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

you another favour?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    ‘I don’t know Cambridge, and I wondered if you would be so kind as perhaps to find some time one afternoon to show me around. We might then possibly have tea somewhere nice. I need something to lift my spirits after the really rather terrifying introduction I have had to St Martha’s.’ He could see the gleam in Pusey’s eyes.
    ‘Show you round? Why I’d be delighted. Indeed, I think it would be unwise to postpone it. One cannot always rely on the weather. Come back to me here after lunch at two o’clock sharp.’
    ‘How very kind.’
    ‘What are your main fancies?’ He caught Amiss’s blank look and tittered. ‘Architecturally, I mean.’
    ‘Pretty catholic.’
    ‘Medieval? Renaissance? Georgian? Victorian?’
    ‘I’d be happy with all of them. Whatever’s going. I really just want to acquire a general sense of the place.’
    That was clearly the wrong answer. ‘Oh, dear.’ Pusey rushed over to the corner and took out another box of cards. ‘Look, look.’ He pointed to the title. ‘You see?’
    ‘Er, yes. The medieval tour.’
    ‘I like to take people round chronologically, you see. So with the medieval tour I start with Peterhouse in 1284 and take you right through to Clare in 1359.’
    ‘That sounds… very interesting. Does it take in most of the major colleges?’
    ‘Oh no, no, no. You’ve got King’s and Queens’ and Jesus and so on in the Renaissance tour and then of course the Reformation and so on.’
    ‘I’m in your hands, Dr Pusey.’
    ‘Ah, very well then. What I suggest is that today we do the medieval period, or as much as can be done in only an afternoon – not forgetting our tea of course.’ He tittered again. ‘And then, when it is again clement, we can advance to the Renaissance.’
    ‘Gosh, that’s terrific. I look forward to this afternoon immensely.’ As he left the room Amiss wondered whether he should be blaming the Bursar or Miss Stamp for his impending doom. He concluded reluctantly that the buck stopped with him.
    ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
    ‘Uncoursed clunch rubble. Can’t you see?’
    Amiss gazed dully at a clump of masonry.
    ‘Pevsner thinks some of these windows are originals from the third quarter of the fourteenth century, but I’m not at all sure, not at all sure. I think he may have been misled by the cusped lights.’ He peered down at his card. ‘I hope you were moved by it, Mr Amiss. As dear, dear Spenser has said:
‘ “My mother, Cambridge, whom, as with a crowne,
He doth adorne, and is adorn’d of it
With many a gentle muse and many a learned wit.” ’
    Spenser had clearly struck lucky, thought Amiss lugubriously.
    ‘Now I think it’s time for tea. We have finished the medieval tour,’ said Pusey. ‘Come along now, we’ll go to the Copper Kettle on King’s Parade. I’m very, very partial to their chocolate cake.’
    Amiss did not have a sweet tooth and forcing down rich cake was a torment to him, but it was required by the Pusey code. This Amiss resentfully summarized as: ‘I’m-a-greedy-little -bugger-without-the -courage -of-my-convictions-who-requires -my-companion-to-carry -the-can -for -my -over -indulgence.’
    ‘Oh, well, I’ll have another slice if you insist, but only if you do,’ Pusey kept wittering.
    The main advantage of tea, however, was that it temporarily stopped Pusey from talking any more about medieval architecture and enabled Amiss to recover from that state of catatonic despair into which merciless bores always threw him.
    But as he swallowed his last piece of goo, Pusey started to fumble in his pocket for his cards again. Amiss swiftly intervened just in time. ‘Dr Pusey, please could you tell me a little about Cambridge in its wider sense; perhaps we could make a great leap from medieval to contemporary – looking at the people this time rather than the artefacts.’
    ‘I’d rather have artefacts any day. Give me a nice little Meissen pot or a