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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.
    “Yes, that’s correct,” I say softly.
    “They were most likely in league,” Cecily says to her followers in a whisper that is meant to be overheard.
"I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she were a . . .” Cecily stops suddenly for effect. I shouldn’t take the bait, but I do.
    “A what?”
    “Miss Doyle, do you not know that it’s rude to eavesdrop on others’ conversations?”
    “A what?” I press.
    A cruel smirk spreads across Cecily’s face. "A witch.”
    With the back of my hand, I knock the bowl of preserves onto Cecily’s plate. Some of the raspberry splatters across her dress so that she will have to change before Mademoiselle Le-Farge’s class. She’ll be late and lose marks.
    Cecily stands in outrage. "You did that on purpose, Gemma Doyle!”
    “Oh, how clumsy of me.” I make a diabolical face, baring my teeth.
"Or perhaps it was witchcraft.”
    Mrs. Nightwing rings a bell. "What is happening there? Miss Temple! Miss Doyle! Why are you creating such a scene?”
    “Miss Doyle deliberately knocked the preserves onto my dress!”
    I stand. “It was an accident, Mrs. Nightwing. I don’t know how I could have been so clumsy. Dear Cecily, here, let me help you.” Giving my best well-mannered smile, I swipe at her dress with my napkin, infuriating her.
    She pushes my hand away. "She’s lying, Mrs. Nightwing! She did it on purpose, didn’t she, Elizabeth?”
    Elizabeth, the obedient dog, comes to Cecily’s aid. “She did, Mrs. Nightwing. I saw it.”
    Felicity’s up now. “ That is a lie, Elizabeth Poole. You know very well that it was an accident. Our Gemma would never do such an unkind thing.”
    Well, that
is
a lie, but I’m grateful for it.
    Martha stands for Cecily. “She’s always had it in for our Cecily. She is a most uncivilized girl, Mrs. Nightwing.”
    “I resent that!” I say. I look to Ann for help. She sits meekly at the table, still eating and unwilling to enter the fray.
    “That is enough!” Mrs. Nightwing’s harsh voice silences us. “This is a fine welcome for our Miss McCleethy. She will probably pack her things and head for the hills rather than stay amongst the savages. I cannot possibly loose you upon an unsuspecting London like the hounds of Hades. Therefore, we shall spend the day perfecting our manners and reflecting in prayer until what emerges is the sort of young lady Spence would be proud to call her own. Now, let us finish our breakfast in peace without any further unseemly outbursts.”
    Reprimanded, we sit and resume our meal.
    “If I weren’t a Christian, I should tell her exactly what I think of her,” Cecily says to the others as if I can’t hear her clearly.
    “Are you a Christian, Miss Temple? I couldn’t be sure,” I say.
    “How would you know about Christian charity, Miss Doyle, raised among the heathens in India?” Cecily turns to Ann. “Dear Ann, you should take care not to be associated with such a girl,” she says, flicking her glance to me.
"She might do great harm to your reputation, and, truly, that is all you have to recommend you as a governess.”
    I have met the devil, and her name is Cecily Temple. The evil frog knows just how to sow fear and doubt in Ann—poor, orphaned Ann, a scholarship student who is only here at a distant cousin’s largesse, so that she might work for them when she leaves. Cecily and her ilk will never accept her, but they make sport of using her when it suits them.
    If I’d hoped that Ann would rise to the occasion, I was sadly mistaken.
    Ann does not say, “Why, Cecily, you really are a toad of a girl.” “Why, Cecily, thank heavens you’ve a fortune, for with that face you’ll need it.” “Why,