by Sofia Daniel
When we reached the steps of Elder House, Henry invited me to Edward’s study for coffee. From the excited gleam in his eyes, I could tell he wanted a repeat performance. A petty retort formed on my tongue to tell him to wait until he’d turned eighteen, but I didn’t want to bring up my grievances again without a plan. Instead, I refused and walked through the reception hall and up the stairs.
The next morning at first break, I returned to Elder House to find Charlotte and Patricia squealing over a huge package.
I peered into my mailbox to see if Mom had sent me a postcard or some sort of sign that she remembered having a daughter. It was empty.
“I ought to thank you, Hobson,” said a nasal voice from behind my back. When I didn’t turn around to ask what for, Charlotte continued. “I met the most amazing man because of your party. He’s older, handsome, rich, and smitten.”
Patricia sniffed. “Much better than the immature louts we have here.”
I turned. Charlotte pulled back her shoulders, making her boobs strain against the burgundy blazer, and Patricia mimicked the action, looking like a mime artist imitating a chicken. I suppressed a smirk, and said in my calmest voice, “That’s great.”
Charlotte’s mouth slackened. “What did you say?”
“I’m happy for you.” I walked past them, through the doorway, and toward the stairs. “Excuse me, while I get some textbooks.”
As soon as I reached the first run of the stairs, Patricia said, “Bitch.”
My feet ground to a halt, and I whirled around. Patricia’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, hiding half her taller, thinner body behind Charlotte’s. My skin prickled with irritation. I hadn’t said or done anything to her, yet she felt the need to call me names within my earshot.
“What was that?” I asked in a calm voice.
Patricia’s hand shot out to hide her mouth. “Nothing.”
“You called me a bitch.” I walked back into the reception hall. “Why?”
Patricia glanced at Charlotte for support, but her friend’s gaze dropped to the package she cradled in her arms. A silence stretched out, broken only by the crack and sizzle of the fire. As if spurred on by an invisible bout of courage, Patricia flared her nostrils. “What do you want?”
“I haven’t repaid you for last term’s stunt, and if you dare call me names again, I’ll give you a taste of what I suffered.”
Her mouth puckered like she had eaten a lemon, but she remained silent, and Charlotte seemed too lost in her admiration of whatever was in the package to comment. I turned back to the stairs and took them two at a time. Jackie might be able to tell me the identity of her generous benefactor and give me an update on the situation with Mr. Frost.
After picking up my books and sending a message on my burner phone, I headed out of Elder House to toward the main teaching block. The clouds cleared, and pale sunlight thinned the frost on the lawn, allowing patches of green to shine through. Rock salt lined the pathway leading to the main teaching block, making me wonder why they hadn’t used it weeks ago.
“Emilia!” shouted a voice from the direction of the tuck shop.
I turned to find Nadia standing a few feet away from the entrance to International House. My stomach flip-flopped. I hadn’t seen her for a few days, and had worried she might have regretted confiding in me about her fiancé’s drug charges. The bouffant had returned to her hair, which had to mean things were going better at home.
I jogged across the lawn and grinned. “How are you?”
“I need some help.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets.
“What’s wrong?”
“Will you come to my room? I can show you there.”
A boulder of apprehension rolled through my belly, but I suppressed the reaction. Nadia was a nice woman, alone and needing a favor from a friend. Nothing bad could come of going with her. “Sure.”
I followed Nadia into the building. As it was more modern than Elder House, its entrance hall was warmed by radiators instead of fireplaces. The marble-floored hallways reminded me of the main teaching block, as did the small atrium where two corridors bisected. Cigarette buts littered the ground, making me shudder. Did Edward know the international students were treating his family property with such disrespect?
Nadia’s room was on the first floor. Unlike the space I shared with Rita in Elder House, Nadia’s was a single-study room with modern furniture and a door leading to the bathroom. No pictures adorned the desk or walls, making me wonder if she’d had to leave the country in a hurry and hadn’t been able to pack keepsakes.
“How can I help you?” I asked.
“I do not understand this.” She walked to her desk, opened up a folder and showed me a photocopy of this year’s GCSE exam paper, the tests used in schools all over Britain. It was stamped by the educational authority and marked highly confidential.
My breath caught in the back of my throat, and I stiffened, pulling back every reaction, so as not to alarm Nadia. Students weren’t supposed to see this until they sat their exams.
“What don’t you understand?” I asked.
“The teacher said I had to learn this for exams in June, but it is just questions.”
“He didn’t explain what they were for?”
Nadia shook her head. “He does not come in every day.”
I rubbed my chin, trying not to salivate. “Let me take a photo of these, and I can look on the internet and give you a list of books that can give you the answers.”
“You would do that?”
I nodded. “Would you like me to order them on the internet for you? I can have them delivered to International House.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Thank you, Emilia!”
I swallowed hard. If the Correspondent published evidence of the headmaster basing a curriculum on public exam papers, it would be damning. But if I could get Edward’s file, and have Jackie link this scandal to prove that he was also accepting candidates linked to organized crime, I would bury the headmaster along with Edward.
