Читать книгу Voyage of Innocence - Elizabeth Edmondson - Страница 21

They had a mentor at Grace, the three of them. She was a second-year scientist, called Miss Harbottle. Big-boned and with dark eyebrows that gave her a brooding appearance, she informed Claudia, almost before she’d introduced herself, that she was a Socialist and didn’t believe in titles, nor in any aspect of the aristocracy. The sooner the House of Lords was abolished, the better, she added, giving Claudia a frosty look.

Presumably Miss Harbottle didn’t know about Claudia’s brother, Lucius, but Vee thought he certainly made a strong case for immediate abolition of the Lords. Claudia took no offence at Miss Harbottle’s hectoring manner, merely saying that she knew many people who felt the same way.

‘But while we’re waiting for the revolution, can you tell us all those things we need to know?’

Miss Harbottle sniffed. ‘There’s a notice in your room with all the college rules. About signing out and in and all that kind of thing. What you’ll be fined for, or sent down if it’s bad enough. Men.’ She said the word as though she were speaking of black beetles. ‘There are strict rules about men in the college. You may never entertain a man privately in your rooms, for instance.’

‘It would be difficult, given the size of the rooms and the bed,’ Claudia said with a straight face.

Lally was laughing; Miss Harbottle looked vexed.

Lally quelled her laughter. ‘Tell us about this Freshers’ Fair.’

‘That’s tomorrow afternoon. It’s where you join University clubs and societies, or sign up for sporting activities. Only, please remember that we at Grace prefer to concentrate first and foremost on our academic work. Most first years go, though. It’s held in Schools.’

‘Schools?’ Lally asked. ‘What are they?’

‘Schools is the building in the High, on the corner of Merton Street. Lectures are held there, and it’s where you’ll take all your exams.’

Lally had a map of Oxford in her hand. ‘Here?’

‘Yes. In the morning, there’s Matriculation. There’s another notice about that.’

‘I read it,’ said Lally. ‘Subfusc clothing? Dark skirt and boots, white shirt and tie and cap and gown? Are the boots obligatory?’

‘It means shoes as well. And for dark, read black, please, including stockings. The Dean likes the women from Grace to look well-turned out and all the same.’

Their purchase of gowns and caps took place amid much hilarity. Lally was surprised to find she didn’t get to wear a mortarboard. She looked doubtfully at the soft, square-topped cap that she was handed.

‘It’s mediaeval, miss,’ the assistant said.

‘I believe you,’ said Claudia, perching hers on top of her blonde waves and peering at herself in the tiny mirror that was all the shop afforded. ‘It suits you best, Vee, I think you have the right kind of face for it. Like that portrait of Richard III, dark and introspective and waiting for the Renaissance to come along and liven things up a bit.’

Freshers’ Fair was awash with noisy masculinity. Men talking in loud voices, men on the stands shouting to be heard, male bodies pressing against one another and thrusting to get through the knot of undergraduates clustered round the popular stands. There was only a sprinkling of women, and most of them looked rather alarmed to find themselves among so many men.

‘There’s a peculiar smell in here,’ Lally said, wrinkling her elegant nose.

‘Men,’ Claudia said instantly. ‘I bet Hugh’s school smelt like this, didn’t it, Vee? It’s when they’re all together, there’s always a pong. And some of them here don’t wash that much, if you ask me. Don’t worry, you’ll get accustomed to it.’

Vee wasn’t worrying about the smell. Her eyes were scanning the tables and placards and banners proclaiming various activities: some sporting, some erudite, some absurd, like the Tiddlywinks Soc. ‘I’m sure most of these clubs and societies don’t welcome women,’ she said to Lally, who had her startled look again.

‘Too right,’ said a man wearing cricketing flannels and blazer, who was sitting at a nearby table. ‘This is what the university’s all about, sport and having a good time, and you female undergraduates come butting in, wanting to work and take life seriously, it’s a crashing bore.’

‘I play baseball back home,’ Lally said, ignoring the cricketing fan. ‘Do you suppose there’s a baseball club?’

A burst of song rose from the other side of the room.

Lally cupped her hand to her ear. ‘That sounds fun. I like to sing.’

‘Gilbert and Sullivan, and I bet they don’t take women members, either,’ said Claudia. ‘They’ll get singers for the female roles up from London.’

Lally went over to investigate a stand where they were singing madrigals and came back to report that was men only, too. ‘Imagine, they have men singing alto and soprano, did you ever hear anything like it? When there are women around.’

‘They think it’s traditional, I expect,’ Vee said. Her attention had been caught by a lanky individual in a faded pair of flannel trousers, held up at the waist by a frayed tie. On his top half, he wore a grubby fawn jumper. ‘Join now, join now, equal shares for everyone, that’s our motto,’ he was bellowing through a megaphone, drowning out the frail sound of the madrigal group.

