Chapter 5

Westfield Boarding School for Girls
2000

ROMILY COULD TELL that Allegra was more dissatisfied than ever and had the distinct impression that trouble was brewing, though what it might be exactly she couldn’t say. Exams were about to begin and she hoped they would defuse the tension she could feel like a storm in the air, ready to break. Usual lessons had stopped and now it was revision and study periods, and then long hours spent in the sports hall, sitting their papers.

Today they’d already stuffed their heads with geography and history and needed a break.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Allegra moaned discontentedly. She was sitting on the edge of Romily’s bed and staring out of the window while Imogen was cross-legged on the floor, rifling through Romily’s capacious and expensive make-up bag. Allegra pointed out over the playing fields that stretched away into the distance and disappeared into hedges and woodland. ‘We’re in the middle of bloody nowhere! I’m going to die of boredom if I have to stay here much longer.’

‘What’s the hurry?’ Romily said, carefully painting pearly clear polish on to her nails as she sat at her desk. Polish was forbidden, of course, but she got round that in her usual way: she did what she wanted, but subtly, so no one would notice. ‘Besides, we can’t make it go any faster, even if we want to.’

‘You’re so unromantic, Rom,’ grumbled Allegra. ‘Don’t you want to get out? Get away from school bloody uniform and start living properly? We’re completely sex-starved. It’s just not natural.’

Romily shrugged. She refused to let frustration get the better of her, the way Allegra did. ‘Maybe. But I can’t see the point in letting it make you miserable.’

‘It’s all right for you. You get to live so glamorously when you’re not at school. Come on, tell us what you’re doing in the holidays.’

‘Well, the first bit of July I’ll be in Paris and there are some parties and things to go to. Then my mother is taking me on our usual tour: Venice, St Tropez, Cap d’Antibes and the Moncivellos’ palace in Tuscany. Then we go to Chrypkos for the rest of the summer, and back to Paris for fittings and clothes shopping for the autumn.’ Romily looked up at the other two, her big brown eyes candid. ‘Nothing special. Just the usual.’

Allegra and Imogen looked at each other and burst out laughing.

‘What?’ demanded Romily, hurt. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Oh, Rom, only you can talk about a summer itinerary like that and call it nothing special!’ spluttered Allegra.

‘You’ve got a private island, for God’s sake!’ cried Imogen. ‘How normal is that?’

Romily frowned at them and then gave in, rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘All right, all right. I get it.’

It was partly because the other two teased her that she felt so comfortable with them. She’d arrived at Westfield two years after most of the girls and at first she’d been very lonely indeed. For one thing, she didn’t look like any of the others. While they tried their best to scruff themselves up and break the uniform rules, Romily had been perfectly turned out every day, in the most expensive shoes, tights and uniform that could be bought. She had been told off for wearing real diamond studs in her ears – they had been taken away and put in the school safe – and for putting on mascara for her lessons, which was strictly forbidden. The other girls had laughed at her skincare routine, when the idea of not following it had seemed heretical to her.

She had been, she could see now, very French, and also very sheltered. Her family’s wealth had kept her removed from the world and she’d found the life of an English girls’ boarding school extremely strange. Just when she had thought she would never understand and couldn’t bear it any longer, Allegra rescued her. She came to her cubie one afternoon and asked if Romily would draw a picture of Queen Victoria for her history project, because she was sure Romily would be brilliant at it. ‘After all, your grandfather was a famous artist, wasn’t he?’

Romily had laughed and explained that although her grandfather had indeed been a very famous artist, she was only capable of drawing stick men and cats. Nevertheless, she would try and draw Queen Victoria if that was what Allegra wanted. Her attempt was so bad that Allegra said she thought perhaps she would give it a go herself.

Romily had already noticed Allegra and Imogen, of course, partly because of Allegra’s striking looks and mischievous nature – even Romily had laughed when Allegra had remained hidden under a pile of science overalls for an entire lesson while Mrs Crawford taught on, oblivious – and partly because they always seemed to be talking and laughing together, engrossed in each other’s company. Theirs looked like the kind of friendship where you would never be bored. She’d never had any hope that she would be allowed to join in, but with the ice broken, Allegra had asked Romily if she wanted to sit with them in the refectory and, slowly, they’d accepted her as one of them.

