Thunderous applause rocked the lecture hall.
One student rose. Then another. Soon, most of the crowd were on their feet, cheering, clapping and thumping.
Fina and her friends stayed glued to their seats. If any of them were inclined to give in to peer pressure by participating in the standing ovation, a quick look of fury from Fina stopped them in their tracks. She had spent most of the lecture staring at various points in the hall. First, the salt-and-pepper head directly in front of her, which had the irritating habit of nodding agreement periodically. Then she gazed at the lit candles in the corner, flickering whenever a new audience member opened the door to enter. She had watched the wax burn and drip in rivulets down the candleholder. From time to time, she heard parts of phrases, such as “the English people are the pinnacle of civilised progress”. And, “the mark of the inferiority of the Irish is their treatment of women”. The last bit she heard was, “the great British Empire provides all we need to feed the masses here at home”.
The hall had been as stuffy as the lecture, thought Fina, as Ruby, Pixley, Gayatri, and Wendell congregated on the steps outside the lecture hall. Too much hot air.
“Good Lord,” said Pixley. “Was that not the most ghastly claptrap you’ve ever heard? What was all that rot about the English working classes propping up the colonies? More like the reverse.”
“I suppose we can be grateful he supports women’s equality,” said Gayatri, ever the apparent optimist.
Ruby coughed. Her visage was one of disbelief. “Hardly equality for the likes of you and me, Gayatri.”
“I suppose you’re right. His discussions of India were utter rubbish,” said Gayatri. Looking at Fina, she said, “And Ireland.” And then, looking at Ruby and Pixley, she added, “And the Caribbean.”
“Don’t stare at me,” said Pixley. “My grandparents came to London from Ghana in the seventeenth century. Though I do have an interest in anti-colonial fights.”
Fina gave Ruby a gentle nudge. Without looking over at her, Ruby gave a slight nod. Could Pixley be provoking them? Surely not. Wendell wouldn’t have sent him down if there was any chance he could be spying on them.
Hitching her dress slightly to descend the stairs, Ruby said, “Time to go to the dreaded sherry party.”
The level of chatter emanating from the great oak doors of the senior common room indicated the sherry party was well under way. Guests spilled out into the hall and Fina was quite sure many were taking advantage of the balcony in the front, despite the chill in the air.
As if she were steeling herself to enter a particularly difficult exam room, Fina took gulps of air and unconsciously held her breath as they entered. Gayatri took the lead and the little party followed her like a trail of baby ducklings as she cut a swathe through the crowd.
“Topping idea, Gayatri,” said Fina when they finally arrived at their destination: the drinks table. Fina noticed Ruby give her a worried look so she settled on a ginger beer rather than sherry. Gayatri and Ruby both decided on glasses of bubbly, while Pixley preferred wine. So much for a sherry party.
Fina sipped the ginger beer and wrinkled her nose. Too sweet. But the bubbles were refreshing in her throat. A few feet away, she saw Professor Marlston had made the same drink choice. She stood next to Grace Yingxia, who held a rapidly disappearing glass of champagne in her hands. Fina reflected that they were an odd couple indeed. They both had good posture but where Grace’s was the easy poise of the confident, Victoria Marlston held herself in an enforced rigidity. Her head was the only body part out of alignment: it always stooped forward a bit. She held her ginger beer so tightly Fina thought she might shatter the glass. Grace, on the other hand – true to her name – held her champagne glass with a light, feathery touch.
Feeling rather emboldened by the lingering effects of her earlier alcohol consumption, Fina floated – or at least it felt that way to her – toward the pair. They clinked their glasses in salute.
Grace turned to Fina. “Did you enjoy the lecture? Or perhaps a better Oxford question would be, ‘Did you find it edifying?’”
Fina decided it was safe to share her thoughts with the two of them. “I found it to be the most irritating, nonsensical drivel I’ve ever heard!” she said, with a little more fervour than she’d intended.
“Please, tell us what you really think,” said Grace with a wink. “You’re right, of course. I found my mind wandering during the lecture. Which I must say is not unusual, even if I enjoy the content.” She unsnapped her black clutch and pulled out the tiniest leather-bound notebook Fina had ever seen. It had an equally tiny pencil attached to it on a loop of thread. Grace fanned the pages as if it were one of those flip books which make it look like you’re watching a moving picture. The pages were filled with notes. “I like to jot down ideas for poems whenever I’m in a tiring situation.”
“The only problem with your system, dear Grace, is you lose those wonderful notebooks left and right,” said Victoria with a grimace. “Just the other day, I found one on the floor of my office.”
