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Alice turned her head to look out of the window at her family; Ursula was seated on her chair, her sketchbook in hand, watercolors on a small table at her side. The younger siblings were working in the garden, and her older brother was engaged in repairing a part of the fence. She looked back at Maisie.

“I went to the college wanting to kill Greville Liddicote and I found I couldn’t do such a thing—it was a stupid, childish idea. But I burned with hatred for him, if you can understand that. So, am I sorry? No, I can’t say I am, entirely. But I am sorry about what came to pass in another way, Miss Dobbs.” She stopped talking as the words caught in her throat.

“Go on, Alice.” Maisie set down her cup.

“My father would have been so very disappointed in me. He would have been . . . so sad. He was a pacifist, you see. He did not care for killing. We hardly ever had meat on the table, not simply because there was rarely enough money, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of animals being killed. He died because he did not believe that one person should take the life of another, so I am haunted by what I did. I might not have done whatever Dunstan Headley had to do to kill Dr. Liddicote, but I am just as much to blame. As I said, part of me thinks, ‘Good riddance, you deserved it all.’ And the other thinks, ‘Oh, poor man.’ ”

On the road back to Cambridge, Maisie wondered whether MacFarlane and Stratton were still at the Old Fenland Mill, or whether they had returned to Scotland Yard. For his part, Stratton hated being apart from his son. She hoped they had decided to remain in Cambridge until at least next week, for she wanted to see them both on a matter of some urgency.

Chapter Nineteen

According to the landlord at the Old Fenland Mill, the gentlemen had returned to London, but were expected back in Cambridge on Monday—they had asked for their rooms to be held for another week. Maisie thanked the man and was about to leave when the aroma of cooking coming from the kitchen caught her senses; she decided to take supper at the inn and gather her thoughts. Having ordered a half-pint of cider and a plate of beef pie and potatoes, she took her drink over to a seat by the window, which was ajar. As she settled herself, she heard her name called.

“Miss Dobbs! Miss Dobbs! Would you care to join us?”

Maisie looked up in the direction of the voice, and saw her student Daniel, with a group from her second-year class. They raised their glasses in her direction, so she took up her drink and joined them, leaving her jacket on her chair so she could return to her seat to eat supper when it was served.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen—I won’t squeal on you, but I know that at least one of your number shouldn’t be in this hostelry. College rules are stricter than the laws of the land when it comes to pubs.” Maisie smiled as she seated herself on the chair Daniel had pulled up for her.

“We know you won’t tell, Miss Dobbs. And we’re doing nothing to give the college a bad name,” offered Daniel, raising his glass to his lips.

“Have you all made the most of your days off?” Maisie smiled again to let them know she was teasing—just a little. “I’ll be checking my pigeonhole tomorrow morning before the memorial service, and I do believe I should see a number of completed essays waiting for my attention.”

One of the students reddened, while another claimed he worked better at the last moment, so although his essay had not been delivered, it would be there in the morning. Maisie raised an eyebrow at the young man. “On a Sunday morning? When I know very well there’s a dance at the hall along the road this evening—I’m surprised you’re not there already.”

“Just a quick one before we go, Miss Dobbs,” said Daniel.

The others laughed, then went quiet. It appeared they did not know quite what to say with one of their teachers in their midst. It was Daniel, again, who broke the silence.

“Do you think the police will be at the college much longer, Miss Dobbs? They seem to have been there a long time, and done a lot of questioning.