Clare and Byron were in the chapel later that same day. All the boys were required to attend choral evensong. It was one of the few things that Byron liked about Harrow. Being friendless, and an object of some violence, both physical and verbal, the church service in the late afternoon felt to him like a reprieve. There was beautiful singing. There were sometime words of solace from whoever took the pulpit. He discovered that other people than him suffered, because their sufferings were referred to in the prayers. Some guttering candles stood on the altar and in some of the side chapels. This lent the dark church some atmosphere, which he also liked.
Now that he had Clare though, and he was increasingly certain that the younger boy was his friend, he felt less in need of the comfort he usually had from evensong. Instead of his gloomy self, he was feeling a new, sprightlier version of himself being born. This made Byron less conscious of the rules than he was normally.
One of the more junior masters, Mark Drury, was addressing them from the pulpit. Byron took no notice. He showed Clare, sitting next to him, a long blade of grass he’d brought in and was using to mark his place in his prayer book. He hoped Clare would take this as a private joke between them. Clare, for his part, maybe because he was younger, was more in awe of the rules than Byron was. He gave Byron a wry smile from the corner of his mouth when he was shown the blade of grass, but he kept his eyes forward.
Byron tried nudging Clare’s gray-flannelled knee with his when Drury said the boys should, at all costs, avoid the sins of the flesh. Clare nudged him back violently, which was less an acknowledgement of Byron’s joke than it was a way of saying silently, “Get off. Stop it.”
Byron then took the blade of grass out of his prayer book. He put it between his teeth and started blowing on it. It first made no noise at all. After a few more tries, it made a quiet noise, audible only to Clare, that was more like a sizzle. Clare imagined Byron uselessly blowing away at this grass, expending all his effort on something so stupid. He smiled a bigger smile than before. That was when Byron blew his hardest. There was suddenly a high shriek, audible to everyone in the chapel, as if someone had come in, been shocked to find a mouse and screamed.
All heads turned toward Byron. The master who’d been up in the pulpit came fluttering down the steps in his black, academic gown. In a moment he was in the side aisle next to where Byron and Clare were sitting. With his eyeglasses perched on his nose, he looked like a crow with glasses on its beak.
“Lord Byron! I will not have you corrupting the younger boys!”
“What?” said Byron mildly, keeping his cool. Internally he was worried, but he knew that in this situation, before the whole school, he had to pretend as if nothing was wrong.
“Interrupting a holy service. You know that is wrong.”
“Do forgive me, sir,” said Byron, “my blade of grass got away from me.” The boys sitting nearby chuckled. They loved this. It was much better than hearing the rest of the master’s sermon.
“And you Clare!” said the master. “I know you know better. I will not have you fall under the influence of this blackguard!”
“Blackguard” was a strong word in Britain of the early 1800s. The master was suggesting Byron was not a gentleman, that he was wicked, that he could not be respected. This is when Dury grabbed Byron where he lived and made him grow pale. Byron lost his cool. He looked hurt and a moment later he looked angry.
Before Byron could reply, the master took Clare by the ear and dragged him out of the pew. “Come with me, boy. I will not have you sitting with Byron any longer.” He dragged Clare away shuffling and squeaking from the pain of being led by his ear.
As he saw Clare taken away, Byron felt really low. All the feelings of new self-confidence he’d had from this new friendship were dispersed in a moment. This was his fault and it was misery.
He also felt victimized, as he was sure Mark Drury had always disliked him. He gritted his teeth and declared to himself he’d have revenge. But how?
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