“No one—at least, no one I’ve heard—can believe it. Miss Callaghan’s a marvelous housemistress. She really does have an instinct about the way people’s minds work, and she gets under your skin to know how you feel underneath. She’s always so understanding, you know? She tries to be a friend to us without being patronizing, or playing favorites, like some teachers do. She gets angry with people sometimes and lets them know it, but nobody could imagine her being so . . . so . . . you know? We like her, you see,” Jessica explained anxiously.

“And you didn’t like Lorna Smith-Couper, did you?”

Jessica did not flinch. She did not respond at all. Lindsay continued slowly and quietly. “We have a problem. We’re trying to get Miss Callaghan freed from prison, not just because Miss Overton has asked us to. We’re not necessarily setting out to prove that any particular person did it. What we are trying to show is that there are other people against whom there is as much or as little circumstantial evidence as that which exists against Miss Callaghan. That way, her solicitor can show up the weakness of the case against her.”

Cordelia returned with the coffee and handed the mugs round. She took over from Lindsay, saying, “It seems to us, from what Miss Callaghan told us, that you might have some information about her movements that might possibly help. Let me repeat, we’re not trying to pin the blame on you or on anyone else. We’re simply trying to prove that other people were as likely—or unlikely, if you like—to have done this thing as Paddy. Now I think it’s possible you didn’t tell the police every detail of what you saw and heard. Perhaps you thought they might take it the wrong way because they don’t know the people concerned. But you can tell us everything. You know whose side we’re on.”

For a moment there was stillness. Then Jessica nodded and said, “I don’t mind talking to you. You could probably find out anything I have to tell you by asking other people, anyway. And Miss Overton asked us at assembly to cooperate with you as well as with the police. But I’d rather you heard what I have to say from me and not in a garbled version from other people. What do you want to ask me?”

The girl was still clearly very tense. There was little color in her face and her freckles stood out like a rash. But as Cordelia asked the first question, she flushed an ugly scarlet. “How did you feel about Lorna?”