We stand outside in the cold for some time, but Miss McCleethy does not return, and we are in danger of missing our rendezvous with Franny. Reluctantly, we leave, and I have more questions than ever. What did Miss McCleethy want at Bedlam? What is she after? I feel certain that Miss McCleethy and Nell Hawkins are connected. What I don't know is how and why.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FELICITY INVITES US TO HER HOME FOR A VERY LATE tea. Our appetites stoked by adventure, we each devour several dainty sandwiches without apology.
"Well, what do you make of that? Miss McCleethy at Bedlam?" Felicity asks between bites.
"Perhaps Miss McCleethy has a lunatic relative?" Ann offers."One who is a deep embarrassment to the family."
"Or perhaps she was there to see Nell Hawkins," I say.
"We have no answers to that at present. Let's see what Miss Wyatt has to say that is of such interest to Miss McCleethy," Felicity says, commandeering the book, as I knew she would. "Knights Templar, Fraternal Masons, Hellfire Club, the Hassassins . . . the table of contents alone is a read. Ah, here it is. Page two hundred and fifty-five. The Order." She flips to the page and reads aloud.
"Each generation, young girls would be scrupulously trained to take their places within the Order's most privileged ranks. During the time of their sixteenth year, they would be watched closely to see who among them was chosen by the realms to have true power and whose power was but a flickering flame, burned down to ash. Those who were not chosen would be turned away, perhaps to a life of home and hearth, nevermore to think on their time with these powerful conjurers. Still others went on to a life of service, called upon by the Order in some fashion or another when the time arose.
"There are those who say the Order never existed save as a story like the tales of fairies, goblins, and witches, princesses, and the immortal gods of Mount Olympus that mark literature so prized by impressionable girls who wish to believe in such fancies. Others say these women were Celtic pagans who vanished into the mists of time as did Merlin, Arthur, and his knights. Still others whisper a darker tale: that one of the Order's own betrayed them with a human sacrifice. ..."
Felicity's eyes take in the page. She's reading to herself.
"You must read aloud!" I protest. "It's only what we already know," she says.
"Here, I shall read," I say, taking the book.
"The lunatics, the addicts, the drunks, the poor, or the starving, these poor unfortunate souls required the protection of the Order, for their minds were too troubled and weak to resist the voices of the dark spirits who could speak to them at any time. ..."
The drunk. The addict. I think of my father. But no, I've saved him. He is safe.
"If spirits are able to enter the minds of the insane, how can we be sure of Nell Hawkins?" Ann asks."What if they are already using her for ill purposes?"
Felicity agrees."It is a troubling thought."
There was Mr. Carey today, giving me his chilling warning, but Nell wasn't frightening. She was frightened. I shake my head. "I believe Nell is fighting very hard to keep any spirits from using her. It is why she is so difficult to reach, I'm sure."
"How long can she succeed?" Ann asks. I've no answer for this.
"Let me have another go," Felicity says, taking the book from me.
"It is a fact, " she reads aloud, "though some dispute this wisdom as folly, that the Order still exists today, their members gone into hiding. They recognize one another by a variety of symbols known only to their members. Among these are the crescent eye, the double lotus blossom, the rose, two snakes intertwined ..."
"Just like Miss McCleethy's ring! Miss Moore said it was a symbol," I say. "And I've seen a ring such as that in my vision of the three girls."
Ann's eyes widen."You have?"
"But that is not all." Felicity continues loudly. She does not enjoy being interrupted for any reason. "The priestesses of the Order also made use of the anagram. This device was particularly e fective in concealing their identities from those who hunted them. Thus, Jane Snow could become Jean Wons, and no one, save her sisters, would be the wiser." Felicity grabs a sheet of paper. "Let's make our own anagrams. I want to know what my secret name would be." She's giddy. Here in private, she's not the snob. She's not afraid of looking foolish in her enthusiasm.
"Very well," I say.
Felicity writes her name at the top of the page: Felicity Worthington. We stare at the letters, waiting for them to reveal a new and mysterious name.