Chapter 16
The following Saturday morning, I sat between Henry and Edward, my gaze glued to my smartphone. A detailed article in the Correspondent revealed how Charlotte’s father had falsely claimed expenses to bolster his ministerial salary. Mr. Underwood had gotten the government to pay for a luxury apartment he rented through an agency, but a quick search through the land registry showed that Mr. Underwood already owned it outright.
He also listed Charlotte as his secretary, earning a salary of twelve-thousand pounds a year, even though Charlotte was in full-time education. At the bottom of the article were links to reports on Charlotte’s brother, the gambling addict, including a gallery of photos depicting the young man living the high life at various London casinos.
Chatter filled the air, and a small crowd gathered around Duncan’s table to read a paper copy of the article over his shoulder.
Alice rushed into the room, cheeks bright. “She’s walking down the stairs!”
A hush fell over the entire dining room, and my heart thrummed a steady beat. How would these vultures treat one of their own whose family had been disgraced? Memories of that terrible gauntlet rolled to the front of my mind, of fists raining down on my cowed body and the weight of the crowd crushing me to the ground. A tight band formed around my chest and throat, making my breaths shallow. Sweat gathered on my brow, and I closed my eyes, trying to force air in and out of my lungs. It was just a memory. It couldn’t hurt me now.
“Emilia.” Edward placed his fingertips on my arm. “Are you alright?”
“Just a cramp… It’s nothing.” I placed my hand on my stomach and grimaced.
Charlotte stepped through the wooden doors, flanked by Wendy and Patricia. She wore an ivory v-neck sweater that accentuated her figure and a skirt too short for her muscular thighs. Her steps faltered, and her gaze darted around her new audience. She creased her brow. “What’s wrong?”
Those who weren’t filming Charlo
tte turned to the head table. Edward, whose skin had turned as pale as milk, pretended to be too engrossed in his smartphone to notice. He was probably thinking about the scandal on his own doorstep. Blake glanced away. Whether it was because he had also been the victim of the newspaper, or because of his strange relationship with Charlotte, I wasn’t sure.
Henry stood. “The Saturday Correspondent is making some damning accusations against your father.”
Her eyes bulged. “They’re not true.”
Duncan, the boy with the thick glasses, scurried over to her with his physical copy of the paper, opened at the center spread. I could only guess this was where the reporter had published copies of the expense claim alongside evidence from the Land Registry that Charlotte’s father had been claiming rents for an apartment he already owned and rented out to someone else.
Charlotte’s bottom lip trembled as her eyes scanned its contents. Then she shook her head. “No… That’s libel.”
“Which part?” drawled Duncan.
“All of it!” She shoved the paper away, making Duncan stagger back into the nearest table. “And I’m not receiving any kind of salary.”
Duncan folded up his copy of the Correspondent. “I’m sure the press will demand answers from your father on Monday. If you’re part of the scam, you might also face criminal charges.”
“She lied about her brother being an advisor to the Saudi Royal family,” said Alice from Duncan’s table.
Charlotte’s eyes bulged, and her chest heaved up and down as though she was trying not to faint. “T-they’ll clear him. He’s done nothing wrong!”
“Let’s hope so,” said Henry. “Every single politician caught fiddling expenses has been imprisoned for false accounting.”
For a moment, she froze, her eyes glassy. I thought I would enjoy seeing her suffer, but a well of pity opened up in my heart. Maybe it related to my younger years, when Dad had relapsed and ended up in the papers. Back then, the mean girls at school had acted as though I’d been the one to have taken drugs.
It was hard to watch someone ostracized for something they didn’t do. Even if it was Charlotte. That didn’t mean I forgave her or wanted to rush to her defense. Instead, I observed her the way a scientist watched an experiment for a chemical reaction. All I needed was a clipboard.
Charlotte tossed her head. “Don’t you people have better things to do than read such low-brow publications? Come, Wendy and Patricia, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
The other two girls snubbed her, walking to their usual table and leaving Charlotte standing by the doorway, opening and closing her mouth like a trout left out of water to flounder.
Most of the students turned back to their conversations and meals, as though the matter was resolved and now old news.
I glanced around the room, breathing hard, and holding my features steady to hide my reaction. Was that it? A few drawled words and a mild shunning? I hadn’t expected them to make her do a walk of penance, but I thought she would get a taste of what it was like to be blamed for something she didn’t do. Now that the attention had left her, Charlotte’s posture sagged, and she walked out of the dining room.
I blew out a long sigh. It looked like Charlotte might come out of this scandal unscathed.
Blake tried to make conversation with Edward, who seemed preoccupied. I peered at him through the corner of my eye. Color hadn’t yet returned to his face, and the hand that held his teacup trembled.
I was about to ask if anything was the matter, when Mr. Carbuncle walked into the dining room, holding a giant box. I sat up. All mail was delivered to the entrance hall with packages placed on the table. For him to make a huge show of the boxes, it had to be one of Charlotte’s mysterious gifts.
