Brideshead Revisited(38)

‘After that we shall have to see about fixing things with your authorities at Oxford.’

‘I told them to call my solicitors,’ said Mulcaster, ‘and they refused. They’ve put themselves hopelessly in the wrong, and I don’t see why they should get away with it.’

‘For heaven’s sake don’t start any kind of argument. Just plead guilty and pay up. Understand?’

Mulcaster grumbled but submitted.

Everything happened at court as Rex had predicted. At half past ten we stood in Bow Street, Mulcaster and I free men, Sebastian bound over to appear in a week’s time. Mulcaster had kept silent about his grievance; he and I were admonished and fined five shillings each and fifteen shillings costs. Mulcaster was becoming rather irksome to us, and it was with relief that we heard his plea of other business in London. The barrister bustled off and Sebastian and I were left alone and disconsolate.

‘I suppose mummy’s got to hear about it,’ he said. ‘Damn, damn, damn! It’s cold. I won’t go home. I’ve nowhere to go. Let’s just slip back to Oxford and wait for them to bother us.’

The raffish habitués of the police court came and went, up and down the steps; still we stood on the windy corner, undecided.

‘Why not get hold of Julia?’

‘I might go abroad.’

‘My dear Sebastian, you’ll only be given a talking-to and fined a few pounds.’

‘Yes, but it’s all the bother — mummy and Bridey and all the family and the dons. I’d sooner go to prison. If I just slip away abroad they can’t get me back, can they? That’s what people do when the police are after them. I know mummy will make it seem she has to bear the whole brunt of the business.’

‘Let’s telephone Julia and get her to meet us somewhere and talk it over.’

We met at Gunter’s in Berkeley Square. Julia, like most women then, wore a green hat pulled down to her eyes with a diamond arrow in it; she had a small dog under her arm, three-quarters buried in the fur of her coat. She greeted us with an unusual show of interest.

‘Well, you are a pair of pickles; I must say you look remarkably well on it. The only time I got tight I was paralysed all the next day. I do think you might have taken me with you. The ball was positively lethal, and I’ve always longed to go to the Old Hundredth. No one will ever take me. Is it heaven?’

‘So you know all about that, too?’

‘Rex telephoned me this morning and told me everything. What were your girl friends like?’

‘Don’t be prurient,’ said Sebastian.

‘Mine was like a skull.’

‘Mine was like a consumptive.’

‘Goodness.’ It had clearly raised us in Julia’s estimation that we had been out with women; to her they were the point of interest.

‘Does mummy know?’

‘Not about your skulls and consumptives. She knows you were in the clink. I told her. She was divine about it, of course. You know anything Uncle Ned did was always perfect, and he got locked up once for taking a bear into one of Lloyd George’s meetings, so she really feels quite human about the whole thing. She wants you both to lunch with her.’

‘Oh God!’

‘The only trouble is the papers and the family. Have you got an awful family, Charles?’

‘Only a father. He’ll never hear about it.’

‘Ours are awful. Poor mummy is in for a ghastly time with them. They’ll be writing letters and paying visits of sympathy, and all the time at the back of their minds one half will be saying, “That’s what comes of bringing the boy up a Catholic,” and the other half will say, “That’s what comes of sending him to Eton instead of Stonyhurst.” Poor mummy can’t get it right.

We lunched with Lady Marchmain. She accepted the whole thing with humorous resignation. Her only reproach was: ‘I can’t think why you went off and stayed with Mr Mottram. You might have come and told me about it first.’

‘How am I going to explain it to all the family?’ she asked. ‘They will be so shocked to find that they’re more upset about it than I am. Do you know my sister-in-law, Fanny Rosscommon? She has always thought I brought the children up badly. Now I am beginning to think she must be right.’

When we left I said: ‘She couldn’t have been more charming. What were you so worried about?’

‘I can’t explain,’ said Sebastian miserably.



A week later when Sebastian came up for trial he was fined ten pounds. The newspapers reported it with painful prominence, one of them under the ironic headline: ‘Marquis’s son unused to wine’. The magistrate said that it was only through the prompt action of the police that he was not up on a grave charge. ‘It is purely by good fortune that you do not bear the responsibility of a serious accident…’ Mr Samgrass gave evidence that Sebastian bore an irreproachable character and that a brilliant future at the University was in jeopardy. The papers took hold of this too — ‘Model Student’s Career at Stake.’ But for Mr Samgrass’s evidence, said the magistrate, he would have been disposed to give an exemplary sentence; the law was the same for an Oxford undergraduate as for any young hooligan; indeed the better the home the more shameful the offence…

It was not only at Bow Street that Mr Samgrass was of value. At Oxford he showed all the zeal and acumen which were Rex Mottram’s in London. He interviewed the college authorities, the proctors, the Vice-Chancellor; he induced Mgr Bell to call on the Dean of Christ Church; he arranged for Lady Marchmain to talk to the Chancellor himself; and, as a result of all this, the three of us were gated for the rest of the term. Hardcastle, for no clear reason, was again deprived of the use of his car, and the affair blew over. The most lasting penalty we suffered was our intimacy with Rex Mottram and Mr Samgrass, but since Rex’s life was in London in a world of politics and high finance and Mr Samgrass’s nearer to our own at Oxford, it was from him we suffered the more.