Jackie looked down at his feet. “Honestly, sir, it’s not as bad as I thought it might be. The other boys haven’t ragged me. Not one bit. The dorm prefect, that’s Lloyd 2, moved me up next to him and told the others I was a toff who’d stood up to Rapson, and he’d got no more than he deserved. Not really sure what a ‘toff’ is, but I think it’s not a bad thing to be. Funny though. Didn’t think I would, but I rather miss Spielman. I’d have liked to tell him what I’d been up to. He’d have made a story of it. I suppose that must have made him my friend, do you think? Can you have a friend and not know it?’ ”

To Joe’s alarm, Jackie’s voice quavered and his lips began to tremble. With a small cry of compassion, Dorcas dashed forwards, put her arms about him and hugged him close. Jackie didn’t seem to object. Without releasing him, she whispered in his ear, “Of course you can! A story takes two—one to tell it and one to listen. A pair. He was thrilled when you gave him Treasure Island, and he’ll always keep it—with your name and now his on the inside page. That’s a good link. When people ask, he’ll say, ‘Drummond? Oh, Drummond! My first friend. Remember him well! Tell you a story about him!’ Spielman thought of you as his friend. It’s just taken you a bit longer to catch on, clot! Remember him, Jackie, and what it felt like to know someone you’d smack a bully in the watch chain to protect, and go out and make another one. You can start with Lloyd 2—he sounds a discerning lad.”

After what Joe judged to be a ridiculously long hug, Jackie finally broke away, grinned, and announced, “In that case I think I should like to stay on here at St. Magnus. Just as long as Rappo’s not coming back to get me. It’s a lot better with Mr. Gosling in charge of us. He never whacks!”

Arrangements in place, Jackie dashed off to play indoor hockey, leaving Joe and Dorcas staring at each other.

“Now what was all that about? Was it wise, all that spoiling? Not a good idea for a boy to get dependent on female attention in a place like this.”

“What do you know? Jackie’s from a loving family who show their affection readily. He’s used to being grabbed and hugged. And it’s more than a good idea, it’s essential! It’s a crime against nature to send little squirts like that away from their mothers!”

“He’s nearly ten, Dorcas. A lad that age revels in the company of his fellows. The pack instinct, don’t you know. If he’d been born a Spartan, he’d have killed his first man by now.”

“Look, Joe, I’ve been involved with … witnessed … some pretty groundbreaking experiments. I shouldn’t be telling you because it’s very hush-hush, and the piracy that goes on in the experimental psychology world you wouldn’t believe!”

Joe was alarmed. This was out of character for Dorcas. She loved to gossip, but she was never indiscreet. She had her own secrets and knew how to keep those of others. But he sensed in her an excitement, the troubled excitement of someone who has something unpleasant to convey. He listened.

“Monkeys are the nearest living relative of Man’s—thanks to Darwin everyone knows that. I looked in on some work being done in the laboratory with baby monkeys, work designed to find out what are the essentials in the normal development of human infants, whom they much resemble. Fascinating stuff! Food and physical closeness quite simply are the two most vital things and the greater of these is physical closeness. Hugs, Joe! A monkey infant will forego food in favour of a hug. If you deprive it of its mother, it will seek its comfort from an inanimate piece of fur—or even a bit of old cloth—in preference to food when it’s made to choose. They’re very like humans in their responses.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Given a choice between Hector the Horse and a sticky bun, I’d have gone for the bun every time.” Joe thought he’d keep it light. He was not comfortable with the direction of this conversation.

Dorcas sighed in exasperation. “Can’t you be serious?”

“Very well. ‘Made to choose,’ you say? I’m not sure I want to contemplate the method by which they made their infernal discoveries. Or why anyone thought it necessary to bother.”

Dorcas looked sad and shifty, he thought, at the same time. “No. I know what you mean. And it was most unpleasant to hear the protests and screaming that went on when the mothers had their babies taken from them. But an essential part of the process of course.”

Gently he said, “A torment for you as well as the monkeys. You didn’t have to put yourself through this sort of experience to understand yourself and your origins, Dorcas. I’m sure it’s a bad idea to have a personal motive for scientific enquiry. And I was always there to help you. Standing by—your own piece of substitute fur. I could have talked to you, helped you to digest it all and reconcile yourself to your parentage. And your upbringing. I’m the only one who’s aware of all the ramifications of your family tree. I know more about you than your father does, if you think about it. And I’m a good explainer.”

This was received with a sad smile. She reached up and briefly stroked his cheek. “You’re part of my problem, Joe, but you can’t see it.”

“I’m damned sure I could come up with some better answers than a few screaming monkeys! What knowledge that’s of any use to man or beast did they expect to give to the world by applying this torment? They’re no better in my book than medieval torturers—worse! They applied their foul techniques to extract information and confession. These modern Torquemadas in lab coats do it to insert their own dubious theories and hear them confirmed back to them by the screams of innocent creatures. And the real cruelty is they’ve no sure idea when they start what the information they seek may be or what they can possibly do with it when they have it. They perform their grotesque experiments on the off chance their fancies will prove to have substance. Tell me the creatures didn’t suffer in vain.”

After a moment: “I can’t. They did. The experiment was abandoned.”

“Ah. Someone saw the light of reason.”

“Not even. It was heard that an American laboratory was working on the same ideas. And they were six months ahead.”

“What a waste of time, lives and money!”

“Can you say that? I’d no idea you had a Luddite streak in you, Joe. Others may uncover some truth we ought all to have knowledge of.”

“At best, what earth-shaking results might those sad monkeys have revealed?”

“Deep truths about attachment … nurturing.” Her voice lost some of its certainty. “We were starting to learn that, deprived of their real mothers, the babies were capable of transferring their affections to an inanimate scrap of fabric if that’s all that was on offer. If they were then further deprived of even that comfort, they went quite mad. I hated to see those poor creatures clinging on to scraps of woolly cloth thinking it was their mother. When they pulled them off they cried so, Joe, and twitched and grasped with their little hands. They have hands, you know, not paws.”

Joe took one of Dorcas’s hands and held it steadily until the clenched fingers relaxed. “I can’t say we’ve ever discussed the creatures before, but I know about monkeys. I admire them. I’ve watched them for hours in India. They’re revered in that country. Any man maltreating one of the tribe of Hanuman the monkey god would be beaten with sticks by an angry crowd—probably led by me if I was on hand. Though everyone knows the roving bands are a darned nuisance—messy, thieving rogues and not always kind to each other, I may say. But I’ll share with you the fruits of my monkey-watching, Dorcas. Monkeys are a tree-dwelling breed. The babies spend their earliest days aloft, swinging about in the branches, hanging on to their mother’s fur. Let go, ungrasp the handful of fur for one second, and they fall and crash to the ground and die. A good grasp is more important to their survival in the short term than mother’s milk. Of course they scream when they’re torn from what they sense to be their hold on life! It must feel like an attack of vertigo, but much, much worse. What chumps your scientists are!”