The Oxford Inheritance

by Ann A. McDonald

  Cassie drank it all in. Here, at last, was a real window into her mother’s life, so vivid she could almost see her: laughing on the quad between classes, hanging out in the Raleigh bar with her teammates, late at night. She felt a pang of grief well up. The woman Cassie had known was an anxious loner, uncomfortable in crowds, never one to form close friendships no matter what town they moved to or which whirl of her manic phase was under way. But here she was, looking normal and cheery, just a regular college freshman brimming over with excitement and possibilities.

  Cassie had never known this side of her mother, and now she never would.

  The night passed uneventfully, with a few requests from researchers. Cassie was left to contemplate the file until Elliot returned after midnight to close up, his cheeks flushed and his sweater askew.

  “Good date?” Cassie asked, teasing.

  “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Elliot replied with a wink. He looked at the file spread out on the desk. “Was the info any help? Like I said, I’m just getting started. I thought I’d make a list of her old classmates next. The intake was small that year, only ten other students in her English class, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone who knew her.”

  Cassie paused. She’d been secretive about her search to date, but curiosity was winning out. “That might be a good idea.” Cassie nodded. “Either way, this was just what I needed.”

  “I’ll let you know when I dig up something more.” Elliot glanced around. “No problems tonight?”

  “Nothing to report.” Cassie pulled on her coat. “Some kids were making out in the Egyptian room, but I left them to it. And I know you said to leave the returns for you to deal with, but I didn’t have anything else to do, so I checked them back in and reshelved them downstairs.”

  Elliot gave her a look. “Well, aren’t we industrious? You know, if you enjoy slaving away for a pittance, we’re looking to replace the clerk who just quit on me, said something about a hostile work environment . . .” He rolled his eyes. “The job’s yours if you want it.”

  “I do,” Cassie replied immediately. Her savings and stipend wouldn’t last for long, and although Raleigh’s official policies frowned on students holding jobs during term time, they surely couldn’t find fault with the respected library. She would be able to access the archives any time she liked.

  “I’ll tell the boss and have you come in for a proper interview.” Elliot yawned. “Now, be gone before I rope you into tidying up.”

  “Good night.” Cassie turned to leave but Elliot called after her

  “Be careful. They found a girl by the river the other week, strangled to death.”

  Cassie stopped. “Was she a student?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Local girl, I think. But it’s a big bad city, so be sure to watch your back.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cassie reassured him. “I can take care of myself.”

  She was almost home when she remembered that she’d meant to go grocery shopping that afternoon; there was no food up in the attics. She hitched her bag and kept walking, striking out north across Magdalen Bridge and up Cowley Road, which snaked through the outskirts of the city. Here, the streets were wide, cracked concrete, rumbling with local traffic and public buses, and lined with a grimy patchwork of twenty-four-hour Indian take-out stores, discount supermarkets, and church thrift stores advertising cut-price electric goods and community luncheons.

  Cassie walked briskly, remembering Elliot’s warnings. This part of Oxford was a far cry from the elegant city spires, but tonight the change of scenery was a relief. Away from the distractions of the library, her mind circled back to a face she’d rather forget. Hugo. The memory of him in her living room rattled in her mind. She could see him now, that dark, piercing stare, those casual, elusive smiles, as if he knew a secret and wouldn’t tell.

  She shook the thoughts away, arriving at the large, neon-lit supermarket she’d found on a past exploration. It was half empty at this hour, with only a few lone shoppers pushing their carts up and down the wide, stacked aisles. Cassie picked up a basket and began to wander, picking out cheap food, pasta, tinned sauces, end-of-day cuts of meat she could freeze or make into a nourishing stew. Eventually, she made her way back to the checkout aisles and unloaded her basket onto the conveyor belt. The shop assistant was a bored-looking teenager, a girl with bleached hair and a yawning expression. She began to ring up the sales, as Cassie kept a watchful eye on the register total.

