A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [89]
“You said he was mediocre, but did he try, did he work hard?”
“He thought he worked hard and was surprised when his marks did not meet his expectations. I think he was easily distracted by his ambitions and things that would suddenly take his attention—starting a political interest group, for example, or campaigning for a member of Parliament he suddenly supported—so he found settling down to complete a piece of academic work quite difficult.”
“Did he have friends here?”
“People were drawn to him, then turned away. He wasn’t above getting into a fistfight in support of his beliefs, or at least challenging another student physically.”
“Really?” Maisie was trying to reconcile this picture of Robson Headley with the young man she had met, and whom she had seen being solicitous towards Delphine Lang.
“In fact, I saw him once, having a go at another chap after classes. I don’t know what he did exactly, but that lad was on the ground in a second—and he was a young man of some heft, not easily caught off guard. But Headley just whipped him up off his feet and was standing over him, calling him all sorts of names—and all due to some argument about the way in which the British defeated the Boers.”
“Well, this is very interesting, Dr. Petit, I—”
“Personally, I put it down to the fact that he’s spent a few years overseas—apparently his father had business in the Orient—something of that order, anyway—but he came back here to attend university. In my position, you don’t always remember your students—too many of them—but some stand out, and as you’ve probably gathered, Headley was one of them. I recall thinking that it was as if he didn’t really know how to communicate with people his own age and kind anymore. Of course, he looks very friendly, almost debonair, but he is a young man who has a fair bit of nasty bottled up inside him. Mind you, he’ll be an energetic debater, if he can hold his temper—and perhaps he’s grown up since I last saw him. What’s the subject of the debate?”
“The title might have been changed again in my absence, but it’s to do with whether the emerging politics in Germany—national socialism—could be accepted here in Britain.”
“Then just watch him. I could imagine him being quite a vehement supporter of the motion to accept something along the lines of Herr Hitler’s Nazi Party. They’ve garnered considerable support in Germany and they’re very well organized in groups in other countries, to ensure that German citizens abroad are brought into the fold. Wouldn’t surprise me if Headley isn’t a Fascist—mind you, the corridors of power are littered with Fascist leanings; anything to save the upper classes through disenfranchisement of the common man while allowing the common man to think you’re on his side.”
Maisie thanked Dr. Petit for his time. After leaving his office she referred to a rough map of the building scribbled by the administrative clerk, then made her way to the Strand. She would have liked to speak to another of Headley’s tutors, as Petit had been so vociferous in his dislike of Headley—perhaps as passionate as Headley himself; thus she cautioned herself not to take his summing-up as the last word regarding the young man’s performance as a student. However, it gave her food for thought. Robson Headley and Delphine Lang might have more in common than time spent in the Orient and membership in the Ortsgruppe. She remembered the way in which Lang had deflected the cricket ball as if it were no more than an errant feather in her hand, and she paid attention to Dr. Petit’s description of Headley taking down another student during an argument. She did not want to jump to conclusions, but it seemed they both possessed a certain level of control and strength; a physical self-possession that Clarence Chen would recognize.
Upon reaching the railway station in Cambridge, Maisie went straight to a telephone kiosk and placed a call to The Old Fenland Mill, the inn where