Hearing Secret Harmonies - Anthony Powell [57]
Fenneau’s mouth went a little tight again at mention of his Bishop, the eyes taking on a harder, less misty surface. It was permissible to feel that the Bishop himself – elements of exorcism perhaps out of easy reach at that moment – could have agreed, not least from trepidation at prospect of being transformed into a toad, or confined for a thousand years within a hollow oak.
‘What happened to Murtlock after he left your choir?’
‘A success story, even if a strange one. After singing so delightfully – I wish you could have heard his solo:
Now we are come to the sun’s hour of rest,
The lights of evening round us shine.
— Leslie won a scholarship at a choir-school. He was doing splendidly there. Then a most unfortunate thing happened. It was quite out of the ordinary. He developed a most unhappy influence over the choirmaster. Influence is a weak word in the circumstances.’
‘You mean — ’
Fenneau smiled primly this time.
‘That is certainly what one might expect. There had been trouble of that sort earlier. Leslie was quite a little boy then, hardly old enough to understand. The man was not convicted – I think rightly – as there was a possibility that Leslie had – well – invented the whole thing, but, as people said at the time, no smoke without fire. That unhappy possibility did not arise with the choirmaster. I knew him personally, a man of blameless life. There are, of course, men of blameless life, who yield to sudden temptation – lead us not into Thames Station, as the choirboys are said to have prayed – and there is no question but Leslie was an unusually handsome boy. No one could fail to notice that. Not that he wasn’t a boy with remarkable qualities other than physical ones. At the same time I am satisfied that not a hint of improper conduct took place on the part of the choirmaster.’
The thought extended the smile of Fenneau’s long mouth into ogreish proportions. He moved quickly from the prim to the blunt.
‘Not even pawing. Leslie assured me himself.’
‘Murtlock gave the impression of being tough when I met him. I should have thought he would be as tough about sex, as about anything else.’
‘You are right. Let me speak plainly. Leslie – Scorpio by now – is tough. That does not mean he is necessarily badly behaved in matters of sex. I have always thought him not primarily interested in sex. What he seeks is moral authority.’
‘Mightn’t he use sex to gain moral authority?’
Fenneau gave me an odd look.
‘That is another matter. Possibly he might. I can only say that all who had anything to do with the choirmaster affair agreed that sex – in any commonplace use of the word – did not come into it. At the same time, having known Leslie from his earliest years, I was not altogether surprised at what happened. I felt sure something of the sort would take place sooner or later. I knew it would grieve me.’
‘Had he ever tried to impose his moral authority in your own case?’
I thought Fenneau deserved the question. He showed no disposition to resent or sidestep it. When he spoke he gazed into the distance beyond me.
‘Fortunately I knew how to handle the gifts Leslie had been granted.’
‘How did the choir-school story end?’
‘Most tragically. The choirmaster was going to be a difficult man to replace. Good men are always at a premium, let alone good schoolmasters. Leslie – or should I already call him Scorpio? – was leaving at the end of the following term to take up another scholarship. He had done nothing against the rules. Every effort was made to persuade the choirmaster to exert his own will sufficiently to contend with the few months that remained. It was no good. His will had altogether gone.