I felt an odd sensation in the region of my third waistcoat button. Not the invisible finger this time, but a softening, like melted ice cream. As if, after forty years of dealing with pupils in ways that, according to my Brodie Boys, ranged from benevolent neglect to callous and cruel indifference, I had suddenly acquired that most perilous of organs—a heart.

I assumed a stern demeanor. “I have to say, Miss Wild,” I said, “that you and young Master Allen-Jones seem to share the same deplorable love of drama. If only you had come to see me, instead of indulging in what I can only refer to as shenanigans, Ms. Buckfast and I could have dealt with your problem without all this unpleasantness.”

Ben assumed a meek expression. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Now, you and Allen-Jones are going to give me that recording,” I said. “And we won’t hear any more about talking to the newspapers, or anything like that. What happens in St. Oswald’s gets dealt with in St. Oswald’s. That’s the way we work here. We’ve been doing it for a long time.”

I smiled at La Buckfast. I noted that she too was smiling. Of course, this new development may not be a bad thing for her. Allen-Jones’s little stunt has conveniently, and at a single stroke, removed Dr. Blakely from the list of candidates for the Headship. For a moment I wondered if maybe she had anticipated, even somehow encouraged the plan. But that was a deduction too far. La Buckfast may be Machiavellian, but from that to suspecting that she might have orchestrated the whole thing—

No. That would be ludicrous. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would.

I left with the girl Benedicta. “I’m not leaving, Ben,” I said.

“Is that an official statement, sir? Interested parties need to know.”

I said: “It’s a promise. Will that do?”

That seemed to satisfy her. She smiled. “I had to look up what you said, sir. Obesa cantavit. The fat lady sang.”

“Did I say that?” I prevaricated.

“Yes, sir,” said Ben.

I shrugged. “I say all kinds of things. I don’t expect pupils to listen.”

Arriving in my form room, I found that Sutcliff had taken the register; McNair had filled in the absence slips; Niu was in the process of watering my spider plants. It struck me that my boys are often at their most productive in my absence. My policy of benevolent neglect gives them the chance to think for themselves rather than rely on me. In short, my (few) deficiencies are all for the benefit of the boys.

I opened my desk drawer to look for my packet of licorice allsorts. Harry’s gnome was lying there, next to the bottle of claret, a slightly debauched grin on its face. Devine must have returned it, I thought. The man is full of surprises.