sunshine.
Harry, his spirits raised, was determined not to let the headmaster down. He followed the senior boys out of the hall, but the moment he stepped out into the quad, his exuberance was dampened. A posse of older boys were hanging around in one corner, hands in pockets to indicate they were prefects.
'There he is,' said one of them, pointing at Harry.
'So that's what a street urchin looks like,' said another.
A third, whom Harry recognized as Fisher, the prefect who had been on duty the previous night, added, 'He's an animal, and it's nothing less than our duty to see that he's returned to his natural habitat as quickly as possible.'
Giles Barrington ran after Harry. 'If you ignore them,' he said, 'they'll soon get bored and start picking on someone else.' Harry wasn't convinced, and ran ahead to the classroom where he waited for Barrington and Deakins to join him.
A moment later, Mr Frobisher entered the room. Harry's first thought was, does he also think I'm a street urchin, unworthy of a place at St Bede's?
'Good morning, boys,' said Mr Frobisher.
'Good morning, sir,' replied the boys as their form master took his place in front of the blackboard. 'Your first lesson this morning,' he said, 'will be history. As I am keen to get to know you, we will start with a simple test to discover how much you have already learnt, or perhaps how little. How many wives did Henry the Eighth have?'
Several hands shot up. 'Abbott,' he said, looking at a chart on his desk and pointing to a boy in the front row.
'Six, sir,' came back the immediate reply.
'Good, but can anyone name them?' Not quite as many hands were raised. 'Clifton?'
'Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour, then another Anne I think,' he said before coming to a halt.
'Anne of Cleves. Can anyone name the missing two?' Only one hand remained in the air. 'Deakins,' said Frobisher after checking his chart.
'Catherine Howard and Catherine Parr. Anne of Cleves and Catherine Parr both outlived Henry.'
'Very good, Deakins. Now, let's turn the clock forward a couple of centuries. Who commanded our fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar?' Every hand in the room shot up. 'Matthews,' he said, nodding at a particularly insistent hand.
'Nelson, sir.'
'Correct. And who was Prime Minister at the time?'
'The Duke of Wellington, sir,' said Matthews, not sounding quite as confident.
'No,' said Mr Frobisher, 'it wasn't Wellington, although he was a contemporary of Nelson's.' He looked around the class, but only Clifton's and Deakins's hands were still raised. 'Deakins.'
'Pitt the Younger, 1783 to 1801, and 1804 to 1806.'
'Correct, Deakins. And when was the Iron Duke Prime Minister?'
'1828 to 1830, and again in 1834,' said Deakins.
'And can anyone tell me what his most famous victory was?'
Barrington's hand shot up for the first time. 'Waterloo, sir!' he shouted before Mr Frobisher had time to select anyone else.
'Yes, Barrington. And whom did Wellington defeat at Waterloo?'
Barrington remained silent.
'Napoleon,' whispered Harry.
'Napoleon, sir,' said Barrington confidently.
'Correct, Clifton,' said Frobisher, smiling. 'And was Napoleon also a Duke?'
'No, sir,' said Deakins, after no one else had attempted to answer the question. 'He founded the first French Empire, and appointed himself Emperor.'
Mr Frobisher was not surprised by Deakins's response, as he was an open scholar, but he was impressed by Clifton's knowledge. After all, he was a choral scholar, and over the years he had learnt that gifted choristers, like talented sportsmen, rarely excel outside their own field. Clifton was already proving an exception to that rule. Mr Frobisher would have liked to know who had taught the boy.
When the bell rang for the end of class, Mr Frobisher announced, 'Your next lesson will be geography with Mr Henderson, and he is not a master who likes to be kept waiting. I recommend that during the break you find out where his classroom is, and are seated in your places long before he enters the room.'
Harry stuck close to Giles, who seemed to know where everything was. As they strolled across the quad together, Harry became aware that some of the boys lowered their voices when they passed, and one or two even turned to stare at him.
Thanks to countless Saturday mornings spent with Old Jack, Harry held his own in the geography lesson, but in maths, the final class of the morning, no one came close to Deakins, and even the master had to keep his wits about him.
When the three of them sat down for lunch, Harry could feel a hundred eyes