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"No," she says, blushing. "It was terrible." But a sheepish smile lights up her face anyway.
Miss McCleethy stands to address us. "Thank you, Miss Bradshaw. That was a nice start to our day."
A nice start? It was lovely. Perfect, in fact. Miss McCleethy has no passion at all, I decide. I shall be forced to give her two bad conduct marks in my invisible ledger.
"I look forward to meeting each of you and hope to be of service. You may find that I am an exacting teacher. I expect your very best at all times. But I think you will also find that I am fair. If you put forth effort, you shall be rewarded. If not, you shall suffer the consequences."
Mrs. Nightwing beams. She has found a kindred spirit, which is to say, someone devoid of all human joy. "Thank you, Miss McCleethy," she says. She sits, which is our blessed cue to begin eating.
Ah, grand. Now to the bacon. I lift two thick slices onto my plate. They are like heaven.
"She sounds a jolly sort," Felicity whispers naughtily, nodding toward Miss McCleethy. The others titter behind closed mouths. Only Felicity can get away with such outright cheek. If I were to make such a remark, I'd be greeted with stony silence.
"What a strange accent she has," Cecily says."Foreign." "Doesn't sound Welsh to me," Martha adds. "More Scottish, I should think."
Elizabeth Poole drops two lumps of sugar into her brackish tea and stirs daintily. She's wearing a delicate bracelet of golden ivy, no doubt an early gift from her grandfather, who is rumored to be wealthier than the Queen."She could be Irish, I suppose," she says in her tight, high voice."I do hope she isn't a Papist."
It wouldn't be worth my time to point out that our own Brigid is Irish and Catholic. For people like Elizabeth, the Irish are fine--in their place. And that place is living under stairs, working for the English.
"I certainly hope she is an improvement on Miss Moore." Cecily takes a bite of jam on toast.
At Miss Moore's name, Felicity and Ann go silent, eyes down. They haven't forgotten that we were responsible for the dismissal of our former art teacher, a woman who took us into the caves behind Spence to show us the primitive goddess paintings there. It was Miss Moore who told me about my amulet and its connection to the Order. It was Miss Moore who told us stories about the Order, and that, in the end, was what led to her fall. Miss Moore was my friend, and I miss her.
Cecily wrinkles her nose. "All those stories about magical women . . . what was it?" "The Order," Ann says.
"Oh, yes. The Order," Cecily says. She gives the next bit a dramatic flair."Women who could create illusions and change the world." This makes Elizabeth and Martha laugh and draws the attention of our instructors.
"Utter nonsense, if you ask me,'' Cecily says in a quiet voice.
"They were only myths. She told us that," I say, trying not to meet the eyes of either Ann or Felicity.
"Exactly. What purpose did she have in telling us stories about sorceresses? She was supposed to teach us how to draw lovely pictures, not take us into a damp cave to see primitive scratchings by some old witches. It's a wonder we didn't all take a chill and die." "You needn't be so melodramatic," Felicity says.
"It's true! In the end, she got what she deserved. Mrs. Nightwing was right to dismiss her. And you were absolutely right to put the blame where it belonged, Fee--on Miss Moore. If it hadn't been for her, perhaps dear Pippa..." Cecily doesn't finish.
"Perhaps what?" I say icily.
"I shouldn't say," Cecily demurs. She is rather like a cat with a small mouse in her mouth.
"It was epilepsy that killed Pippa," Felicity says, fiddling with her napkin."She had a fit. . . ."
Cecily lowers her voice. "But Pippa was the first to tell Mrs. Nightwing about that wretched diary you were all reading. She was the one who confessed that you'd been out to the caves at night, and that you had gotten the idea from Miss Moore herself. I think that a strange coincidence, don't you?"
"The scones are exceptionally good today," Ann says, trying to change the subject. She cannot bear conflict of any kind. She fears that it will always be her fault somehow.
"What are you accusing her of?" I blurt out.
"I think you know what I'm saying."
I can contain myself no longer. "Miss Moore was guilty of nothing but sharing a bit of folklore. I suggest we refrain from speaking of her altogether."
"Well, I like that," Cecily says, laughing. The others follow her lead. Cecily is an idiot, but why is it that she still has the power to make me feel foolish? "Of course, you would defend her, Gemma. It was that strange amulet of yours that began the conversation in the first place, as I recall. What is it called again?"
"The crescent eye," Ann answers, crumbs sticking to her bottom lip.
Elizabeth nods, adding kindling to the fire."I don't think you ever told us exactly how you came to be in possession of it." Ann stops eating mid-scone, her eyes large. Felicity jumps in."She did say. A village woman gave it to her mother for protection. It was an Indian custom."
It is an amulet of the Order, given to me by my mother before she died. My mother, Mary Dowd, who with her friend, Sarah Rees-Toome, committed a vile act of sacrifice here at this very school more than twenty years ago and shattered the Order.
