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house; they had scarcely spoken since.
    Mr Taylor was in his study, a comfortable room with carpets andportraits of old headmasters on the wall; he was devoted to school history. A large desk was strewn with papers for marking. The master stood in his black gown, sorting through papers.
    ‘Ah Brett.’ His tone was cordial as he waved a long arm to beckon Harry in. Harry stood in front of the desk, hands behind his back in the approved manner. Taylor’s hair was receding fast, the widow’s peak now a separate black tuft beneath a balding crown.
    ‘Did you have good holidays? Aunt and Uncle OK?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    The master nodded. ‘You’re in my form this year. I’ve had good reports of you, I shall expect great things.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    The master nodded. ‘I wanted to talk to you about the studies. We’ve put the new boy in with you in place of Piper. Forsyth. Have you met him yet?’
    ‘Yes, sir. I don’t think Piper knows.’
    ‘He’ll be told. How are you getting on with Forsyth?’
    ‘All right, sir,’ Harry said neutrally.
    ‘You may have heard of his father, the bishop?’
    ‘Forsyth mentioned him.’
    ‘Forsyth comes to us from Braildon. His parents felt Rookwood, with its reputation for – ah – order, was better suited to him.’ Taylor smiled benignly, making deep creases appear in his thin cheeks. ‘I’m telling you in confidence. You’re a steady boy, Brett; we think you could be prefect material one day. Keep an eye on Forsyth, will you?’ He paused. ‘Keep him on the straight and narrow.’
    Harry gave the master a quick look. It was an odd remark; one of the studied ambiguities the masters spoke in more and more as the boys got older. You were expected to understand. Officially it was frowned on for boys to sneak on one another, but Harry knew many masters had particular pupils whom they used as sources of information. Was this what Taylor was asking him to do? He knew instinctively he didn’t want to; the whole idea made him uneasy.
    ‘I’ll certainly help show him around, sir,’ he said carefully.
    Taylor eyed him keenly. ‘And let me know if there are any problems. Just a quiet word. We want to help Forsyth develop in the right direction. It’s important to his father.’
    That was clear enough. Harry said nothing. Mr Taylor frowned a little.
    Then an extraordinary thing happened. Something tiny moved on the master’s desk, among the papers; Harry saw it out of the corner of his eye. Taylor gave a sudden shout and jumped away. To Harry’s amazement he stood almost cringing, eyes averted from a fat house spider scuttling across his blotter. It stopped on top of a Latin textbook, standing quite still.
    Taylor turned to Harry, his face bright red. His eyes strayed momentarily to the desk and he looked away with a shudder.
    ‘Brett, get rid of that thing for me. Please.’ There was a pleading note in the master’s voice.
    Wonderingly, Harry took out his handkerchief and reached for the spider. He picked it up and held it gently.
    ‘Ah – thank you, Brett.’ Taylor swallowed. ‘I – ah – we shouldn’t have such – er – arachnids in the studies. Spread disease. Kill it, please kill it,’ he added rapidly.
    Harry hesitated, then squeezed it between finger and thumb. It made a faint pop, making him wince.
    ‘Get rid of it.’ For a moment, Taylor’s eyes seemed almost wild behind the gold-rimmed pince-nez. ‘And don’t tell anyone about this. Do you understand? You may go,’ he added brusquely.
    A T W ILL ’ S HOUSE the soup at dinner was tinned, heavy with watery vegetables. Muriel apologized as she passed it round.
    ‘I hadn’t time to make any, I’m sorry. Of course, I’ve no woman to help now. I have to deal with the cooking, looking after the children, the ration books,
everything
.’ She pushed back a stray hair and gave Harry a challenging stare. Will and Muriel’s children, a thin dark boy of nine and a little girl of six, sat watching