Now, she was almost impossible to tell apart from the other girls in the school, except for a certain polish she couldn’t help retaining: her clothes and shoes were so much more expensive than everybody else’s. While they were looking for copies of things they saw in Vogue at Camden Market and Top Shop, Romily was ordering the real thing, and all the girls came to sigh and ‘Aah’ when a box arrived for her from Harrods. An audience would gather – even sixth-formers came to look – when she unwrapped the wonderful tissue-covered goodies: real Chanel sunglasses; Vivienne Westwood jeans; T-shirts from Miu Miu, Chloé and Comme des Garçons.

She loved her clothes but she was generous with them: she let Allegra and Imogen borrow whatever they liked.

Other boxes arrived from Paris, direct from Romily’s mother. They were full of skincare products, some specially blended for her by expert dermatologists, and supplements to ensure her perfect health.

‘Mama is a hypochondriac,’ Romily explained, emptying out all the bottles and packets. ‘She organises most of her life around all this stuff.’

The other two found it fascinating if rather crazy and she didn’t try to explain to them. From her earliest childhood, Romily had listened to her mother’s maxims. Madame de Lisle had one mantra: elegance. A woman must be elegant in all ways: in her mind, her manners, and, of course, her person. Romily had already learned lessons in self-presentation from her. At six, she was going to bed wearing little white cotton gloves, her hands inside slathered with cream, in imitation of her mother who never went to sleep without lashings of expensive moisturiser wherever expensive moisturiser could be put.

‘Protect your skin!’ her mother advised her solemnly. ‘It must last your entire life. Look after it as though it were your most precious possession.’

Romily had taken the lessons to heart. She wore hats and shunned the sun. She took her supplements and drank her water. She fed her young skin with the richest creams her mother would allow her (‘Your skin is still adolescent – nothing too rich, it will overpower you and clog your pores. Light, oil-free and not on your T-zone!’) and exfoliated religiously, all over, every day. She was blessed with a light olive complexion that appeared smooth and almost poreless, and was never marked with a blemish – unlike Imogen and Allegra, with their pale Scottish skins that seemed to change like the weather, veering between pink and healthy or grey and heavy. Then there were the spots that were the bane of their lives, which they hid under great dollops of pink concealer. Romily had never experienced more than one or two spots in her life, and secretly she was convinced it was because of her dedication to vitamin pills, and her strict regime of face masks, moisturiser and sunscreens.

‘What’s this?’ Imogen held up a gold tube with a pinkish brush at one end.

‘That’s Touche Eclat,’ Romily said.

Imogen brushed the tube across her hand but nothing came out. ‘It’s not working. What is it?’

‘Look.’ Romily took it from her, clicked the top and smeared a line of pale pink creamy liquid along the back of Imogen’s hand. ‘You use it under your eyes to hide the bags.’

Imogen looked up at her dubiously. ‘Bags? You don’t have bags under your eyes.’

‘It’s not just a concealer, it’s a highlighter too. It reflects light and makes you look fresher and younger.’

‘I don’t want to look younger,’ Allegra said with a laugh. ‘I’m trying to look older. Any younger and they’ll be moving me back down a year.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Romily clicked the lid back on to her Touche Eclat. ‘Let’s put it away. I don’t want you to waste it.’

Allegra got up and wandered about the cubie, picking up anything that interested her. ‘What I don’t understand, Romily, is how you can go on about looking after your bloody skin the entire time, and then smoke cigarettes.’

Romily shrugged. ‘My vitamins counteract the effects of the smoke. Besides, it will be years before I need to worry about that. I’m going to give up before then.’

The other two nodded. They had agreed that they would give up smoking before they turned twenty-one, and that way they would avoid any nastiness associated with their favourite vice. Twenty-one was so far away that they hardly needed to think about it.

‘What does your mother say?’ Imogen asked. Romily had regaled them so often with tales of what her mother proscribed that they all thought of her as a kind of oracle on beauty and behaviour.

‘She says it’s acceptable to smoke in certain situations. No lady would ever smoke on the street, for example. But after dinner … of course. My mother smokes one filterless Gitane every day at eleven o’clock with a very strong black coffee, and one after dinner with a digestif.’ Romily was proud of her beautiful, stylish mother. It was her ambition to be as graceful and decorative as she was.

‘Do you think we’ll ever be grown up?’ Allegra sighed, leaning against the chest of drawers.

