by Sofia Daniel
Up ahead, Gideon stood at the front door with his hand on the latch, ready to pull it open once I’d ejected Maxwell.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“If you’re not flirting with me to gather information for Elizabeth, you’re trying to position me in front of a camera to get me expelled or keep me in place for a police raid. What kind of moron would trust a person like you?”
“I’ll prove my loyalty.”
“To Elizabeth?” I yanked harder on his tie, bringing him to eye level. The sight of his bruises up close and in the dim light made my stomach drop.
“To you,” he said from between clenched teeth.
My gaze dropped down to his neck. “With a track record like yours, I won’t hold my breath.”
Gideon opened the door, and cold air curled around us.
I released Maxwell’s tie, letting him step out through the threshold. Out by the gates, Orlando stood under the lights, shouting at him to hurry, but he shooed his friend and brother away and turned back to me.
“Don’t deny our chemistry,” he said.
“You’re nothing special. I could have felt that with Orlando, Sammy Kettering, or any guy with a working dick.”
Maxwell winced. “That’s harsh.“
At the end of the courtyard, Kendrick and Orlando stepped through the gates into the driveway. I turned my gaze back to Maxwell. “You’d better hurry. They’re leaving without you.”
As Maxwell descended the entrance steps, a pang of sadness struck my heart. Why did I feel disappointment that he’d given up so easily? I didn’t want him, and after reading through Mother’s letters, the thought of anyone stalking me gave me the shivers.
At the bottom of the steps, he turned around. “I’d never felt so connected to another human being since that night.”
The words lit up my pent-up sorrow like a thrown match. “If that’s true, why didn’t you warn me about the raid?” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “You knew what the barking dogs meant but you didn’t warn me to hide in the bathroom or get dressed.”
His shoulders drooped. “I did it for my brother.”
My head shook from side to side. “So he could become the next Lord Liddell?”
Maxwell spread his arms wide. “Elizabeth was all he’s ever wanted. My parents were counting on him to join our families.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “Now that she’s turned on us, Ken despises her.”
I pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can’t either of you see she’s never been interested in men?”
“She’s saving herself.”
“You idiots put virginity on a pedestal.” I shook my head. “If you judge a girl based on what happens between her legs, it’s no wonder she’s playing you all for chumps. How many lives has she gotten you three to ruin?”
Maxwell didn’t answer. Maybe because the answer was too vast.
“It might look like I’m apologizing for the wrong reasons, but I regret ruining what we might have had. These past few weeks getting to know you have been incredible.”
“Eat shit.” I stepped back and shut the door.
“Lilah?” Gideon placed a hand on my shoulder.
I whirled around, buried my face in his neck, and let the tears flow.
He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and gave me several awkward pats on the back. “You made the right decision not to join their plan.”
“They make me so angry!” No version of the godfather ever wept into the shoulder of his consigliere. I needed to get a grip on my emotions, focus on what really mattered before I became the knights’ whipping girl.
Gideon’s hand stilled. “You might have feelings for them.”
I drew back and glowered into his ebony eyes. “What?”
“It’s more than sexual attraction. You’ve never been able to walk away from those boys, even when you’ve known their malicious intentions.”
My mouth flapped open. I wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell Gideon he was wrong and didn’t know anything about what I had with the knights, but I held my tongue. He’d been at my side nearly from the beginning.
“I don’t know.” My gaze flicked down to the Templar Academy logo on his school blazer. “Something about them really infuriates me.”
“Infuriates or attracts?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I shook my head. Gideon had told me more than once to stay away from the knights and to be careful, but I’d always insisted that I knew what I was doing. Yeah, right. I’d known they were tricky bastards, but no one could have predicted that Maxwell could pose for weeks as Kendrick. The worst part was that I hadn’t trusted him until after our escape across Glasgow town center. Ugh.
“I was such a pawn, I didn’t see it coming,” I snarled.
