“Not at all,” said Dr. Devine. “Educational computer games to aid in language acquisition. Given the current trend for using IT in the classroom, Markowicz—and I—felt it would be useful to investigate the new software available. Now if you don’t mind . . .” He gathered his papers under his arm and picked up his briefcase. “I have to go. Registration in five minutes.”

First lesson was Sixth-Form Latin with my boys and the Mulberry girls, to which the Headmistress, Miss Lambert, had chosen to invite herself, ostensibly to check on the girls, but in actual fact to check on me.

Call-me-Jo installed herself right at the back of the classroom, legs crossed almost high enough to reveal her stocking tops under the sky-blue tweed skirt.

I could tell that the boys found this alarming, as did the girl Benedicta, the only one of the Mulberry girls who seems to have any kind of sense. The rest of the girls clearly adore their stylish Headmistress, and there was a great deal of giggling during our translation of a passage from Aeneid IX, mostly instigated by the Headmistress herself, who believes that learning should be “fun,” and that “fun” entails a great deal of giggling. At this rate my boys will be out of control by Christmas, and the whole curriculum will be raptus regaliter—as Allen-Jones puts it, or “royally screwed.”

I’ll admit I was a little short with the woman, especially when she asked the class whether “romance had blossomed yet” between any of my boys and her girls. Damn the woman to Hades and back. She’s like a Jane Austen character. Next she’ll be picking out muslin and asking the vicar for afternoon tea.

The girl Benedicta gave me a look of sympathy as the class filed out. “Sorry, sir,” she mouthed at me almost inaudibly as she left.

I watched her go, intrigued and concerned. That girl is far too sensible. Mulberry House will spit her out like a cat with a fur ball. The other girls are trouble enough, with their hair-flicking antics, their eye for the boys, and their interminable giggling, but if ever real trouble raises its head, I’m guessing Ben will be behind it. This feeling is exacerbated by the fact that she seems to be getting friendly with Allen-Jones, of all people. I’ve seen them together, and although fourth-year boys are not allowed into the Sixth-Form Common Room, she sometimes comes into the fourth-year room (Sixth-Formers can go anywhere), where she can often be seen chatting to my Brodie Boys, in defiance of the convention that states that boys and girls do not mingle, and that different year groups exist in a state of mutual antagonism. Still, my boys are unusual, and rather more fun than her peers, I suspect. Their friendship is a small ray of light in Harrington’s growing darkness.