Dead Man Riding Read Free Page B

holding an envelope. Nathan pointed towards the platform where Alan was standing in his plumed hat as the King of Navarre among the courtiers.
    â€˜There’s a telegram come for him. Been in his pigeon-hole all afternoon and the porter said as I was coming home this way I should look in and give it to him, in case it was urgent.’
    â€˜Thanks. I’ll give it to him when he comes off.’ Nathan held out his hand, but the boy kept hold of the envelope.
    â€˜The porter said I was to give it to him directly, nobody else.’
    Before we could stop him he was stumping towards the platform, weaving dangerously in his thick boots among the hems of delicate summer dresses spread over the grass.
    â€˜Shouldn’t worry,’ Nathan said. ‘They’ll think it’s part of the play, another messenger come with despatches.’
    The play was near its end now. We were only a few minutes from the heart-stopping moment when the jokes, the romance and the rough comedy are cut off in just two lines with the brutality of an express train crashing into buffers. ‘ The King your father – Dead, for my life! Even so; my tale is told. ’ The messenger of death would come in a punt across the lake. If you strained your eyes you could just see the ripples like black treacle in the torchlight where the punt was already moving.
    Meanwhile the porter’s boy had managed to push himself to the side of the platform. We saw him tug at Alan’s cloak and shove the envelope into his hand. Luckily the attention was on the masquers at this point, not the King’s party, so he was able to thumb the envelope open and glance at the telegram. I’d picked up the opera glasses Midge had brought with her and was watching, more from amusement than anything. When Alan bent his head to read the telegram his face was shaded by his hat so it was only as he looked up that I caught his expression. It was thunderstruck. Not grief at bad news, as the princess was about to get in the play, but shock and incomprehension.
    Imogen asked, ‘What’s up, Nell?’
    But by then the dark-cloaked messenger was in sight, standing in the prow of the punt and everybody was concentrating on the play. Alan had one of the first lines to deliver after the messenger’s words and Kit had to nudge him to remind him. He managed it and if other people noticed the hesitation and the shakiness in his voice they probably put it down to good acting. After all, he was supposed to be shocked.
    *   *   *
    The play ended and Midge practically dragged us away to get out before the rest of the crowd. Alan and Kit, still in costume, caught up with us. They wanted to escort us back to Somerville, but we pointed out that if anything were needed to make our delinquency more conspicuous it was being squired to a locked door by the King of Navarre and friend. Even so, Alan managed to get in a few quick words with Imogen before Midge hustled us out to the street.
    â€˜Come on. Run.’
    I’d been walking fast, but I slowed down deliberately. ‘No point. We’re late and that’s it.’
    â€˜Oh Nell, they’ll have to unlock the gate for us. We’ll be in such trouble.’
    The feeling of rebellion that had been with me for most of the term took practical form.
    â€˜Then we’ll just have to climb in over the back gate like the men do.’
    â€˜Men climbing in over our back gate?’ Midge was appalled.
    â€˜Of course not. Over their own back gates into their own colleges. They’ve been doing it for centuries so if we want to be equal it’s about time we started.’
    As the three of us walked side by side up Walton Street I said to Imogen, ‘Did you ask Alan what was in the telegram?’
    â€˜It was an answer from his uncle. It said he was welcome to come and bring his whole tribe with him.’
    So I must have been wrong. Torchlight can be deceptive after