“You haven’t answered my question,” said Gideon.
“Does it matter?”
He raised a shoulder. “That depends on if you’re planning on changing your mind about Elizabeth.”
I shook my head. “They’re untrustworthy shits, and I’ll find a way to make Elizabeth pay. But if I can fuck them over, I will.”
Gideon pursed his lips.
“What?” I said.
He drew back and arranged his scarf around his neck with the precision of a Parisian folding an Hermès foulard.
“Don’t bother. I already know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh?” Raising his brows, he fastened the buttons of his blazer.
“You think I want to fuck them, not fuck them over.”
He snorted. “Don’t tell me you don’t.”
“I’ve got eyes, and I’ve seen what they have to offer, but I wouldn’t touch them with Elizabeth’s hands.”
His eyes twinkled. “I’ll let myself out.” He strode past me in a cloud of bergamot and pulled the door open, letting in the cold. “Whatever you do with those three, be careful.”
“What makes you think I want Kendrick? He’s as big a dickhead as his twin.”
“Just think about what I’ve said.” Gideon descended the stone steps and hurried through the gravel courtyard. He cast me a final glance and waved before stepping out through the gates.
I waved back, my mind whirling. It didn’t matter if Orlando and Maxwell had the most gorgeous, muscular physiques I’d seen outside of a magazine. It also didn’t matter that Maxwell had given me the best sex of my life. If bringing Elizabeth to her knees meant stepping over my personal boundaries, I wouldn’t bother getting their help.
But once I’d dealt with Elizabeth, I would gladly stick a dagger in all three of their broad backs.
Chapter 12
I shut the door and stepped back into the entrance hall. It took a few moments to clear my head of Gideon’s parting words. Something about them still resonated, even though I had decided to break ties with them and deal with Elizabeth alone. Gideon probably knew as well as I did that they were clingy bastards and wouldn’t bugger off, but I could resist them… at least until I’d gotten my revenge.
The stone staircase beckoned, and I placed my hand on its iron rail. I still hadn’t finished uncovering Mother’s secrets. Descending two steps at a time, I twisted my features into a grimace.
Reading through Father Neapolitan’s letters was like a root canal. Excruciating but necessary. If that bastard had raped and stalked her, it was no wonder she’d run into the protective arms of Billy Hancock.
Trepidation settled over my shoulders like a cloak of barbed-wire. The dates in the letters indicated that Billy Hancock had gotten Mother pregnant.
Back in Mother’s pink room, I pulled out a stool and settled in front of the writing bureau. One of the drawers contained envelopes of photos from a skiing trip. Mostly the slopes, and group pictures of teenagers posing in a lodge. As I pulled out an image of Mother standing outside a little old church next to a dark-skinned priest, footsteps echoed through the hallway.
“Delilah?” said Mr. Burgh.
I stuffed the pictures bac
k in their envelope and scrambled to my feet, feeling like I’d been caught stealing. Mr. Burgh stood in the doorway, his brows furrowed.
“What are you doing in Abigail’s room?”
“Is Billy Hancock my father?” the words tumbled out of my mouth.
The old man’s face went slack. “I beg your pardon?”
“And Father Neapolitan raped Mother. He wrote about it in a letter saying that what happened in the Christmas ball was consensual and warned her not to spread slander.”
All the color drained from Mr. Burgh’s face. “When did this...” He shook his head and walked across the room. “Show me.”
I pulled open the drawer and reached for the stack of letters. Mr. Burgh lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking around as though he hadn’t been inside the room since Mother had run away. Maybe his wife had been the one to open Father Neapolitan’s final message and place it with the others. From the look on Mr. Burgh’s face, he had no idea what I was saying.
After rifling through the pile for the incriminating letter, I thrust it into his hands.
Mr. Burgh’s eyes roved the paper. He flipped it over to read the back and raised his head. “Abigail never confided in me.”
“Why not? You could have expelled him.”
