The students at Saint Etheldreda's School for Young Ladies breakfasted on bread and butter and milk, and lunched on eggs gathered from the henhouse. At teatime they had toast and tea. To an outside observer these might have seemed to be the only events of this quiet day at Saint Etheldreda's school. But as so often the case with groups of young ladies, the real intrigue took place underneath the surface, in small domestic matters, in conversations, in whisperings, and in private thoughts.
I especially love that passage because it comes AFTER the girls have buried their headmistress and her brother—who were poisoned during dinner the night before by a person or persons unknown—in the backyard. I SWOON.