"Is the room too warm, Miss Worthington?" Miss Moore asks when Felicity clears her throat a fourth time. Felicity shakes her head. She brings her boot down on mine with a slight pressure. "Ouch!"
"Miss Doyle? Are you all right?" Miss Moore asks.
"Yes, fine, thank you," I say, moving my feet away.
"Tell me, ladies, how are things at Spence?" Miss Moore asks, saving me.
"We've a new teacher," Ann blurts out.
"Oh?" Miss Moore asks, buttering a thick slice of crusty bread. Her face is a mask. Does it hurt to hear she's been replaced?
"Yes," Ann continues. "A Miss McCleethy. She comes to us from Saint Victoria's School for Girls in Wales."
Miss Moore's butter knife slips, leaving a thick cap of butter on her thumb. "That shan't make me sweet enough to eat, I should think." She smiles and we all laugh at her wit. "Saint Victoria's. I can't say as I've heard of it. And is your Miss McCleethy a very fine teacher?"
"She's teaching us archery," Felicity says.
Miss Moore raises an eyebrow."How very unusual."
"Felicity is quite good," Ann says.
"I'm sure she is," Miss Moore says."Miss Doyle, what do you think of this Miss McCleethy?"
"I can't say as yet." Felicity and I exchange glances that do not go unnoticed by Miss Moore.
"Do I sense dissatisfaction?"
"Gemma is convinced she's a witch," Felicity confesses.
"Really? Did you spy her broomstick, Miss Doyle?"
"I never said she was a witch," I protest.
Ann jumps in, nearly breathless. She loves demonic intrigue. "Gemma told us she arrived at Spence in the dead of night--just as a terrible storm raged!" Miss Moore's eyes go wide."Heavens! Extreme rain? In December? In England? A sign of witchery, to be sure." They all share a laugh at my expense."Do go on. I want to hear the part where Miss McCleethy feeds children into her oven."
There's a fresh wave of giggles from Felicity and Ann.
"She and Mrs. Nightwing went into the East Wing,"I say."I overheard them talking about securing something in London. They were making plans together."
Felicity narrows her eyes."You didn't tell us this!"
"It happened the night before last. I was the only one there. They caught me outside the doors and were angry with me. And Miss McCleethy brought me warm milk with peppermint."
"Peppermint?" Miss Moore says, furrowing her brow.
"She said it would help me sleep."
"It is an herb known to soothe. Curious that she should know it."
"She has a strange ring, with two snakes intertwined."
"Snakes, you say? Odd."
"She asked about my amulet, too!" I say. "And about my mother."
"And what did you tell her?" Miss Moore asks.
"Nothing," I reply.
Miss Moore sips her tea."I see."
"She is an old friend of Mrs. Nightwing's, though she looks to be several years younger," Felicity muses.
Ann shudders."Perhaps she's not. Perhaps she's made a pact with the devil!"
"Not a very good one if she's still teaching at a finishing school in England," Miss Moore notes wryly.
"Or perhaps she's Circe," I say at last. Miss Moore's teacup halts halfway to her lips."You've lost me."
"Circe. Sarah Rees-Toome? She was the one from Spence who caused the fire and destroyed the Order, or at least that's what we
read in the diary of Mary Dowd. Do you remember?" Ann says breathlessly.
"Remember? How could I forget? That little book was instrumental in my dismissal."
An uncomfortable silence descends. Had Miss Moore not discovered us reading that diary, had she not read aloud to us from its pages, she might never have been dismissed from Spence. But she did, and that sealed her fate with Nightwing.
"We are so sorry, Miss Moore," Ann says, staring at the Turkish rug.
Felicity adds,"It was mostly Pippa's doing, you know."
"Was it?" Miss Moore asks. We sip our tea guiltily. "Careful with blame. It's a boomerang. Anyway, it's done now. But this Sarah Rees-Toome--Circe--if she did exist . . ."
"Oh, she did!" I insist. I know it for a fact.
". . . didn't she die in the fire at Spence?"
"No," Felicity adds, wide-eyed. "She only wanted people to think she'd died. She's still running about."