Curtain Call at the Lantern

"Dr Crane," said Pryce, with the caution of a man discussing a national monument, "is the Academy's proudest export. She taught deportment here for twelve years. Three boys from the wrong side of Saltmarsh, and she turned every one of them into a gentleman. Only one truly took."

"And her qualifications?"

His eyes flickered. "She has a doctorate. From Marchbank." He said it the way you'd say a name you'd been told to say. "It has never been my habit to ask to see the certificate."

"Was she at the Lantern last night?"

"Taking the air at the interval. She said so herself." He looked at his watch. "Eleven minutes, Miss Voss. I believe that's twelve."

You thanked him and stepped into a corridor where forty boys, in perfect time, stepped back against the wall to let you pass. Not one looked at you. It was the most polite thing you'd ever seen, and you'd never been so aware of being watched.