By the time Julian caught up to them, Pickmore had already entered the school and Cait was in a chair, her foot resting on an ottoman as Mrs. Wiggons examined her ankle.
“It appears to be only slightly sprained, but you should stay off of it tonight and likely the next few days.”
“I am certain after I sleep all will be well,” Cait insisted.
“What happened? Did you trip?”
“Students!” Pickmore ground out as he had before.
After Cait had explained what had happened, Mrs. Wiggons, mouth firm, marched from the parlor. Julian did not envy those students. If he had done the same while he was at Eton, his housemother would have likely taken a switch to him, especially if someone had been injured. Did Mrs. Wiggons employ a switch for troublesome students as well?
“Cait, Mrs. Wiggons told me what happened. Are you alright?” Miss Bernadette Hamilton rushed into the room. She was another teacher that had begun at the same time as Cait.
“I am fine. Everyone is making too much out of this.”
For the fact that she could not walk, and it was caused by students, it was a serious matter.
A moment later, the three youngest students and newest terrible trio were ushered into the parlor, their heads hanging in shame, or perhaps with guilt, as they lined up, side-by-side, hands folded in front of them. One of the older teachers, who Julian had not met but had only seen, stood behind them.
Mrs. Wiggons returned and escorted the oldest terrible trio. They, however, were dressed in bedclothes and modestly covered with a dressing gown over the night shift. Unlike the three younger ones the older ones were rather confused as to why they were here.
It was Eliza who looked over and frowned. “Abigail what have you been about? There is dirt on the back of your dress.”
Abigail just glared at Eliza but did not answer.
Rosemary leaned toward Lady Sophia. “At least it is not us in trouble for a change,” she whispered even though everyone in the room likely heard her.
“Then why are we here?” Lady Sophia asked.
At that Mrs. Wiggons slammed the parlor door and pointed at the youngest trio. “Why were the three of you outside at this time of night?”
Abigail lifted her chin. “How do you know it was us?”
“You are still dressed when you should have been ready to retire.”
“Just because we had not prepared for bed does not mean we were out.”
Julian could not believe the defiance of the student. Had he engaged such an attitude with any of his professors or housemother, he would have been sent down.
Mrs. Wiggons glared and took a step toward Abigail.
“We were hunting for pixies,” Mary blurted out.
Abigail glared in warning.
“Pixies? Why were you looking for pixies?” Julian asked. He had thought they were seeking cloaks of selkies.
“We heard Miss Hamilton and Captain Pickmore talking about pixies in Cornwall. We thought to catch one.”
“You should not have been listening to our conversation,” Miss Hamilton chastised. “Further, I never claimed that there were pixies. I was sharing a story from my childhood.”
“You said there were pixies,” Ruth said.
“There are no pixies in Cornwall or anywhere. It is a myth. A story told to children,” Miss Hamilton retorted in anger.
“I have had enough of each of you,” Mrs. Wiggons declared. “I had been under the impression that Eliza, Rosemary and Lady Sophia had grown out of this foolishness.”
“We have,” Lady Sophia insisted. “I can assure you that we do not believe in pixies or any of that other nonsense.”
