The Boy in the Smoke Read Online Free Page A

if they regarded him at all. He had no desire to stand out. Being at Eton was his job, and he intended to do it. He didn’t have very much fun—he wasn’t social. This was fine, as he regarded the most sociable and striving people at Eton to be a pack of sociopaths, doomed for parliament.
    Everyone, of course, had their own secret interest hidden behind the closed doors of his room. Stephen still watched his police shows. It was less of a fun pastime now and more of a compulsion. The ones about real police were best, and he didn’t care what they were doing. They could be chasing a murderer or dealing with a noise complaint. He just liked how useful it was, how simple and clear.
    On good days, he kept the shows on in the background, often on mute, while he revised. On the bad days, he thought about chucking it all in and joining the force. The force itself might accept him. He could pass any exam they put in front of him. But the people who actually worked that job would laugh him away. Eton? What did someone from
Eton
know about normal people and dealing with things like broken windows and chasing down some drunken teenager who had a knife in a shopping plaza?
    He’d probably end up behind a desk.
    So he applied to Cambridge. He had no particular idea what he wanted to study, but he applied for English Literature and got in. This was enough to enrage his father for several weeks. Still, he could go into banking yet with that, so the matter was forgotten.
    So it went, until the very end of Stephen’s last year at Eton. It was the Fourth of June, which at Eton was the name of a holiday, and often not actually on the fourth of June. This was the largest celebration of the school year. The grounds were manicured, chairs set out, everything polished and practised and prepared for the show—that’s what it was, a show. This was when everything Eton did was put on display. Speeches, art, music, prowess. Families came and had picnics and admired their fine Eton boys.
    As a boatman, Stephen had a special role to play, as the boats were an integral part of the Fourth of June. Boatmen wore large boater hats all day, which would be decorated with flowers purchased from vendors who came out solely for this purpose. So all through the morning Stephen had what amounted to a small flower shop on his head. This, as so many Eton things were, was one of those unlikely badges of honor. A hat full of flowers, checked trousers, silver buttons on your waistcoat, winged collars, bow ties  …  everything signified who you were and, more importantly, why you were better.
    His parents came, which did not surprise him. The Fourth of June was when you showed up to preen and see what your money got you. They brought a hamper of champagne and a cold lunch and an oversized blanket to sit on the lawn by the river. After lunch came the Procession of Boats—one of the major events of the day, and the reason for the large hat of flowers. This was when ten boats would be rowed by ten groups of eight, with every member wearing nineteenth-century naval attire (and the hat with the flowers). As each boat passed in front of the spectators, the crews would have to stand up—a tricky business, as the boats were extremely unsteady at the best of times—and take off their hats in salute. Of course the Eton Boating Song was sung:
    Rugby may be more clever,

    Harrow may make more row,

    But we’ll row for ever,

    Steady from stroke to bow,

    And nothing in life shall sever,

    The chain that is round us now  … 

    Those lines tended to go through his head a lot as he pumped away, pressing the oars back into the water, staying so carefully in rhythm. They were just, perhaps, a little too on the nose.
    What everyone on the lawn wanted to see, of course, was one of the boats tip over as the boys inside stood to attention. If one started to fall, the entire boat would generally go over. This was considered the height of hilarity, boys falling into