Gabriel, still irked by the teaching role that had been thrust upon him, had done the minimum preparation possible for his A-level class. He’d got most of the information about The Crucible from the foreword to the textbook, which he had barely skimmed, and from his own scant knowledge of the play.

Now, following the class, he found himself intrigued to learn more about it. It wasn’t a text he had studied himself at school or university. But the girls had responded to it really well, coming up with intelligent questions and interesting ideas. He owed them more than to be half-hearted in his teaching.

There was another reason though. That girl, that voice.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Leonie Wilson. She and the other girl, the annoying one, both had a clear talent for acting.

He was still thinking about the reading as he walked through the courtyard, where he was joined by Sister Joan, the Head of English. A pleasant but no-nonsense woman in her late fifties, she had keen grey eyes and was astute enough to know that a young, handsome teacher would have caused a ripple of interest among the girls. Regardless of his status as a man of the cloth.

"How did you find your first class, Father Gabriel?" she asked.

Gabriel wasn’t sure how best to respond. "Different than I had expected," he told her honestly.

"Indeed. I trust the girls behaved? They can be unruly with new staff members."

They hadn’t been at all unruly. "They seemed very engaged with the text," he said.

Sister Joan frowned. "You’re reading The Crucible with them, aren’t you?" she asked.

"Yes." Not the most suitable text for a convent school, Gabriel thought.

"You know that the sixth form are supposed to put on a play? We encourage it, to give the girls a feel for the theatrical dimension to the texts they’re studying. Usually we do whatever Shakespeare is on the syllabus, but I wonder if this term we might try something more contemporary? How would you feel about co-producing The Crucible for the sixth form performance?"

Gabriel had a sudden flash vision of Leonie on stage, wildly flinging accusations of witchcraft around. "Co-produce?" he asked, trying to quell the disturbingly appealing image.

"Sister Rosalind, who teaches History of Art, also has background in Theatre Studies, although it’s not a subject we currently offer here. Her skills come in very useful for our school productions, but it’s challenging work to do alone. If you have sufficient time to assist her, I am sure she would be very glad," Sister Joan said.

Gabriel wasn’t sure that he wanted to give up any of his free time as he had planned to use it to work on his thesis. But he sensed the Head of English’s request wasn’t something that could be declined.

"I’d be happy to discuss it with her," he told Sister Joan.

The older nun smiled. "That’s settled then. You can arrange a rehearsal schedule with her and begin casting next week."

What had he got himself into? If this was God’s plan for his career, it was a strange one. Gabriel had thought that the remoteness and quiet of the place might at least be his recompense for having to teach a load of over-privileged girls. Now it seemed he was to sacrifice his leisure hours as well.

Yet when he thought of listening to the American girl, of seeing the emotions on her face as she read the lines, conjuring up the spirit of the character, he found himself less averse to the prospect.

They might make something of the production, he thought. He had been introduced to Sister Rosalind earlier and remembered her as a pleasant and intelligent woman. If he were forced to work with the opposite sex, rather than have the male seclusion he sought, she would at least be bearable as a colleague.

He knew many of the girls had been looking at him as they weren’t supposed to look at a teacher, let alone a priest. But that was to be expected. They were young women, it was natural they would seek male attention. Gabriel cast his thoughts back to a particular woman and his eyes narrowed from the anger and betrayal he still felt. She had certainly been happy enough to seek such attention in more than one place.

Despite his vows, despite his commitment to what he believed was his calling, he couldn’t help wish that a certain girl had been among the ones eyeing him up. Because he had to admit to himself that he had been fighting the urge to gaze at her.

Gabriel had planned to rotate the parts for the next scene but he couldn’t resist hearing Leonie read Abigail again.

Now, as he sat in his chair suffering the most unpriestly physical reaction ever, and hoping it would subside by the end of class, he regretted his decision.

Leonie was reciting lines where she begged the married man she loved, her former employer John Proctor, to renew his affection. She accused him of "clutching her back" behind his home, and sweating like a stallion.

Gabriel was sweating and he feared greatly that he would end up dreaming about it.

He needed a cold shower.

