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spinster choir mistress only said, “Stand up straight, my girl. Posture is everything, and you’ve got a back like a camel.”
    “Good night, ladies,” the doctor said. “I’ll return in the morning.” He showed himself to the door.
    The door banged shut behind him, and the girls found themselves facing Miss Fringle.
    “Well?” She banged her cane once more. “Help me up, one of you. Not that one.” She glowered at Dull Martha.
    Smooth Kitty clutched the packet of sleeping powder in her hand. A glimmer of an idea began to stir.
    “Wait a moment, Miss Fringle,” she said. “First, let us build up the fire in Mrs. Plackett’s room. We wouldn’t want anything cold to disturb your sleep. I mean, the, er, cold night air. Or the sheets.” Or a cold corpse, she managed to not say.
    Pocked Louise’s eyes met Kitty’s in alarm. “Should I just go, er, tidy things up in that room a bit first? I left my, um, book in there earlier. When I was … reading to Mrs. Plackett.”
    Stout Alice and Disgraceful Mary Jane made jerky movements with their heads in the direction of Mrs. Plackett’s room.
    “No need.” Smooth Kitty smiled sweetly at the others, enjoying their looks of terror. “Miss Fringle is aware she’ll be sharing a bed with Mrs. Plackett.” She hoped her meaning would not be missed—they couldn’t remove Mrs. Plackett now or they’d have to explain her absence. “The two of them will be quite cozy together, once we build up the fire. Now, Miss Fringle, I know you’ve had a terrible shock to your nerves, being tripped and injured like you were. Let me bring a cup of chamomile to soothe you.”
    “Don’t need soothing,” the choir mistress barked. “Always sleep like a lamb. Only takes me half an hour or so to fall asleep.”
    “Wonderful,” Kitty replied. “Did you know, Mrs. Plackett’s chamomile won a prize at the Ladies’ Domestic Arts Council in Northampton last year?”
    Miss Fringle’s eyes narrowed. “What was she doing all the way over in Northampton? Cambridge isn’t good enough for her?”
    “It’s just that there’s such a demand for her prize chamomile.” She smiled. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
    The other girls followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Once there, they shut the door and Kitty shoveled more coal into the cooking stove to heat water for Miss Fringle’s chamomile tea.
    “I thought she didn’t want tea,” Dull Martha said.
    “She’ll be itching to drink it now that you’ve made up this nonsense prize,” Disgraceful Mary Jane said. “Good thinking, Kitty.”
    “But why?” Dear Roberta inquired. “Why all this fuss over tea?”
    “The sleeping powders, obviously.” Pocked Louise seized the packet from Kitty’s pocket and read the dosing notes Dr. Snelling had written. “Must be sure not to over-drug the old lady, or we’ll have yet another body to deal with.”
    “And, oh, Saint Mary’s church just wouldn’t be church without its choir,” Dear Roberta mourned.
    “She’s not dead yet,” Dour Elinor pointed out.
    Stout Alice collapsed into a chair. “Birthday party! Darling little Julius! What next?”
    “Pish posh. Nothing to it.” Smooth Kitty patted Alice on the head. Truth to tell, she was feeling quite smug at the moment. It had been rather a stroke of brilliance, cooking up a trip to India for Mr. Godding. That got rid of him for now, and with pneumaria or dipthussis or malonia in the air—Kitty resolved to pay better attention in science class from now on—wait, there’d be no more science class, ever!—they could kill him off permanently from afar. If they could survive this horrendous night, Kitty was sure the young ladies of Saint Etheldreda’s School could conquer anything.
    “Elinor, will you go build up the fire in the bedroom?” she asked. “We want it nice and toasty so Miss Fringle won’t need to snuggle next to a cold corpse for warmth.”
    “But the light of the fire will make her see