He shook his head. “This is the sort of thing she would have told her mother.” His face tightened with anguish. “They probably didn’t want to create a scandal that would prevent me from becoming the headmaster.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
“I took the position at the beginning of the spring term of that year when Lord Liddell ascended to the Archbishop of Glasgow.”
“But what about after Mother ran away? Didn’t you come here to investigate?”
His shoulders drooped. “I couldn’t stand to go into this room. Your grandmother wept in here for hours after Abigail left.” He swallowed. “All I know about that time was that Abigail had gotten pregnant and stole a Liddell family ring to pawn for an abortion.”
“Oh.” Now I felt like a shit for dredging up past hurts. Mother had only recently rejected the poor man in the police station. He probably blamed himself when the only person at fault was creepy Father Neapolitan.
“What makes you think Billy Hancock is your father?” he asked in a tight voice.
“It doesn’t matter.” I placed the pile of letters back in the drawer. Father Neapolitan just slithered to the top of my shit list.
Mr. Burgh reached out and grabbed my hand. “This is important. To both of us. Now, please, show me what you found.”
I examined his face. His deep worry lines and red-rimmed eyes told me his heart had shattered all over again, but the encouraging smile said he wanted to uncover the mystery as much as me. Maybe he also needed closure.
“Here.” I picked up the relevant letter, handed it to him, and looked through the photo album for the one of Mother and her friend flanking a young Billy Hancock.
Mr. Burgh scanned the contents of the letter, then he tapped the date. “How do you know this London thug was—”
“Take a look at this.” I placed the photo of Billy Hancock on top of the letter.
“Are you sure this is your stepfather?”
“I saw that face every day for the first thirteen years of my life.”
Mr. Burgh shook his head. “Of all the boys I suspected was your father, none of them included someone she had met at a Glasgow weekend. If Abigail hadn’t gone on to marry Hancock, I might not have believed this.”
“Yeah.” I pursed my lips. Right now, I didn’t know which was worse, having Billy Hancock as a birth father, or the Reverend Rapist. “We need to do something about Father Neapolitan.”
“I will go through the school files. Regardless of whether I find a record of an investigation, I’ll speak to the archbishop and see what he remembers.”
“We should confront Father Neapolitan on Sunday.”
“Don’t.” He placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “If what your mother has accused him of is true, we won’t give him time to work up a defense. Leave him to me, alright?”
I stared into Mr. Burgh’s hard eyes and nodded, not feeling an ounce of confidence that I’d be able to stay away from the chapel on Sunday, let alone keep my mouth shut.
Over the next five days, I poured over Miss Martin’s notes and taught myself some of the couture techniques she had documented during her time at Dior. With the help of my Fashion teacher, Maeve, and Alice, the girl who came in to clean Mr. Burgh’s quarters, I created both a new winter coat and a tuxedo dress to replace the one Elizabeth stole.
On Sunday morning, thoughts of Father Neapolitan woke me from a fitful sleep. I sat up in my four-poster bed, staring out into the balcony. Mr. Burgh hadn’t found any notes in Thomas Neapolitan’s files about accusations of sexual assault, and he also hadn’t been able to get hold of the archbishop.
I swung my legs out of bed, grimacing at the chill in the air, and shouldered on a thick dressing gown. Everything smacked of a cover-up.
After slipping on a pair of flip-flops, I padded out of the room, into the hallway, and down the stairs. No matter how much I tried to blot things out with work and studies, recent revelations had burrowed under my skin and festered.
I continued along the darkened hallway and down the back stairs to the basement. It was selfish to think of myself at a time like this, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Mother had so easily rejected me because I was a product of rape.
I pushed the kitchen door open and inhaled a cloud of warm, chocolate-scented air. Mr. Burgh sat at the table clad in a tartan dressing gown and striped pajamas, cradling a huge mug.
He gave me a sad smile. “Can’t sleep?”