“Package for Hobson,” he announced in a loud clear voice.
The chatter and clink of silverware on plates halted, plunging the room once again into silence. My brows drew together. Jackie was the only person likely to send me packages, but she wouldn’t be so indiscreet as to have something delivered to Elder House.
“Are you sure it’s for me?” I asked.
“Unless there’s another Emilia Hobson here in the house,” he snapped.
“Carbuncle, you overstep your place!” Edward’s words were sharp.
The janitor dipped his head. “Begging your pardon, Miss Hobson. Yes, I’m sure it’s for you.”
Henry snickered. “I know what it is. Take it to her room, so she can go through them in her own time.”
Mr. Carbuncle inclined his head and walked out of the dining room with the package. A sea of cold faces turned to me, their eyes demanding an explanation. I bristled and held my orange juice to my lips. They hadn’t been so hostile to Charlotte, whose father had been caught stealing from the government, yet they shot me accusing stares because the janitor brought a simple package to stir up shit?
I leaned into Henry. “What is it?”
His grin widened. “Coats.”
A pulse shot through my core, and my cheeks warmed. I could still feel the press of his thumbs on my inner thighs, and that relentless tongue on my nub. That encounter behind the oak tree had been incredible. The only thing hotter would to make Henry do it again after he had cleared my name.
Blake leaned forward. “What’s the story behind this package? Anything I need to know?”
“Probably not,” I muttered.
Gawkers still stared, and I clenched my teeth, longing to yell at them all to get screwed.
“I’m sure we’ll hear about it when we don’t have so much of an audience.” Edward set down his teacup. “What’s everyone doing tonight?”
Edward’s mood remained low for the rest of the day, and he returned to his family home for the weekend, needing to be alone to sort out a few things. I cornered him in his study on Monday night after dinner and asked what was on his mind.
He sat on the end of the leather Chesterfield with his elbow on the armrest. The light of the fire flickered across the room, softening his features. At that moment, Edward seemed younger and more vulnerable. I sat next to him and laced my fingers through his. My heart ached for him, even though I was still bitter from Henry’s refusal to discuss the fake kidnapping plot.
A brandy-scented sigh escaped his lips. “More complaints about International House keep popping up on the Mercia-Net. How soon before students start posting them to a public forum like Facebook?”
“Do you think they would?” I made a mental note to check online to see if Mercia Academy had a Facebook group or an unofficial students or alumni page.
“If nothing gets done about the international students, yes.”
I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Whatever happens, I’ll be at your side.”
He drew back and rubbed at his brow. “You think the information will leak outside the school?”
“I’m just going by what you’ve said.” Scooting closer to him, I rested my head on his shoulder. “But you can’t deny that the situation is escalating to a point that’s worrying.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t want to end up like Mr. Underwood, the subject of an official inquiry.”
I bit back a smile. A committee of auditors had convened over the weekend to investigate the accusations, and by Monday, Charlotte’s Father had already been suspended pending the results of an inquiry. A video of the Prime Minister’s statement to the press on the subject was circulated on the Mercia-Net. And the best part was that Charlotte had disappeared from the campus.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked.
A bolt of excitement struck my chest, and I tried to keep still. Now was the time to persuade him to hand over those files.
“Did you read through those papers the headmaster sent?” I asked.
“I started to, but I can’t make sense out of them.”
“Oh, no.” I wrapped an arm around his middle and squeezed. As much as I wanted to remind him about Marissa’s supposed services, I couldn’t afford to arouse
his suspicion with a lack of subtlety. “Mr. Chaloner must have presented the information in a way that couldn’t be understood by a student.”
With a long sigh, he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer into his body. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
My eyes fluttered closed. Edward didn’t have Henry’s size and bulk, but his athletic frame and dizzying cedar-wood and cypress scent made my hands twitch to explore him. He placed a kiss on my forehead and murmured something about appreciating my support.
Warmth spread across my insides. The complaints I had asked Alice to start up against the International House were now flooding the Mercia-Net, giving Jackie and her team ample material for a sensational article and putting a reasonable amount of pressure on Edward.
He didn’t ask me for any other advice on that evening, but over the next few days, I sat by Edward’s side whenever I could, offering my silent support and encouraging him to read through the papers again or to ask his butler to help.
As more video clips of the louts of International House reached the Mercia-Net, Edward withdrew more into himself and skipped meals on the pretext of studying. I wondered if this was how Rita had felt when she had stopped going to the dining room. Hopefully the turmoil he was suffering matched hers.
The next Saturday, the Correspondent printed the photos I had taken of Nadia’s exam papers along with snippets from the Mercia-Net of students, recognizable in our school blazers, lounging in front of International House, drinking beer and cigarettes. It was accompanied by an article explaining that their entire GCSE curriculum was based on getting the students to learn the questions on the exam paper.
The article concluded that there was no evidence that domestic students had received such an example, but the reporter cited the school’s stellar exam results and demanded an inquiry.