Only Time Will Tell by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online

place at the school of your first choice. Never settle for second best.
    “For the middle school,” his eyes moved to the center of the hall, “this will be a time when we discover which of you is destined for greater things. When you return next year, will you be a prefect, a monitor, a house captain or a captain of sport? Or will you simply be among the also-rans?” Several boys bowed their heads.
    “Our next duty is to welcome the new boys, and do everything in our power to make them feel at home. They are being handed the baton for the first time as they begin life’s long race. Should the pace prove to be too demanding, one or two of you may fall by the wayside,” he warned, staring down at the front three rows. “St. Bede’s is not a school for the faint-hearted. So be sure never to forget the words of the great Cecil Rhodes: If you are lucky enough to have been born an Englishman, you have drawn first prize in the lottery of life. ”
    The assembled gathering burst into spontaneous applause as the headmaster left the stage, followed by a crocodile of masters whom he led down the center aisle, out of the great hall and into the morning sunshine.
    Harry, his spirits raised, was determined not to let the headmaster down. He followed the senior boys out of the hall, but the moment he stepped out into the quad, his exuberance was dampened. A posse of older boys were hanging around in one corner, hands in pockets to indicate they were prefects.
    “There he is,” said one of them, pointing at Harry.
    “So that’s what a street urchin looks like,” said another.
    A third, whom Harry recognized as Fisher, the prefect who had been on duty the previous night, added, “He’s an animal, and it’s nothing less than our duty to see that he’s returned to his natural habitat as quickly as possible.”
    Giles Barrington ran after Harry. “If you ignore them,” he said, “they’ll soon get bored and start picking on someone else.” Harry wasn’t convinced, and ran ahead to the classroom where he waited for Barrington and Deakins to join him.
    A moment later, Mr. Frobisher entered the room. Harry’s first thought was, does he also think I’m a street urchin, unworthy of a place at St. Bede’s?
    “Good morning, boys,” said Mr. Frobisher.
    “Good morning, sir,” replied the boys as their form master took his place in front of the blackboard. “Your first lesson this morning,” he said, “will be history. As I am keen to get to know you, we will start with a simple test to discover how much you have already learned, or perhaps how little. How many wives did Henry the Eighth have?”
    Several hands shot up. “Abbott,” he said, looking at a chart on his desk and pointing to a boy in the front row.
    “Six, sir,” came back the immediate reply.
    “Good, but can anyone name them?” Not quite as many hands were raised. “Clifton?”
    “Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, then another Anne I think,” he said before coming to a halt.
    “Anne of Cleves. Can anyone name the missing two?” Only one hand remained in the air. “Deakins,” said Frobisher after checking his chart.
    “Catherine Howard and Catherine Parr. Anne of Cleves and Catherine Parr both outlived Henry.”
    “Very good, Deakins. Now, let’s turn the clock forward a couple of centuries. Who commanded our fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar?” Every hand in the room shot up. “Matthews,” he said, nodding at a particularly insistent hand.
    “Nelson, sir.”
    “Correct. And who was Prime Minister at the time?”
    “The Duke of Wellington, sir,” said Matthews, not sounding quite as confident.
    “No,” said Mr. Frobisher, “it wasn’t Wellington, although he was a contemporary of Nelson’s.” He looked around the class, but only Clifton’s and Deakins’s hands were still raised. “Deakins.”
    “Pitt the Younger, 1783 to 1801, and 1804 to 1806.”
    “Correct, Deakins. And when was the Iron Duke Prime