Mr Campion's Fault Read Online Free PDF Page A

I telephoned the school and got “the full S.P.” Did I say that right? It’s something Lugg would say, isn’t it?’
    Mr Campion nodded his approval. ‘Correct on both counts, I’m sorry to say. Pray, continue. What did our esteemed headmaster have to say?’
    ‘It turns out it’s not a musical at all – well, not a musical like
My Fair Lady
or
Oliver
. It’s actually the play – the real Marlowe deal – done pretty straight as far as I can work out, but with musical accompaniment from the school brass band. That probably makes it sound even more awful than it should.’
    ‘On the contrary,’ said Campion, patting Perdita’s arm. ‘I would take that as a good sign – a sign of quality.’
    ‘You would?’
    ‘But of course. Yorkshire insists on excellence when it comes to brass band music, just as they do with their cricket.’
    ‘Are they any good at rugby?’ the girl asked innocently.
    Mr Campion allowed his brow to furrow. ‘I’m told it’s a hot-bed of professional Rugby League rather than Rugby Union which, as I am sure you know, is a game designed for hooligans and berserkers played by gentleman amateurs. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Well …’ Perdita strung out the moment whilst rearming her plate with more sandwiches. ‘It seems that this poor chap Bertram Browne, the one who died in a road accident, was not only the English master and did the drama productions but also coached the boys at rugby. My dear godfather has had the brilliant idea that I can do his dramatic duties whilst Rupert stands in for him on the playing fields, chasing the school teams round the goalposts or whatever it is coaches are supposed to do. It would only be for a couple of weeks until the end of term, and it means we don’t have to be apart.’
    ‘And Rupert is happy with the prospect of the sporting life?’ said Mr Campion, supressing a smile.
    ‘If it means he can be with his beautiful wife, of course he is,’ said Amanda firmly.
    ‘Oh, naturally,’ her husband agreed quickly. ‘It’s just that I don’t remember the boy enjoying the game when he was at school. He could play well enough but the game simply didn’t interest him. Still, with his thespian training he should be good at the morale-boosting team talk. Once more into the breach and all that. More tea?’
    ‘Godfather Brigham says it will only be for a couple of fixtures,’ said Perdita, holding out her cup and saucer, ‘because term’s nearly over and there’s always the chance that games will be called off due to bad weather at this time of year.’
    ‘I told you,’ smiled Campion, ‘it always wuthers in Yorkshire, especially on the heights. Make sure Rupert packs his thermal long johns and wish him luck. And of course, all the best with your production of
Faustus
, which I’m sure will be splendid, though you may have casting problems.’
    ‘I will?’
    ‘Probably. From memory – admittedly a very unreliable and cobweb-strewn one – somebody has to play Helen of Troy. You know, the beautiful face that launched a thousand ships. Always a difficult casting choice in an all-boys’ school.’
    ‘Perdita will manage supremely,’ said Amanda, ‘and we will be the first to shout “Bravo” and “Encore” when the cast take their many, many curtain calls.’
    ‘We will?’
    ‘We certainly will, for I too have received a job offer from Brigham Armitage.’ Amanda snapped open the gold clasp of her Morris Moskowitz black leather handbag and, delving into its capacious interior – Mr Campion referred to it as her ‘doctor’s bag’ – produced the letter Perdita had delivered and handed it across the table. ‘Required for one Speech Day: an inspirational speaker with experience of the modern world and the white heat of modern technology. I paraphrase, of course, but it clearly means me, not you, though you are welcome to accompany me.’
    Mr Campion scanned the letter out of politeness, folded it and handed it back. ‘The