The Fall of Doctor Onslow Read Online Free Page A

He was lying when he said this.
    ‘Naturally I take your word for that,’ said Onslow. Dr Arnold had made a point of never doubting a boy’s given word, and he did the same. ‘I am glad of it, but try in future to think a little harder. Think a few phrases ahead – and now sit down.’
    He passed on to another boy, making a mental note to repent later of having in effect accused a boy of cribbing without sound evidence. Yet cribbing was so rife in all schools that it was reasonable to assume any randomly chosen boy was guilty – like bullying, it was something far more difficult to stamp out than drunkenness, poaching, and such violent amusements as stoning the townspeople’s horses. Onslow had dealt with all those long ago.
    ‘… cum venti posuere omnisque repente resedit flatus et in lento lucantur marmore tonsae atque hic Aeneas ingen tem …’ recited one of the younger boys, searching for approval with his eyes on Onslow’s unmoved face.
    Onslow’s was a sallow face, oval and calm and not quite handsome. His mouth was small and firm, with a slightly protruding lower lip, and his nose was long and faintly curved. He had grey, well-shaped but rather small eyes, a round chin, and a good head of thick brown hair. Though he was forty-two years old, his face was unlined, and his movements had the grace of confident youth. A flowing gown, and the black and white of his clerical dress, became him well; not because they suited his figure and his colouring, but because they gave him a starkly imposing look. Two things were wrong with his appearance: he was only five foot six, and he had narrow, sloping shoulders. The boys made much of both of his figure’s deficiencies and of his yellow complexion.
    ‘Thank you,’ Onslow said to the boy who was repeating his lesson.
    As he spoke, he noticed activity on the back bench: watching intently, he saw that the boys were using their shuffling feet to pass something along the floor. In a very gentle voice he said:
    ‘Hand that note, or whatever it may be, to me.’
    The boy who was treading on it at that moment jumped and blinked at him.
    ‘At once,’ said Onslow.
    ‘Yes, sir.’ He hurried to pick it up.
    The note was handed over. Onslow unfolded it and read words scribbled in a big, clumsy, childish hand.
    ‘Darling Lucy,’ it said, ‘I have a good bed ready so meet me this afternoon after football if you can contrive it. Yours with love.’
    Onslow stared at the words for some time, then he laid the note on his lap, and a dark flush crept under his skin.
    ‘I have forbidden the use of female names,’ he said clearly. Then: ‘Who is the author of this? Who had disobeyed me?’
    After a moment’s pause the oldest boy in the class got to his feet. He looked a gangling twenty, though he was not quite seventeen.
    ‘You,’ said Onslow, as though he meant to say ‘the chiefest idiot in the school’. The boy dared to look at him, and saw in Onslow’s face not horrified rage and distress, but a mere hint of disgusted irritation. It was rare for Onslow to show any feelings at all. ‘For whom was this intended?’ said Onslow, whose flush had now drained away, leaving him pale.
    ‘For Cooper, sir.’
    ‘Stand up Cooper.’
    A pretty thirteen year old rose from the other end of the back bench, looking terrified.
    ‘You will do five hundred lines. You,’ he said to another boy, whose nerves were making him grin shakily, ‘will stop smirking, unless you want the same.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Sit down.’ He paused. ‘You will not meet Cooper this afternoon, Brandon. You will meet me, here, for a very different purpose.’ Floggings were always carried out in the Lower Room. ‘I will not tolerate disobedience of any kind.’
    ‘Yes, sir – no, sir.’
    ‘I will forgive a great deal,’ said Onslow to the whole form, ‘but I will not forgive arrogant stupidity. Did you imagine that I would not notice what you were doing there, passing this along? The whole of