The Good Housemaster Ch. 1

Author's Note To Reader - This series is the second part of a longer story arc I began in "The Caged Student". I strongly recommend that you start there before beginning this series. However, if you do wish to begin with The Good Housemaster, there could be some confusion about the importance of certain plot points in this story. With that only warning, please enjoy...

The Good Housemaster

Chapter One

May 15th, 2000

Staring through the window at our front garden, I feel a certain peace settle over me. In the background, I could hear the morning BBC report. Corporal Punishment Now Outlawed in Schools. It was half of my life's work. Great Britain can now put one of the darkest parts of its history behind it. I never believed that one needed to hit a child to make them behave. As a teacher, I eschewed the use of a cane and took pride in it. My peers had gone by the old adage of what was good for them and whatnot. It's too bad so many children and young adults had to face the gauntlet that was more appropriate for Victorian times.

Absently eating my porridge, I flip through some of the cards I had received the last few days. Many are from my party. Being a former Minister in the House of Commons, the amount of mail is piling up rapidly. I find one with a name I recognize. It's a close personal friend in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Must get back to her. There will be a get-together this evening, and I haven't received a confirmation. Flipping through a few more, I see a small scarlet letter. It's addressed to me, but there's no forward. I pick it up and begin opening the stiff paper. The inside is gold foil. It's almost as if it's an invitation. My interest piqued, I pull out the card and read the very loopy but precise handwriting.

Congratulations on your victory. I wish I could join you in your celebrations personally, but I find my hands quite full at the moment. Do give my regards to 'The Knights.'

I flip the card to the other side, but it's blank. The Knights? Who would send an unsigned letter like this? I look at the card again. No... Surely not after all these years.

The Future Knights. I begin to think back to a time in my life I buried deeply away. I had finished my college education at Cambridge with a first-class degree and then completed my Masters in sixty-eight. During that period, I was doing my post-graduate research when an unplanned meeting at the school changed my life forever...

* * *

June 13th, 1968

Cards. Cards. Even more index cards. I'm nearly half done sorting them properly. The poorly lit storage building for most of the school's seldom-used texts smells of old paper and mildew. I stifle a cough. A fitting job for an aspiring professor. I couldn't complain, though. It WAS Cambridge, after all. Only five or six more years of this, and I could really start teaching. Trying not to sigh, I put another book back in its proper place and return to the high table. The single door to the room opens, and I look up in some surprise. No one has ever bothered to come here other than me for almost two weeks now. I see it's another graduate student.

"Mr. Wright?"

"Looks like you found me." I pick up another card and begin searching for its associated book.

"It's Dr. Barnaby. He would like to see you immediately."

"Oh?" Immediately sounded important. I look down at the cards, and this time I did sigh. This was never going to get done properly. "Can't keep him waiting, can I?"

Grabbing my brown tweed coat, I stride out quickly into the bright summer daylight. Squinting, my poor eyes have a hard time adjusting. I really need to get out more. Crossing the narrow street, I hurry over to Trinity Hall and pass through its golden brown double doors. Less than a minute later, I arrive at Dr. Barnaby's office and knock.

"Come."

Entering, I find the fifty-year-old man sitting behind his desk, waving me over. There's a second gentleman in here as well. His dark hair and deep brown eyes are striking as he watches me in silence. Dr. Barnaby is smiling, though. "You wished to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Wright. I want you to meet an old friend of mine. He teaches at a small school near Wales, which is currently in need of a professor. After he mentioned that, I of course remembered how much you were pestering me about starting your own career."

My jaw drops to the floor, and I look at the seated man closely. He appears to be in his mid-forties. "And you are...?"

"I am a Housemaster at Eddington Preparatory School."

His voice has a nasal quality about it, and he does seem to be a bit off-putting. I try again. "Uh. Right. I'm Alan Wright." I reach out my hand, and I realize he's wearing gloves. The man shakes mine quickly and then looks over to Dr. Barnaby.

"Didn't I tell you?" my boss says with a bit of confusion on his face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wright. This is; Professor Brown. Charles Brown."

Well, that's an unfortunate name to have these days. I cover my expression as best I can. His last name is common enough, at least. "Professor Brown." I turn back to Dr. Barnaby and smile. "Are you trying to get rid of me, sir?"

