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“What did you mean by that remark earlier?” she asks. Her gaze is penetrating. My toast is suddenly a thick lump going down.

“What remark?” I ask.

“You don’t recall what you said?”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall anything,” I lie.

She holds my gaze a moment longer, then offers milk for the tea, and I accept.

“Did Mother Elena say why she painted the hex marks?” she asks, changing the subject.

“She believes it will protect us,” I say carefully. “She believes someone is trying to bring back the dead.”

My headmistress betrays no emotion. “Mother Elena isn’t well,” she says, dismissing it.

I spoon preserves onto my toast. “Mrs. Nightwing, why are you rebuilding the East Wing?”

Mrs. Nightwing pours herself a cup of tea, no milk or sugar to sweeten it. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s been twenty-five years since the fire,” I say. “Why now?”

Mrs. Nightwing picks a fluff of lint from her skirt and smooths the fabric flat. “It has taken us years to secure the funds, else we’d have done it sooner. It is my hope that the restoration of the East Wing will rub the cobwebs from our reputation and give us a new measure of esteem.” She sips her tea and makes a face, but though it’s clearly too bitter, she does not reach for the sugar bowl. “Every year, I lose girls to newer schools such as Miss Pennington’s. Spence is seen as a debutante grown old; her fortunes dwindle. This school has been my life’s work. I must do everything within my power to see that it continues.

“Miss Doyle?” Mrs. Nightwing’s penetrating gaze is back. I force a pleasant expression. “I did not mean to speak so freely, but I feel you can be trusted, Miss Doyle. You have endured your share of hardship. It seasons one, builds character.” She offers me a miserly smile.

“And do you also trust Miss McCleethy?” I hold fast to my teacup, avoiding her eyes.

“What a question. Of course I do,” she answers.

“As a sister, would you say?” I press.

“As a friend and a colleague,” Mrs. Nightwing replies.

Despite the tea, my throat feels dry. “And what of Wilhelmina Wyatt? Did you trust her?”

This time, I do chance a look at my headmistress. Her lips press into a line. “Where did you hear that name?”

“She was a Spence girl, was she not? Mrs. Spence’s niece?”

“She was,” Mrs. Nightwing says, tight-lipped. I’ll not pry information from her so easily.

“Why does she not come round?” I say, feigning innocence. “As one of Spence’s proud daughters.”

“She was not one of its proud daughters but one of its disappointments, I’m afraid,” my headmistress sniffs. “She tried to stop us from restoring the East Wing.”

“But why would she do that?”

Mrs. Nightwing folds her napkin neatly and lays it on the tray. “I cannot say. After all, it was at her suggestion that we undertook the restoration in the first place.”

“Miss Wyatt’s suggestion?” I say, confused.

“Yes.” Mrs. Nightwing sips her tea. “And she took something that belonged to me.”

“Belonged to you?” I say. “What was it?”

“A relic entrusted to my care. A valuable piece. More tea?” Mrs. Nightwing raises the teapot.

“Was it a dagger?” I push.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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