“I think I could be able to dissuade him from pressing charges,” Sir Edmund continued slowly, “and allow us to handle this internally. That would be in everyone’s best interests, don’t you think?”
“As long as I don’t press charges either, you mean,” Cassie said, realizing what he was really saying.
“If you do, then I’m afraid Mr. Rhodes will also file. And that won’t help anyone. You see, criminal proceedings will revoke your visa,” Sir Edmund explained in a helpful tone. “And of course you would be asked to leave Raleigh.”
“Which you still may be.” Tremain spoke up for the first time, his face a mask. “We’ll hold a formal disciplinary investigation, and if we find evidence of violence or—”
“I don’t think so.” Cassie cut him off, furious. “If there was evidence, the police would be the ones investigating, but they don’t seem interested.”
“Raleigh has an ongoing relationship with the local police force,” Sir Edmund replied. “They trust us to handle this internally, rather than waste their time.”
Cassie thought fast. They didn’t want a scandal, news reports muddying the good Raleigh name. “Then it looks like we’re done here. After all,” she added bitterly, “if you can’t believe me when I say he tried to rape me, you can’t very well believe his claims that I was the one who beat him.” She got to her feet.
“Miss Blackwell—” Tremain objected, but Sir Edmund waved him silent.
“I’ll discuss this with the disciplinary board and let you know our findings.” He rose too and ushered her toward the door before pausing. “We do demand confidentiality when investigating accusations like this. You mustn’t talk to anyone, especially the press.” His eyes bore into her, flint gray. “The college has a reputation to protect.”
“Of course it does.” Cassie let her gaze drift over them: Sir Edmund, so concerned with the good Raleigh name, and Tremain, his obedient lapdog. She would have felt anger, if she hadn’t been so drained. Instead, she was left with nothing but contempt. “The college comes first.”
Back outside, Cassie wandered blindly. She was burning with rage, with helplessness—and relief. She’d been let down by the system for so long—an endless rotation of ineffectual bureaucrats and spineless social workers—that she’d thought her faith in the rules of authority was long since stamped out. But now, Sir Edmund’s soothing voice still echoing in her mind, Cassie realized she’d had some last shred of faith left to be destroyed.
It made a cruel kind of sense. Sebastian was one of them. They would never punish him, not against her word.
And perhaps she did deserve punishment, after all.
Cassie pushed the thought away. Whatever she’d done to Sebastian, he’d deserved it. She was a survivor, she always had been. And if she’d lost control, gone too far . . . Well, there was no changing it now.
She was turning to cross the main courtyard when she saw Charlie and Detective Bradshaw talking by the porters’ lodge. Cassie dropped back a moment, watching as Charlie reached to answer his phone, then gestured for Bradshaw to go on ahead. The detective exited through the main gates and was soon out of sight on the street beyond.
Cassie strode quickly toward Charlie, arriving just as he ended his call. “What was that?” she demanded fiercely. “What the hell happened in there?”
“Shh,” Charlie hushed her, glancing around. Before she could object, he pulled Cassie to the edge of the courtyard, out of sight down a back alley.
“What’s the problem?” she demanded, pulling away. “Don’t want to be seen with the dangerous crazy chick?”
“Cassie—” Charlie tried to calm her.
“Is that what you were talking about when you said I had nothing to worry about from you?” she spat angrily. “That it was your job to protect and serve?”
“I tried!” Charlie hissed, looking again to see if they were being watched. “You think I don’t know what they did back there? It was a sham.” He spat the word like a curse. “This whole thing was a fucking sham, from the start.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie asked, her anger fading. She’d expected weak excuses and denial, but instead, Charlie looked bitter.
“When I got to the hospital, old man Rhodes was already there,” he explained. “The family solicitor too. When I found out it was about you, I tried to get them away, question the kid properly, but they wouldn’t leave him, not for a minute. Sebastian barely even spoke, just let his dad do all the talking. And then Bradshaw comes in and tells them we’ll sort it out with the college, doesn’t even ask for a statement. I tried to press it, but Bradshaw gave me a bollocking for even suggesting we investigate. I can’t risk it again.” Charlie looked torn. “I’m on probation as it is.”
