The Oxford Inheritance

by Ann A. McDonald

  Cassie was confused when the cab stopped on the street close to Blackwell’s and Miles directed them down a backstreet to a Victorian-style redbrick building. “This is the students’ union?” she asked. “I thought that was across town, in the big concrete block.”

  “They’re both called the union.” Hugo looked amused as they approached the entrance, lined with crumbling pillars and an elaborate stone portcullis. “There’s a general union organization, but this is a private, members’-only club.”

  “They’re famous for the debates,” Evie added. “They’ve had all kinds speak here: prime ministers, presidents, even Madonna.”

  Cassie looked around with interest as they filed inside. The decor was more of the English hunting style she’d become so used to since arriving in Oxford, wood beams overhead and dark leather wingback chairs arranged around low antique coffee tables. Groups of students and older adults clustered in corners, enjoying their evening drinks.

  Cassie paused, recognizing the thickset outline of Sebastian’s shoulders among them. The scene at their tutorial felt like weeks ago, though it had only occurred that morning; now he was at the bar with a couple of other athletic-looking boys. He glanced across the room, eyes widening as he saw her there. Cassie couldn’t resist fluttering a wave in his direction. Sebastian’s expression darkened.

  “Cassie?”

  She turned. Evie was waiting for her, gesturing to a staircase beyond the bar. Cassie caught up with them, leaving Sebastian and his friends behind.

  Cassie followed the group upstairs to a private lounge. “The personal domain of the Union president,” Miles told her grandly. Cassie looked around curiously, drinking in the scene. Here, the party was already well under way: music playing loudly, people clustered on couches and lounge chairs, passing around wineglasses and cut-glass tumblers.

  She followed Hugo and Olivia as they cut through the crowd, greeted by cheers, backslapping, and air-kisses. It wasn’t just Raleigh they ruled, she noted, but here too: people stepped aside to make room and the couch was vacated for them. Soon, Cassie too was seated in the center of it all with a tumbler of fine whiskey in her hand.

  “Glad you came?” Evie smiled, curled on the sofa beside Hugo.

  Cassie nodded. “Thanks for dragging me out.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “How about a little bump?” Miles took a slim sachet of white powder from his breast pocket, then cut the lines of cocaine on the glass-topped coffee table. He took a first snort, then offered his rolled banknote in their direction. “Evie?”

  Evie blushed and shook her head so fast her hair shimmered in the lamplight.

  Olivia laughed. “Not Miss Genevieve,” she drawled. “She’s a good girl, aren’t you?”

  Evie flushed again, cheeks pink. “I have an early meeting with my supervisor!” she protested as Olivia bent her head and inhaled, tracing the neat line along the glass.

  “She’s kidding; we envy your virtue.” Hugo dropped a casual kiss on Evie’s forehead before his gaze slid over to Cassie. “What about you?” He arched an eyebrow, looking smug, as if he expected her to decline too.

  Cassie felt an itch of rebellion. She usually steered clear of chemicals. Alcohol, drugs, they were all too dangerous to her hard-won self-control. But tonight, she was already off her guard. What harm would it do?

  “Sure.” Cassie held her hand out.

  Hugo’s lips curled with surprise. “Well, well, well.”

  Cassie ignored him, bending her head to feel the first fierce spark of the drug hitting her bloodstream. She only did half a line, but it was enough to bring the memories rushing back: the sharp itch of adrenaline, the restless burn beneath her skin. Her heart raced as she lifted her head again, finding Hugo’s gaze still fixed on hers.

  Her skin prickled. Cassie looked away and turned back to the group.

  “Hartwell will get treasurer,” a short, stout man was saying. He already had the look of middle age about him, even though Evie murmured that he was still a finalist at Christ Church. “And King president, I’d bet the house on it.”

  Miles must have caught Cassie’s confusion, because he leaned in to translate. Apparently, Union politics was a hotbed of bribery and corruption, with students using whatever means they could to win a seat on the various steering committees and organizing associations. “Bloody hacks, running for office. Can’t see the point myself.”

