Llanabba Castle presents two quite different aspects, according as you approach it from the Bangor or the coast road. From the back it looks very much like any other large country house, with a great many windows and a terrace, and a chain of glass‑houses and the roofs of innumerable nondescript kitchen buildings, disappearing into the trees. But from the front ‑ and that is how it is approached from Llanabba station ‑ it is formidably feudal; one drives past at least a mile of machicolated wall before reaching the gates; these are towered and turreted and decorated with heraldic animals and a workable portcullis. Beyond them at the end of the avenue stands the Castle, a model of medieval impregnability.
The explanation of this rather striking contrast is simple enough. At the time of the cotton famine in the sixties Llanabba House was the property of a prosperous Lancashire millowner. His wife could not bear to think of their men starving; in fact, she and her daughters organized a little bazaar in their aid, though without any very substantial results. Her husband had read the Liberal economists and could not think of paying without due return. Accordingly 'enlightened self‑interest' found a way. An encampment of mill‑hands was settled in the park, and they were put to work walling the grounds and facing the house with great blocks of stone from a neighbouring quarry. At the end of the American war they returned to their mills, and Llanabba House became Llanabba Castle after a great deal of work had been done very cheaply.
Driving up from the station in a little closed taxi, Paul saw little of all this. It was almost dark in the avenue and quite dark inside the house.
'I am Mr Pennyfeather, he said to the butler. 'I have come here as a master.
'Yes, said the butler, 'I know all about you. This way.
They went down a number of passages, unlit and smelling obscurely of all the ghastly smells of school, until they reached a brightly lighted door.
'In there. That's the Common Room. Without more ado, the butler made off into the darkness.
Paul looked round. It was not a very big room. Even he felt that, and all his life he had been accustomed to living in constricted spaces.
'I wonder how many people live here, he thought, and with a sick thrust of apprehension counted sixteen pipes in a rack at the side of the chimneypiece. Two gowns hung on a hook behind the door. In a corner were some golf clubs, a walking stick, an umbrella, and two miniature rifles. Over the chimneypiece was a green baize notice‑board covered with lists; there was a typewriter on the table. In a bookcase were a number of very old textbooks and some new exercise‑books. There were also a bicycle pump, two armchairs, a straight chair, half a bottle of invalid port, a boxing‑glove, a bowler hat, yesterday's Daily News, and a packet of pipe‑cleaners.
Paul sat down disconsolately on the straight chair.
Presently there was a knock at the door, and a small boy came in.
'Oh! he said, looking at Paul intently.
'Hullo! said Paul.
'I was looking for Captain Grimes, said the little boy.
'Oh! said Paul.
The child continued to look at Paul with a penetrating, impersonal interest.
'I suppose you're the new master? he said.
'Yes, said Paul. 'I'm called Pennyfeather.
The little boy gave a shrill laugh. 'I think that's terribly funny, he said, and went away.
Presently the door opened again, and two more boys looked in. They stood and giggled for a time and then made off.
In the course of the next half hour six or seven boys appeared on various pretexts and stared at Paul.
Then a bell rang, and there was a terrific noise of whistling and scampering. The door opened, and a very short man of about thirty came into the Common Room. He had made a great deal of noise in coming because he had an artificial leg. He had a short red moustache, and was slightly bald.
'Hullo! he said.
'Hullo! said Paul.
'I'm Captain Grimes, said the newcomer, and 'Come in, you, he added to someone outside.
Another boy came in.
'What do you mean, said Grimes, 'by whistling when I told you to stop?
'Everyone else was whistling, said the boy.
'What's that got to do with it? said Grimes.
'I should think it had a lot to do with it, said the boy.
'Well, just you do a hundred lines, and next time, remember, I shall beat you, said Grimes, 'with this, said Grimes, waving the walking‑stick.
'That wouldn't hurt much, said the boy, and went out.
'There's no discipline in the place, said Grimes, and then he went out too.
'I wonder whether I'm going to enjoy being a schoolmaster, thought Paul.
Quite soon another and older man came into the room.
'Hullo! he said to Paul.
'Hullo! said Paul.
'I'm Prendergast, said the newcomer. 'Have some port?
'Thank you, I'd love to.
'Well, there's only one glass.
'Oh, well, it doesn't matter, then.
'You might get your tooth‑glass from your bedroom.
'I don't know where that is.
'Oh, well, never mind; we'll have some another night. I suppose you're the new master?
'Yes.
'You'll hate it here. I know. I've been here ten years. Grimes only came this term. He hates it already. Have you seen Grimes?
'Yes, I think so.
'He isn't a gentleman. Do you smoke?
'Yes.
'A pipe, I mean.
'Yes.
'Those are my pipes. Rernind me to show them to you after dinner.
At this moment the butler appeared with a message that Dr Fagan wished to see Mr Pennyfeather.
Dr Fagan's part of the Castle was more palatial. He stood at the end of a long room with his back to a rococo marble chimneypiece; he wore a velvet dinner‑jacket.
'Settling in? he asked.
'Yes, said Paul.
Sitting before the fire, with a glass bottle of sweets in her lap, was a brightly dressed woman in early middle age.
'That, said Dr Fagan with some disgust, 'is my daughter.
'Pleased to meet you, said Miss Fagan. 'Now what I always tells the young chaps as comes here is, "Don't let the dad overwork you." He's a regular Tartar, is Dad, but then you know what scholars are ‑ inhuman. Ain't you, said Miss Fagan, turning on her father with sudden ferocity ‑ 'ain't you inhuman?
'At times, my dear, I am grateful for what little detachment I have achieved. But here, he added, 'is my other daughter.
Silently, except for a scarcely perceptible jingling of keys, another woman had entered the room. She was younger than her sister, but far less gay.
'How do you do? she said. 'I do hope you have brought some soap with you. I asked my father to tell you, but he so often forgets these things. Masters are not supplied with soap or with boot polish or with washing over two shillings and sixpence weekly. Do you take sugar in your tea?
'Yes, usually.
'I will make a note of that and have two extra lumps put out for you. Don't let the boys get them, though.
'I have put you in charge of the fifth form for the rest of this term, said Dr Fagan. 'You will find them delightful boys, quite delightful. Clutterbuck wants watching, by the way, a very delicate little chap. I have also put you in charge of the games, the carpentering class, and the fire drill. And I forgot, do you teach music?
'No, I'm afraid not.
'Unfortunate, most unfortunate. I understood from Mr Levy that you did. I have arranged for you to take Beste‑Chetwynde in organ lessons twice a week. Well, you must do the best you can. There goes the bell for dinner. I won't detain you. Oh, one other thing. Not a word to the boys, please, about the reasons for your leaving Oxford! We schoolmasters must temper discretion with deceit. There, I fancy I have said something for you to think about. Good night.
'Tootle‑oo, said the elder Miss Fagan.