The graying man laughs heartily as he fishes out a cigarette. "No, No. But you have been pushing pretty hard as an assistant, and I do think it's a talent that's wasted here."

I look back, and the dark-eyed man is now smiling a bit. A teaching job in the middle of nowhere compared to a chance at Cambridge? Should I just turn him down flat? "Professor Brown. Despite what Dr. Barnaby has said, I'm actually..." The middle-aged man puts up a hand, and I look at him questioningly.

"Of course, Mr. Wright. I just wish to say that Dr. Barnaby has given me the strongest of recommendations for you."

"It's good to hear that." Strange. The quality of his high-pitched voice puts me immediately at ease. What could it hurt to listen? "Fine then. What is this position you're offering?" I pull the other chair and sit as Mr. Brown commences his pitch.

And it's bloody amazing! The school is set out in the country at an old manor near a small town in the hills south of Shrewsbury. It's a finishing school for eighteen to twenty-one-year-old ladies of the well-to-do. As I watch the dark-haired man paint a lovely picture of a progressive school in liberal arts as well as the sciences, I begin to actually get excited.

"...and we are looking for a talented professor who specialises in English literature, history, as well as be able to teach a foreign language or two." Mr. Brown then looks at me expectantly. "I hear you might fit the bill in those regards."

I'm more than surprised. It's almost as if the job was custom-made for my talents. "That would be no problem at all, Professor Brown. I'm well versed in the classics as well as the more modern works. Mon français n'est pas mal non plus."

Brown smiles. I could sense that he's definitely growing more interested in me as well. Then he throws in the kicker. "Of course, housing and meals are all provided, as well as a healthy stipend for our staff. As a professor, you would be making about fifteen hundred pounds per annum."

I sit upright. "Fifteen hundred?" The man's smile widens as he nods. With room and board included, I would be quite well off in a few years. This was more than generous for a new teacher right out of school. I try to keep a level head. "That's quite an offer. May I think about this for a while?"

"Of course, Mr. Wright. Mull it over." He hands me his card. It has the school seal proudly emblazoned in the corner. "I will be in town for two more days, but you can contact the school any time you wish. The position will not stay open long, if you get my meaning."

"I do. I'll let you both know what my plans will be shortly." Standing up, I shake his hand once again, and this time it seems more friendly. "Doctor Barnaby." Outside in the hall, I fiddle with the card. Then I remember what faces me in that storage room. I must be bonkers! Turning back around, I re-enter the office and find both men smiling at me when I tell them that I'll take the position.

* * *

A week later, I arrive at the train station at Shrewsbury after a several-hour trip. Professor Brown had set up an interview with the Headmaster of Eddington for today, and I feel more than a bit nervous. Searching about the platform, I see an early-thirties aristocratic-looking lady walking towards me in a blue dress with contrasting white collar and cuffs. The blond woman appears to be on the tall side, but I still have a few centimeters on her, even in her black heels. Her cool blue eyes stare at my deep red hair, my most distinguishing characteristic. I could tell that she must be my ride.

"Mr. Wright?"

I notice the ring on her finger. "Yes. Mrs...?"

"Pritchard." She's all business. "If you would follow me, please."

The lady turns and leads me to a smart-looking two-seater. I sit on the passenger side, and I notice her dress slide up, exposing the white hosiery under it. My eyes pause for just a moment as I see her taught legs working the pedals. Wasting no time, she shifts into first gear, and we tear out of the lot. Her aggressive driving keeps me glancing her way as the car heads out of town. Hanging on, I try for some small talk as we turn onto a country road leading to some hills in the distance. "Is it far?"

"A few kilometers." Her eyes never leave the road.

I was never very good at reading people, but Mrs. Pritchard seems to be more than just professionally distant. I try again. "I discussed with Professor Brown a bit about the school. I do say that it sounds marvelous."

She looks over at me for a second. "Professor Brown? Oh! You mean The Housemaster. Yes. The school is outstanding, as is Headmaster Sherman."

"Excellent." Again, the silence grows. "Umm. What position do you have at Eddington?"