  “That’s because you don’t do anything that involves getting out of bed before noon,” Olivia replied, getting up. She picked her way over the coffee table on bare feet and collapsed with a laugh on the other side of Evie, snuggling in close.

  “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal,” Evie remarked. “I can’t imagine wanting to be treasurer or first secretary, or whatever it is. Nothing but boring meetings and budgets, on top of regular college work.”

  She laughed, but Olivia’s expression turned stony. “It’s experience, for later in life. And the status, too. Being president of the Union really means something.”

  “To whom?” Hugo countered. “The head of recruiting at Deloitte? Your future boss at Barclays?” His voice was scornful. “Forgive me for not wanting to join the herds on a fast track to their investment banking fortunes.”

  Olivia flickered her eyes skyward. “We’re just saying if you’re going to hang around here for God knows how long, you should at least do something constructive.”

  “It’s called a doctorate,” Hugo drawled, but Cassie could see the faint tension in his jaw. Although his body was draped casually on the sofa, one arm propped on the brocade-covered arm, there was a certain air of power about him, an intensity that was winding tighter by the moment.

  “I don’t see why you’re so against it,” Olivia snapped back. “You’re too old to be rebelling just for the sake of it. You have to grow up some time.”

  “That, my dear cousin, is entirely up for debate.” Hugo downed the last of his scotch and unfolded his limbs from the seat. “Now, I’m off to get another round, unless that’s not constructive enough for you?”

  He headed for the bar. Evie leaned forward for a moment, as if she wanted to go after him, but then sat back, watching him with an anxious expression. “You shouldn’t push him like that,” she told Olivia. “You know how it winds him up when you talk about politics.”

  Olivia looked impatient. “Then he shouldn’t be so sensitive. He’s next in line to a fucking dynasty. He’s meant to be a member of Parliament already or at the very least some local government hack.”

  There was something bitter in Olivia’s tone. “What about you?” Cassie asked. “Why don’t you run for office?”

  Olivia face snapped closed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She laughed, but her eyes were like steel. “It’s like Evie says, why would I want to spend my time on all that boring stuff when I could be out having fun?”

  The conversation moved on, but Cassie watched Olivia. She’d recognized something new in her, a flash of frustration. Ambition thwarted, perhaps, or even jealousy.

  Had anyone ever considered her next in line to the dynasty, or was that fate for Hugo alone? He and Olivia seemed so different, but they were more alike than they probably knew. Cassie had watched them all evening, and now she had new insight into their world. Each of them struggled against invisible restraints; Olivia, overlooked when it came to the political legacy; Hugo, bitter under that same weight. Cassie wondered what it would be like, to move through life with such high expectations. A name to live up to. A duty to fulfill. People had only ever thought the worst of her, a badge she learned to wear with grim pride.

  “All this election stuff,” Cassie said deliberately, spying an opening. “Isn’t it all decided in back rooms anyway? I heard that the results were fixed by those secret societies.”

  There was silence. Cassie suddenly realized all eyes were on her.

  “Which societies?” Miles asked.

  “I don’t know.” She tried to laugh it off. “Some guy
in my tutorial was just going on about how it was rigged, how everything was run by those groups.”

  “God, I wish,” Miles snorted. “It would save us all the torment of this bloody campaign season.”

  “Or they could do it the old-fashioned way,” another guy piped up. “Pistols at dawn on the commons, winner takes all.”

  The conversation moved on, and Cassie let out a private sigh of relief. She’d been clumsy, saying something outright like that. She had to be more careful; she didn’t know what she was dealing with yet.

  She waited until attention was elsewhere then excused herself, slipping away in search of the bathrooms. The bartender pointed her down a long passageway that, like most hallways in Oxford, was lined with old photos and portraits, reminders of the generations who built and crafted the legacy current members enjoyed. Cassie thought of Olivia and Hugo, and the Mandeville legacy they were both so sensitive about. She’d never had a family to navigate like them.

  But perhaps she did.

