‘I see. What was wrong with him?’

‘He has gastric flu. We’ll see how he is when he wakes. If he’s no better, I’ll transfer him to the sanatorium and get the doctor to take a look. I’d guess it’s all the upset. Poor little chap, he’s had a difficult few months.’

Jazz watched Matron’s eyes soften and re-evaluated her slightly.

‘Well, maybe I could see him later, if he’s feeling stronger. While I’m here, would you mind if we had a chat?’

‘Of course. We can use Mr Frederiks’s sitting room. He’s out this morning training with the 1st XV.’

Jazz followed Matron into the sitting room. ‘Please.’ She indicated the sofa.

‘Thank you.’ Jazz settled herself and smiled. ‘I know DS Miles had a word with you yesterday, so I won’t go back over old ground. I just wanted to know your opinion on Charlie, what kind of boy you thought he was.’

Matron’s lips visibly tightened. ‘You really want to know?’

‘Yes.’

‘It doesn’t make pleasant listening, and I’m aware one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘No, but if it helps me to solve the mystery that surrounds Charlie’s last night, then I’d appreciate your honesty.’

‘All right then.’ Matron’s hands, resting on her knees, were knuckled balls of tension. ‘The head should have expelled that boy long ago. Charlie had endless warnings last term to curb his behaviour, but it really made no difference. Boys like that, well . . . I know what I’d like to do with them.’

Two pale spots of colour had risen on Matron’s otherwise chalk-white face.

‘Would you like to elucidate?’ Jazz asked.

‘It’s the same in every school: the staff are unable to control a certain group that make the rest of the boys’ lives a misery. They claim they do, but make no effort to see what goes on behind closed doors.’

‘Is that possible? To control bullying?’

‘Of course it is! They should be expelled on the spot! Then our more vulnerable boys would not be crying into their pillows every night. Believe me, I’ve heard them.’

‘So, in your view, both Frederiks and the headmaster were not as tough on Charlie as you thought they should be?’

‘I’d put it a little more forcefully than that.’ Matron sniffed. ‘Frederiks is a good housemaster. He cares about the boys. But he seemed to have a blind spot with Charlie Cavendish. He let him get away with murder.’

‘Perhaps there was no proof of bullying,’ suggested Jazz.

‘Oh, there was proof,’ Matron responded vehemently. ‘I do accept that one of the problems staff have these days is that their hands are tied. I’m not suggesting a jolly good beating works in the long term, but at least it’s a deterrent.’

‘Yes.’ Jazz found she agreed with her.

‘I mean, take young Rory, for example. He suffers from migraines, which are almost certainly stress-induced. He was bullied consistently by Charlie and his gang of thugs. All because he’s taking a little longer to grow up than some of his peers, or finds no pleasure in beating up another boy on the rugby pitch. You do know, Inspector, that Rory was locked in Fleat House cellar overnight by Cavendish a couple of weeks ago? Poor little mite was frightened out of his wits. And I don’t blame him.’