  “And here we are again.” The voice came from behind her. Cassie turned to find the jogger she kept encountering moving into line behind her. He grinned, setting his basket down on the conveyor. “Charlie, remember?” he told her. “And you’re Cassie.”

  Cassie looked him over. He was dressed casually tonight, in jeans and a faded T-shirt that stretched over muscular, tanned arms. Under his open parka she made out the faded logo of the Rolling Stones emblazoned on the front, and recent scabs healing on the knuckles of his right hand. His smiling gaze scanned the contents of her basket and he whistled. “Anyone ever tell you to eat a vegetable? You’ll get scurvy at this rate.”

  “Anyone ever tell you to mind your own business?”

  He laughed, undeterred. “Some fruit would help with those mood swings too. Happy chemicals, and all.”

  Cassie looked down at his shopping: two six-packs of beer and a bag of potato chips. “Because you’re really the guy to lecture me about proper nutrition.”

  Charlie clutched his chest. “A direct hit! She wounds me.”

  Cassie tried not to smile.

  “Twenty-two seventy.” The checkout girl yawned. Cassie turned back to her, and carefully counted out the foreign banknotes, loading her groceries into her backpack.

  “You need help with that?” Charlie offered, trailing her forward in the aisle.

  “I’ve got it,” Cassie replied, hoisting the bag onto her back.

  “Suit yourself.” Charlie gave the checkout girl a wink. “Modern women, they can do everything themselves. Won’t need us for anything soon.”

  Outside, the midnight streets were dark and quiet, lit by the flickering neon of the streetlights overhead and the occasional headlights beaming from a passing car. Cassie pulled her jacket tighter against the late chill and set off back toward college, but she was only halfway down the street when she heard her name called from behind her.

  She turned. Charlie was walking briskly toward her, a plastic bag swinging from his hand. “Which way are you heading?”

  “Home.” Cassie hoped he’d finally take a hint, but when she turned away and started walking again, he fell into pace, his long strides easily matching hers.

  “Me too. Ain’t that a coincidence.” He pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offered it to her.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  Charlie shrugged. “Me neither,” he agreed, pulling one out and producing a lighter. He lit it, and took a long drag. “I quit six months ago. Nasty things. They’ll kill you one day.”

  Cassie continued briskly down the street, but Charlie stayed beside her. When she turned across the road and he followed, Cassie stopped abruptly on the corner. “What are you doing?”

  “Walking you home,” Charlie announced matter-of-factly. “It’s not safe out here, late at night.”

  “No.”

  “No what?” Charlie grinned again.

  “No to everything,” Cassie snapped. She knew how this went. He would walk her back, then hover expectantly outside the door, suggest a coffee, perhaps, or ask to see her place. She was supposed to feel indebted, obliged to him, swayed by the charming anecdotes he’d tell, and the persistence of his attention. She was supposed to give him whatever he wanted. “This isn’t going to end in my bedroom, okay?”

  A look of amusement flitted across his face. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just keeping an eye out. You never know what kind of big, bad beasts are out there, lurking in the shadows.”

 
; Cassie gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not those beasts I’m worried about. You’re the one who won’t leave me alone.”

  Charlie looked wounded. “Hey now, that was uncalled for.”

  “Was it?” Cassie sighed. It was late, and she was too tired for this. “I don’t know you. I don’t know anything about you. You’re just some guy who keeps showing up, and now you’re following me home. For all I know, you’re going to leave my body in the river.”

  “Hey,” he protested. “It’s not like that. I have the full backing of the Oxfordshire County Police Department, see?” He pulled a badge from his pocket and opened it for her. “Police Constable Charles Day.”

  Cassie looked at the badge, peering in the dim light at his identification photo and the official stamp. She snorted. “Just because you’re a cop doesn’t make you safe. In my experience, you guys are the ones I have to worry about.”

  Charlie’s smile faded. “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

  “Why not?” Cassie shot back. “I didn’t ask you to keep talking to me, or come after me now. I can take care of myself.”