  Cassie paused, realizing for the first time that if—when—she found her father, there would be a family to go along with him. She’d never even known her grandparents, but she could have a whole sprawling network of strangers linked to her by blood: cousins, aunts, uncles. A history, a legacy of her own.

  “Enjoying our illustrious forbearers?” Hugo’s voice behind her made Cassie jump.

  “You scared me!” She stepped back. He was too close in the narrow hallway, his eyes dark on hers. “Why are you always sneaking up on me like that?”

  “Me?” Hugo looked amused. “You seem to be the one making a habit of wandering where you’re not supposed to be.”

  Cassie remembered the night she broke into the vaults. She looked away. “I didn’t realize this was a private area,” she said quickly, covering.

  “You’re fine,” Hugo replied. “If anyone asks, you’re with me.”

  “And the Mandeville name opens doors around here?”

  He shrugged. “It has its blessings. And its burdens,” he added, with a dark look. “Just ask Father.” Hugo nodded to one of the portraits. A blue-eyed student stared back, stiffly holding a ceremonial gavel.

  “Union president, nineteen ninety-four,” Cassie read the inscription.

  “Grandfather’s up here too, somewhere back there.” Hugo pointed down the hallway. “A couple of uncles. My aunt Beatrice. Cousin James.”

  “But not you.” Cassie recognized something in his voice, almost wistful.

  “Not I.” Hugo gave her a twisted smile. “I never even ran.”

  “Why not? It sounds like you’d have it sewn up. The great Mandeville legacy,” she added lightly.

  Hugo shrugged. “Legacy is a curious thing. When people have expectations . . .” He stared at the picture, deep in thought. “I wonder sometimes if I’m fighting destiny even trying to go my own way. Or if it’s better just to give in and accept that my fate was set before I was even born.”

  Cassie felt a chill. She’d wondered the same thing, many times. If her mother’s curse would be her own; the madness and instability already encoded, deep within her DNA. She could run forever and still not escape that terrible day, the stain of blood on cracked porcelain. “I don’t know,” she answered softly. “Maybe all you can do is try.”

  Hugo turned back to her, his expression thoughtful. “Why are you here?”

  Cassie froze. “What do you mean?”

  “Here, tonight. Partying like . . . like you’re one of us. You’re not.”

  Cassie tensed. “I’m here because I was invited,” she replied, icy. “Why? Am I not important enough to enter your hallowed halls? I’m sorry that my ancestors don’t merit a place on your walls, but—”

  “That wasn’t what I was saying,” Hugo tried to interrupt.

  Cassie shook her head. “I know exactly what you meant.” She gave him a scornful look. “You know, for someone who is so ambivalent about his own legacy, you’re pretty quick to judge everyone else’s.” She turned to stride away.

  “Wait,” Hugo said. She didn’t stop, but then he was in front of her again, blocking her path. “Really, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you’re different, that’s all.”

  “Fine.” Cassie shrugged, still tense, her heart racing.

  “Listen, do you want to get dinner sometime?” Hugo asked.

  She paused with a shock, certain she’d heard him wrong, but Hugo seemed sincere, hesitant even as he continued, “Or a movie maybe. I’ve seen you out by the art-house theater in Jericho; we could see a film, this week perhaps.”

  Cassie stared at him, her mind racing, trying to decipher this latest game. “You’re with Evie,” she said finally.

  Hugo looked confused. “We’re just seeing each other. It’s not serious.”

  “Tell that to her!” Cassie exclaimed. She couldn’t believe this, the ease with which Hugo could forget the girl who only moments before had been sitting across his lap.

  “It’s not like that—” he tried to say, but Cassie cut him off.

  “No,” she said sharply. “I’m not interested in whatever game it is you’re playing. Just stay away from me, okay?”

  She left him there in the hallway, but as she made her way back through the lounge she was stopped by a hand, heavy on her arm. Her temper flared. “What part of ‘not interested’ don’t you understand—” Cassie whirled around, the words dying on her lips when she realized it wasn’t Hugo this time, but a young blond man, his cheeks flushed with alcohol, his collar crumpled. “What do you want?” Cassie bit out.