“I’m sure you scooped it right up, darling, given your penchant for order,” smiled Grace. It was not a sarcastic remark. It struck Fina as the type of remark her grandmother would say to her grandfather – a gently chiding but loving remark of a couple who had lived together for more than a few years.
Grace held her hand to her forehead in the rather theatrical manner of a fortune-teller. “An idea has arrived. I must dash,” she said, grabbing her clutch and twirling off in a fairy-like motion toward the balcony. Professor Marlston gave Fina a little nod of polite excuse and tramped off after her friend.
Fina felt the presence of someone behind her. “I say, how long have you been at Oxford?” Pixley enquired above the din. Fina was sure he was being polite. She motioned to the group to decamp to a recess near the balcony.
“Ah, that’s better,” said Fina to Pixley, as a cool, gentle breeze ruffled her hair. “To answer your question, I’ve been at Oxford for two years.”
Nodding, he continued his inquisition. “And you like Quenby College? What made you choose Quenby over Somerville?”
“Is this a professional interrogation, or simple human interest?”
Pixley took a little bow. “Sorry, it’s a rather nasty professional habit, as you say. I start interviewing everyone I meet. Please forgive me.”
“No harm done. And I chose Quenby because, well, it was the more progressive of the two colleges.”
He raised his glass to her in a salute. She raised hers to clink his.
“Now it’s my turn,” Fina said, hoping he had imbibed enough to loosen his tongue. “Won’t you give us a hint as to what story – or stories – you are following while you’re here?”
Pixley shifted his weight from side to side and then made a little jumping motion like a boxer preparing for a fight.
“Well…”
“Perhaps you can tell me if it’s about individual people or the college itself?” She was warming to this guessing-game format of conversation.
“The college.”
“Really?” Ruby had joined their conversation by now. “Let’s see, is it about politics, money, sex, jealousy or…?”
“Well, you know my area of interest. And it isn’t sex and jealousy. Though I am rather taken by that man over there,” he said, casually waving his glass in the direction of the grand piano.
“You’re not the only one,” sighed Fina. “That’s Professor Esmond Bathurst, the new chemistry professor. This is his first term teaching at college.”
“To put it politely, Pixley,” said Ruby, “the man is a boor.”
“Such a pity. What a waste of a fine physique,” said Pixley, still staring at Bathurst. “Who is the young woman talking to him? The two of them are as thick as thieves. I know I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover but that one looks like trouble.”
“You’re not far wrong, unfortunately,” replied Fina. “That’s Vera the Viper. She is positively spiteful. I would feel sorry for her if she weren’t rolling in it.”
“Speaking of which, Feens,” said Ruby, touching her shoulder, “we have to meet with her tomorrow about her new wardrobe.”
“Might as well pack this week with all the unpleasantness possible. It will make next week seem like a positive picnic.”
Pixley made another motioning gesture toward Enid, who was perched on a stool at the other end of the room.
“Who is that? Shall we find out what her story might be?” he asked. With Fina in his wake, he toddled toward Enid and introduced himself. The trio clinked their glasses in salute.
“Enjoying the party?” asked Fina.
“I suppose. As much as I ever enjoy parties,” said Enid, clearing her throat.
Fina surveyed the girl. Her shoulders drooped and she fidgeted with her sherry glass, twisting it round and round. She directed a trance-like stare at Vera and Esmond. The glass spun faster and faster. Fina thought it might splatter all over Enid’s Argyle jumper.
As Fina continued to watch Enid, she found that she couldn’t tell if she were staring at the couple or at Ruby. Her stomach gave a little lurch – what if she were watching Ruby?
Pixley peered at Enid, and then his eyes darted in the direction of her stare. “Have you met Ruby Dove before? We could introduce you if you haven’t.”
Enid gave Pixley a half-squint. “Who? Oh. Ruby. I’ve met her,” she said, sliding off her stool.
“Please excuse me,” she said, moving toward Vera.
“Peculiar. Distinctly peculiar,” said Pixley, turning to Fina. “I knew someone like that once. Completely lost in her head – not intellectually, but emotionally, you understand. Would moon about all day, staring at different people. I suppose Freud might call it repressed, but that doesn’t capture the complexity of the condition. It didn’t end well, I’m afraid.”
“Was she institutionalised?” asked Fina with a shudder. She promptly downed the remainder of her ginger beer as if it would have the relaxing effect of alcohol.
Pixley twirled his spectacles again, apparently lost in memories. He looked up and put on his spectacles.
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose. She committed murder.”