“Why?” Cassie asked, curious. “What did you do?”
Charlie sighed. “There was a brawl on Cornmarket a couple of weeks ago. I made the mistake of booking the guy who threw the first punch. Turns out daddy’s on some government committee, so he gets off and they move me to college liaison duty. Now I’m stuck logging stolen laptops.” He shook his head as if brushing the distraction away. “Don’t you see? I can’t dig into this. Even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference—these colleges are like fucking embassies: what goes on inside stays there.”
“And the police turn a blind eye,” Cassie finished.
Charlie nodded. “Bradshaw’s been running this beat for years. I didn’t know before, but he makes it all disappear. It’s way out of my hands, and above my pay grade.”
Cassie slumped back against the wall. “So Sebastian just gets away with it?”
“He’s got three broken ribs and a cracked jaw,” Charlie pointed out. “That’s hardly nothing.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Guess I should have believed you when you said you could take care of yourself.”
Cassie couldn’t smile. “I did what I had to,” she said, as much to convince herself as him. “It wasn’t like I enjoyed it.”
Charlie’s face changed. “Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer. “Did he . . . ?”
“What, get what he was after?” Cassie flinched back. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let him get that far.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Charlie looked hurt.
Cassie looked away. “I’m fine.”
He nodded slowly, then reached into his pocket. “Here, take my card.” He pulled a business card and a cheap ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled a number on the back. “This is my cell too. Call me if you have any trouble with Sebastian, or anyone else.”
Cassie took the card and slipped it into her back pocket without looking at it.
“I mean it,” Charlie added, his tone so intent Cassie looked closer. “Rhodes was demanding all kinds of stuff,” he warned her. “Charges, deportation . . . Most of it was probably bullshit, but you can’t get mixed up in something like this again, not if you want to stay out of trouble.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know,” Charlie cut off her angry protest. “It’s not you. But that won’t make a difference. You’re the outsider, and the system is fucking rigged. You’re the one who’s going to get hurt. Understand?”
Cassie gave a short nod. She did understand, better than he would ever know.
“I’ve got to get back. The attack, where did it happen?”
“The late gate,” Cassie replied. “He followed me back from the Union, down Holywell, and got me just inside the walls. By the auditorium.”
Charlie nodded. “I’ll see if I can dig up anything.”
“You already said it’s too late. It won’t matter.”
“Maybe.” Charlie exhaled. “But it would give you something, leverage maybe, if they tried to kick you out.”
Cassie felt a chill. If there was surveillance showing Sebastian attacking her, it would show what happened after too. “Don’t risk it,” she told him. “I can handle it.”
Charlie looked as if he wanted to disagree, but Cassie’s determined expre
ssion must have been deterrent enough. “Take care of yourself,” he offered softly, before walking away.
Cassie watched him go, brown head ducking out of the main gates, black police jacket dark against a tide of returning college students wrapped in Raleigh colors. He was as much an interloper as she, and for a moment Cassie envied his ability to simply walk through those heavy wooden gates and slip back into the real world that lay beyond.
She could leave anytime she wanted, she told herself. Get on a plane, disappear back to her old life, leave the mysteries here rotting into dust. She could just walk away.
But Cassie knew that was just an idle fantasy. She couldn’t stop now, not with so many questions still unanswered. The photograph. Her mother’s secret life. And all the reasons that haunted Cassie late at night, the secrets her mother took to the grave.
Cassie turned back toward the spires of Raleigh, and let the gates fall closed.
16
SIR EDMUND HAD CAUTIONED HER ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF secrecy, but almost immediately Cassie sensed the stares and hushed whispers that followed her across the Raleigh campus, girls turning away to murmur to their companions, young men sending steely glares as they passed. Cassie told herself that she didn’t care. Let them gossip; they would never know the truth, and she didn’t need them to believe her side of the story.
