by Julia Nobel
Sincerely,
A friend
Emmy didn’t know what to make of it. Changes are coming. Could this person have known Emmy’s mom was sending her to England? How could that be possible when Emmy hadn’t even known herself? She looked at the letter again. Her father. His relics. But she didn’t have anything that belonged to her father. Her mother had gotten rid of everything he owned when he disappeared. Yet this “friend” seemed to think Emmy might have some kind of relics that belonged to him.
She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. This house had been in her mom’s family for generations. She’d never sell it. If her dad wanted to hide something valuable, it would be the perfect place.
Emmy crept to her door and eased it open. The light in her mom’s bedroom was out. She tiptoed up the little staircase that wound its way around the chimney and unlatched the narrow door that led to the attic. She shuddered in the cold and flicked on the light. There was stuff everywhere: a spinning wheel that must have belonged to a long-lost ancestor, a telephone with a long curly cord that plugged into the wall, even an old desktop computer her mom must have forgotten to get rid of. Any of it could be considered a relic. So, which one belonged to her dad?
She opened the nearest box. It was just old cables. The next three boxes she looked in had receipts and documents that looked like they were for her mom’s taxes. The fifth box was filled with more documents, and Emmy was about to close it when a page at the bottom caught her eye. Did that say “marriage”? She pulled the paper out; at the top in huge letters it read, “Marriage Certificate.” Emmy swallowed hard and read the names.
Pamela Willick. Thomas Allyn.
Emmy frowned. That couldn’t be right. Wasn’t her dad’s name Willick? The certificate made it look like her dad had taken her mom’s last name. She shrugged. He must have been really progressive.
Emmy looked around the room. There had to be more things about her dad up here, things her mom hadn’t gotten rid of. She searched every box, but nothing else had her dad’s name. A glimmer of daylight started shining through the tiny attic window. Her mom would be waking up any minute. She was running out of time.
She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms and tried to remember what the letter had said. If you’ve found any of his relics, keep them safe. Relics. Documents weren’t really relics, and if they were sitting out in the open, that wouldn’t be very safe. Maybe there was a hiding spot. She stepped around the ice-cold chimney and rubbed her hands along the walls. Nothing seemed like the latch to a hidden door. She could tap on the floorboards to see if one might be loose, but that would probably wake up her mom. Besides, it was a two-hundred-year-old farmhouse. All the floorboards were loose.
Emmy sighed. It’d be nearly impossible to search for a hiding spot without making a big racket. She put her hand on the great stone chimney and reached for the door, then stopped. Why wasn’t this part of the chimney as cold as the rest of it? The texture felt different too, like all the grit had been rubbed off the stone. Emmy looked closer. It had some kind of coating on it, like hard plastic that was made to look like a rock. She reached her fingers around it. There was a groove, one that her fingers fit inside. She yanked and the fake stone flew into her hands, revealing a giant hole behind it. There was a metal box inside.
Emmy’s heart started beating harder. This was definitely a relic. She pulled out the box and felt a jolt in her stomach. It was beautiful. There were carvings all around the outside: roses and thorns and intricate crosses. Slowly and carefully, she opened the lid. There was a letter inside:
My dear Pamela, I know you must be upset with me, but if you find these, please don’t get rid of them. They’re very important.
My dearest Emmeline, if you find these, keep them safe. And I wouldn’t tell your mother if I were you.
Love, Tom/Dad
The letter started shaking in Emmy’s hand. My dearest Emmeline. Love Dad. Her father had written this letter, and he’d written it to her.
She put the letter aside and gasped. Twelve medallions were fitted into slots, and each one was a different shape. Some were round, some were teardrops, and each of them were intricately carved masterpieces. Every groove, every curve, every edge looked like it was exactly where it was meant to be, creating a set where no two medallions were alike. She picked one up and pressed it into the palm of her hand. Were these really her father’s? She had never owned anything that belonged to her dad. She had never even seen anything that belonged to him.
She sat on the frigid wood floor and put the box on her lap. What should she do with it? The letter had said she should keep her dad’s relics safe. Did that mean she should hide them in her room? Or should she take them with her to England? She didn’t even know if she wanted to go to England at all. She leaned her head against the wall and sighed. She could refuse to go. She could march down to breakfast and tell her mom she wasn’t going anywhere and that was that. But there was this part of her, this tiny voice, that said, Why not? What would she be leaving behind? Heating up frozen lasagna while she waited for her mom to get home? Watching reruns alone on a Saturday night?
England. Her Dad’s home. Could she find a home there too?
Emmy tapped her fingers on the box. Whoever sent her that letter must have known she was supposed to go to England, and that these medallions were hidden in this house. They must have known about her dad. And if going to England meant the chance to learn more about her father, she was going to take it.
She bit her lip. Now she just had to figure out how to keep her mom from finding out about the letter and medallions before she got on the plane.
• • •
A week later she was standing in Heathrow Airport’s arrivals hall, trying to navigate a luggage cart through swarms of stressed-out travelers. Somebody from the school was supposed to pick her up, but she had no clue how to recognize the person. Maybe they’d have a sign with Emmy’s name on it, like in the movies.