"I serve as the headmaster's assistant as well as teach several classes." She sighs. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wright. I... I'm probably making a very poor example for the school right now."

It's become abundantly clear that the lady is having a very bad day. "No need to apologize, Mrs. Pritchard." I smile openly. "I can talk enough for the both of us."

She glances over at me for a moment. My grin fades as the blonde just turns back and stares ahead. She points out the village we are approaching. "Churchwell."

The car slows as the road narrows. We pass several small brick homes and what looks to be a common house. Just next to it, I see a pair of people entering a public house with a sign above the door. Rook's Rest. Almost in a blink, we were through to the other side. The road dead ends, and Mrs. Pritchard eases the car onto a cobblestone drive. Navigating slowly up several switchbacks, I could tell the lady next to me is an experienced driver as she continues to shift quickly at every turn.

"Here we are."

I look up as the school swings into view, and I'm impressed. A clear field and a low wall surround what has to be a manor and its grounds. There are several newer outbuildings that appear to be housing for the students. Just outside the wall, I could see that a part of the field is under construction of some kind. Passing through the main gate, we come to a stop near the front entrance. I step out and scan the facilities. Trinity Hall, it's not, but the place has its own feel of grandeur. Mrs. Pritchard steps around the car and joins me as I take it all in.

"It is homely, isn't it?"

I nod appreciatively. Mrs. Pritchard guides me inside, and it's only a short walk to the headmaster's office. Looking quickly around, I could see plenty of old wood paneling as well as a very impressive carving, which I had to assume is the school crest on one of the walls. The tall woman leads me to the inner door and knocks for us. I try not to show my nervousness as I take a deep breath and pass a hand through my copper hair. The door opens, and an older man smiles warmly at us.

"Mr. Wright, I presume?"

This must be Headmaster Sherman. In his fifties, the older man has graying hair with a small mustache to complete the scholarly look. He reaches out, and I take his hand in a firm handshake. "Thank you for seeing me, sir." He leads me into a burgundy-carpeted office. "Let me say that I'm impressed with what I've seen of your campus so far."

Headmaster Sherman nods congenially. "We have been blessed with the support of the county as well as our alumnus. Thank you, Penelope." The blond woman gives me a supportive nod and then closes the door behind her. Mr. Sherman then gets down to business and opens the paperwork to familiarize himself with my resume. "I see you came from Cambridge. Excellent referrals; and commendations on your Masters Thesis. What interests you most about starting your career in education, Mr. Wright?"

I state my case, which mostly emphasizes my desire to pass on what I've learned to young minds as well as living in the close-knit community that Eddington appears to be.

"That's fine, Mr. Wright." Headmaster Sherman then gives me a sober look. "There are a few things I must discuss with you before we go on. You are aware that we are an all-girls school?"

"Yes. I read that in the letter you sent."

"Could there be any issues that we may need to be aware of if you are selected for this position?"

I think for a moment. "Yes, actually. I was brought up in public schooling with mixed classes and wondered what the current policies are. Do you have many male teachers?"

"We have several, Mr. Wright, mostly serving in leadership roles. As a professor, you will primarily be teaching introductory collegiate-level courses to the ladies here. You'll be assigned to one of the housemasters, so you can ask questions or refer issues to them. We don't expect you to jump in over your head!"

A bit less daunted, I relax a bit. "Thank you, sir. That's very reassuring."

Mr. Sherman becomes more serious. "With that said, we do pride ourselves on a very successful education regimen here at Eddington. We are a three-year school that, at this time, has a student body of over two hundred, split into four houses. At Eddington, we teach a wide variety of subjects, including mathematics, literature, history, and several sciences. The female teachers also focus on etiquette and deportment, as well as the arts and humanities. Schedules for the girls are strict, but we allocate a generous amount of time outside class to complete their work. We do our utmost to be sure every lady here has an opportunity to excel in the world outside our halls."

Encouraged, I make it clear that I'm wholeheartedly interested in the position.

"Excellent, Mr. Wright." Mr. Sherman rises to his feet, and I follow suit. "We will contact you in a few weeks to let you know if the Board agrees with my assessment."

