The Fourth Estate

“Yes, sir. I think I can.”

“And why is that?” asked Mr. Jessop.

“Because … because I had experienced exactly the same pleasure with your daughter only a fortnight before, sir.”

“In the pavilion?” spluttered the headmaster in disbelief.

“No, to be honest with you, sir, in my case it was in the gymnasium. I have a feeling that your daughter preferred the gymnasium to the pavilion. She always said it was much easier to relax on rubber mats than on cricket pads in the slips cradle.” The housemaster was speechless.

“Thank you, Townsend, for your frankness,” the headmaster somehow managed.

“Not at all, sir. Will you be needing me for anything else?”

“No, not for the moment, Townsend.” Keith turned to leave. “However, I would be obliged for your complete discretion in this matter.”

“Of co

urse, sir,” said Keith, turning back to face him. He reddened slightly. “I am sorry, Headmaster, if I have embarrassed you, but as you reminded us all in your sermon last Sunday, whatever situation one is faced with in life, one should always remember the words of George Washington: ‘I cannot tell a lie.’”

* * *

Penny was nowhere to be seen during the next few weeks. When asked, the headmaster simply said that she and her mother were visiting an aunt in New Zealand.

Keith quickly put the headmaster’s problems to one side and continued to concentrate on his own woes. He still hadn’t come up with a solution as to how he could return the missing £100 to the pavilion account.

One morning, after prayers, Duncan Alexander knocked on Keith’s study door.

“Just dropped by to thank you,” said Alexander. “Jolly decent of you, old chap,” he added, sounding more British than the British.

“Any time, mate,” responded Keith in a broad Australian accent. “After all, I only told the old man the truth.”

“Quite so,” said the head boy. “Nevertheless, I still owe you a great deal, old chap. We Alexanders have long memories.”

“So do we Townsends,” said Keith, not looking up at him.

“Well, if I can be of any help to you in the future, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“I won’t,” promised Keith.

Duncan opened the door and looked back before adding, “I must say, Townsend, you’re not quite the shit everyone says you are.”

As the door closed behind him, Keith mouthed the words of Asquith he’d quoted in an essay he’d been working on: “You’d better wait and see.”

* * *

“There’s a call for you in Mr. Clarke’s study on the house phone,” said the junior on corridor duty.

As the month drew to a close, Keith dreaded even opening his mail, or worse, receiving an unexpected call. He always assumed someone had found out. As each day passed he waited for the assistant manager of the bank to get in touch, informing him that the time had come for the latest accounts to be presented to the bursar.

“But I’ve raised over £4,000,” he repeated out loud again and again.

“That’s not the point, Townsend,” he could hear the headmaster saying.

He tried not to show the junior boy how anxious he really was. As he left his room and walked into the corridor, he could see the open door of his housemaster’s study. His strides became slower and slower. He walked in, and Mr. Clarke handed him the phone. Keith wished the housemaster would leave the room, but he just sat there and continued to mark last night’s prep.

“Keith Townsend,” he said.

“Good morning, Keith. It’s Mike Adams.”