“Excuse me, might you be Emmeline Willick?”
Emmy whirled around. A man with a shaved head and stubbled chin was staring at her. “Uh, yeah, I’m Emmy.”
The man held out his hand. “I’m Jonas Tresham, and I’m here to take you to Wellsworth.”
Emmy bit her lip. She’d pictured someone prim and proper and wearing a fancy suit. This guy was wearing a black hoodie and looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week. “You’re from Wellsworth?”
He pointed to a patch on his hoodie. “That’s what it says on my paycheck, as well as my jacket.”
Emmy squinted at the patch; it said “Wellsworth.” She took his outstretched hand and shook it.
“Would you like to wait out front while I bring the car around?” he asked.
“No, I’ll just walk.” After eight hours of travel, she was desperate to stretch her legs.
It didn’t take long to find the Wellsworth car. It looked like something the royal family would ride in: sleek, black, and huge. Jonas didn’t just drive fast, he drove crazy fast. And he wasn’t the only one. Just getting onto the freeway felt like a NASCAR race, but with everyone on the wrong side of the road.
After what seemed like forever on the freeway, the car veered into an exit lane and started to slow down. Soon they were on a new road—a slower road—and Emmy could finally look out the window without getting dizzy. Thick hedges lined the narrow street and almost brushed the side of the car. They turned onto a driveway and went under a heavy stone archway with the word “Wellsworth” carved into the top. Emmy pressed her nose to the window, but there were so many trees that she couldn’t catch a glimpse of the school. Finally, they reached the end of the driveway.
She clutched her backpack tightly, clambered out of the car, and looked up. Way up. She’d been to a lot of private schools, but none of them looked like this. It had tall spires and massive arched windows, like the cathedrals in New York City. A maze
of walls sprung out in every direction, as if people had just added more rooms when they needed space.
A woman with wild black hair walked down the front stairs, leaning on a cane with every step.
“Emmeline Willick?”
“Yes,” Emmy said.
“Welcome to Wellsworth. I’m Madam Boyd. I’ll be your housemistress. That means I’m here to support you, offer guidance, and make sure you don’t flunk out.”
Emmy tried to swallow, but her mouth felt like sandpaper. Was flunking out a likely possibility?
“Let’s get you to the house.”
Jonas heaved her luggage out of the trunk and the three of them walked down a path that snaked around the side of the sprawling building. As soon as they rounded the corner, the wind just about knocked Emmy off her feet. It bit at her cheeks like an icy whip, as if she’d just walked into a frozen wind tunnel.
“I’ve been having a look at your school records,” Madam Boyd said. “You haven’t got any Latin?”
“Uh, no.”
“And no Greek?”
“No.”
Madam Boyd shook her head. “No classical studies, no literature, and who knows what they’ve been teaching you in ‘U.S. History.’ Well, no use flapping about it, we’ll just keep the head and deal with it in the morn’s morn.”
It was like Madam Boyd spoke a different version of English, one with unrecognizable words with extra R’s and no G’s. Maybe she was from Ireland or Scotland.
“You’ll have to start off in a first-year Latin class, and I’ll be putting you in the Latin Society to help you catch up,” Madam Boyd said.
“What’s the Latin Society?”
“A group committed to learning and excelling in Latin studies. They read and discuss Latin literature and offer assistance to students who need extra guidance.”
A Latin reading club. That had to be the most boring thing she’d ever heard of. “Are there any other clubs I could join? Like soccer, maybe?”
“You’ll find information on all our games and societies, including football, in your school handbook.”
Emmy felt a jolt in her chest. So, they did have a soccer team. At least there was one thing to look forward to.
Madam Boyd glanced at her. “Latin Society can be a bit…boisterous. Some of their members have a habit of making poor choices. Nevertheless, they boast some of the highest Latin exam scores in the country, and, given how behind you are, I think it will be a real benefit to you. Just make sure you stay out of trouble.”
Emmy nodded, even though she couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble she would find at a stuffy old Latin club.
They walked across the blowing grounds until they took a sharp turn into a wall of trees. Wherever they were going, it was well concealed. Madam Boyd took another sharp turn and stopped so abruptly Emmy almost ran into her. There, in a clearing, stood two stone towers that looked like they were hooked onto a large round room that sat between them.
“These are the Edmund and Audrey Houses,” Madam Boyd said. “You’ll be on the third floor in Audrey—that’s the girls’ house.” She looked at Jonas. “Would you mind bringing Miss Willick’s things to her room? I have something to discuss with her before she goes in.”
Jonas nodded and brought Emmy’s suitcases inside.
Madam Boyd looked squarely at Emmy. “Miss Willick, I must be frank with you. I have some concerns about you being admitted to Wellsworth.”
Emmy looked down at her hands.
“Not because you aren’t a good student,” Madam Boyd went on, “but because of how much pressure this will put on you. You haven’t grown up in our school system. You missed all of first and second year, and you’ve missed the start of third year. Even though there’ll be some overlap with your American schooling, you are still incredibly behind. I’m not telling you this to discourage you, but to give you a realistic expectation of the work you have ahead. I explained all this to your mother, but she insisted you could handle it. However, if Wellsworth is too much for you, we can make other arrangements. Do you understand?”
