by Sofia Daniel
“No,” I replied in a small voice.
“An institution for young offenders, followed by prison, depending on the length of your sentence. Henry Bourneville would never have guessed that Rudolph would pay to make the problem disappear. That’s what’s so terrible about what they did. Your whole life would have been blighted by their lies.” She took a long sip from her mug of black coffee. “It’s still blighted. Except now, everyone in the know thinks your rich stepfather bailed you out.”
A newfound anger simmered in my belly. I clenched my teeth and stood. She was right, and I was pulling my punches. “I’ll find another way to get the truth out of him. Maybe a video confession. Do you think you’ll be able to track down the kidnappers based on the information I sent you?”
“They already left the squat, but we have photos of the room. If Henry can supply one name, we might be able to put together a sensational piece.”
“Try Bingham’s Outward Bound. That’s the name of the company who arranged the hiking and camping during our trip.” An idea hit me on the side of my head, knocking me back onto my seat. “Mr. Bingham’s assistants knew Mr. Frost!”
She blinked. “I don’t follow.”
My hands shook, and I blurted out everything on my mind. “Paul Frost. Our Latin master. Edward gave him an invitation to the party. He supplies things, like absinthe. He knew the assistants on our hiking trip, who drove the vehicles up the hill. What if Mr. Frost was involved? The boys needed a car for the first prank and for the kidnapping. What if he introduced the boys to the assistants?”
“Slow down!” Jackie raised her hand. “What?”
After a few deep breaths, I explained that Mr. Frost was a former scholarship student who appeared to be on good terms with Edward, partially because he supplied them with illicit items like the strongest kinds of absinthe. He also knew the assistants on the school trip and might have arranged the kidnapping for the boys.
Jackie licked her lips. “Leave it with me. We’ll check the footage and see what he did at the party. If he supplied anyone with anything stronger than alcohol, we’ll approach him and offer him a deal like we did with Carbuncle.”
I took the train back to Mercia Academy in a daze. What if the kidnappers had bungled the doses? What if Rudolph hadn’t bailed me out? The train sped through swathes of green countryside, the chug of its wheels on the track fueling my paranoia.
My head flopped down to my chest. By working with a small newspaper that now had the attention of the national press, I had the potential to ruin lives. But if I backed out, it would be military school and Rudolph’s wrath.
And the boys… My feelings for them were murky. I had felt something for Henry, and I thought it had been real, but I couldn’t help associating him with the brunt of the betrayal. Underneath Edward’s cold exterior was a warm, sensitive soul, but beneath that lay I worldview I failed to understand.
I brought my coffee cup to my lips and stared out of the window at the fields whizzing by. Blake was the warmest of the three by far, and the most fun. He was the instigator and the one who brought us all together. But I hadn’t seen anything of his true personality. Someone who disliked Charlotte had to have at least one redeeming feature, right?
A sigh slid from my lips. Every so often, I’d get glimpses of how things used to be between us, and my heart would melt… then my blood would boil when I remembered it had been a facade.
I rested my head in my hands and took several deep, calming breaths. I was in over my head, and now it was time to swim.
Monday morning at breakfast was abuzz with tales from the party. I sat between Edward and Blake, stealing glances at Blake and not quite believing how hot he had been that night. His black hair hung loose over his face, as though he hadn’t had time to style it this morning. It framed his dark eyes and high-cheekbones perfectly. The top button of his shirt hadn’t been fastened, and the knot of his tie hung half an inch below his collar. For Mercia Academy, he looked seductively disheveled.
“I missed you yesterday,” he murmured. “And at the party.”
“The absinthe went to my head, and I sat on the balcony with Edward. Did you have a good time?”
“Wonderful,” he purred.
I would have asked what he did when he had finished sucking off Henry, but I’d seen footage of the three of them leaving the room together and joining the rest of the party. Jackie would email or text if they did something other than hold court.
Coates, the rugby player who had complained about International House, sauntered up to the table. “Great party,” he said to Henry. “Thanks for snagging me an invite.”
Henry grinned. “Did you get lucky?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He strolled out of the dining room with his hands in his pockets and nodded to Charlotte as she swept in with her nose in the air.
“Hobson.” She placed her hands on her waist and thrust out her right hip. Wendy and Patricia flanked her and struck a similar pose but with far less attitude.
I picked up a jug of orange juice, which made her flinch, then made a show of pouring it into my glass. When I finished, I took a long sip and glanced up. “Sorry, Underwood, did you say something?”
“Nice party. I’ll have to tell your fiancé that you disappeared with three boys.”
“Do you want his email address or will you post it on his Facebook page?”
The smug twist of her face melted into slack disappointment. “You’re a bitch.”
“And by your own admission, you’re a gatecrasher, but you don’t see me complaining.”
Her mouth opened and closed like a washed up blobfish, and she glanced from Henry to Blake, as though they might say something in her defense. I raised my brows and gave her a little smirk. When nobody spoke, she stormed off toward a table at the other end of the dining hall. I made a mental note to ask Jackie if Charlotte had done anything interesting during the party.