But she did consider confiding in one person: Evie. Cassie returned to the attic after her meeting with Sir Edmund and the police already forming the sentences in her head, prepared to spill everything. She’d always held back her personal life, but now she needed to find an ally, someone who would reassure her that everything would be okay.
But Evie didn’t come home that day, or the next one either. When she finally did return, and Cassie found her sipping tea at their kitchen table, she looked distracted and absent.
“Where have you been?” Cassie asked, pausing in the doorway. Evie looked frailer than usual, dark shadows smudged under her eyes.
“We spent the weekend at Hugo’s place in the country,” Evie replied. “Sorry, did you worry?”
“No, I figured . . .” Cassie looked closer, noticing Evie’s taut expression. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Evie paused. “I . . . We’re taking a break.” Her voice twisted. “Me and Hugo. We broke up.”
Cassie immediately went to sit beside her. “What happened?” she asked.
Evie’s eyes began to water. “He . . .” She swallowed, correcting herself. “We decided to pause things for a while. You know, have a breather . . .” She tried to muster a smile, but her expression was pained.
“I’m so sorry,” Cassie offered.
Evie’s lower lip trembled, her eyes filling with tears. “I just don’t understand.” She let out a plaintive sob. “All weekend he ignored me. He acted like I wasn’t even there, and then, then . . . He said I was getting too serious, that I thought this was something it’s not. I don’t understand!”
Cassie patted her shoulder gently. “Maybe it’s for the best,” she suggested, her voice artificially bright. “You’ll have a chance to focus on your thesis. You’ve only been seeing him a few weeks now.”
Evie nodded blankly. “I just, I thought this was real. That he cared. And now . . .” She swallowed back another surge of tears. “Now it’s all over.” She offered Cassie a pale smile. “Thanks for listening. I think I’m going to go take a nap.” She slowly rose from the table and padded softly down the hall.
Cassie watched her go, feeling a shard of guilt. She’d known Hugo wasn’t taking their relationship seriously—the way he’d flirted with her, invited her out behind Evie’s back. She wondered now if she should have said something sooner. Would Evie have listened, or turned against her too?
Regardless, it was too late to tell her about the attack now. The moment had passed.
As the week wore on, Cassie noticed a worrying change in Evie’s usually exuberant mood. Instead of bounding around the flat, a whirlwind of activity, she now stared for hours at her notes, or pored over books, curled under a blanket on the couch. Hugo wasn’t the only one who had broken things off; Olivia and her friends stopped calling too, and Evie’s glittering social life faded into memories, replaced with days she barely moved from the sofa. She deflected Cassie’s concern, saying she was just buckling down for her thesis deadline, but Cassie feared the looming due date wasn’t the only reason for the change. The only spark of life Cassie saw was when Evie’s phone buzzed, late in the dark afternoons; Evie would snatch it up to check whatever text or call came through, then deflate, throwing the phone aside and retreating to her bed again to mourn the passing of her brief relationship.
Cassie watched the quicksand shifts in mood with a growing sense of fear. She’d seen them before, spent her childhood tiptoeing through sudden tempests, and now, watching Evie swoop between such extremes, she couldn’t help but be reminded of her mother’s manic phases. She warned herself not to overreact, but concern danced on the tip of her tongue every time she saw Evie reach hopefully for her phone, or found her yawning, dead-eyed, over breakfast the next morning. After her first few gentle nudges were met with stony silence, she learned to swallow her concern. This was just a breakup. Evie was a grown woman, making her own choices. She would be fine.
