Free Matricide at St. Martha's by Ruth Dudley Edwards

you, Dr Crowley, but though well-intentioned, that is not a helpful contribution. Now, Bursar, please remember that we have a tradition of tolerance in St Martha’s: it is right to take note of the views of the younger generation. I am, however, inclined to agree that we are giving a disproportionate amount of time to matters which could perhaps be resolved in a different forum.’
    ‘These are central issues,’ said Bridget Holdness. ‘They cannot be marginalized.’
    ‘Might I make a suggestion?’ asked Amiss.
    Bridget Holdness glared at him, ‘Chair, this is the second instance this morning of a male interruption.’
    ‘I didn’t interrupt,’ said Crowley and Amiss simultaneously.
    ‘There they go again, Chair.’
    ‘Dr Holdness…’
    ‘Ms.’
    ‘I see no reason why I should change the way I refer to you when you persist in addressing me as if I were a piece of furniture,’ said the Mistress. Her normal imperturbability seemed to be acquiring a tinge of irritability. ‘Mr Amiss, what is your suggestion?’
    ‘A language sub-committee?’
    ‘We don’t usually have sub-committees of the Council,’ said the Mistress.
    ‘Good time to start,’ said the Bursar. ‘Language has been the nigger in the woodpile in this Council. Can’t get on with things.’ There was no response. A kind of chill had descended on the company. Even the Mistress looked unsettled. The Bursar looked at her colleagues in a baffled fashion and then made the connection. ‘Ooops! Sorry about that, slip of the tongue. Nothing personal, Dr Denslow.’
    As Mary Lou opened her mouth to respond, Bridget Holdness pushed back her chair noisily and said, ‘Come on.’
    ‘Dr Holdness, the Bursar has apologized.’
    ‘There are some things for which no apology will suffice. A protest has to be made. Come.’ She jerked her head at Sandra, Mary Lou and the dim hanger-on and the four of them exited.
    Amiss settled back in his seat in relief, waiting for the constructive part of the meeting to start.
    ‘Fellows, I regret this disruption,’ said Dame Maud. ‘May we reconvene tomorrow at nine-thirty? I shall see in the meantime if Dr Holdness and her friends can rejoin us.’ She swept out of the room followed by her entourage.
    ‘What happened?’ Amiss asked the Bursar. ‘Why didn’t we go on?’
    ‘Quorum, you idiot. The statutes are very firm on that. And since Thackaberry and Anglo-Saxon Annie again forgot to turn up, we were buggered. You can’t pick your nose in this institution without a quorum. Oh shit, sometimes I think I’m a little lacking in tact.’
    The demonstration outside the door was revitalized by the news that Bridget had borne out of the Council Chamber. ‘Racist: Out Out Out. Racist: Out Out Out,’ was clearly directed at the Bursar, with the occasional ‘Sexist: out’ thrown in for good measure so as not to make Amiss feel out of things. The Bursar jet-propelled herself through the throng; she and Amiss sped down the corridor with their persecutors on their tail. When they got to the Bursar’s room she slammed the door behind them and locked it.
    ‘Have a drink.’
    ‘You’re lucky you weren’t lynched.’
    ‘Huh! Lynched? Me? It would take more than that phalanx of washed-out morons to lynch me, I can tell you. We Troutbecks don’t lynch easily.’
    ‘What are you going to do now?’
    ‘I have a plan.’
    ‘Are you going to share it with me?’
    ‘It’s not ready yet.’ She pushed his drink over to him. ‘I’ve homework to do.’
    There was a padded envelope sitting on her desk which she patted knowingly. ‘And how are you going to occupy yourself today?’
    ‘I shall seek out male company. When I’ve dealt with the cattery, that is.’
    ‘You’re determined to exile that splendid cat of yours? Pity. I like her.’
    ‘She’s exactly your sort.’ Amiss spoke frostily. ‘That’s why I have no option but to exile her.’
    ‘All right then. Drink up and get cracking. I’ve a lot to