The September Society Read Online Free PDF Page B

reared its head too high. Lincoln’s merriness was enduring.
    It was also beautiful, folded into a side lane between Oxford’s two main thoroughfares, Broad Street and the High. It was made from the same quarry of yellowish, ancient stone as the other colleges that dated to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In fact, it had been founded in 1427 by the Bishop of Lincoln, and it was often said that it looked more like the colleges of that era had than any other place standing, because it was still only three stories high, cozy rather than grand, a home and a haven rather than an impersonal palace. Nobody was allowed to walk on the quad, of course, and its brilliant color, even at this time of the year, was the result of only about twenty men in four and a half centuries treading on it—each generation’s lawn mower, who in his turn was as famous a character in the college as the junior dean or the head porter.
    One of the most notable members of the college had been John Wesley, the religious reformer, who with his brother had held the first meetings of the infamous Holy Club in college rooms. This had all occurred in the 1720s and ’30s, long ago, but even then religious zealotry couldn’t weigh Lincolnites down—they had made a joke of Wesley, naming him and his followers Methodists because of their dull, methodical ways. It was a light-hearted college. Its alumni were famously devoted to it, the mark of the best places in Oxford, places like Lincoln and the Turf.
    Lady Payson arrived a few minutes late. “Do you think he’s alive?” she said without preamble.
    “I certainly hope he is, and I certainly think there’s a good chance,” said Lenox.
    “You don’t know George, Mr. Lenox. Nothing would have made him miss our lunch except a crisis—and no explanation, no note! Some sons might be capable of that, but notGeorge. Only real trouble could have made him leave me like that.”
    “At any rate, I shall try my best to find him. That is what I can promise you. Would you rather I went in alone? Or will you come?”
    “I’ll come,” she said stoutly.
    “Just as you please, though I must ask you not to touch anything. Unless you have already?”
    “No, I left everything as it was. Why?”
    “It may be important to see what George left behind—whether he left in haste or deliberately, for instance, whether there’s any sign of forced access to a window or door.”
    “I see. No, I shan’t touch anything. I only sat in the chair by the window when I was here before. That may be slightly disturbed, but otherwise the rooms are as George left them.”
    Lady Payson nodded to the porter on duty, and she and Lenox walked along the stone path that circled the lawn, toward an entrance at the rear of the Front Quad.
    “Does anybody at the college know of anything amiss?” he asked.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Best to keep it that way, perhaps. What do the porters think of your coming and going?”
    “I told them I was visiting, and asked if I could have leave to enter the college freely. They said I could, on the word of the master.”
    “And you haven’t spoken to any of his friends?”
    “No.”
    “Have you ever met any of them?”
    “Only very briefly.”
    They reached a slim stone stairwell in which the morning light angled through the mullioned windows on each landing. On the third and top floor, Lady Payson pointed to a door. Lenox took the lead.
    The sitting room looked as familiar as the back of his hand, and immediately Lenox took a liking to the young man who inhabited it. There was a grate just by the door, full of ready coals (a sensible proposition—no use fumbling in the coal with wet hands as you got in), and by it there was a single armchair, maroon and stuffed, accompanied by a medium-sized circular table on which there were several books and a battered sort of walking stick. Walking boots, heavy with mud, sat on their sides in the chair.
    In case of a guest there was a small table