  “Another round here,” he told her. “An’ some of that scotch.”

  She shook him off. “I don’t work here.”

  “Don’t worry, James.” A smug drawl came from her other side, and then Sebastian was beside her. He slowly lifted a tumbler to his lips and looked Cassie up and down with a sneer. “It’s an easy mistake. Some people just look like staff, don’t they? You know, I think they’re hiring. You could pick up some useful skills for when you graduate.”

  “You mean how to deal with childish assholes?” Cassie replied loudly. “That’s okay, I get enough experience with that putting up with you.”

  His friend snorted with laughter, and Sebastian’s smile dropped.

  “See you in tute next week,” Cassie said, victorious. “Try to come prepared,” she added. “As Tremain said, it brings the whole quality of discussion down when you don’t.”

  She walked away before Sebastian could reply. Back upstairs the party was louder now, and wilder. Empty bottles littered the tables, and the men had discarded their formal dinner jackets and loosened their ties; the girls were draped over the couches, hair tumbling, eye makeup smudged. Evie was lying with her limbs splayed across Olivia, half asleep on the couch. Hugo was nowhere to be seen.

  Cassie made her way through the revelry to Evie. “I’m going to head out now. Are you ready to go?”

  “But the party’s not over,” Evie protested. She cradled a wineglass, almost spilling it on her dress.

  “Stay.” Olivia lazily tugged on Cassie’s arm. “We’re just going back to Miles’s place.”

  “Not me.” Cassie managed a smile, though she was still tense. “But thanks for inviting me. This was fun. I’ll see you back at college.”

  “Let us call you a cab,” Evie said.

  “No, it’s fine. I feel like a walk, and college is only ten minutes away.” Cassie said her good-byes and quickly hurried downstairs to the exit, wanting to escape the party before she found herself involved in another scene.

  She emerged from the Union buildings onto the dark street. It was past two A.M., and the night air was cold on her bare legs. Cassie pulled her coat more tightly around her as she set off in the direction of Raleigh, passing the darkened storefronts and looming college gates along Holywell Street.

  As she walked, she couldn’t help but think of Hugo. She didn’t understand him, how he could flirt with her so easily with Evie just upstairs. She h
ated to admit he affected her, those dark eyes that seemed to cut through her defenses, the shadows behind his sly and knowing smile. She could write it off as the wine and drugs, still jittery in her system, but Cassie knew the charge between them was something more. Something dangerous, something she needed to avoid at all costs.

  The city was empty at this hour, not another soul in sight. Gold-tinted light pooled on the cobblestones, cast from old-fashioned wrought-iron lampposts along the street, and each college Cassie passed was lit up by the front gates, illuminating sandstone, red brick, and stone statues keeping watch from the quads. Cassie veered to take a shortcut down a winding, residential street banked with old town houses. It was darker here, empty and still, and in the quiet of the deserted street she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her.

  Cassie quickened her pace. She crossed to the other side of the street, glad she was almost back at college, and then quickly turned onto the back road that wove along the edge of Raleigh lands.

  The footsteps remained, steady behind her. Cassie knew she should head straight for home, but she couldn’t stop herself from pausing on the corner and turning to check behind her.

  Nothing. There was no sign of life besides shadows in the street behind.

  She hurried on. The gatehouse lodge closed at midnight, she knew; instead, students used the late gate, a small wooden door cut into the wall toward the rear of the college. Cassie followed the college walls along the street, already reaching for her keys, still listening for the footsteps that trailed behind the staccato tapping of her own heels.

  They were there, closer now, louder.

  Cassie’s pulse kicked with fear, and she found herself wishing she’d taken Evie’s offer of a taxi, regardless of the expense. She couldn’t run in those heels, not far, and her legs were pale and bare below the black silk of her dress. Exposed. She broke into a run as she reached the back door, hurrying to unlock it. Her hand shook, her keys scratching metal against metal until finally she fit the key in the small lock and turned. The door swung open, and she stepped quickly inside, stooping through the small opening and slamming the door shut behind her, letting out a small sigh of relief as the lock clicked back in place.