To escape the dangers of wartime London, Millie has been sent away to Wickford Hall, but what lurks there is far more sinister than anything war might bring.
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THERE'S SOMETHING WICKED STALKING WICKFORD HALL...
As war rages on, Mildred Cunningham...
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Miss Brodie hummed to herself as she walked the hall alone, her arms heavy with papers. The droning of voices drifted from each of the closed makeshift classrooms, the last classes of the day still in session. The last rays of the sun, a rare but welcome sight, filled the manor with golden light, making the whole house seem much more inviting.
The teacher rounded the corner into the main hall, and a folder slipped out of her stack, spilling its contents all over the floor of the hallway. Miss Brodie stooped down to scoop them up, muttering a curse under her breath. They had all been in order, and now...
A shadow loomed over her, blocking the golden light. Miss Brodie paused, her hands frozen over the mess of papers.
Had a cloud passed over the sun, or...?
Someone grabbed her by the shoulder—
Miss Brodie let the rest of her papers fall from her arms and leapt up, spinning to face whoever had snuck up on her.
"Mildred!" Miss Brodie gasped. "You startled me."
"Sorry," Millie said, her expression solemn. "I didn't mean to."
Miss Brodie took a deep breath, and put her hand on her chest, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. "What... What are you doing out of class?"
"I need to speak with you," Millie said. "You said 'anytime' didn't you?"
"I... I did, didn't I?" Miss Brodie said, hastily scooping up the papers in one big pile. She'd have to sort through them later. "Well, if you need me, let's talk."
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Millie let Miss Brodie guide her down a side hall, to a small study the students used as a sitting room. It wasn't much, having only an old sagging couch and a pair of tattered armchairs, but the room was empty, and at least a fire had been lit, so it was warm. Miss Brodie dumped her mess of papers on one of the side tables, then swept her arm out for Millie to sit.
Millie took her spot in the chair closest to the fire. A chill still clung to her, though it had been days since she'd escaped to the churchyard. The feeling hadn't quite returned to the tips of her fingers. She rubbed her hands together, hoping the friction would help.