A few sycophants approached the head table, thanking the triumvirate for a good time. I bit hard into my toast. Never mind that I’d gotten the invitations because my fake fiancé had been playing at the venue. This kind of behavior was typical of the people in Elder House, though, as these were the people who had relished humiliating me in that gauntlet. I looked forward to reading about them in the Saturday Correspondent.
After classes, I walked along the path bordered by bare magnolia trees. The pale winter sun shone down from a cloudless sky, softening the frost underfoot. In the distance, I spotted Nadia, the girl from International House who had needed phone cards. Her shoulders were drooped, and her bouffant had disappeared, replaced by limp, black hair that hung over the sides of her face like drapes. Obviously, life at Mercia Academy, or whatever the headmaster had called his scam, wasn’t working out for her.
“Nadia!” I stood on my tiptoes and waved.
She stopped and gave me a half-hearted wave back.
I jogged over the frosty ground, careful not to slip. When I reached her, I asked, “Do you like hot chocolate? I’m going to the tuck shop to get some.”
“I need more international phone cards.” She raised her shoulders around her ears and walked alongside me. A couple of men in thick, sheepskin jackets stood outside the double doors of International House, smoking roll-up cigarettes. From their thick, five o’clock shadows, they were university age or older, and certainly not teachers.
“Didn’t the cards you bought last long enough?” I asked. Lame question, but it might prompt her into explaining why she appeared so homesick.
“I worry for my fiancé,” she said in a small voice. “The police in my city hate him and say he sells drugs.”
“Oh no!” I turned to her. “Why aren’t you with him to help him fight them?”
Her face crumpled, and I gave her a pat on the shoulder, ignoring the guilt churning in my stomach. Nadia wanted to get her problems off her chest, and whatever she said, I wouldn’t repeat the details to anyone. I just needed enough infor
mation to work out how the headmaster was marketing the school overseas. We stepped into the tuck shop, which was modeled like the village tea shop with its wooden tables and chairs. Then I told her to wait for me, and I ordered two cups of steaming, hot cocoa.
Nadia stared into her cup. “His family sent me here, so the police would not hurt me.”
I placed the cup to my lips. It was more likely that her fiancé’s family sent her to Mercia Academy for her to avoid being forced to give evidence. “How long will you be here?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “One year.”
I took a sip of the sweet, chocolatey drink. So much for the headmaster’s agreement that International House would be a summer school. Nadia was a nice woman who had been caught up in a situation not of her own making. But some of the others who had been featured in the Mercia-Net were awful. She was too upset to continue a conversation, so we sat in silence, nursing our drinks until she decided to call her fiancé.
Just before bedtime, I walked down to Edward’s study and knocked. He appeared at the door, looking drawn. “Emilia?”
“I have something to tell you. Are you alone?”
He stepped aside. “What is it?”
I walked inside and glanced at the crackling fireplace. Jackie told me that Mr. Carbuncle had set up a couple of cameras in Edward’s study so she would see my attempts to cajole him into handing over evidence. I lowered myself into the sofa adjacent to that fateful armchair and patted the seat next to me.
When he sat, I twisted around and took his hands. “I spoke to someone in International House,” I said with a quavering note of worry. His brows furrowed, and he parted his lips, presumably to admonish me, but I spoke over him. “She’s not like the others, but her family sent her here so she wouldn’t testify against a drugs charge.”
“What?” he whispered, face paling.
“I-I think the students might be connected to organized crime. You’ve seen them and how they act on camera. They’re not right.”
His chest heaved up and down in a series of shallow breaths. Then he turned away, blinking rapidly. “I suspected something like that, but if I report the headmaster, the school’s reputation will be in ruins.”
“He told you they were the children of dignitaries,” I said. “Can he show you checks written from legitimate sources like foreign governments?”
“The accountant gave me a file and told me to read through it, but I haven’t yet dared.”
I gasped. “Why not?”
He clenched the edge of his leather seat cushion and squeezed his eyes shut. “I was afraid of what I might find.”
I rubbed my thumb over his hand, giving him what comfort I could offer. It was an awful situation, but I still had a mission. Jackie needed evidence that the money was streaming to the headmaster and that it came from disreputable sources. I needed that file, and I would say anything to convince Edward to hand it over.
“Do you remember that woman who brought me here?” I asked. “Marissa, with the loud voice?”
His brows drew together, but he nodded.
“She’s an accounts clerk who did bank reconciliations for a year. Maybe she can help. She’s working in Rudolph’s London office right now and could use a freelance side-gig. And she’s American, so wouldn’t know who to contact if she found something strange.”
He dipped his head. “I’ll think about it.”
A shock of excitement rocked my insides. If I kept the pressure on, he would give me that file before the end of the month.
Chapter 14
On Monday, an old man filled in for Mr. Frost in Latin classes, explaining that our teacher had a death in his immediate family and had returned home to make funeral arrangements. I couldn’t focus on my Creative Writing assignment, as I itched to speak to Jackie and find out if she had caused Mr. Frost’s disappearance. With Blake already somewhat disgraced, and plans for the exposure of International House and Edward’s involvement in the scam underway, I focused on my next target: Henry.
