings to the common advantage. The case is obviously pathological-as all anti-social behaviour is, in my opinion. But here there is no question of legal proceedings, I imagine. At least, I hope not. I feel extremely anxious that it should not be brought into court; and on that account I am against hiring detectives of any kind. If you are able to get to the bottom of it, I am ready to give you any help I can.”

Harriet thanked the Fellow for her good opinion and for the book.

“You are probably the best psychologist here,” said Harriet. “What do you think of it?”

“Probably the usual thing: a morbid desire to attract attention and create a public uproar. The adolescent and the middle-aged are the most likely suspects. I should very much doubt whether there is much more to it than that. Beyond, I mean, that the incidental obscenities point to some kind of sexual disturbance. But that is a commonplace in cases of this kind. But whether you ought to look for a man-hater or a man-trap,” added Miss Barton, with the first glimmer of humour Harriet had ever seen in her, “I can’t tell you.”

Having put away her various acquisitions in her own room, Harriet thought it was time to go and see the Dean. She found Miss Burrows with her, very tired and dusty after coping with the Library, and being refreshed with a glass of hot milk, to which Miss Martin insisted on adding just a dash of whisky to induce slumber.

“What new light one gets on the habits of the S.C.R. when one’s an old student,” said Harriet, “I always imagined that there was only one bottle or ardent spirits in the college, kept under lock and key by the Bursar for life-and-death emergencies.”

“It used to be so,” said the Dean, “but I’m getting frivolous in my old age. Even Miss Lydgate cherishes a small stock of cherry brandy, for high-days and holidays. The Bursar is even thinking of laying down a little port for the College.”

“Great Scott!” said Harriet.

“The students are not supposed to imbibe alcohol,” said the Dean, “but I shouldn’t like to go bail for the contents of all the cupboards in College.”

“After all,” said Miss Burrows, “their tiresome parents bring them up to cocktails and things at home, so it probably seems ridiculous to them that they shouldn’t do the same thine here.”

“And what can one do about it? Make a police search through their belongings? Well, I flatly refuse. We can’t keep the place like a gaol.”

“The trouble is,” said the Librarian, “that everybody sneers at restrictions and demands freedom, till something a

“You can’t exercise the old kind of discipline in these days,” said the Dean; “it’s too bitterly resented.”

“The modern idea is that young people should discipline themselves,” said the Librarian. “But do they?”

“No; they won’t. Responsibility bores ’em. Before the War they passionately had College Meetings about everything. Now, they won’t be bothered. Half the old institutions, like the College debates and the Third Year Play, are dead or moribund. They don’t want responsibility.”

“They’re all taken up with their young men,” said Miss Burrows.

“Drat their young men,” said the Dean. “In my day, we simply thirsted for responsibility. We’d all been sat on at school for the good of our souls, and came up bursting to show how brilliantly we could organize things when we were put in charge.”

“If you ask me,” said Harriet, “it’s the fault of the schools. Free discipline and so on. Children are sick to death of ru

“It’s all very difficult,” said Miss Burrows with a yawn. “However, I did get my Library volunteers to do a job of work today. We’ve got most of the shelves decently filled, and the pictures hung and the curtains up. It looks very well. I hope the Chancellor will be impressed. They haven’t finished painting the radiators downstairs, but I’ve bundled the paintpots and things into a cupboard and hoped for the best. And I borrowed a squad of scouts to clean up, so as not to leave anything to be done tomorrow.”

“What time does the Chancellor arrive?” asked Harriet.

“Twelve o’clock; reception in the S.C.R. and show him round the College. Then lunch in Hall, and I hope he enjoys it. Ceremony at 2:30. And then push him off to catch the 3:45. Delightful man; but I am getting fed up with Openings. We’ve opened the New Quad, the Chapel (with choral service), the S.C.R. Dining-Room (with lunch to former tutors and Fellows), the Tudor A

“Dear Padgett!” said Miss Burrows. “He’s the brightest spot in this academy.” She yawned again. “I’m dead.”

“Take her away to bed. Miss Vane,” said the Dean, “and we’ll call it a day.”

6

Often when they were gone to Bed, the i

– William Turner

Peter,” said Harriet. And with the sound of her own voice she came drowsing and floating up out of the strong circle of his arms, through a green sea of sun-dappled beech leaves into darkness.

“Oh, damn,” said Harriet softly to herself. “Oh, damn. And I didn’t want to wake up.”

The clock in the New Quad struck three musically.

“This won’t do,” said Harriet. “This really will not do. My subconscious has a most treacherous imagination.” She groped for the switch of her bedside lamp. “It’s disquieting to reflect that one’s dreams never symbolize one’s real wishes, but always something Much Worse.” She turned the light on and sat up.