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While Mad paid the hansom driver, June went to the school’s main door. She used the ring knocker, tapping it urgently against the strike plate. “Hello,” she called out, “Mr. Ribston? Mr. Ribston, are you in there?”

As she waited for a response, a trio of boisterous navvies turned onto the street, laughing and staggering. Despite the early hour, they were already well in liquor and hunting for amusement.

“What’s this?” one of them exclaimed as he caught sight of June at the door. “Does the pretty little tart want company?”

She ignored him, continuing to tap at the door.

“C’mere, ducky,” the navvy persisted as they came closer, “we’ll ’ave us a bit o’ fun. Fancy a pint?”

The hansom cab pulled away, revealing Mad’s towering form. Abruptly the laughter and catcalling stopped.

As Mad ventured onto the dimly lit footpath, he looked like Lucifer ready for carnage. “Evenin’, mate,” he said casually. “Did I hear you talking to the lady?”

“No.” The man whitened with alarm. “Talkin’ to meself, sir, that’s all.” The trio began to back away.

Mad watched them intently and began to follow. “What color’s that cap, mate?” he asked mildly, murder in his face.

June’s eyes widened. She seized his arm, anchoring him next to her. “Brown,” she said hastily. “It’s brown.”

“Looks purple,” he said, straining forward.

The navvies turned and fled.

“It’s the brownest brown I ever saw!” June hung on to his arm until she felt his tension ease. “Come inside the school with me. Come on.”

She tugged him to the door and knocked rapidly.

The hatch of a square peephole in one of the doors opened. Eyes like hard little chips squinted through the iron grille that covered the opening.

“What do you want?” the watchman, Lionel Ribston, asked.

“Mr. Ribston, it’s me, June Rummage. I’m here for class.”

“You’re late.”

“I know. Let me in.”

Ribston was about to reply, when he saw Mad’s huge dark form coming up behind June, his menacing shadow enveloping her. “Bugger me,” the guard exclaimed, blanching. “Can’t help you, girl. Just give him what he wants, and shout for a constable after.”

June puffed out a breath of exasperation. “He’s not attacking me, you gatless rectal mole. He’s my escort. Open the bloody door!”

“He ain’t the sort I’m supposed to let inside the building.”

“He’s a relation of mine,” June said.

The guard looked dubious. “Relation how?”

“He’s me cousin.”

Unfortunately, at the same time, Mad replied helpfully, “Uncle.”

June groaned inwardly, but told Ribston, “He’s me cousin’s uncle.” Before he tried to make sense of that, she said, “Open the door before he breaks it down.”

Slowly the little hatch lowered. The mortice deadlock clacked, a chain unlatched, and the round knob moved in a grudging rotation.

Ribston backed away and gave them a baleful glare. “Don’t be makin’ no trouble in there,” he warned, “or I’ll boot your arse out on the pavement.”

“I ’eard you, mate,” Mad said easily.