He was an arresting figure, with dark hair that fell forward from an untidy parting to be pushed back with an impatient hand, a hand with long, muscular fingers, a strong hand. He radiated energy, but there was a quirkiness to his mouth that suggested the intensity was alleviated by a sense of humour.

‘R-A-P-M-O-C,’ Claudia read out the sign propped on the table. ‘Rapmoc? What on earth’s that?’

The young man lowered his megaphone. ‘Rational and Political Men Only Club.’

‘There you are,’ Vee said. ‘You asked, and he’s told you, if you’re any the wiser for knowing.’

‘Good Lord, it’s Alfred Gore, isn’t it?’ said Claudia. ‘My mother’s your godmother, only you never come to see her, so perhaps you aren’t aware of it. You were at Eton with my brother Jerry. Stop brandishing that megaphone and tell us why you don’t want women in your club.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Claudia Vere.’

‘I suppose you are,’ he said, after giving her a hard stare. ‘You’ve got Jerry’s eyes, all you Veres have those very blue eyes. Anyhow, don’t take any notice of the club name, we welcome people of all sexes. Or none. Come along and drink beer and talk serious politics. Thursday evening in the Arnold Room at Balliol.’

‘What a bore that sounds,’ Claudia said.

Vee had seen Hugh on the other side of the room. ‘Hello, Hugh!’ she called out, standing on tiptoe, and waving a handful of leaflets. ‘Over here.’

Hugh surged through the crowd, followed by a tall, fair man with a handsome face. ‘Vee, this is Giles Hotspur, we were at Repton together, and we share a set. My sister Verity, only we call her Vee. Hello, Alfred, no good shouting your wares, however much you yell and make a noise, it won’t add up to a sensible argument. Don’t go near that organization, Vee,’ he said, waving towards Alfred, who had started work again with his megaphone.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s the Communist outfit. They aren’t allowed to be the Communist Society or club or whatever, the proctors won’t have it. You’ll be in deep trouble with your Dean if you attend a meeting and get busted. Red faces, never mind red politics. That’s why they call themselves that idiotic name. It’s Com Par backwards, you see. Bags, there, is a Marxist.’

‘Bags?’ said Claudia.

‘It’s all he wears. Hasn’t got a suit as far as anyone knows. Always goes about in disreputable bags and a ghastly pullover.’

‘Is he very hard up?’ Vee asked. ‘Surely, if he went to Eton …’

‘His people have got plenty of money, but since he took up the Cause, he likes to identify with the working masses who don’t have many changes of clothes. Solidarity, you see.’

Vee only had a vague idea of what a Marxist was. Both at school and at home, it was a word that wasn’t mentioned, and when she’d asked a question at either place, she had quickly been silenced. ‘Are all Communists Marxists?’

‘The most extreme are, and since they’re all extreme, yes, you could say Marxists and Communists are one and the same. However, we’ll all be Communists and Marxists soon, it’s quite the coming fashion. I bet membership of RAPMOC is growing fast.’

Vee was shocked; where she came from, at school and at the Deanery, Communists were Bolshevists, and there was no question but that Bolshevism was the work of the devil.

Alfred was looking at Vee with a quizzical expression in his eyes. ‘Do you know that nearly a quarter of the working population are unemployed? Do you have any idea how difficult it is for an unemployed worker to keep body and soul together, let alone his family fed and housed? The working man can’t take much more, and when he rises up to throw off the chains of capitalism, then you’ll see what the word revolution means.’

‘Is Communism really the answer?’ asked Lally. ‘Matters are pretty dire in the States, but I don’t think anyone’s predicting a blood-red revolution. I guess if Roosevelt gets elected, he’ll do his best for the working man.’

‘With the Depression you’ve got over there? You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alfred waved his megaphone in the air. ‘Come to our next meeting, then you might begin to understand what politics really is, all you women have your heads in the sand.’

‘Thank you for the kind invitation,’ said Lally, ‘but I think I’ll pass.’ And to Claudia and Vee: ‘I’m going to go sign up for the Bach Choir. They surely have to have women in that.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Claudia. ‘They probably prefer little boys.’

A thought occurred to Vee. ‘Hugh, what are you doing here? You aren’t a Fresher.’

‘I’m manning the Poetry Society stand. Better hop back to it, in fact. Care to join?’

‘Are women allowed to be members?’

‘Of course you are,’ he said, suddenly cross. ‘All these misogynist groups here, they’re out of touch with the times.’

