The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [22]
Evans, the tutor, was standing beside the cauldron stirring it, his pale, unhealthy face completely expressionless. “What a strange fellow!” thought the Major. Stirring the cauldron with the flames leaping about his ears made him look positively sinister.
“Thank you, Tutor. A good brew today, is it?” Edward turned to the Major. “Evans does the cooking, I do the feeding. Dogs know who feeds them, believe you me. It’s not the same thing if you tell your servants to do it...they don’t know who’s master (I mean, the dogs don’t). Now take a look at that. Rich and juicy!”
The Major peered with distaste at the simmering liquid. Fortunately the surface was covered with an oily grey froth which masked the pot’s macabre contents.
“Very nourishing, I shouldn’t be surprised,” observed the Major drily. But Edward was not yet satisfied. Picking up a couple of charred sticks, he fished with them until he had located something beneath the surface. A moment later the Major was face to face with a long, narrow skull, eyeless and tipped with grinning teeth.
“Well, thanks a lot for showing me. I think I’ll take a stroll round while the weather holds.” The Major stared up at the overcast sky and then, backing away a couple of paces, almost fell over a massive sheepdog that had moved up behind him. Edward grasped him firmly by the upper arm—whether to help him keep his balance or to prevent him from leaving was not immediately clear.
“Look here, Major,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “We don’t want to be too hard on the boy, do we?”
The Major stared at him and Edward, taking his silence for disagreement, continued: “A lot of it’s my own fault, I realize that. He was sacked from school, d’you see, and I had him sent to a crammer. Shouldn’t have done that...turned him agin the government. I was angry, you know, and thought I wouldn’t let him get away with it...not scot free, anyway.”
“You mean Ripon?”
“Yes, yes, Ripon. I know you’ve been wondering why he didn’t volunteer and so forth. It’s only natural after what you’ve been through.”
“Really, Mr Spencer, I can assure you...” But Edward was patting his arm soothingly and saying: “Only natural. Anyone would feel the same in your position. Those who go and those who stay at home...white feathers and all that rot. He’s not a coward, though, and neither am I. Take a look at this!” Dropping the charred sticks, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and began pulling his shirt out until he had uncovered a patch of pale skin at his waist. In the middle of the patch was a round white scar as big as a halfpenny.
“In the service of the King-Emperor. Didn’t think I’d get back from that little affair. Somehow or other it missed the intestines or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale. Get down, sir!” A spaniel was attempting to lick the exposed patch of skin.
While Edward adjusted his clothing the Major repeated his innocence of any critical thoughts about Ripon. “Lot of fuss about nothing, was it?” Edward hastened to agree. “Well, that’s all right then. Still, I wouldn’t have wanted you to think we were a family of milksops. Ripon told Angela that the first thing you asked him was whether he’d been abroad. He was angry with Angela, d’you see, because he thought she’d been telling tales.”
There was silence for a moment. Edward had retrieved one of the sticks and was stirring the pot, with the dogs milling and woofing round him. His rugged face with its clipped moustache and flattened ears was still scowling with anxiety in spite of the Major’s reassurance.
“He’s not a bad boy at heart, you know. It’s true he was sacked from school (though not for anything unhealthy, mind)...and I suppose that rather set him agin the government. I lose my