Inspector Morse 11 The Daughters of Cain

In former days it had often been difficult enough for some pupils to sit examinations, let alone pass them. And even in the comparatively recent years of Julia's girlhood several of her own classmates had been deemed not to pos-sess the requisite acumen even to attempt the 11 Plus. It was a question of the sheep and the goats--just like the di-vision between those who were lost and those who were saved in the New Testament--a work with which the young Julia had become increasingly familiar, through the crusading fervour of a local curate with whom (aged ten and a half) she had fallen passionately in love.

How things had changed.

Now, in 1994, it was an occasion for considerable sur-prise if anyone somehow managed to fail an examination.

;' Indeed, to be recorded in the Unclassified ranks of the GCSE was, in Julia's view, !?petenee, which,.,4,.a.. fet of qu, te astonlshm.

Ul lll Onllrn,

C,,,..s With 1[ a SOrt c L.. lrl doctrine cntm under-achievement An Y°ravura .3adge · iara, ia sin,; Sw C°ncemed, it was becomin far -,. s Cllrlslan asler to cope that Hell was (semi-officially) abolished. She looked hrough $C's English results. Very much as;'sdoxpeeted. Then looked a little mot .... the only nu,,';-, e closely at the ren C." C^d.;gl'2".Y'Y cass Wh OSe name had be u English, "I),, "?, "L:, engous Education sifted"; M. · ms, Unclassified". Ge ea; '4alwork, ',Unclaoor.^.,,;,i .,"g a.pn Y, Unclas-0mer/llng.-c oo, ucu. Well, at least he'd ot ttitt: r twelve years of schooling... thirtygslx . t! rrns. But it was d..... ther than the Job nmuir-t-°lin. agree him getting much fur ' nte r owhere else for him to go, was ere---except to jail, perhaps?

/-Iow she Wished that "D" had been a "C," though. t 10 30 ^.1 she hurried fairly quickly away from the SChool prermses and ma. de he way on foot to the Churchill lf0spital where her appomune whereav... ·.. t. attheclimcwasforll^M. a upsta*W minutes anead of schedule she was sei'

' waiting-room, no longer thinking of Kevin C0styn and his former classmates---but of herself.

: w. are.. Y, ot feeling?" asked "gu' ttly stooping South Basil Shepstone, a large, "I'd 1, rne to undress?" African. ¢ r011i;,,'

,[. u, ti to undrress," he said with that characteris I' insi}.6,,"' e "r. No need today, though. Next time, }tis friendly brown e es ,? d across to-1 ....

'Y . w. er. e suddenly sad, and he 'You want , ,, ce ms ngnt hand on her shoulder as! quietly, the good news first?

Or the bad news? he

, i,{'! e good news." news?,, e swallowing hard. "And the bad "Well, it's not exactly bad news. Shall I read it?"

Julia could see the Oxfordshire Health Authority heading on the letter, but no more. She closed her eyes.

"It says.., blah, blah, blah... 'In the event of any de-terioration, however, we regret to have to inform Mrs. Ste-vens that her condition is inoperable.'"

"Ilaey can't operate if it gets worse, they mean?"

Shepstone put down the letter. "I prrefer your English to theirs."

She sighed deeply; then opened her eyes and looked at him, knowing that she loved him for everything he'd tried to do tbr her. He had always been so gentle, so kindly, so professional; and now, watching him, she could understand why his eyes remained downcast as his Biro hatched the "O" of "Oxfordshire."

"How long T' she asked simply.

He shook his head. "Anyone who prredicts something like that--he's a fool."

"A year?"

"Could he."

"Six months?"

He looked defeated as he shrugged his broad shoulders. "Less?"

"As I say---"

"Would you give up work if you were me?"

"Fairly soon, I think, yes."

"Would you tell anyone?"

He hesitated. "Only if it were someone you loved." She smiled, and got to her feet. "There are not many people I love. You, of course--and my cleaning-lady---with whom incidentally"--she consulted her wristwatch---"in exactly one hour's time, I have a slap-up lunch engagement at the Old Parsonage."

"You're not inviting me?"

She shook her head. "We've got some very private things to discuss, I'm afraid."

After Mrs. Stevens had left, the consultant took a handker-chief from his pocket and quickly wiped his eyes. What the dickens was he supposed to say? Because it never really did much good to lie. Or so he believed. He blamed him-self, for example, for lying so blatantly to the womm who'd died only two days previously--lying to Mrs. Phil-lotson.

Not much difference in the case-histories.

No hope in either.

Chapter Eishteen

Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour: so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour (Ecclesiastes, ch .10, v. I)