"Are you really sure that all of you want to accompany me?" I asked my classmates at large. "I don't think it is really necessary for all of us to go, and it will get each of us in trouble, that much is certain."

"We already talked about that at length, last night," Nancy Kerrington said, speaking for all of them. "We decided that it is best if we all go, because it is highly unlikely that St. Albert's will expel our entire class."

The other girls nodded in agreement.

"Alright then."

We took a brief detour to the school secretary's office, to shove an envelope underneath the door. The envelope contained a brief note I had composed the night before, addressed to our class teacher Ms Jefferson. In that note I explained that circumstances beyond our control had forced our class to go on an unauthorized excursion. I apologized for any inconveniences this was going to create for the school and promised that we would return as soon as possible.

I was under no delusion that Ms Jefferson or, for that matter, Headmistress Stuart would be anything short of furious after reading that note, but hopefully they might be a bit less worried about our sudden disappearance.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, we left the school building and continued to the bus stop where we caught the 6 a.m. bus to Arlesten.

A ticket for local traffic by bus was included with the tuition for every student at St. Albert's, but twenty minutes later at the Arlesten train station we had to pay the train fare from Arlesten to London for thirteen students. As it turned out, the four 'rich girls' in our class, Dorothy Barnett and her friends, conveniently carried enough spare money with them to pay for that.

On the train, we were a fairly conspicuous group. Thirteen girls in matching school uniforms. This was going to make it easy to track us, but there was nothing to be done about that.  We could only hope that it would take the school administration some time to notice that we were gone, and I expected that they would be loathe to immediately inform the police. Certainly, the disappearance of thirteen – or, with Natty, even fourteen – students from an exclusive boarding school would be bad publicity for that school.

We settled down in a railway carriage, fervently hoping that the other passengers would take us for a group of students on a school excursion. At first, we were all pretty anxious and nervous about that. But when nothing happened, and nobody asked us any questions, we gradually relaxed. We took our seats, resigning ourselves to the boring four-hour ride, looking out of the windows, dozing and chatting in small groups.

Mallory Carmichael appeared to still be mad at me, as she studiously ignored and avoided me.

Eventually, the conductor entered the carriage to check our tickets. He took a puzzled look at our group and then asked us:"So where is your teacher, girls? Who is in charge here?"

For a moment, we were too shocked to react. Then Mallory took the initiative.

"That would be me, sir," she gravely told him. "As a prefect, I am in charge of this group. We are students of St. Carmichael's Academy for Specially Gifted Girls. You might have heard of it."

The man shook his head. "Can't say that I have, Miss."

"That's odd." Mallory frowned. "St. Carmichael's  is a prestigious, well-known school. We are on a special class excursion to London."

"I see." The conductor looked at her, bemused. "Aren't you a bit young to act as a prefect, though, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I get that reaction a lot, sir." Mallory offered him a confident smile. "At St. Carmichael's, students are taught about responsibility and leadership early on, and I am proud to have been assigned prefect at such a young age. It is not always easy, mind you. As you can see, these girls," she indicated the rest of us, "are rather an unruly bunch." She lowered her voice.  "Her," she pointed towards Dorothy Barnett, who was placidly solving a crossword puzzle, "she is the worst of them all. You have got your hands full just trying to keep her in line."

Dorothy looked up from her newspaper to shoot Mallory an outraged look. "That is so untrue."

"Frankly, she looks perfectly well-behaved to me, Miss," the conductor observed.

"Thank you, sir," Dorothy replied, with great dignity.

"Trust me, appearances can be misleading, especially in her case," Mallory told him.

She continued to chat with the conductor while he checked our tickets.

I was gratified to note that throughout this exchange the other girls admirably managed to keep their countenance, even during the repeated mentioning of 'St. Carmichael's Academy for Specially Gifted Girls'. Nevertheless I was glad when the conductor had finished checking the passengers' tickets and progressed to the next carriage.

We arrived at London Central in the early afternoon. I half expected that there would be policemen waiting for us on the platform, but fortunately that was not the case.

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