Till then the whole enterprise had been visionary. I gathered from Cynthia that the boy Ogden was shortly to be sent to a preparatory school, and that I was to insinuate myself into this school and, watching my opportunity, to remove him; but it seemed to me that the obstacles to this comparatively lucid scheme were insuperable. In the first place, how were we to discover which of England’s million preparatory schools Mr Ford, or Mr Mennick for him, would choose? Secondly, the plot which was to carry me triumphantly into this school when–or if–found, struck me as extremely thin. I was to pose, Cynthia told me, as a young man of private means, anxious to learn the business, with a view to setting up a school of his own. The objection to that was, I held, that I obviously did not want to do anything of the sort. I had not the appearance of a man with such an ambition. I had none of the conversation of such a man.
I put it to Cynthia.
‘They would find me out in a day,’ I assured her. ‘A man who wants to set up a school has got to be a pretty brainy sort of fellow. I don’t know anything.’
‘You got your degree.’
‘A degree. At any rate, I’ve forgotten all I knew.’
‘That doesn’t matter. You have the money. Anybody with money can start a school, even if he doesn’t know a thing. Nobody would think it strange.’
It struck me as a monstrous slur on our educational system, but reflection told me it was true. The proprietor of a preparatory school, if he is a man of wealth, need not be able to teach, any more than an impresario need be able to write plays.
‘Well, we’ll pass that for the moment,’ I said. ‘Here’s the real difficulty. How are you going to find out the school Mr Ford has chosen?’
‘I have found it out already–or Nesta has. She set a detective to work. It was perfectly easy. Ogden’s going to Mr Abney’s. Sanstead House is the name of the place. It’s in Hampshire somewhere. Quite a small school, but full of little dukes and earls and things. Lord Mountry’s younger brother, Augustus Beckford, is there.’
I had known Lord Mountry and his family well some years ago. I remembered Augustus dimly.
‘Mountry? Do you know him? He was up at Oxford with me.’
She seemed interested.
‘What kind of a man is he?’ she asked.
‘Oh, quite a good sort. Rather an ass. I haven’t seen him for years.’
‘He’s a friend of Nesta’s. I’ve only met him once. He is going to be your reference.’
‘My what?’
‘You will need a reference. At least, I suppose you will. And, anyhow, if you say you know Lord Mountry it will make it simpler for you with Mr Abney, the brother being at the school.’
‘Does Mountry know about this business? Have you told him why I want to go to Abney’s?’
‘Nesta told him. He thought it was very sporting of you. He will tell Mr Abney anything we like. By the way, Peter, you will have to pay a premium or something, I suppose. But Nesta will look after all expenses, of course.’
On this point I made my only stand of the afternoon.
‘No,’ I said; ‘it’s very kind of her, but this is going to be entirely an amateur performance. I’m doing this for you, and I’ll stand the racket. Good heavens! Fancy taking money for a job of this kind!’
She looked at me rather oddly.
‘That is very sweet of you, Peter,’ she said, after a slight pause. ‘Now let’s get to work.’
And together we composed the letter which led to my sitting, two days later, in stately conference at his club with Mr Arnold Abney, M.A., of Sanstead House, Hampshire.
Mr Abney proved to be a long, suave, benevolent man with an Oxford manner, a high forehead, thin white hands, a cooing intonation, and a general air of hushed importance, as of one in constant communication with the Great. There was in his bearing something of the family solicitor in whom dukes confide, and something of the private chaplain at the Castle.