The Merciless Ladies Read Free Page A

On the piece of paper, drawn in crayons, was an insulting caricature which even he could not fail to recognize as being of himself.
    The drawing was really of a satyr – though I doubt if Paul had heard the word at the time – in which a naked body covered with red hair from the waist down was surmounted by a head unmistakably Mr Dogden’s. It carried a pitchfork in one claw, and impaled on the prongs was a struggling schoolboy.
    Although I would have taken the blame, Paul was soon on his feet too, to Dogden’s obvious satisfaction. What made matters worse was that, followed by Dr Marshall, who I swear was hiding a faint smirk of amusement under his yellowing moustache, Dogden went to Paul’s desk and instructed him to turn it out. So the sketch-book came to light.
    I had known from the time of his first holiday with us of Paul’s interest in sketching, but it had made no great impression on me. It was similar to knowing a boy who liked strumming on the piano: a quirk of character, a little talent. Sometimes he had shown me his sketches and they seemed rather good. There was one of me on our mantelpiece at home, but I thought I looked too lean in it and too melancholy.
    Of particular interest in the sketch-book turned up by Dogden were crayon drawings of almost every master in the school, and quite a number of the pupils. They were not caricatures in the ordinary sense of the word, being more insulting in their near likeness and their loving care for detail. The most unfortunate part of the matter was that the three lady teachers had been drawn without any clothes on.
    Being in a sense implicated in the first place, I was present at the interview in Dr Marshall’s study.
    â€˜What you must appreciate, Stafford’, I remember Dr Marshall saying, ‘is that your father is not paying your school fees with the idea that you should occupy your time making insulting studies of your headmaster and his colleagues. Nor do we exist and draw our salaries for the purpose of acting as models and butts for every young puppy who comes here with a talent for sketching. I trust you will come to realize that.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Indeed, I should feel I had failed in my duty if I allowed you to leave this establishment with such an impression. How old are you?’
    â€˜Sixteen, sir.’
    â€˜Old enough to know better. The more offensive juvenile antics should be behind one by then. Where did you learn your drawing?’
    â€˜Nowhere, sir.’
    â€˜Who taught you draughtsmanship? Not Mr Harper, surely?’
    â€˜No, sir. I could draw as long as I can remember.’
    â€˜And what did Mr Harper think of you? Alas, I shall not be able to ask him as he has answered his country’s call.’ A pause while the pages of the sketch-book crackled. ‘Ever heard of Adrian Brouwer?’
    â€˜No, sir.’
    â€˜Dutchman. Lived in the seventeenth century. Died in Antwerp when not much more than thirty … The un-beautiul on canvas … One sees the best of him in Dresden and Munich … Tell me, who informed you that I had one shoulder lower than the other?’
    â€˜No one, sir.’
    â€˜Yet I wear a pad which makes it unnoticeable to outsiders. Or so I thought. A perceptive young man. It disturbs me to punish such diligence.’
    I was there standing just behind Paul, but at this stage I might not have existed. There was a strange concentration between the boy and the man. I remember staring at the ink pots on the desk – there were six or seven of them – and wondering what Marshall did with them all. Different colours for different moods?
    â€˜How many boys have seen this sketch-book, Stafford?’
    â€˜None, sir.’
    â€˜Grant?’
    â€˜No, sir.’
    â€˜You see, Stafford, there are two offences here. One is impudence and an insult may be expiated by a few strokes of the cane. The other is the matter of the – hm –