‘Imagine being married!’ Imogen said. There was a quiet moment as they all contemplated this; it seemed an extraordinary idea. ‘At least you’ve both been kissed,’ she added. ‘I haven’t even had that.’

Apart from a little casual experimentation with her cousin one summer holiday, Romily’s experiences of sex were confined to being kissed very passionately after a ballroom dancing lesson in Paris by a handsome young count, her partner that day. It had been extremely enjoyable, and she fully intended to repeat it as soon as she could. Her plan was also to be seduced, preferably before she’d left school, so she could go out into the world unencumbered by her tiresome virginity; she was very curious to know what all the fuss was about, and, if her first forays were anything to go by, sex ought to be delightful.

Allegra had told them all how she’d managed to have a snog with the gardener’s son one afternoon at Foughton Castle and another at a Christmas party.

‘You will,’ Allegra said stoutly. ‘We’ll make it our mission this summer to get Midge a snog. I want to get to Glastonbury this year, we should all go together, it’d be really cool.’

‘That sounds great,’ Imogen said eagerly. ‘We can camp! Oh, wow.’

‘I’d never be allowed,’ Romily said sadly. ‘Never, never, never. But maybe you could both come and see me.’

‘Come to Paris?’ Imogen looked excited. ‘I’ve never been there.’

‘I want to go to the Greek island,’ Allegra declared. ‘That sounds amazing.’

‘But I don’t know how likely you are to get a snog on our island, Midge, unless you like old fishermen.’

Imogen wrinkled her nose. ‘No. I was thinking of someone a bit younger. Maybe eighteen or something.’

The lunch bell rang out over the school.

Allegra looked at her watch. ‘About time too. But I’ve heard it’s disgusting chicken fricassée for lunch. God, I hate this place!’ Then she leaned towards the other two conspiratorially and said, ‘MG meeting tonight. Are we all on for it?’

The other two nodded as they jumped up and hurried to stay ahead of the mad scramble to the refectory.

When they got up to the attic that night, Romily could tell that Allegra was in a rage.

‘That’s it!’ she said in a furious whisper, blowing a plume of smoke out of the open window. ‘I’ve had it up to here with that utter bitch.’

Romily glanced at Imogen. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. Trouble.

‘Did you see her? Did you?’ demanded Allegra, turning to Imogen.

Imogen nodded. She was wearing, at Romily’s instigation, a thick coating of glutinous night cream that made her look strange and ghostly. ‘I did. You’re right. She is an utter bitch.’

Romily tried to quell the nervous feeling in her stomach and said slowly, ‘She’s a bully, we know that. We’ve always known it.’

‘But didn’t you see poor Vanessa Hardy in the common room this afternoon when Sophie and Arabella were being so vile? It’s not her fault she’s got that dreadful skin. She does absolutely everything she can – her mother’s taken her to a Harley Street dermatologist, she’s on a special diet and hormone tablets and everything … The poor girl suffers enough. It’s just sheer cruelty to mock her for it!’

They had all been there: watching while Vanessa, scarlet and fighting back tears, had tried to ignore Sophie Harcourt and Arabella Balmer as they sat giggling, whispering and then calling teasing questions and nasty names across the common room. It had been agony – and yet no one had spoken up. No one had wanted to draw Sophie’s fire, not when she was in the mood for torturing someone. Allegra had leapt to her feet, about to say something, but Romily had jumped up, put a hand on her arm and said an urgent, ‘No!’ Allegra had clearly wrestled with herself and then turned on her heel and stalked out, her face flaming and her mouth set with the effort of keeping quiet.

‘I wanted to shout in her stupid face, tell everyone what a hypocrite she is,’ Allegra said, staring out furiously into the night sky. ‘That awful cow deserves it, you know she does.’

Romily looked over at Imogen and they swapped solemn glances. Imogen stared down hard at the floor and twisted her cigarette uneasily between her fingers.

Allegra turned back to the others and said tetchily, ‘Well? Don’t you think she deserves it?’

Romily took a drag on her Gauloise and released a long steady stream of heavy smoke, then said slowly, ‘You know, in France, we don’t much mind how people prefer to get their thrills as long as it’s all consenting. If two girls want to go to bed with each other, that’s fine.’

