fine player. He’s also best friends with Roderick Braithwaite. Not quite as bright but steady enough. His problem is that his father is a police detective, a chief inspector, and at the moment he’s doing his detecting in Denby Ash.’
‘And why is that a problem?’ Perdita asked innocently.
‘He’s re-opening some old wounds made by a man called Haydon Bagley, the black sheep of Denby Ash, who, I am sad to say, happens to be an Old Boy of this school. In fact, he was one of our first Old Boys – certainly one of the first of our Bursary Boys.’ Armitage saw the flicker of puzzlement on Perdita’s face and explained: ‘We have always had a policy of providing bursaries for local lads from the village where their families would find it difficult to afford the fees. In Denby Ash that has invariably meant the sons of miners.’
‘But not their daughters,’ Perdita said sweetly.
‘We do what we can,’ said the headmaster without embarrassment. ‘Not perhaps all we would like to. Haydon Bagley was one of the first of our Bursary Boys, back in 1949. His father was a leading light in the local brass band and taking in young Haydon as a day boy was, I admit, a good piece of public relations for the school – at least at first. Unfortunately, Haydon turned out to be a bad egg. He went to work for the Yorkshire Bank and over the years wormed his way into being treasurer or book-keeper for every organization in the village, volunteering to do the jobs no one else wanted to, from the local Co-Op and the Parochial Church Council to the Pigeon Fanciers’ Club and the Mothers’ Union. Over the years he stole from all of them, including the brass band – for which he will never be forgiven. He was caught and sent to prison for fraud and embezzlement.’
‘Case closed, then,’ said Rupert. ‘So why is Andrew Ramsden’s dad investigating him?’
Mr Armitage shook his head wearily. ‘Haydon finished his sentence and was released some weeks ago. It was thought he might try and return to Denby Ash but he seems to have disappeared. The truth is that so many people here felt betrayed and cheated by him, that if he did show his face he would be greeted with hostility – possibly violence. A mining community can be a very …
masculine
… entity. Miners have hard lives and when they feel betrayed by one of their own they have been known to deal out their own sort of eminently practical justice.’
‘Surely, if he’s been in prison, this Haydon Bagley chap has already been punished for what he did?’ argued Rupert.
‘But judging by local feeling,’ said the headmaster, ‘not punished enough. Not nearly enough.’
SEVEN
Ghost-hunters of the Upper IV
‘R ight, boys,’ commanded Perdita, ‘lay those damned books aside.’
Her command was answered by two rows of silent desks each occupied by a silent, blank-faced boy.
‘Oh,
come on
, you guys. It’s from the play – just about the first thing the Good Angel tells Faustus to do. Who’s playing the Good Angel?’
The classroom remained silent until a nervous ginger-haired lad with an impressive splattering of freckles nervously raised a hand. ‘No one is, Miss. He’s been cut and so has the Evil Angel. We’ve also lost the Clown, Robin, a Vintner and a Carter, a Pope, the King of Hungary, the Holy Roman Emperor and five of the seven deadly sins.’
‘I see,’ said Perdita, disguising the fact that she clearly did not. ‘Can anyone let me have the text we’re supposed to be performing?’
The ginger-haired boy offered her a sheaf of Roneo-ed sheets of typed foolscap paper held together by a bootlace toggle in the top left corner. With a sigh she took it, pushing the new Penguin edition of
Christopher Marlowe – The Complete Plays
,
on which she had spent ten shillings, into her shoulder bag.
‘Mr Browne had to cut quite a lot,’ said the boy.
‘But not Helen of Troy?’
‘Oh no, she stays in.’
Perdita’s eyes scanned the classroom but
‘And why is that a problem?’ Perdita asked innocently.
‘He’s re-opening some old wounds made by a man called Haydon Bagley, the black sheep of Denby Ash, who, I am sad to say, happens to be an Old Boy of this school. In fact, he was one of our first Old Boys – certainly one of the first of our Bursary Boys.’ Armitage saw the flicker of puzzlement on Perdita’s face and explained: ‘We have always had a policy of providing bursaries for local lads from the village where their families would find it difficult to afford the fees. In Denby Ash that has invariably meant the sons of miners.’
‘But not their daughters,’ Perdita said sweetly.
‘We do what we can,’ said the headmaster without embarrassment. ‘Not perhaps all we would like to. Haydon Bagley was one of the first of our Bursary Boys, back in 1949. His father was a leading light in the local brass band and taking in young Haydon as a day boy was, I admit, a good piece of public relations for the school – at least at first. Unfortunately, Haydon turned out to be a bad egg. He went to work for the Yorkshire Bank and over the years wormed his way into being treasurer or book-keeper for every organization in the village, volunteering to do the jobs no one else wanted to, from the local Co-Op and the Parochial Church Council to the Pigeon Fanciers’ Club and the Mothers’ Union. Over the years he stole from all of them, including the brass band – for which he will never be forgiven. He was caught and sent to prison for fraud and embezzlement.’
‘Case closed, then,’ said Rupert. ‘So why is Andrew Ramsden’s dad investigating him?’
Mr Armitage shook his head wearily. ‘Haydon finished his sentence and was released some weeks ago. It was thought he might try and return to Denby Ash but he seems to have disappeared. The truth is that so many people here felt betrayed and cheated by him, that if he did show his face he would be greeted with hostility – possibly violence. A mining community can be a very …
masculine
… entity. Miners have hard lives and when they feel betrayed by one of their own they have been known to deal out their own sort of eminently practical justice.’
‘Surely, if he’s been in prison, this Haydon Bagley chap has already been punished for what he did?’ argued Rupert.
‘But judging by local feeling,’ said the headmaster, ‘not punished enough. Not nearly enough.’
SEVEN
Ghost-hunters of the Upper IV
‘R ight, boys,’ commanded Perdita, ‘lay those damned books aside.’
Her command was answered by two rows of silent desks each occupied by a silent, blank-faced boy.
‘Oh,
come on
, you guys. It’s from the play – just about the first thing the Good Angel tells Faustus to do. Who’s playing the Good Angel?’
The classroom remained silent until a nervous ginger-haired lad with an impressive splattering of freckles nervously raised a hand. ‘No one is, Miss. He’s been cut and so has the Evil Angel. We’ve also lost the Clown, Robin, a Vintner and a Carter, a Pope, the King of Hungary, the Holy Roman Emperor and five of the seven deadly sins.’
‘I see,’ said Perdita, disguising the fact that she clearly did not. ‘Can anyone let me have the text we’re supposed to be performing?’
The ginger-haired boy offered her a sheaf of Roneo-ed sheets of typed foolscap paper held together by a bootlace toggle in the top left corner. With a sigh she took it, pushing the new Penguin edition of
Christopher Marlowe – The Complete Plays
,
on which she had spent ten shillings, into her shoulder bag.
‘Mr Browne had to cut quite a lot,’ said the boy.
‘But not Helen of Troy?’
‘Oh no, she stays in.’
Perdita’s eyes scanned the classroom but
Similar Books
