However, the Malbry Examiner has been reluctant to let the case go. Its dislike of the Grammar School dates back to a time when the editor failed the St. Oswald’s entrance exam at the age of eleven, and now he never misses a chance to remind us of our mistake. The fact that the Head of St. Oswald’s had been assaulted, late at night, in the course of what was assumed to be some kind of assignation, was already fuel enough for the Examiner’s furnace, but when it was revealed that a witness had identified David Spikely—who, as it happens, now seems to be missing from his Malbry home—the speculation intensified. Add to that the death of Charlie Nutter in October, underneath the very bridge on which Harrington was attacked, and you have the beginnings of quite a promising story.

Mrs. Harrington maintains that these rumours are groundless. Spikely had been a family friend. There had been no quarrel with him. They had simply drifted apart as the paths of their lives diverged. When Harrington recovers full memory of Friday’s events, he will surely confirm this. Of course, we have no idea of how long Harrington will take to make a full recovery—and even if he does, it may be that he never returns to St. Oswald’s.

The Chaplain thinks not. He isn’t alone. “My money’s on Dr. Blakely,” he said. “Unless you think Bob Strange has a chance.”

“You don’t think Ms. Buckfast might get the job?”

“A female Head?” The Chaplain was outraged.

Well, I suppose he has a point. St. Oswald’s may not be—may never be—ready for a female Head. And yet, Dr. Blakely is too effete; for all his qualifications, he is merely a Suit with nothing inside. Becky Price is something new: not a Dragon; not a Suit; definitely not a Low-Fat Yogurt.

I stopped by to see her this morning, while Blakely was taking Assembly, and found that she had moved across to the Headmaster’s office—which, given her new role, makes sense. Danielle was in the anteroom, looking a little downcast. Of course, her ambition to snare a Head must have suffered a serious blow. Call-me-Jo Lambert, of Mulberry House, must also be wringing her elegant hands. But Ms. Buckfast seems very comfortable in the Headmaster’s office. I see that already she has changed the layout of the furniture, and has brought in a couple of orchids to brighten up the room, which now no longer smells of pine, but of something more subtle.

“Present from the Chaplain?” I said, looking at the orchids.

La Buckfast smiled and shook her head. “Your friend Mr. Winter, actually. It seems he’s a collector.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Winter gave you orchids?”