‘Very sophistiqué,’ retorted Allegra, flushing. ‘I don’t give a shit about that. She can fuck Myers with a giant purple dildo and whip her blue at the same time for all I care! The thing is, Romily, she’s a hypocrite – if it were someone else, she’d be the first to rip it out of them. That’s what I can’t stand. Besides, it’s against the rules.’

‘Come on, Allegra,’ Imogen said, in a light-hearted voice. ‘As if you care about that! You don’t take much notice of the rules.’

She looked at them both, stricken. ‘What’s wrong with you two?’ she demanded. ‘It sounds like you’re against me. Are you on Sophie’s side now or something?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ Imogen said hastily.

‘What about you?’ Allegra demanded, turning to Romily.

Romily met the navy blue gaze with her own. ‘Of course I’m with you,’ she said gravely. ‘We’re best friends, aren’t we? We’ll always stick together. The thing is, though, I don’t know if it’s wise to use what we know about Sophie against her.’

‘But can’t you see how she treats other people? Why shouldn’t she have a taste of it herself?’

Romily frowned, thinking hard. After all, why shouldn’t we just punish Sophie? Hand back a little of what she’s been dishing out for years? ‘Because it’s so serious,’ she said at last. ‘It’s different, that’s all. I just don’t think we should tell anyone.’

‘I wasn’t going to!’ Allegra fired back. ‘I’m just talking about it, getting it off my chest, that’s all.’

But Romily knew that it would be hard for her to keep such a secret. They still had two years at Westfield, and that was a long time to keep quiet, especially in the face of Sophie’s constant provocation. Could Allegra really resist? And what if it came to the attention of the teachers, as things almost always did by the mysterious telegraph that connected pupils to staff? Would Sophie and Martha be expelled? It wasn’t expressly forbidden, but it was obvious that it would be treated as a transgression. How could it not?

They were all silent for a while, smoking and not catching each other’s eye. Then Imogen said, ‘Well, as long as we’re all agreed. We won’t tell. No matter how much of a bitch Sophie is. After all, Martha isn’t half as bad, and she’s bound to get caught up in it if we do.’

‘I wasn’t going to tell!’ protested Allegra again, looking sulky.

‘Good. So there’s no problem,’ Romily said lightly. I mustn’t let Allegra think we’re against her. ‘Who knows what the hell Martha sees in Sophie anyway?’

‘I wonder how they got together.’ Imogen grinned, obviously wanting to lift Allegra’s mood. ‘Maybe they had a revelation in the games cupboard or something.’

‘Maybe she tickled her fancy during choir practice,’ Romily put in.

‘Oh, Martha, you’re not quite hitting that top E – perhaps this finger in here would help?’ joked Imogen, making Allegra smile, as she always could.

Allegra said, ‘Maybe they had a Ghost moment in pottery – Martha’s hands over Sophie’s as they rubbed a nice greasy wadge of clay together.’

They all laughed.

Just then there was the unmistakable squeak of the door to the stairs opening. They froze, staring at each other in horror: they were all out of bounds, all holding cigarettes, there was no mistaking their guilt. They were making too much noise – they must have left the door ajar, and Myers, on patrol for once, had spotted it.

Oh, shit! thought Romily. Her skin prickled with horror. This is it. We’re going to be expelled.

Light footsteps came up the stairs – too light for Myers’, now she thought about it – and then a voice said, ‘So this is what you all get up to! I knew there was something.’

Sophie Harcourt emerged from the stairwell.

Romily’s stomach turned icy cold: the sight of their enemy appearing in front of them was terrifying. She felt so vulnerable, not only because of the cigarette she had in her hand but because Sophie looked like a predator in her dark pyjamas, the same ones she was wearing the night they saw her with Martha Young. It was impossible not to remember her as she was that night: turned on, hungry, greedy for sensation.

Sophie stood with one hand on her hip, her chin thrust out and her eyes mocking. She looked at each of them in turn. ‘And smoking too! I’m surprised at you, Imogen. I always thought you were far too timid and goodie-goodie for that. But I suppose you’re copying Allegra, as usual. Word of advice, darling – try to get a personality of your own sometime.’

Imogen looked ill even under her coating of night cream, staring at Sophie, unable to say a word. Romily wanted to say something herself, something sensible and grown up that would defuse the tension that had just skyrocketed, but she could think of nothing. Then Allegra stood up, stubbing out her cigarette.

