My heart's hammering away in my chest."Miss Moore? We were wondering, that is, we rather hoped you might tell us more stories of the Order?"
Her glare is stony."We've been down that road, haven't we?"
"Yes, but it can't possibly lead to trouble now that you've already been let go from Spence," Felicity says bluntly.
Miss Moore gives a half laugh."Miss Worthington, your gall astounds me."
"We thought, perhaps, you might know certain things. About the Order. Yourself," I say haltingly.
"Myself," Miss Moore repeats. "Yes," I say, feeling foolish in one hundred different ways, but there is no chance to stop and take it back now, so I might as well continue. "We thought perhaps you . . . had even been counted among their ranks."
It's been said. My teacup shakes in my hand. I wait for Miss Moore to scold us, throw us out, admit she knows all, anything. I am not prepared for her laugh.
"You thought . . . ? That I . . . ? Oh, great heavens!" She's laughing so hard, she can't finish.
Ann and Felicity begin laughing too, as if they thought it ridiculous from the start. Traitors.
"Oh, dear me," Miss Moore says, wiping her eyes. "Yes, it's true. I am a grand sorceress of the Order. Living here in these three rooms, taking pupils to pay the rent--it's all an artful ruse designed to keep my true identity hidden."
My cheeks go hot. "I am sorry. We," I say, emphasizing the word,"simply thought that since you know so very much about the Order
"Oh, dear. What a disappointment I must be to you all." She takes a long look around the room, her gaze moving from the drawings of the seaside to those of the caves behind Spence and to the masks on the opposite wall. I fear we've really upset her."Why such interest in the Order?" she says at last.
"They were women who had power," Felicity says. "It isn't like how it is here."
"We have a woman on the throne," Miss Moore offers.
"By divine right," Ann mutters.
Miss Moore smiles bitterly."Yes. True."
"I suppose that's why the diary intrigued us so," I say."Imagine a world--these realms--where women rule, where a girl could have whatever she wished."
"That would be a fine place indeed." Miss Moore takes a sip of her tea. "I confess that the idea of the Order, the stories of them, has been a great fascination to me since girlhood. I suppose that I, too, liked the idea of a magical place when I was a girl of your age."
"But. . . but what if the realms really existed?" I ask.
Miss Moore regards us for a moment. She places her tea on the side table and sits back in her chair, thumbing the pocket watch she keeps pinned at her waist."Very well, I'll play. What if the realms really existed? What would they look like?"
"Beautiful beyond all imagining," Ann says dreamily.
Miss Moore points to a sketch she's done. "Ah. Like Paris, then?"
"Better!" Ann says.
"How would you know? You've never been to Paris," Felicity mocks. Ignoring Ann, she continues, "Imagine a world where whatever you wish can come true. Trees rain flowers. And dew becomes butterflies in your hand."
"There is a river, and when you look into it, you are beautiful," Ann says. "So beautiful that no one would ever ignore you again."
"Sounds very lovely," Miss Moore says gently. "And is it all like this? You said realms, plural. What are the other realms like?"
"We don't know," I say.
"We haven't been . . . imagined the rest," Ann says.
Miss Moore offers the plate of crumpets. "Who lives in these realms?"
"Spirits and creatures. Some of them aren't very nice," Ann says.
"They want control of the magic," I explain.
"Magic?'' Miss Moore repeats.
"Oh, yes. There is magic. Lots of it!" Felicity exclaims."The creatures would do anything to get it."
"Anything?" "Yes, anything," Ann says, with a dramatic flair.
"Can they get to it?" Miss Moore asks.
"Now they can. The magic used to be protected inside the runes," Ann continues, between bites."But the runes are gone and the magic is wild, there for anyone to use as they like."
Miss Moore looks as if she wants to ask a question, but Felicity rushes in."And Pippa's there, beautiful as ever," she says.
"You must miss her terribly," Miss Moore says. She turns the pocket watch over and over between her fingers."These stories are a lovely way of remembering her."