  “Clearly.” Charlie gave a sullen shrug, hands back in his pockets. The light was gone from his expression, and he looked almost hurt enough for Cassie to take it back. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “Don’t,” Cassie said firmly. She walked away, fast on the empty street, her footsteps a sharp rhythm of anger on the dark sidewalk. This time, Charlie didn’t follow. She crossed another intersection alone and was turning up toward the bridge when the sound of footsteps came again. She turned, ready to yell at Charlie again, but nobody was there, just a stray cat scuffling in the gutter for scraps.

  Cassie shivered. She pulled her jacket tighter around her and hurried back toward the lights of the city.

  11

  CASSIE WOKE TO SCREAMS.

  She lifted her head, groggy. She was at the table again, arms splayed over her philosophy reading, with a sheet of her notes stuck to her cheek, ink smudged with drool. She peeled the page off, yawning, reality and her dream world still tangled and opaque.

  There was another scream.

  Cassie lurched to her feet. The noise was coming from Evie’s room, and it increased as Cassie approached: a babble of screams and unintelligible softer whimpers.

  Cassie tapped on the door. “Evie? Are you okay?”

  There was no response, only another cry, cut off halfway. Cassie flung upon the door, expecting to find a struggle, but Evie was alone. She was still sleeping, illuminated in the pool of neon light falling through her open bedroom window. Her oversized nightshirt was twisted, the covers thrown off the bed as she writhed, clawing at some unknown assailant.

  Cassie crossed quickly to her bedside. “Evie, sweetie, it’s okay.” She shook the girl’s shoulder gently, not wanting to pull her too sharply from her dreams. “Evie, wake up now.”

  Evie recoiled from her touch, retreating to the far side of the bed and curling, knees pressed tightly to her chest. She was sobbing, muttering a strange babble of words that Cassie couldn’t make out.

  “Evie!” Cassie shook Evie harder, raising her voice to a shout. “Wake up!”

  Evie awoke with a gasp. She blinked, her whole body trembling, eyes darting in the dark room.

  “It’s okay,” Cassie told her, quickly flipping on the bedside lamp. The room filled with a warm glow, the shadows suddenly receding. “It’s me. You had a nightmare, but it’s all right now.”

  Evie caught her breath. She gripped Cassie’s hand as slowly her eyes adjusted to the light. “A nightmare?” she said, her voice still uncertain.

  “Just a dream.” Cassie gently rubbed her shoulder. “You okay?”

  Evie nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I think so . . .”

  Cassie pulled back. She hadn’t realized, but she’d been holding her breath too. “Look at you, you’re like ice,” she said, rising to her feet. The room was freezing, sending the hairs on her arms rising. She crossed to pull the window shut, latching it firmly. “You shouldn’t leave the window open like that, you’ll catch a chill.”

  Outside, the first streaks of dawn were crossing the Oxford skyline. Cassie tied the curtains firmly back and turned. Evie was still sitting huddled on the bed, blinking and lost. Cassie pulled the thick terry-cloth robe from the back of Evie’s door and draped it around her shoulders. “How about I make us a cup of tea? Tea, and some of those fancy Choco Leibniz cookies. I’ll go put the kettle on.”

  Cassie settled Evie on the living room couch, wrapped in her robe and an ancient woolen blanket from the cupboard. She turned on every light, filling the attic with a bright, warm glow that seemed to seep into Evie, bringing her color back as Cassie fussed around the small kitchen. “The cure for all ailments, right?” she said, bringing over the tray.

  Evie smiled—stronger this time—and reached for her cup. “But only real builder’s tea,” she agreed. “None of that Assam and rose petal stuff.”

