WE STAYED FOR AS LONG as was necessary to help the police with their enquiries. During the day Morley would work on his articles and on the book, writing and writing – his usual salve. Miriam stayed mostly in her room, and away from me – ditto. The police arrested and then charged a number of teachers, and most of the school’s benefactors. Dr Standish’s favourite, the inquisitive Michael Taylor, it was thought, had discovered the underground cave and had been punished – whether by Alex or by someone else it was not clear. Dr Standish’s body was found washed up near Budleigh Salterton. Mrs Dodds did not show her face. And as for the two Mrs Standishes? They simply disappeared. The Goodings claimed that old Mrs Standish had visited a place called the Crazwell Pool, near Princetown and – as superstition had it – she had seen who would be the next person in the area to die, and she went, taking her lizard-loving daughter-in-law with her. Morley remembered where he had seen her before: at a soirée at Watkins occult bookshop in Cecil Court in London. Bernhard, who appeared to be entirely blameless, took over as temporary headmaster. And as for me, during the day I took photographs for the book, and assisted Morley, who was uncharacteristically subdued, and in the evenings I would sit and drink cider with the Goodings at their farmhouse. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego turned out to be excellent companions. And then, on the third day, it was time to go.
We left All Souls, as we had arrived, in darkness.
The Lagonda was packed – everything minus the surfboards, which Morley had decided to donate to the school.
‘We could always wait until tomorrow?’ I suggested, as Miriam settled Morley into his seat in the back, and placed his typewriter on its plinth around him. I was rather keen still to see Mrs Dodds, in the hope that she might be keen to express her gratitude. But it was not to be.
Morley seemed to revive as soon as he was in the Lagonda.
‘Motoring all through the night,’ he said, ‘is one of the fifty-seven things that every man should do at least once in his lifetime, don’t you think, Sefton?’
‘Fifty-seven?’ asked Miriam. ‘Why fifty-seven, Father?’
‘No idea,’ said Morley. ‘It just came to me. Rather catchy though, isn’t it? The Fifty-Seven Things a Man Should Do in his Lifetime.’
Might this be another book coming on? I rather hoped so.
‘Take a note, Sefton,’ said Morley.
It was good to hear those words again.
We bade farewell to Bernhard, and to the Goodings, and to the pupils – many of them seemingly unaware of the events that had unfolded, and one can only hope that they really were unaware, and were ignorant, for in such a case as this ignorance truly is bliss – and so we began our journey home, swooping through valleys and up hills and through towns and villages.
‘What are you looking forward to then, Sefton, about getting back to Norfolk?’ asked Morley.
‘I’m—’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the animals. And some good home-made marmalade. And a nice strong cup of Russian tea.’
‘Let him answer, Father, for goodness sake!’ cried Miriam.
After days of fresh air in Devon I was yearning for a delicious thick yellow London fog.
‘It’ll be nice to have a rest,’ I said.
‘Now, now, we have a lot of work to catch up on, I’m afraid,’ said Morley. ‘What is our motto?’
‘No shirking,’ I said.
‘No shilly-shallying,’ said Morley.
‘No funking,’ said Miriam.
Devon flew past, in darkness, and at great speed.
‘Goodbye to Devon!’ said Miriam. ‘And good riddance!’
‘We shouldn’t judge the place too harshly,’ said Morley. ‘Just because of …’ He was rarely lost for words, but this was one of those occasions.
‘I know, Father.’
‘I’ll certainly miss some of them,’ I said, perhaps not entirely appropriately. ‘The Goodings, they were a—’
‘I think Mrs Standish rather took a fancy to you, Father,’ said Miriam.
‘Old Mrs Standish?’
‘Young Mrs Standish.’
‘Alex’s wife?’ said Morley.
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Miriam.’
‘Probably an effect of the drugs,’ she added.
‘I must say I would rather have liked to have given her a monkey,’ said Morley.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miriam.
‘A monkey?’ I said.
‘A capuchin, I think. Terribly intelligent. One can still easily pick them up from Jamrach and Cross. They might have kept it in the school during winter and allowed it to run about during the summer. Plenty of space there. All they need is a little rice and some carrots, a few meal-worms, some minced chicken. They really do make excellent house pets. I can’t understand why more people don’t keep them, actually.’
‘Because a capuchin monkey is clearly not suitable as a house pet, Father!’ said Miriam. ‘That’s why people don’t keep them. It would be cruel and unnatural.’
‘But we have Sir Toby at home,’ said Morley.
‘Sir Toby?’ I said.
‘The damned monkey Father keeps in the hall.’
‘Ah.’ I recalled Sir Toby from the menagerie at St George’s.
‘Monkeys are wild creatures, Father. They are not pets. They are not intended to be kept as pets.’
‘But you’re very fond of Sir Toby, aren’t you?’
‘That’s beside the point, Father.’
‘I do think some of these modern ideas are very unhelpful you know. I knew a chap once who kept a rhino as a pet. Excellent beast. Tame, affectionate, most engaging little creature – this was in East Africa, of course. And a lion, also perfectly reasonable.’
‘This is England, Father, not East Africa.’
‘Well, more’s the pity,’ said Morley. ‘If it means we can’t enjoy the company of God’s creatures, as he clearly intended. Is that the North Star? Astronomically …’
The conversation seemed to be back to its usual form.
Miriam revved the engine and glanced across at me.
‘Shouldn’t we slow down?’ I said.
‘Nonsense!’ cried Miriam.
‘I think statistics show that most street accidents in London occur at speeds of less than 10 mph,’ said Morley.
‘But we’re not in London,’ I pointed out, as hedges and verges flew past.
‘Precisely,’ he said. ‘Nothing to fear. Absolutely nothing.’
In all our years together we rarely spoke of Devon again, and never of the events that had unfolded at All Souls. I never asked Miriam about Alex, and I never asked Morley about Dr Standish. But there is a passage in The County Guides: Devon about the caves of Beer that speaks perhaps as clearly about Morley’s feelings for his friend as any outpouring or encomium. ‘One should take care in the caves not to lose one’s bearings. It is easy to do so, and difficult to find one’s way back to the light. For this reason one should never venture into the caves alone, but ensure that one always sets out with a trusted companion.’
Dr Standish – trusted companion