Excerpt Two (815 Words):
Pen wished he would never have to think about the Guardians’ Room again, but it wouldn’t leave his thoughts until he left Honour’s Rest and returned down to England to spend Easter with his parents, who were both relieved and overjoyed to see him again. However, he was irritated when he discovered that Napier had been in touch with Jarvis to make a demand which Pen guessed was punishment for what had happened. It was his mother who told him of Napier’s insistence that Pen went into the school to take full responsibility for what had happened to Justin Murchison a year earlier.
“That hardly seems fair,” Pen had snapped, as he sat on his bed plucking the guitar strings. “Am I supposed to tell him exactly what happened?”
“Your uncle thinks it will do you good to accept responsibility, however you choose to do so,” his mother replied. “You know, Pendragon, I think he’s right. You know it was you, so the only lie you’ll be telling will be that you told a lie in the first place.”
“But that’s just it, isn’t it? I haven’t told any lies so far.”
However, the last day of term found him sitting outside Mr Carling’s office again, this time in casual clothes and with the knowledge that he was working for a greater good which his old headteacher couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
“Pendragon Devon.” Mr Carling beamed as he opened his office door and saw the boy, who got to his feet and smiled. “Well, look at you. You’re a young gentleman now. Your parents must be proud.”
“Thank you, sir,” Pen said with a slight bow of his head. The old-fashioned mannerisms he had picked up from Napier seemed to jar with the surroundings, but his ideas of etiquette had changed while he had been at Honour’s Rest. “Perhaps we could discuss things in your office.”
He indicated to the door, and Mr Carling looked at him strangely for a moment. Pen could hear his thoughts, wondering what could have happened to the boy he had known to make him so altered. There was surprise there, amusement and, much to Pen’s annoyance, an element of pride. Unaware that the boy before him knew exactly what he was thinking, Mr Carling opened the door and led Pen into the office where, a year ago, he had sat crying at the thought of being excluded.
“Your parents tell me you’ve been living in Scotland? With your uncle?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And have you enjoyed that? Is he a good teacher? Do you miss people your own age?”
For a moment, Pen wasn’t sure whether the headteacher had spoken or whether he had just heard the questions as they had passed through Mr Carling’s mind. Still, he knew they all needed answering to maintain politeness, so Pen attempted to do so with the fewest possible manipulations of the truth.
“I love it,” he said. “The house is like something out of a novel, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have the company of a great friend who is my age. My Uncle Napier isn’t a bad teacher, but he believes in the importance of self-directed study. I’ve also had the opportunity to travel and, well, have adventures.” He felt his thumb rub absent-mindedly along the thin scar on his hand and wondered what the man in front of him would think if he told him exactly what had happened.
“Good, good,” Mr Carling said. “It was a shame about what happened, Pen. You were an excellent student and you’re missed by all the teachers. And most of the pupils as well.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” Pen said with a smile, bowing his head again and this time enjoying the puzzlement on the headteacher’s face and the sheer confusion in his mind. “But there’s one thing in particular that I came here to say.”
“And what’s that?”
“I should apologise for what happened. It was me who pushed Justin.”
“Don’t be silly, Pen,” Mr Carling said, with a nervous laugh. “Haven’t your parents told you? A couple of girls were taking pictures outside the library that day, and you were in the background.
You couldn’t possibly have done it.”
“All the same,” Pen said, trying to hide his annoyance at his mother for not telling him the truth,
“I was responsible.”
It was a great pleasure to know that the tables had been turned so, at the end of the conversation, it was Mr Carling who was nearly reduced to nervous tears, which wasn’t made any better when Pen accidentally answered a question which had not yet been spoken. It was only when he left the school with a smug sense of achievement and satisfaction that it occurred to him why Napier may have made the demand, and it had more to do with affection than punishment.
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