Kate’s head whipped around, surprised to find both Molly and Tilly standing in the doorway. Tilly’s arms were crossed, and for somebody who had known the girls not forty-eight hours, she’d mustered an expression of disappointment worthy of an Academy Award. Or maybe, unlike Kate, she was upset rather than angry. Her hair was down, her concern so authentic that she hadn’t plaited it before leaving the privacy of their cottage.

Kate turned back to the blinds. Her back to Molly and Tilly, Kate thought for a moment. “We’ll see. Go to bed.”

Molly’s footsteps were soft as she padded away.

Kate could feel Tilly’s gaze boring into her back, the judgement radiating off her like electricity. “You’re not going to call her parents?” she asked.

Kate turned. “Oh, I definitely am. But it’s midnight. If telling her I’m not stops her having a pot-fuelled panic attack and gets me some sleep, then that’s what I’ll do. And tomorrow…tomorrow I’ll put the fear of God into them.”

Chapter Five

At the double beep of the message bank, Kate sat forward in her office chair. “Hi, Ms Kirkpatrick. This is Katherine York from St. Joan’s. Again. I’m not sure if you got my message this morning, but I’d like to have a chat with you when you get a chance. Emma’s fine, no need to worry, but if you could give me a call back, I’d really appreciate it—”

The beep sounded. Kate drummed her pen against the edge of her desk in frustration. Well, she reasoned, three out of four were good odds.

Molly’s parents hadn’t been particularly concerned—apologetic more than anything. Molly was a good kid—a few puffs of a joint wasn’t going to send her off the rails, and Kate had to agree. Grace’s and Lexi’s parents, on the other hand, had been irate, and when Kate passed the girls in the dining hall at breakfast, they’d looked very sheepish. It seemed their parents had followed through on their promises to contact their daughters privately.

Fourteen hours after the incident, Kate still hadn’t punished the group as per Sister Ruth’s instruction. Not because she was deliberating over a suitable penalty, but because she believed guilt was the most impactful sentence of all.

“Kate?”

Kate pulled her gaze from her marking. One of her Year Tens was standing in the doorway of her office. “What’s up?”

Her student grimaced. “Um, Sister Mary Monica was wondering if you could come over to the chapel and fix a kneeler.”

“A kneeler?”

“It…it broke again.”

“Because you stood on it, correct?”

“It was Lexi!”

Jaw tightening, Kate pressed her pen closed. You have got to be kidding me. “How many times does Sister Ruth have to tell her to walk around it, not over it?” Of course Lexi had to break a kneeler on the maintenance man’s day off. The last thing Kate felt like at two thirty on a Wednesday afternoon was playing jack-of-all-trades, but she couldn’t very well expect Sister Ruth to get down on her hands and knees with a screwdriver just because one of the kids had decided to play walk the plank. “Go back to the chapel,” Kate sighed, “I’ll be there in a minute.”