The Secret Chronicles of Henry Dashwood, Vol. 2

Charles commented. Of course Joshua and I both agreed that we would only circulate pictures which made Maurice look ridiculous as opposed to any which could get him into trouble with the University authorities. 'Heaven help him if his bum's as spotty as his face,' said Joshua thoughtfully. 'I almost feel sorry for the poor bugger. On the other hand, he'll be getting laid for his pains and he does deserve to have the bumptiousness extracted from him.'

Brasenose College, Oxford, October 10th, 1901

As Joshua forecast, it was not difficult to persuade Rosamund to fall in with his scheme to bring about the downfall of Maurice FitzAllen, especially when he promised her that should he not be able to sell the photographs to The Cremorne or The Oyster, he would himself give her the five pounds which these spicy magazines paid for photographs published in them. Nevertheless, it took the best part of a week before we were ready to set the trap. The setting was to be Maurice FitzAllen's room which luckily happened to be south facing and was thus flooded by natural light on a bright day. To ensure success, we waited until the weather was right and then on the Tuesday the sun came out and both Joshua and I were deputed to hide in Charles's room, myself on top of his wardrobe armed with a Kodak box camera and Joshua wedged behind the curtains with a Gewirtz Waistcoat camera on a chain round his neck. Charles was somewhat sceptical about our ability to pull it off, but I had little doubt that the plan would succeed. The mechanics were simple enough – Rosamund would collar Maurice when he returned to his room after breakfast (Joshua and I would rise early and leave the dining-hall soon after Maurice appeared there) and proceed to seduce him whilst Joshua and I snapped away. So this is how I came to find myself perched precariously on top of a wardrobe waiting for the arrival of the unsuspecting Maurice and the saucy chambermaid. At least I did not have too long to think about any injuries I might sustain if I fell to the floor. For within five minutes of my clambering up to my eyrie, I heard voices in the corridor outside and Joshua whispered: 'Here we go, Henry, action stations!' Seconds later the door was flung open and Rosamund came in with Maurice in tow. They both appeared to he agitated and I noticed she was holding a magazine in her hand whilst I listened to her complain: 'I'm not fibbing, Mr. FitzAllen, I found this rude magazine under your bed!' She unrolled it and I craned forward to see the title page of The Chameleon before she opened it out and said disparagingly: 'I wouldn't mind, but this is a paper for nancy boys.

What's the matter with you, sir, isn't a cunt good enough for you?'

At first I had thought that Rosamund was making up a story but Maurice FitzAllen's face had now coloured up a bright red and there was not a trace of the usual aggressive bluster in his voice when he answered humbly: 'I don't really know, Rosamund, I've never actually done anything more than spoon with a girl at a party.' The chambermaid rolled her eyes and groaned: 'Oh Gawd, not another poor refugee from one of those awful schools where the masters will flog you for looking at a photo of a ballet girl but look the other way at what goes on in the dormitory after lights out.' 'I'm not a woofter,' protested Maurice heatedly. 'Although what you say was definitely true of St Cuthbert's College. In fact, that magazine was sent to me by the school chaplain Reverend Herbert Fotheringay who used to come into the dormitory every night and inspect our pricks to make sure we weren't playing with ourselves off under the bedclothes.