I shook my head. “Part of me wonders if we’re opening up a can of worms.”
“We are.” He stood and walked over to the stove. “I remember once giving Thomas Neapolitan detention for stealing from another child’s satchel. That would have been in his school record, but when I checked there wasn’t a single reprimand.”
“You think someone’s covering up for him?” I lowered myself onto the wooden seat next to his.
Mr. Burgh picked up a saucepan from the stove and poured its contents into a mug. “It’s too early to come to conclusions, but something isn’t right.”
“Is there a record of who deleted his files?” I asked.
He shook his head. “We weren’t computerized until two years after I took up the reigns of headmaster.”
“Maybe he wasn’t bluffing when he wrote about having friends in high places,” I muttered.
Mr. Burgh walked back to the table and placed a mug of hot chocolate in front of me.
“Thanks,” I curled my fingers around the warm mug and inhaled the scent of chocolate and rum. “Isn’t it a bit early for alcohol?”
The corner of his lip curled into a smile. “I’m going to need a drink to stop myself from wringing that bastard’s neck.”
Later, Mr. Burgh made a breakfast of a square sausage that looked like corned beef, streaky bacon, fried tomatoes, mushrooms, baked beans, blood sausage and tattie scones, which were a fried potato pancake.
We ate in silence. Since our conversation in Mother’s bedroom, Mr. Burgh had seemed more pensive. Sometimes, I would catch him looking at me, as though trying to work out the identity of my father.
At the end of breakfast, I raised my gaze and met his startling, blue eyes. “Are you going to speak to Father Neapolitan today?”
He placed his fork on the side of his plate. “The only other person who knew what happened all those years ago is your mother, and she won’t communicate with either of us.”
“True.” I sipped from a mug of tea.
“Stay away from the service today,” he said, his voice soft.
My throat spasmed. We had talked about it already and I knew enough about Father Neapolitan to know he would find my presence distracting. Either I looked too much like Mother, or he dwelled too far up the L
iddell’s asses to see me as anything other than Elizabeth’s enemy. With me around, Father Neapolitan wouldn’t give any straight answers.
“Alright, I won’t go inside.”
“Thank you.” He gave me a pat on the wrist and stood.
I watched him walk out of the kitchen, then turned to the empty plates.
Hours later, I stood at the side of the chapel in my new winter coat, wiping the frost off the window to get a better glimpse of Father Neapolitan. Mr. Burgh hadn’t asked me not to stand outside. Neither had he mentioned not confronting Father Neapolitan after the service.
The priest paced in front of a packed congregation for the last sermon of term in a cassock that looked more like a tailored coat. It was fitted around his torso and flared at the waist to swish around dramatically and expose a pair of shiny, calf-length boots.
Elizabeth sat on the front left pew with her mother and a new pair of male sycophants I didn’t recognize. Mr. Burgh sat on the right with Mrs. Campbell, Mr. McGarr and a few other members of staff.
Tiny snowflakes swirled in the wind and landed on the side of my cheek. I clenched my teeth, wishing I’d made the hood of my coat more like a balaclava.
“Causing trouble?” asked a snide voice from behind.
I turned around to meet Kendrick’s glower. “Pining for Elizabeth already?”
“She’s been avoiding us.” His gaze flicked to the window, and hatred flashed in his eyes. It was so intense, I stepped back. Elizabeth’s betrayal of the knights must have cut deep. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“And neither did you.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“Don’t forget you rejected our offer to work together.”
Bristling, I tilted my head up to glare into his cold, gray eyes. It was a pity that this asshole had the same name and face as the illusion that had gotten under my skin. “Rejection hurts, doesn’t it?”
“You should know,” he snarled.
The words landed like a blade through the heart. My hands itched to slap him, but I held back. Kendrick would only grab my wrist before the blow landed and say something even more cutting. No matter how many times Maxwell said he regretted his actions, he had still gone ahead with a plan to exact maximum damage.