‘Did you write this?’

Across his nose and the top of his round cheeks he had an endearing spatter of freckles which leaped into sudden prominence as his face paled.

‘This isn’t my writing, Miss . . . Mayfield.’

‘Not your natural hand, I’m glad to say. But did you write it?’

‘I don’t spell “cruel” with a double o.’

Methodist, she thought; he had probably been reared to believe that little boys who told lies went straight to Hell. He was making a gallant, rather pathetic attempt to avoid both lie and truth.

‘I know. You spell very well. Whoever wrote this wished me not to recognize the writing or the spelling. And whoever wrote this – if it is true – did absolutely right. If it is true, I shall, of course, do something about it; but I can’t take action until I know who wrote it and whether it is true . . . or a bad joke.’

‘It’s true enough.’

‘How do you know, Sydney? Has Ethel told you so?’

‘I’ve seen Ethel’s granny be cruel to her.’

‘So you wrote this to draw my attention to it. Is that right?’

‘Miss, why did you pick on me?’

‘Because this is written on school paper, and the only book that is short of pages is yours.’

He made no reply to that.

‘I’m afraid, then, I must just tear it up and forget it.’

She saw the tears come into his rather lovely hazel eyes, his lower lip begin to quiver.

Oh dear, she thought, I’m a bully – the worst kind, a mental bully. She put her arm around his shoulders and pulled him towards her.

‘It isn’t a joke, is it, Sydney? You wanted me to know.’

Leaning against her, he groped for his handkerchief and snuffled into it.

‘I hoped there was something you could do, Miss. I’d hev told you straight out, I ain’t afraid, but there’s my mum to think of. Once I did tell my mum something Ethel’s granny did to Ethel and my mum went straight round and spoke, and then Ethel’s granny give my mum the shingles terrible bad, and my mum said best thing to do was not to hev no more doings with Ethel. But last night . . .’

‘What happened last night?’

Under the stress of emotion, grammar went by the board. ‘I seen her do it. She put Ethel’s fingers in the mangle.’

Miss Mayfield’s stomach turned a somersault.

‘You say you saw her do it? Did she do it in front of you?’