Emmy nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. School had never been too much for her before, but she’d never been to one like this. Maybe Wellsworth wasn’t such a good idea.
“There’s a school handbook in your room,” Madam Boyd said. “You’ll find a map in there along with your timetable. Unfortunately, I have a meeting, so I can’t come in with you, but your roommate will help you get settled.”
Madam Boyd shook Emmy’s hand. “I won’t wish you good luck, because with hard work and self-discipline, you won’t need it.”
Emmy nodded weakly but wished she really did have a good luck charm. It sounded like she was going to need it.
Madam Boyd disappeared into the trees, and Jonas came out of the house. “Everything all right?”
Emmy shrugged. The stitches in her forehead still ached, she’d been traveling forever, and her housemistress didn’t think she could hack it.
“If you don’t mind my saying, you do look a bit peaky, young miss. Should I fetch someone to come and—”
“I’m fine,” Emmy said. She didn’t know what peaky meant, but it couldn’t be good.
Jonas scratched his stubbly chin. “I know Wellsworth can be a bit daunting at first. I was a student here myself. Even though I graduated almost twenty years ago, I still remember that overwhelming feeling. It makes a lot of people wonder whether this is really the place for them.”
Emmy’s eyes filled with tears. She’d only just gotten there, and she was already so far behind she might never catch up. Maybe she should just get back on the plane and not look back.
“No one’s going to make you stay,” Jonas said. “Only you can decide if it’s worth it.”
Emmy hiked her bag a little higher on her shoulder. She could feel the outline of the box inside it, like a talisman that held part of her father—part of herself—inside it. It felt heavy against her back, like it was trying to get her attention. I’m here, it was saying, I’m here. Don’t forget about me.
“Well, you’d best be getting inside,” Jonas said. “If you need any help, I’ll be around.”
“Thanks,” Emmy said, and Jonas disappeared into the trees.
Emmy turned and stared at the thick wooden door. It was now or never. She clutched her bag tightly, pushed down on the iron handle, and heaved open the door.
CHAPTER 3
Audrey House
So far everything at Wellsworth had been so cold and quiet that the school seemed practically deserted—but not this room. It was crammed with people, all shouting over the music that blasted off every wall. Heat poured out of a massive double-sided fireplace that snapped and crackled in the middle of the room.
“You can’t be serious,” someone said. “Another accident?”
A boy shook his head. “This is the third time someone from Latin Society’s gotten hurt this year.”
Latin Society. That was the club she was supposed to join.
“Jumping off a roof isn’t an accident. It’s just stupid.”
Emmy stopped walking. Somebody jumped off a roof? That wasn’t stupid; more like insane.
“Maybe they’ll finally get in trouble.”
The other boy rolled his eyes. “Not a chance. Those guys can weasel out of anything.”
They started talking about rugby, which Emmy didn’t know a thing about. She looked around; where was she supposed to go? There were two staircases, one on each side of the room, and each of them had a giant banner hanging beside it. The one on the left was deep blue and had the name “Audrey” stitched in scrawling letters. Hopefully that meant she’d find the girls’ rooms over there.
The third floor was dark and musty, like someone had spritzed old dust piles with hair spray. There were nameplates on every door: Natalie Walsh and Jeannette Beauguin.
Lola Boyd and Arabella Gray. Fenella Greenborough and Jaya Singh. Victoria Stuart-Bevington and Emmeline Willick. Emmy wiped her sweaty palm on her jeans, turned the door handle, and walked into her room.
She frowned. Was this her room? Every inch of it was covered in stuff. Picture frames, knickknacks, and heaps of clothes that had been drenched in overpowering perfume. There wasn’t even space to sit down on one of the beds. She opened the closets. Both were crammed full. Her suitcases were in front of one of the beds, but it looked like two girls already lived here. There must have been some kind of mistake, and she didn’t even know who to ask to fix it.
The door burst open, and a girl stormed in, slamming the door behind her. She walked straight past Emmy, her blond ponytail bouncing behind her, and she pulled a large roll of yellow tape out of one of the desk drawers.
Emmy twisted her fingers behind her back. She should introduce herself. Or at least say hi. Or just run out the door and never come back. “Uh, hi? I’m Emmy Wi—”
“Don’t talk to me,” the girl snapped. She bent down and put a long line of tape on the floor. “I hear you’ve never been to a boarding school before. First rule: stay out of your roommate’s space. Since you’re new, I thought I would make that part easy for you.” She pointed a bony finger to one side of the room. “Everything on this side of the tape is mine. Everything else is your half.”
Emmy frowned. Her “half” was about a quarter of the size of the other girl’s.
“Second rule: stay out of your roommate’s stuff.” The girl threw the tape back in the drawer. “If I catch you looking inside my closets, I’ll get you expelled for stealing.”
“But where—”
“You’ve got suitcases. If they’re big enough to hold your rubbish now, they’ll be big enough all year.”
“All right.” Emmy gritted her teeth. “I’m Emmy Willick.” She held out her hand, and the girl looked at it as if it were a dirty sock.