At the end of the week, Cassie set out for her morning run, lengthening her strides on the hard winter ground as the Raleigh campus receded from view. It had taken her body a few days to recover from Sebastian’s attack, but now she was back in condition, completing her long loop around the river walk and far meadow in ever-shorter times. She would need to strike out farther soon, Cassie decided, as she slowed to a walk and began her cooldown, her breath fogging the chilled morning air. Down past the fields on the outskirts of the city, or across the high street perhaps. There were long trails that wound out past Christ Church College to the wide spread of the river proper where the crew teams would race come summer, the riverbanks lined with genteel boathouses and flag-waving supporters.
Back at Raleigh, she was detouring to the lodge to check her mail when she noticed a familiar figure heading back across the courtyard. “Olivia?” she called. The blond girl was just inside the gates, clearly just returning from another night out.
“Cassie, hi.” Olivia swooped in for an air-kiss. She was swathed in a white coat with fur trim, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and her hair peeking out from under a looped scarf. “How are you? How’s Evie doing? Is she holding up okay?”
Cassie paused, not wanting to seem disloyal. “She’s fine. It was a little bumpy at first, but she’s doing much better.”
“I’m so glad.” Olivia sighed. “It was just awful. Such a scene.” She shook her head. “I could have warned her,” she added ruefully. “Hugo doesn’t do relationships. Everything’s fun and games until someone starts caring for real.”
“You should drop by to visit,” Cassie suggested. “I know Evie would love to see you. Or go for cocktails or something with the gang.”
“I wish I could.” Olivia made a regretful face. “But I promised Hugo I wouldn’t get in the middle of things. It would be so awkward, don’t you think? He’s a wretch but he’s family, you know?” She gave a helpless shrug. “But you should come out with us sometime,” she offered. “It’s Miles’s birthday, we’re all going out tonight. You must come!”
Cassie was taken aback at the invitation. She assumed from the dirty looks she’d been receiving around campus that news of Sebastian’s attack—at least, his version of it—was general gossip now, but Olivia was acting as if nothing was wrong. “I couldn’t,” Cassie said firmly. It wouldn’t feel right to take Evie’s place while she sat weeping at home—even if Cassie still had questions to ask about the secret societies in town.
“Well, you change your mind, just say so.” Olivia glanced over Cassie’s shoulder and grimaced. “Don’t look, but Tremain is giving you the evil eye.”
Cassie turned. The professor was approaching from the cloiste
rs, his trench coat whipping around him in the wind.
“Ignore him, he’s always prowling around college looking grim,” Olivia advised. “Anyway, I have to dash. Call me if you ever feel like lunch!” She quickly skittered away, leaving Cassie just as Tremain reached her.
“Miss Blackwell.” Tremain scowled after Olivia. “I was just going to leave a note for you. I was hoping we could have a chat.”
“About?” Cassie tensed, remembering his silence during the meeting with the police, how he didn’t speak up for her, even for a moment.
Tremain looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps we could find time to meet in my office—”
“I’m busy,” she told him shortly. “I have essays due.” She turned to walk away, but Tremain trailed her across the courtyard.
“Miss Blackwell.” His voice was sharp. She reluctantly turned. “I talked with Sir Edmund,” he said in a low voice. “There won’t be any disciplinary actions against you.”
Cassie bit back another sarcastic retort. “Anything else?” she asked coolly. “I really do need to get to the library.”
Tremain looked pained. “College policy dictates that anyone involved in a . . . traumatic event must spend time with a counselor. I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling you an appointment, for this afternoon.”
“You’re kidding me.” Cassie blinked in disbelief. “You’re actually pretending like you give a damn how I feel?”
“Please.” Tremain looked away. “I think it would be for the best. Somebody to talk to, help you process things.”
“In case you’re forgetting, the official line is that nothing happened,” Cassie replied icily.
Tremain sighed. “It’s procedure,” he repeated, pulling a printed sheet from his satchel. He held it out to her. “Just one session. Then we can all move on and draw a line through the episode.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’m trying to help here.” The professor looked at her. For a moment, his expression seemed almost regretful, but Cassie didn’t care. She snatched the page away from him.
The Oxford Inheritance Page 14
