The Case of the Headmaster's Terrier

Chapter 1: Bully

They were starting again.

Stubbs and his eight grovelling acolytes slowly surrounded me in the rugby field. I knew I should not have ventured into such an open place, but I was immersed in a novel Mycroft had sent me, and had become irritated by Everett and Reynolds attempting to snatch it from me as I read in the quadrangle. They were a little younger than my twelve year old self, and posed no threat, but they were well aware that Professor Rangaford was lurking nearby, and that he would gleefully seize on any opportunity to punish me had I retaliated. Besides, they were an irritating distraction. I relocated behind the screening line of trees to the rugby field, fully intending to trounce one or other of them if they followed me here, where there were no witnesses. I settled back upon the grass, and was soon caught up by the adventures within the pages of my book. It was then that Stubbs' gang emerged from the trees, and I cursed myself. I was usually too cunning to allow myself to be accosted. Stubbs tossed Everett a coin, and I realised, with a flush of anger, that they must have planned this. I warily rose to my feet, replacing the book in my jacket pocket, and facing Stubbs.

"What do you want?"

"Just to pass the time of day with you, Holmes. And to find out how it was that Brentwood here was overheard by Matron when he went to have a little word with young Smithson in the hospital wing".

"You mean when he went to terrify Smithson into saying nothing about how you made him eat that rancid pie to amuse you. You made him really ill, you know."

"A little upset stomach, that's all. How do you know anything about it?"

"You have a pattern. A little new kid starts school and cheeks you when you pick on him. You retaliate. Smithson was fagging for Brentwood, and then he gets sickness and diarrhoea. I found the crumbs by the fire place in your study, and they still stank. You're disgusting, you know."

"What were you doing in my study, you frig-splash?"

"Tidying." I answered, with an angelic expression. "Your fag was off sick, and I offered to take over his work. Frig-splash is a very vulgar phrase, by the way. Obviously no amount of education can make you a gentleman, Brentwood." It was exceedingly foolish of me, as I knew Brentwood was morbidly sensitive about his new-money background, and this was a sure-fire way to goad him. His eyes narrowed, and I knew I was in for it.

"Now, Holmes," interrupted Stubbs with quiet menace, "that was silly, wasn't it? Almost as silly as landing Brentwood on the carpet by blabbing to Matron when she should have been having her afternoon nap in her room. How did you get her to hide and listen, by the way? She'd usually just fly off the handle and not have any proof."

"I dropped her a note that Mrs Nettles was stealing her cherry brandy and she could catch her at it. She hates Mrs Nettles as much as the rest of us do, and would love a chance to see her turned off." I shrugged, and attempted to look nonchalant. There was no point denying that I had got Brentwood caught, might as well infuriate them and be hung for a sheep.

"Right!" snarled Stubbs, "Who's going to hold him whilst Brentwood and I thrash him?" They had a number of giggling volunteers, and, although I attempted to fight back, I was easily overwhelmed. Brentwood removed his belt, wrapped it around his fist, and swung it experimentally. He then slashed at me again and again with it, alternating with Stubbs punching me in the stomach and ribs. I gritted my teeth and endured at first, but I was only twelve years old after all, and was soon crying heartily. Then, they suddenly released me, laughing, long before I had expected my ordeal to be over. I flew at Stubbs in fury, taking him aback, and managing to land a competent punch upon his jaw.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES!!" My heart sank into my boots as I heard the voice of Professor Rangaford. The chemistry master hated me to the depths of his soul. The rumour was he had once been sweet on my mother and at odds with my father, but, whatever the reason, he persecuted me with the zeal of a fanatic. Stubbs clutched his jaw and adopted an expression of mingled shock and injury.

"I don't like to snitch Sir, but I'm sure you saw that. I'm afraid little Holmes here objected to my scolding him that he hasn't tidied Brentford's study properly – he left pie crumbs all over the hearth. I think he's got a bit swollen headed by winning a few fights in the boxing ring."

"That's not true, Sir! They were beating me up – look!" I lifted my shirt and jacket to show the fresh welts upon my body. Stubbs glared at me furiously. Professor Rangaford shrugged, and said silkily

"I have no doubt you deserved it, Holmes. Fighting is still not acceptable. You will accompany me to my office immediately, and I will demonstrate to you what happens to little boys who consider themselves above the rules." The other boys sniggered, and Rangaford turned coldly to them.

"You will also be dealt with, Stubbs and Brentford. Report to my office after supper. The first year's retorts require cleaning, and, as you insist on behaving like small children, you may serve detention like them." I felt their burning resentment as I trailed away behind Rangaford, and was peripherally aware that they would stock up this insult as well. I was more concerned for the moment about my reception in Rangaford's office. Sure enough, when we arrived, he withdrew a long cane with which I was dismally familiar from the umbrella stand by his door, and motioned for me to take up my position leaning over the sofa.

"Ten of the best, I think, Boy."

"Ten, Sir? Oh please, no Sir. They were honestly beating me up, I swear it! I was just defending myself. It's not fair."

"Let's make that twelve, shall we?"

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It really isn't fair, is it? Ah well, I suppose Victorian boarding schools were notoriously nasty.

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