‘And what are you doing out and about, Sophie?’ Beneath her confident tone there was a nervous tremor in her voice.

Sophie blinked innocently. ‘I heard talking. I came to see what was happening and … oh, dear. I seem to have stumbled on the school’s favourite princesses all being very, very naughty!’

Romily saw with sudden awful clarity that she had to mollify Sophie, get her on side and stop her telling. And she had to do that before Allegra was tempted to try and frighten Sophie into silence with what she knew. If Sophie gets any hint that Allegra has something on her, this will spiral quickly out of control and we’ll be in the headmistress’s office first thing, all landed in the shit. She stood up as well, smiling. ‘Yes, you’ve caught us. Thank goodness it was you, Sophie, and not Myers. I thought we were really in trouble there for a moment!’

Sophie frowned, disarmed by Romily’s friendliness. Then she laughed. ‘Well, this is a turn up for the books, isn’t it? You’re at my mercy now, aren’t you? I could have you out of here by lunchtime tomorrow.’ She bit her lip and looked mischievous. ‘Gosh, it’s tempting.’

‘You won’t tell on us, will you?’ Romily said swiftly, still smiling. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Allegra stiffening, responding to Sophie’s challenge.

‘How on earth could you make it worth my while not to?’ She looked down her nose at Allegra and then Imogen.

You stupid girl, Romily thought fiercely. Can’t you see how pointless it is to take us on like this? No one can win. We need to find a way that we can get out of this situation. But she kept her face serene and her voice calm. ‘We don’t have to turn this into a big deal, you know …’

Sophie turned back to her. ‘OK. If you really want me to keep quiet … well, I can think of a few things that might help. I’ve always fancied those Prada trainers of yours, actually. And your Rouge Noir nail polish.’

Allegra frowned and started to speak, but Romily quietened her with a look and said, ‘OK. They’re yours.’

‘You can’t let her blackmail us like this!’ hissed Allegra.

‘It’s fine, let it go.’ Romily raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

‘But she’ll never be satisfied and anyway—’ Allegra began, her dark blue eyes sparkling with fury on Romily’s behalf.

‘Allegra, no,’ interrupted Imogen fearfully.

‘What’s going on?’ Sophie demanded, eyes darting, noticing the tension between them.

Allegra took a step towards the other girl. ‘I don’t want Romily to give you her trainers and nail polish. There won’t be any end to it if she does. You’ll start demanding all her stuff.’

‘So what? She can afford it.’

‘That’s not the point. It’s blackmail.’

‘It’s put up with it or be expelled,’ Sophie said airily, ‘it all depends which you’d prefer, doesn’t it?’ Her eyes turned cold suddenly and her face hardened.

Don’t do it, Sophie, Romily begged silently. You don’t know what you’re starting.

But Sophie went on regardless, her voice spiteful now. ‘You think you’re so great,’ she spat at Allegra. ‘With your title, and your castle, and your little tame pets.’ She shot scornful glances at Imogen and Romily. ‘The teachers think the sun shines out of your ladyship’s aristocratic arse, don’t they? Well, the rules are the rules and, if you break them, you pay like anyone else. Maybe you’ll find out at last that your title and Frenchie’s money and Mousie’s A grades can’t get you out of trouble after all.’

Imogen gasped and stared over at Romily, her expression appalled. They both knew that Sophie had thrown down the gauntlet. But she didn’t realise it.

Allegra stepped forward, even closer to Sophie now. She seemed very calm and cool. ‘You’re only revealing your own jealousy, you know. And you ought to be very careful before you start all this. We’re not the only ones breaking the rules, after all … are we?’

Sophie narrowed her eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ She laughed nastily. ‘Jealous of you? I don’t think so.’

‘Well, how did you find us?’

‘I told you.’ She smirked. ‘I heard voices and came to find out what was happening.’

‘I don’t believe you. I think you were on your way to one of your little assignations.’

There was a chilled silence after Allegra said these words.

It’s out now, thought Romily. A dull horror enveloped her. It’s begun. She looked over at Imogen whose eyes were staring and huge in her gleaming, cream-covered face. Neither of them could move to intervene, only watch in frozen fascination as the other two squared up to each other.

Sophie’s mouth dropped open but she swiftly got control of herself. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know very well.’ Allegra lifted her chin and gazed unflinchingly at her. ‘I mean your secret little meetings with Martha Young.’

