‘No, she told me. The minute we was out getting the greenstuff, she said, “Did you send Miss Mayfield round to Gran’s?” And I said yes I did. And then she told me about the cake and drinking the wine. And she said never, never talk about her or her gran again.’

‘Did she tell you why?’

‘No.’

‘Have you’ – it seemed strange, a little unseemly, to ask such a question of a twelve-year-old – ‘have you any ideas of your own about it, Sydney?’

He nodded.

‘Ethel is afraid of something that might happen if her gran got angry.’

‘Might happen to Ethel?’

‘No. Ethel never said . . . but I think it might be her rabbits.’

With disconcerting suddenness and clarity, the voice in Miss Mayfield’s mind said, Or her friend Sydney. And that would explain the vehemence with which Ethel had denied being fond of Sydney.

Miss Mayfield decided to venture one more question.

‘And you’ve no idea, Sydney, what lies behind it all? No idea of what it is that Ethel’s grandmother wishes her to do?’

‘No, Miss. Ethel never said. She said it was something, and that she’d never do it, even if it did mean giving up the rabbits.’

‘Well, thank you, Sydney. You’ve been as helpful as possible. And I promise you that I shall keep a sharp eye on Ethel.’

‘Without her gran knowing, please, Miss. Ethel said poking and prying just made things worse.’

‘I’ll be very careful.’

When he was gone, Miss Mayfield tidied her desk, performing the routine task absent-mindedly. The talk with Sydney, unilluminating as it had been, had darkened, rather than lightened, her mood. She might say to herself at one moment that she was placing altogether too much importance upon the subject, but something mysterious remained, and the next moment there she was again, asking herself, why this, why that, why, why, why?

On Wednesday her attention was diverted by a visit from Her Majesty’s Inspector of Schools, Mr Culpeper. It was not, as in Alchester, an unheralded try-to-catch-you-out visitation. Canon Thorby, arriving at ten o’clock to give his Maths lesson, said:

‘Oh, by the way, Mr Culpeper, HMI, is over at Renham this morning; he’s coming to lunch, and afterwards I’ll bring him in to meet you. You’ll like him; he’s a good chap.’