Wilberforce by H. S. Cross Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: H. S. Cross
you doing here, sir?
âI might ask the same of you.
He gestured to the stool Morgan had been occupying. Morgan dragged it to the opposite side of the table and sat.
âLast I checked, Grieves said, it wasnât out-of-bounds for an undermaster to take solace at the Cross Keys. Fifth Formers, however â¦
Morganâs heart beat in his throat with the buzzing fear, the hunger he used to know when there were men who could hold him to account, so painful and essential that he could hardly breathe.
But Grieves was not one of those men, not anymore. Grieves was an undermaster in a time when nothing mattered. Grieves, in fact, was nothing but a nuisance, taking it upon himself to interrupt the remedies Morgan had come all the way to Fridaythorpe to attain. Grieves needed taking down a peg.
âAre you going to tell S-K? Morgan asked flatly.
The man met his gaze, unthreatened and oddly unthreatening, as if capturing a pupil at the Cross Keys were an occasion for curiosity rather than indignation.
âI should, Grieves replied at last. I canât think how youâve managed to skive off Prep, but please donât tell me.
âI wasnât going to, sir.
âWhat interests me, Grieves continued, is why youâre here.
Morgan did not reply.
âThe second night in a row, and without Pearl or Lydon.
Morgan took a slow swallow of his drink.
âDonât look so shocked, Grieves said mildly. You normally come together, donât you, Saturday evenings?
Morganâs head thumped, and he could feel his veins rushing blood to his heart, as if some agent were summoning it from the outposts of his body.
âI can see Iâve undermined your illusions, Grieves said.
âHow long have you known, sir?
âSeptember, if I recall.
Morgan took another drink.
âOf your Fourth Form year, wasnât it?
And choked.
âCareful.
Three years? Heâd known for three years ?
âWho else knows, sir?
âNone that Iâm aware.
Morgan drained his glass and signaled to Polly. Mr. Grieves nodded for another mug of tea.
âDrinking alone is never a good sign, you know.
âI suppose Iâm turning bad, sir.
Mr. Grieves sighed and twisted his signet ring.
âHowâs that arm, by the way?
âItâs the shoulder, sir. And itâs fine.
âNot a shrewd tackle, I didnât think.
âNo, sir.
âBut it was brave.
Morgan glowered and looked around for Polly. She was working her way towards them, carrying a full tray.
âI thought masters only came here Sunday afternoons, Morgan said.
âClearly.
Clearly? Clearly he thought that, or clearly it was true? Was it more offensive that Mr. Grieves had known about them for three years, or that heâd harbored such a secret and said nothing?
Polly set two steaming mugs before them.
âThat isnât my order, Morgan said.
âAll there is, luv.
âWhat do you mean, all there is?
âDonât snap at Polly, Mr. Grieves scolded. And donât look at me like that. Youâve been cut off.
âSir!
âTwo is more than enough for a growing boy.
Two wasnât enough, and he wasnât a boy!
âAnd you still havenât told me what brings you here.
âWhat makes you think I will?
âI think you should.
âOr youâll tell S-K?
Challenge. Dare. Ultimatum? Mr. Grieves tipped a spoonful of sugar into Morganâs mug.
They sat at the table as their tea cooled enough to drink. The brown moment persisted, but with it lingered something novel, something stirring and even welcome. He hadnât the first idea of Grievesâs game, or why in the name of Hermes he had chosen this evening to intervene, having known about them for three years and having watched Morgan come to the pub on his own two nights in a row. Did Grieves imagine he might wrest tearful confessions from him (of what, even?) or that he might shine the light of his intellect
âI might ask the same of you.
He gestured to the stool Morgan had been occupying. Morgan dragged it to the opposite side of the table and sat.
âLast I checked, Grieves said, it wasnât out-of-bounds for an undermaster to take solace at the Cross Keys. Fifth Formers, however â¦
Morganâs heart beat in his throat with the buzzing fear, the hunger he used to know when there were men who could hold him to account, so painful and essential that he could hardly breathe.
But Grieves was not one of those men, not anymore. Grieves was an undermaster in a time when nothing mattered. Grieves, in fact, was nothing but a nuisance, taking it upon himself to interrupt the remedies Morgan had come all the way to Fridaythorpe to attain. Grieves needed taking down a peg.
âAre you going to tell S-K? Morgan asked flatly.
The man met his gaze, unthreatened and oddly unthreatening, as if capturing a pupil at the Cross Keys were an occasion for curiosity rather than indignation.
âI should, Grieves replied at last. I canât think how youâve managed to skive off Prep, but please donât tell me.
âI wasnât going to, sir.
âWhat interests me, Grieves continued, is why youâre here.
Morgan did not reply.
âThe second night in a row, and without Pearl or Lydon.
Morgan took a slow swallow of his drink.
âDonât look so shocked, Grieves said mildly. You normally come together, donât you, Saturday evenings?
Morganâs head thumped, and he could feel his veins rushing blood to his heart, as if some agent were summoning it from the outposts of his body.
âI can see Iâve undermined your illusions, Grieves said.
âHow long have you known, sir?
âSeptember, if I recall.
Morgan took another drink.
âOf your Fourth Form year, wasnât it?
And choked.
âCareful.
Three years? Heâd known for three years ?
âWho else knows, sir?
âNone that Iâm aware.
Morgan drained his glass and signaled to Polly. Mr. Grieves nodded for another mug of tea.
âDrinking alone is never a good sign, you know.
âI suppose Iâm turning bad, sir.
Mr. Grieves sighed and twisted his signet ring.
âHowâs that arm, by the way?
âItâs the shoulder, sir. And itâs fine.
âNot a shrewd tackle, I didnât think.
âNo, sir.
âBut it was brave.
Morgan glowered and looked around for Polly. She was working her way towards them, carrying a full tray.
âI thought masters only came here Sunday afternoons, Morgan said.
âClearly.
Clearly? Clearly he thought that, or clearly it was true? Was it more offensive that Mr. Grieves had known about them for three years, or that heâd harbored such a secret and said nothing?
Polly set two steaming mugs before them.
âThat isnât my order, Morgan said.
âAll there is, luv.
âWhat do you mean, all there is?
âDonât snap at Polly, Mr. Grieves scolded. And donât look at me like that. Youâve been cut off.
âSir!
âTwo is more than enough for a growing boy.
Two wasnât enough, and he wasnât a boy!
âAnd you still havenât told me what brings you here.
âWhat makes you think I will?
âI think you should.
âOr youâll tell S-K?
Challenge. Dare. Ultimatum? Mr. Grieves tipped a spoonful of sugar into Morganâs mug.
They sat at the table as their tea cooled enough to drink. The brown moment persisted, but with it lingered something novel, something stirring and even welcome. He hadnât the first idea of Grievesâs game, or why in the name of Hermes he had chosen this evening to intervene, having known about them for three years and having watched Morgan come to the pub on his own two nights in a row. Did Grieves imagine he might wrest tearful confessions from him (of what, even?) or that he might shine the light of his intellect
Similar Books
The Sleeping Baobab Tree
Paula Leyden
The Polar Bear Killing
Michael Ridpath
Banes
Tara Brown
Saxon 01 - The Last Kingdom
Bernard Cornwell
Slave
Cheryl Brooks
Father & Son: Book two of the Jensen Family Series
Michelle Day
Signs in the Blood
Vicki Lane
Burning to Ashes
Evi Asher
Affliction
S. W. Frank