She put her name down, although she didn’t think she’d go to any of the meetings or readings. She’d leave the poetry to Hugh. She signed up for the Literary Society and the French Club, avoided the blandishments of the Women’s Hockey squad – she’d had enough hockey at school to last a lifetime – and looked around for the others. Lally was chatting to compatriots at the Anglo-American Society stand, and Vee went over to join her.

‘Isn’t your pop standing in November?’ said a rangy, clean-cut man who looked as though he, at least, took a bath every day.

‘He is.’

‘Come on over on election night. There’ll be a party for all us Americans, there’s quite a crowd of us here at the moment, and we shall get the results by wireless as they come in.’

‘Sounds fun,’ said Lally.

‘Standing?’ said Claudia, who’d appeared beside them.

‘For the Senate,’ said Lally.

‘I thought you said your father was a doctor,’ Vee said.

‘Yes, but he’s very politically minded. Hates what’s happening in our country with the Depression and everything. He’s running for office so that he can make a difference.’

Vee became aware that someone was hovering behind them. She turned round and came face to face with a man who looked like a cherub. He was gazing at Lally.

‘What a lovely, lovely woman,’ he breathed. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘I say, may I paint you? Oh, please say yes. Everyone loves to be painted by me.’

Alfred, who had abandoned his megaphone for a moment, paused on his way back to the RAPMOC stand; he was carrying a glass of water in his hand. Yelling about the injustices of society gave you a thirst, Vee supposed.

‘This is Marcus,’ he said, waving his free hand towards the cherub. ‘A Balliol man, an artist.’

‘Can you study art at Oxford?’ Lally asked.

‘Law,’ said Marcus, in his soft voice. ‘I’m reading law because I have to, but I paint because I love to. What beauty!’ he went on, looking at Lally again. ‘That exquisite colour of hair – it is natural, I do hope?’ he added, anxiously.

‘Perfectly,’ said Lally, who seemed happy to take Marcus in her stride.

‘Neither red nor brown, and together with a cream complexion, not a freckle in sight, so fortunate, because often that colouring is so sadly marred by freckles, the effect is ravishing. Slightly aquiline nose, hazel eyes, no, golden eyes, long neck, slim as a willow. I shall paint you as Artemis, with a bow in your hand. Please say you’ll come. Not to my room, if that offends your maidenly sensibilities. It can be at the Ruskin, if you prefer, I work there as well. And bring your friends, bring a chaperone. Not that you aren’t perfectly safe, I never touch women, Alfred will vouch for me.’

‘Oh, pipe down, Marcus, and leave the girl alone,’ said Alfred. He drank his water and dumped the glass on the nearest stand. He gave Vee a direct look. ‘Give RAPMOC a go, Miss Trenchard. It might change your life.’

‘Are you a Christian?’ boomed a voice from across the way. ‘Join OICCU, and spend worthwhile time in the company of your fellow Christians.’

‘One for you, Vee,’ said Claudia.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, feeling suddenly guilty that she was so disinclined to have anything to do with the Christian Union.

Why, Vee wondered, as they left Schools clutching handfuls of leaflets, did Christians dress so badly? Why was she so dowdy in comparison to the dashing Claudia and stylish Lally? It was partly a matter of money, but even so …

‘It’s interesting, the way the men dress,’ she said, as they set off down the High.

‘Several distinct groups,’ agreed Claudia. ‘Tweedy squire-ish ones.’

‘Fops,’ Vee said. ‘Did you see that one in a floppy bow tie and that big hat?’

‘He looked kind of cute,’ Lally said.

‘Better than those grubby ones in duffel coats,’ said Claudia. ‘What is it about duffel coats?’

‘Then there are the don’t-cares, like your friend Alfred Gore,’ Vee said.

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Claudia. ‘I’m a cynic when it comes to people who look as though they have minds above clothes. I think Alfred’s outfit is just as artfully put together as the bow tie and the hat. Men!’ she added with affectionate scorn.

Alfred took a few minutes’ break from his megaphoning and wandered over to talk to Hugh. ‘Which college is your sister at?’

‘Grace,’ said Hugh, scribbling on a card and filing it away. ‘So’s Claudia, but you know her. She’s a cousin of ours. Don’t know anything about the American one. My word, she’s a looker.’

Alfred raised his eyebrows. ‘Giles might hear you.’

‘Anyone may hear my opinion, she’s quite lovely. Claudia’s grown into a minx, by the look of her.’

‘The Veres are all mad,’ said Alfred. ‘Lovely eyes.’

‘Claudia? A bit intense for me.’

‘No, Vee has lovely dark eyes.’

Hugh considered this. ‘Does she? I’ve never thought about it.’

Alfred went back to his stand and his megaphone.