Mr Wetheral looked at the three portraits, then back at me.

“Maggie?” Beth Goodman came out of the painting room. An eldest, due for camp in a few months.

“What are you doing here, Maggie?” she said from the hallway. “You shouldn’t be here, you’re a middler. Mr Wetheral only paints eldests. Isn’t that right, Mr Wetheral?”

“Well, that’s not exactly how I’d—”

“I’m not doing anything,” I said. “I mean, I just came for a forecast, for Jed’s party, and Mrs Weather gave me a cup of tea, and I came into the kitchen to put the mug back and then the cat knocked it off the side. I’m sorry, Mr Wetheral. I’ll clear it up. Have you a got a cloth? And a broom?”

“It’s OK, Maggie. Don’t worry. It’s not your fault.” Mr Wetheral’s voice was soft and calm. “Beth – go and get yourself settled again, I won’t be long.”

I cupped my hand over the bottle-shaped lump in my pocket.

Got to get out, Maggie. Got to get out.

“Cruise girl? Cruise girl? You still here?” Elsie shuffled in from the back room.

“Careful, Mother,” said Mr Wetheral, “there’s been a breakage.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Mrs Weather, it was an accident.”

Elsie came into the kitchen and steered herself round the broken mug, hardly even looking at it. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bundle of something – something wrapped up in a tea towel, with four corners tied tight and neat on top.

“Scones.” She held it out with a shaky arm.

“Thank you, Mrs Weather, but I’m not hungry. I just came for the—”

“To share.” Elsie nodded at the trembling bundle.

“To share? Who with?” The bottle pressed against my leg.

Got to get out.

Got to get out.

“You’ll think of someone, I’m sure.”

“Take them, Maggie,” said Mr Wetheral. “Mother bakes the best scones in town.”

“But, Mrs Weather, what about the forecast? For Friday – Jed’s party.” I took the bundle from her, one hand still firm over my pocket.

“Forecast?” She rubbed her bony fingers across her lips. “It’ll be sunny, Friday. Watch out Saturday afternoon, though. Everything’s changing, Saturday afternoon.”

I ran down the path. The bottle bulged in my pocket. I was no good at this stealing thing. No good at it at all.

I skidded round the corner, eyes on the ground—

OUFF!

I got flung back, but whoever I’d bumped into had me by the arm and kept me upright.

“In a hurry, Maggie?”

Mayor Anderson.

“Not getting yourself into trouble, I hope?” She kept a hold of my arm. The skin on her face had tiny red veins all over it. “What’s that you’ve got there?

The trellicillin?

How did she know about it?

Could she see it through my pocket?