Maxwell's Match by M. J. Trow

Author:M. J. Trow [Trow, M. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781835265345
Amazon: 1835265340
Goodreads: 214063191
Publisher: Joffe Books
Published: 2024-05-31T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

There was a knock on Peter Maxwell’s door a little after lights out in Tennyson House. John Selwyn’s call to sleep echoed dying through old corridors, like some Western muezzin summoning the faithful to prayer. But Maxwell was facing south-west as he opened the door and he was facing an anxious-looking George Sheffield sans gown and past caring.

‘Headmaster,’ Maxwell nodded.

‘Mr Maxwell, may I have a word? I know it’s late.’

‘Please,’ Maxwell invited him in.

‘Are you . . . comfortable here?’ the Head ask him, looking around at the dingy room.

‘Thank you, yes,’ Maxwell smiled. ‘Won’t you have a seat?’

‘Thank you.’

George Sheffield had aged a hundred years in the last week. And it was exactly a week ago that Maxwell had heard a scratching on the outer staircase; seven days since he’d seen a gowned figure flitting furtively in and out of the shadow with a lovely girl with long, dark hair.

‘I’d offer you something, but . . .’

Sheffield shook his head. ‘If I’d wanted a drink I would have invited you to my rooms. No, Maxwell, it’s advice I want.’

Maxwell sat opposite the man, aware one again why he’d never climbed those dizzy heights, the greasy pole to Headship. ‘Advice?’ he said. ‘I doubt I have any that could help your situation, Dr Sheffield. Rest assured, though, you have my heartfelt sympathy.’

‘Mr Maxwell, I’ve been Headmaster at Grimond’s for fifteen years. The school has been my wife, my children, my everything. Now, I’ve lost it.’

‘Lost it?’ Maxwell repeated.

‘Sir Arthur — Arthur Wilkins, my Chair of Governors — has asked for my resignation.’

‘Ah,’ Maxwell nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’ He glanced up at the man who in turn was watching him carefully. ‘Are you bound to accept?’

Sheffield shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think there’s anything in the rule book to cover this. There isn’t a sub-clause in my contract headed “Murders of Members of Staff”. I’m at a loss.’

‘Are you asking my advice as to whether you should fight this?’

‘I’ve talked to Mervyn of course, my Housemasters, even Millie Taylor, my secretary.’

‘What do they say?’

‘Fight it,’ Sheffield told him, shrugging. ‘To a man and woman, they said “Fight it”.’

‘Sounds like good advice to me,’ Maxwell said.

Sheffield looked at him. ‘With respect, Mr Maxwell, you’re an outsider. It’s no skin off your nose if you say the wrong thing. Your career isn’t dependent on any reference of mine. I’d value your honesty.’

‘Dr Sheffield,’ Maxwell leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘You must stay and fight. Tear up whatever contract Wilkins has given you. And let me talk to your kids.’

‘What?’ Sheffield frowned.

‘Just the sixth form,’ he said, hand in the air and all too aware of the delicacy of the situation. ‘I know sixth formers.’

‘Mr Maxwell, Chief Inspector Hall . . .’

‘. . . is an army of one,’ Maxwell interrupted; ‘And Bill Pardoe’s death is already a week old.’

There was a silence.

‘I have done this sort of thing before,’ Maxwell said.

‘But Hall must have . . . what do the police call it? Back-up? He must have back-up outside.

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