He sat next to Edward at the desk in front of Blake and me and had taken off his blazer. The cotton of his white shirt clung to every muscle, which bunched and stretched as he moved. I closed my eyes and cast my mind back to the time we had spent together in that filthy room. Lying within his strong embrace had been so comforting. When his beautiful body had engulfed mine and those fingers had teased me until I had splintered beneath his touch, I’d felt so protected and whole and fulfilled, even though we were both in a desperate situation.
My fingers closed around my fountain pen, and my nostrils flared. It had all been a lie.
That lying Henry.
That lying, fucking, scheming, backstabbing Henry, who I would bury alive.
How great would it feel if I exposed his treachery to the world, had him cast out by his parents, ostracized by his peers, broken, crying and pleading for forgiveness. My breaths became shallow, and a tiny smile played on my lips. I’d lay him out on his back, tie him to that filthy mattress and take my pleasure from his defeated, quivering body.
“What are you thinking about?” Blake murmured into my ear. “You look positively turned on.”
“Henry.”
Henry turned around. “What?”
Blake leaned forward. “She’s thinking about you, and her nipples are standing to attention.”
Edward twisted in his seat, glanced down at my chest, smirked, and turned back to his work.
Henry rocked his chair back on two legs, leaning its backrest against my desk. “What do you have in mind?”
I leaned forward and whispered, “Nothing I can say in public.”
“You there,” snapped the substitute teacher. “No talking in class.”
“Yes, sir!” Henry shifted his chair back onto four legs.
Ignoring Blake’s attempts at dirty talk, I dipped my head and scribbled a few lines of verse on my Creative Writing notebook. I might hate Henry with the passion of a thousand suns, but there was no denying how hot he had looked at the party when shuddering and trembling under Blake’s touch.
After class, Henry caged me against the wall with his arms, a shit-eating grin on his face. His blonde hair flopped down over his temples, making him look like the fun kind of guy who wouldn’t frame a girl for kidnapping. “Want to get hot and bothered over me tonight?”
“I don’t know…” I let my gaze flicker from his lips to the hard pecs that strained through the cotton of his white shirt. “What do you have in mind?”
Blake sidled up to us with a smirk. “Come to our room. We have four different types of booze.”
“Next time,” I said.
Blake’s face fell, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “See you later, then.”
Henry spared him the barest of glances before turning back to me. “We can go to Edward’s—”
I dipped out of his arm cage and walked around him. A gaggle of fifth-year girls who had been watching the spectacle giggled. “I need time alone with you to talk.”
His brows furrowed. “We can do that. Just tell me what you want.”
“Let’s walk to the village for some of Jean-Paul’s liqueur coffee.”
“Alright.” His shoulders drooped. What had he been expecting? A night at a local bed and breakfast?
“See you later,” I replied in my breeziest tone. Henry walked to his next lesson, while I stayed back to watch him retreat.
He turned around and gave me a half-smile, which I returned with a wide grin. Mom always said that the way to a man’s heart was to let him talk about himself and later paraphrase what he had said to make him think there was a connection. I would replicate that closeness we had in that room, get him to open his heart, and then crush him like he crushed me.
I wore a close-fitting cashmere sweater with a wool miniskirt and thick tights to our date, with Ugg boots to keep my feet warm during the walk. A long, hooded coat finished off the outfit, and I dabbed on a bit of gloss to attract his attention to my lips.
“Henry. What are you working on?”
“A composition. My friend, whose brother got into Oxford on a musical scholarship, said that playing something original had made the difference.”
“Can I hear it?”
She glanced at the door. “Won’t you be late?”
“Do I care?”
She placed her fingers over her lips and giggled. “I still can’t believe you came back.”
“Sometimes, neither can I.”
“They don’t like me playing instruments in the dorm, but this is what I have so far.” She pulled out her smartphone and tapped a few buttons. A piano concerto rang out, reminding me of Sergei’s music.
I lowered myself onto the bed, feeling queasy. Why hadn’t I brought Rita down to London on any of the times I had met Sergei? She probably hadn’t asked because her enforced humility wouldn’t allow it, but I knew she was devoted to music, and I still hadn’t offered. Rita’s playing was like escaping into another world where people laughed and danced and didn’t play games with others’ lives. The piece ended abruptly, and my head snapped up.
“That’s all I have for now.” She gave me a tight smile.
“It’s wonderful!” I went to my closet mirror and fastened my long, woolen coat. “Can I show it to Sergei?”
Her face paled. “I-it isn’t ready!”
“Next time I see him, I’ll tell him about my roommate, who’s a genius on the piano.”
Her face scrunched up, but the little smile she gave me belied her true level of confidence. Anyone who got into a place like Mercia Academy on both a musical and an academic scholarship had to know they were good. That was the whole point of Edward’s bullying.