Of course. Call-me-Jo is very close to Harrington and his minions. And she already shares so much with her girls—I imagine that’s where the leak has sprung. I attempted to prevaricate.

“Retiring? I like to think of myself as a rather outgoing person.”

“So it is true,” said Ben. “Why? Because of Rupert Gunderson?”

I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected her to jump to the truth so easily. “Listen, Benedicta—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted. “You’re the only one we can trust. If you go, sir, there’ll be no one left on our side. You can’t leave. You just can’t.”

I struggled with the impulse to tell her the truth. “It’s difficult. There are many factors here to which you may not be privy.”

I sounded unconvincing. The girl Benedicta was not convinced. “I wish you’d answer the question, sir.”

I sighed. “There are things I can’t tell you. But, being the intelligent young person you are, I’m sure you can hazard a guess.”

Behind her, I could see Allen-Jones listening to every word. He and the rest of my Brodie Boys are far too sharp to be taken in. A partial truth, then—after that, they must make of it what they will.

“Suffice it to say, it’s not my choice. Obesa cantavit, and all that.”

“Sir?”

“That’s enough. I have marking to do.”

Chapter 2

2

November 3, 2005

Headmaster, and Chairman of the Governors,

It is with the greatest regret that I find myself obliged to hand in my notice as Classics Master of St. Oswald’s. I thought, having survived so many changes throughout my thirty-odd years in the place, that I could withstand another assault from the twenty-first century. It would appear that I was wrong.

I belong to a time when loyalty was paramount. Loyalty to the boys, to the staff—but most of all, to the Headmaster, the Captain of St. Oswald’s—was what kept our creaky old frigate afloat. And now I find myself in a place where I cannot bring myself to feel or pretend loyalty to a man I believe to be the enemy of everything I once held dear. I must therefore, et cetera—

At the end of the afternoon, I went to my room to clear my desk, and found a washed-out blond woman listlessly vacuuming the floor. She gave her name as Cynthia, and announced that she was the new cleaner.

“What about Mr. Winter?” I asked.

The blond woman shrugged. “Dunno,” she said. “All I know’s I’m supposed to do this room.”

“But what about Mr. Winter?” I said. “Are you going to be here permanently?”

The woman pulled a face. “I dunno. All I know’s I got this job. Till I can find summat better.”

“So—Winter’s gone for good?” I said.

Cynthia shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Do you happen to know why?”