  There was silence for a moment as they both sipped their drinks. Cassie took a chocolate-covered biscuit and slowly dipped it in the tea, a custom she’d learned from watching the other patrons in the bookshop café. The trick was to leave the biscuit in the hot liquid long enough to start to melt the chocolate, but not so long that the biscuit broke off. Focusing on the simple task, she felt herself slowly relax. The sound of the screaming had sent Cassie back to the nights her mother would sob and babble, rushing half asleep to pluck Cassie from her bed. It was the medication, she’d been told many times, but that was little comfort when her mother’s cries cut through the thin walls.

  “Do you get nightmares often?” she asked Evie.

  Evie shook her head. “I didn’t used to, but now . . .” She sighed, clutching her mug of tea between two small, slight hands. “It’s probably stress. My thesis adviser keeps on me to settle on a specific research angle, and I have outlines due, and teaching . . .” She trailed off, looking overwhelmed. Cassie could only imagine. She was worried enough about her own studies, but that was nothing compared to Evie’s load, preparing for a thesis with all the research and teaching hours too.

  “Maybe it’s time to cut back on the partying,” Cassie suggested carefully. Evie was still maintaining a whirlwind social calendar with Olivia, Hugo, and their fashionable crowd: out every day for lunches, afternoons spent in the exclusive Oxford Union buildings across town. Cassie had expected the early partying to fade, or at very least be relegated to weekends, but Evie was still coming home late almost every day of the week. Up close, without her makeup, Cassie could see it was taking its toll; the shadows under Evie’s eyes were smudged and translucent, her skin dull.

  Evie gave a rueful grin. “Probably. I don’t know how those guys manage it. Practice, I guess. You know Hugo’s been working on his thesis here for five years now?”

  Cassie flinched at the mention. “What’s holding him back?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Evie smiled, her affection clear. “You should come out and have a drink with us sometime. He’s always telling me to invite you along.”

  “I’ve got enough on my plate,” Cassie hedged. “It’s my turn to read my essay this week and I can’t give Tremain another chance to tear me apart.”

  “He won’t,” Evie reassured her. “I’ve seen how much work you’ve been doing; he won’t have the chance.”

  “I hope so.” Cassie managed a smile. “You want to join me and make a study day of it? It’s supposed to rain all afternoon. I’m going out for a run, but after that I’ll be working straight through.”

  “I don’t know.” Evie bit her lip. “I’m supposed to meet the girls for brunch, and then shop for gowns for the Christmas balls. . . . But you’re right,” she decided finally. “If I finish a proposal, it’ll get my adviser off my case, and I’ll have more time for fun over the weekend.”

  “There you go,” Cassie said, relieved Evie would be getting some rest. “I’ll grab some food on the way
back for us. It’ll be fun.”

  Cassie sprinted hard, her breath fogging the early morning air as her feet pounded the riverbank path, now frozen and tough beneath her stride. She let her mind empty, focusing only on the flow of breath into her body and the satisfying ache in her limbs. By the time she looped back past the meadows to the side gates, her face was numb from the cold and her muscles screaming their protest. She bent double to recover, panting for air, as the college bells chimed seven. Gradually, her pulse began to slow.

  “How’s it looking out there?” the elderly porter, Rutledge, asked, when she ducked into the lodge to check her mail.

  “Same as usual.” Cassie nodded her greeting. “Colder, though.”

  He chuckled. “You just wait until January,” he warned her, busily sorting a stack of parcels. “They’ll be out cutting ice to let the rowers through.” He took a gulp of coffee from his Raleigh mug and nodded at the clutter of junk mail in her hand. “Anything from home?” he asked.

  Cassie gave a hollow laugh. “No. It’s just me.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” Rutledge replied, just as Cassie realized her mistake. According to the cover story she’d spun for Raleigh, she had a pair of devoted, adoring parents waiting for her back in America. It was only a small slip, but she couldn’t be too careful.

  “I mean, they’re busy,” she quickly covered. “We talk more on the phone.”

  “Technology.” Rutledge shook his head with a bemused expression. “I remember when letters took three weeks. Now I Skype with my niece all the time, over in France.” He took another drink of his coffee. “Whereabouts is it you’re from, anyway? Boston?”