The colour drained from Sophie’s face. ‘What?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes, you do. You and Martha are special best friends – Does Arabella know, by the way? – and you like to get together and do what special best friends do.’

‘That’s not true!’ cried Sophie, her voice harsh. Colour flooded violently into her cheeks, staining them bright red.

‘You can deny it all you like, but we’ve seen you. All of us.’

Sophie looked round at Imogen and Romily, who couldn’t meet her eyes. That was much worse than if they had faced her off, it seemed. Sophie seemed to realise all at once that she really had been seen, at her most intimate, private moment, with all that it implied. She looked sick and then her face was transformed by fury. Her lips drew back in a snarl. ‘How dare you spy on me, you horrible bitch!’ She ran at Allegra, knocking her backwards so that they both flew towards the attic window, Allegra tripping as they went and falling back against the sill. Sophie sank her fingers into Allegra’s thick blonde hair and began to pound her head against the sill. Allegra tried to escape, scrambling on to the box she’d been sitting on and flailing at Sophie with one arm while trying to dislodge the hand from her hair with the other.

Sophie began to push her backwards on to the window sill, climbing up on to the box next to her.

Romily took a step forward, thinking, She’s trying to push Allegra out of the window! She could hardly believe it was happening and started over towards them, but she seemed to be moving at half speed and could only watch with horror as Allegra was pushed back on to the sill, her bottom perched on it, her back arching out of the window itself.

Imogen rose shakily to her feet. ‘Stop them, Rom, stop them!’ Her voice came out in a cracked whisper.

‘Yes, we’ve got to stop them,’ she said, as she saw Allegra struggling and wrestling with Sophie, whose anger seemed to have given her extraordinary strength. She moved quickly towards them, Imogen following close behind. Now she could see that Sophie had Allegra’s arms in such a tight grip that the skin was dead white where her fingers were digging deep into the flesh, and she was forcing Allegra back over the sill, into the yawning blue-blackness beyond.

‘Sophie, no!’ she cried, and grabbed at the other girl’s pyjama top, just as Imogen came up level with her and reached out too.

At that moment, awful things happened so fast that later they could barely remember in what order they’d occurred.

In the flurry, Sophie gave Allegra a huge shove, trying to send her weight over the edge of the sill. Allegra kicked out with her feet, knocking Sophie off balance and forcing her to release her arms. Then, and with all her strength, she grabbed Sophie’s arm and pulled it, using the other girl’s weight to counterbalance her as she hurled herself back into the attic. And as she vanished from under Sophie’s outstretched hands, the other girl flew forward.

Romily saw what was happening and with a gasp made a desperate attempt to hold on to Sophie’s top, scrabbling at the soft slippery cotton with her fingertips. She could see shock and amazement on the other girl’s face and then, with the grisly realisation that there was no way to prevent herself from tumbling over the sill and out of the window, an awful fear covered it and her mouth opened in a scream.

She was gone. A moment later there was a ghastly thud.

Imogen and Romily stood frozen for an instant before turning to each other in horrified disbelief. Allegra scrambled to her feet and peered out of the window. The other two joined her and they all looked out. A body lay, white and crumpled, on the gravel far below. A dark stain was spreading over the ground by the head.

Imogen screamed, an awful, stifled sound, stuffing her hands in her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Romily said, over and over, very fast, her heart racing. ‘Oh my God, what shall we do, what shall we do …’ She looked over at Allegra, usually in control, their leader, but she was dead white, unable to speak, her whole body trembling violently.

‘Look,’ cried Imogen. She pointed to a figure running along the driveway towards Sophie’s prone body. ‘Someone’s coming.’

Romily’s head was in a whirl, adrenaline and panic coursing through her. ‘It’s a security guard,’ she said abruptly.

‘How do you know?’ Imogen asked.

‘I just do. Quick. We have to get back downstairs. The guard will help her, there’s nothing more we can do.’

‘We have to tell someone, we have to raise the alarm!’ Imogen said, her voice growing shriller with fear.

‘They already know! There’s nothing we can do! Look at Allegra …’

Allegra said nothing but began to shake harder, her teeth chattering in her head.

‘Help me, Midge,’ Romily said, taking control. ‘Take Allegra’s other arm. Let’s get back to bed as fast as we can. We can decide what to do in the morning. But they mustn’t find us here … they mustn’t!’