CHAPTER ONE
Quentin College was a place that I had taken a fancy to when I was studying for my doctorate at University and was very pleased when I received a letter asking me to attend an interview. I was one of twenty there that day and I progressed into the next interview of ten and finally for a third visit of just three of us for a position in such a prestigious college.
I was the last to be interviewed and I went into the Dean's office to find two other people sitting there along with the Dean himself who had been present at my two previous visits. He was sitting behind his large desk and flanked by a man on his right and a woman on his left. I knew of them through my studies and the newspapers but waited until I was formally introduced to them before speaking.
'Sit down Dr Smith,' Dean Ainsworth said, indicating the chair placed before the desk. 'I am pleased to see that you made it to the last three and through your work, I'm sure you know Mrs Cynthia Carrington who is attached to the Department of Education in the present government.' I nodded in her direction and gave her a small smile. 'And Sir Reginald Hudson, who, though in opposition at the moment, is the Chairman of the College Board of Governors.' I nodded in his direction and gave him the same smile.
'To recap for their benefit, you were born on the 14th May 1974 in London, christened Colin Franklin Smith and are now twenty six years of age with both parents now deceased. You won high honours at college and obtained your doctorate at Oxford in the field of Political History on a brilliant thesis showing the parallels between the English Civil War and the American war of Independence. You have also written a book using these lines which I myself have read and have ordered copies for the college library.
Now having seen you twice previously, I'll let my esteemed colleagues put forward their questions as to why you think you are fit for the position in this college. Mrs Carrington if you would be so kind as to lead off.'
He sat back with a smile on his face and listened to the questions that were fired at me for over half an hour and to my answers. They were very demanding and I gave the best answers that I could and felt mentally drained when it was over and shook hands all round before I left, being told that I would be notified within a week if I'd succeeded to the post or not.
I went back to London to my home in Chelsea. A house in Cheyne Walk left to me by my parents two years ago. My father had been a cardiac consultant, but his profession did nothing for him for he died of a heart attack at the age of sixty one. Mother, with his loss, just seemed to pine away and so followed him two years later but it was recorded as natural causes in her case.
That was two and a half years ago and so I went off to America to further my education in my field and had only been back in England for three months before applying for this post of Political History at Quentin College. In the States, I had attended Yale University and by having the other side of the story as it were about what led up to the War of Independence prompted me to write my thesis.
True to their word, I received a letter a week after my last interview from Dean Ainsworth congratulating me on securing the post and could take up residence whenever I wished for the incumbent had already retired. It was two weeks into the summer holidays and another four weeks before the new term year began and as I didn't have any ties, immediately packed all that I would need and set off for the college.
Before the taxi driver could even begin to grumble about helping me get my two trunks down to his cab, I gave him a fiver and then had him drive me to the station where I had to get a porter to get them to my platform. The train I wanted was there and people were already boarding and I just had enough time to get my ticket and see the trunks put into the guards van.
It was another fiver for the cab driver at the town I wanted, to help me with them from the platform to his vehicle and get me to the college which was just off Gresham Street. It had been built by Sir James Quentin in 1585, well, started in that year but it wasn't finished till 1588 during the reign of Queen Elizabeth the First. At the time, it was the centre piece of the hamlet of Pax, taking its name from the river that flowed through and was a boundary line of the hamlet. Over time, the hamlet, because of the college, grew and became known as the town of Paxham.
The river itself curved round the college and at the town end grew many willow trees, the branches of which were much coveted later in the making of cricket bats. This became one of the house names of the college, Willow House, and its colour was yellow. Pax was another because of the river and the colour was blue. Gresham, from the street name, was red and the last was called Park from the playing fields at the rear and their colour was green.
The college itself had an imposing entrance. Arched, and still had a portcullis, which I found was now defunct, and overall, a remarkable Elizabethan style to all the buildings inside the college grounds. The porters lodge was one side in the arch and the Bursar's office on the other. Above, was the dean's office and living quarters as well as the aforementioned people.
The arch led into the quadrangle that had two houses each side with the main hall and chapel directly opposite the entrance. Behind which were the classrooms and gymnasium that then opened out to the playing fields with woods at the far side that led to the river Pax.
From literature I had read, knew that space was limited because of its size and therefore only took in thirty two new pupils a year and they would stay there for seven years. Each house had seven rooms which would only accommodate eight beds and one large common room, so the total number of students there was two hundred and twenty four ranging from eleven years of age up to those of seventeen and eighteen. The house also had two other rooms, though it is somewhat of a misnomer for one had been very large and had since been split up into two bedrooms and a sitting room, and one smaller room with a sitting room. These were for the teachers. The smaller one was for the house master and the other, of which I was to be assigned, was the shared sitting room and my own bedroom.
Jenkins, the college head porter, welcomed me and told me to leave my trunks where they had been deposited by the cab driver and said that he would see that they were brought up to my room later. He took me through to the quad and told me that I would be in Pax House to which he led me. The ground floor held the common room as well as the accommodation for the teachers, the upper floor being the students rooms. I found out that each yearly intake stayed in the same room for their whole time there and that the prefects, two, were selected from those students in their last year.
Jenkins led me into Pax House and knocked at the door at the far end and we heard a voice call out for us to enter. I went into what was the sitting room and saw a young man get up from one of the double desks by the window.
'You must be Doctor Smith,' he said as he came forward with his hand out and a big smile on his face. 'Thank Christ you're not another old fogie.' I couldn't help but smile back as I shook his hand. 'My name is Dorian Carson though they all call me Kit. Okay Jenkins, I'll take over from here.'
'I'll have your trunks brought up shortly sir,' Jenkins said to me before he left the room.
'As I said,' Kit began as he waved me to the small sofa that was in the room, 'Thank heavens for some young blood in the place. Professor Hughes, your predecessor, was a sour old goat and I don't think I could have lasted another year with someone of that ilk. What are you, twenty seven, twenty eight?'