I thank him once again for the opportunity and presently leave for home. The next week is one filled with nerves as I wait for a response. I'm still working on various projects at Cambridge, but I find the sorting of books to be especially toiling now. Upon returning to my apartment, I catch myself looking into the mailbox at every opportunity.

The first weekend comes and goes; and then the second. My worry grows, and I begin to feel it's time to make a follow-up inquiry when I get home. Picking up the receiver, I direct the operator to connect a trunk call to Eddington. After a few rings, a young voice answers. "Mr. Sherman's office. How can I help you?"

"Yes. Is this Mrs. Pritchard?" The voice sounded awfully nervous, but it did sound a little similar.

"Yes, sir. I'm Miss Pritchard. Could I ask, what is the nature of the call?"

I look at the phone in confusion. "Yes. Well; I am inquiring about the status of a professorship position. This is Mr. Wright."

There's a pause, probably scribbling down a note. "If you would hold for a minute, I will pass on your message."

"Of course. Thank you." I sit there a bit, listening to the occasional crackle on the line, trying to keep myself from getting too worked up. Eventually, I hear a click.

"Mr. Wright?" The older lady's voice is instantly recognizable. It does sound a bit frazzled, however. "I'm glad you called!"

"I hope I didn't disturb you, Mrs. Pritchard. The girl who answered threw me for a loop."

"No bother, Mr. Wright. And yes, my daughter answers the phone sometimes when I'm away. I work all hours here, and it seems you might be getting the opportunity to do so as well!"

* * *

The next few weeks are frantic as I try to prepare for my new position. I give my leave to Dr. Barnaby and then prepare the apartment to move out. My meager belongings, most of which I'll no longer need, are transferred to friends and family. The staff accommodation at the school is all that I could want as a bachelor. But one day, yes, I would look for my own place.

Arriving a week before the fall semester, I get situated and become familiar with some of the coursework that's assigned to me. True to Headmaster Sherman's promise, I'll be teaching history and English for five classes. I'm also scheduled to tutor French right before the evening meal. Speaking of that, I find that the meals were quite good here, and they didn't scrimp on that aspect of the school at all.

Headmaster Sherman has assigned a Mr. Wastrope to help me through the next few months. He's an experienced housemaster who has been with this school for ten years. We sit down for a meeting two nights before the start of term to make sure I'm ready.

"Alan, the syllabus you presented looks fine for the first few weeks. Stick to the guidelines I gave you, and you shouldn't have too much trouble with the coursework until the first round of exams."

"Of course, Professor Wastrope."

"Call me James, Alan. We can be informal in this setting."

"Thank you, si... James." I finish sheepishly. "I do have a few more questions. I was going over the discipline portion of my packet, and I hoped you could clear a few things up for me." I had been quite concerned about one thing before I started. Two hundred plus girls, all boarders, stuck in a country manor with a group of several male teachers. It's just asking for trouble.

"At Eddington, we are very conservative about how we keep discipline here." James began. "We follow the honor system closely, ensure the uniforms are properly worn and whatnot, and find that the quick use of minor punishments are necessary to maintain order."

I nod uncomfortably.

"You, as a professor, will only be allowed to punish those infractions that happen in your classes. Your job is to ease these individuals into our regimen and prepare them to be organized and timely in their work."

"So I just refer bigger problems to you or the headmaster?"

James smiles. "Sometimes. Most often, you can assign extra work or chores as you see fit. Only the most egregious behavior needs to be reported to senior staff."

"Which means...?" I prod.

James shrugs. "That if a young lady has stepped out of line repeatedly, they will receive more severe punishment." Seeing my worry, he continues. "Even though it's on the books, we don't use the paddle or cane with these women, Alan. All of our students want to be here. Do your job right, show them an even hand, and they will learn what is required. All right?"

Feeling much better, I smile. "Of course, James. I will make sure to do so."

"Good. Just so you know, I haven't had to use corporal punishment of any kind the entire time I've been at this school. I know it's pretty common in many places around the country, even in private colleges, but we don't abide by it here. The headmaster goes out of his way to ensure nothing like that happens. Generally, he expels anyone who doesn't seem to be serious about getting an education." Stretching, he pulls out another packet. "The girls start arriving tomorrow, so let's go over extracurricular programs..."