As Leonie and Mai, who had been given the role of John Proctor, continued to read their lines, he was having to concentrate on his breathing.

Now Leonie was saying how she knew John Proctor, using the word to mean carnal knowledge, and how she could not sleep for dreaming about him.

With some difficulty, Gabriel managed to bring his thoughts back to the themes and structure of the scene, and get the girls discussing it in groups. To try and distract his mind from his body he recited some lines of poetry to himself in his head. Only to be interrupted by one of the girls asking him a question.

"Do you think that some of them really were doing witchcraft, Father?"

The questioner was an earnest-faced girl. Gabriel had forgotten her name. It was Jane or Mary or something. "Twenty years after it all happened, they were all exonerated and families got compensation. I think it’s recognised that it was all a kind of mob hysteria," he told her.

"But do you think it’s really possible? Witchcraft, I mean? Might some of them really have been conjuring spirits?"

Gabriel shifted in his seat. "I think that’s more of a Hallowe’en perception of it all."

"But spirits are real, aren’t they?" another girl asked. "What about exorcisms? The Catholic church still does exorcisms, doesn’t it?"

"Yes, but…"

"Have you ever done an exorcism, Father? Or attended one?"

Before Gabriel could explain that he hadn’t, there was a rush of questions.

"Is it true that it gets very cold when the spirit is confronted?" "Do you still use a bell, book and candle?" "I heard that gravestones can crack in two, has that happened to you?" "What’s it like when a person is exorcised, do they froth at the mouth and cry out all the names of Satan?"

This last question came from the little Hong Kong girl, Mai. Gabriel was quite certain she was winding him up. He had caught a glint in her eye more than a few times, and seen her whispering to her neighbour. She didn’t appear to take anything seriously.

"This is getting off track from our study of the play." His voice held a commanding tone which silenced them. "If you have questions about… other matters, I am sure Father Stephen can address them." He avoided saying exorcisms. He imagined the last thing that Stephen wanted was to hold a seminar on demons and satanic entities. It was a thorny enough issue for the Church.

He managed to bring them back to the text and got each group to relay what their thoughts were. As ever, he was impressed by many of the answers. There were some keen minds.

Unfortunately when he got around to the group with the earnest-faced girl, they were back onto the subject of witchcraft again. "We were wondering whether it was real, you see, because if they really did do and see all these things, then maybe Abigail was justified in her accusations."

Leonie put up her hand. "There’s a theory it was ergot poisoning," she said.

"Ergot?" The earnest-faced girl had never heard of it.

"It’s a grain fungus. It makes you hallucinate, like LSD," Leonie said. "You get fits and convulsions, which they may have mistaken for demonic possession. It’s just one theory anyway."

Gabriel was grateful to her for rescuing him and cast her an appreciative glance. He needed to do more background study of this play. All the more so since he had agreed to help Sister Rosalind put on a production of it. She had suggested that he direct and she produce, and he had agreed. Gabriel had done some theatre in his own school and university days so it was a familiar enough arena.

Which reminded him, he needed to tell the girls. There was going to be a notice posted on the main board in the next day or so, but he may as well tell them now.

"On the subject of this play, I have a short announcement. The Head of English has suggested we use the text for this term’s play, instead of the Shakespeare."

There was a loud murmur of interest at this.

Gabriel continued. "We’ll be holding a casting on Saturday for those who would like to take part. It won’t make a difference to your coursework grades, this is purely for interest. So those of you with other commitments - " he cast a glance at Harry, whom he now knew was heavily taken up with her duties as school lacrosse captain " - needn’t worry if you can’t take part. Those that can, keep an eye on the noticeboard."

I have to play Abigail.

It was all Leonie could think. It was all-consuming. It was a role she had always wanted, and now that they were studying the text, she couldn’t bear for anyone else to be given it.

I have to win that role.

She knew instinctively that Suki was going to want it too, and that only one of them could succeed. Leonie glanced across at her dark haired rival, and saw the glint of challenge in her eyes.

If she, Leonie, did win it, Suki was going to make her life a living hell.

But it would still be worth it.