Page 5 of Rules for Ruin

“Vexing girl!” she’d said furiously during the tense carriage ride back to the Academy. “What on earth did you hope to gain from this ill-advised stunt?”

“I wanted to find out about my past,” Effie had answered.

“You have no past,” Miss Corvus had told her. “Only a future. And that future is for me to decide, not you.”

Sitting across from Effie now, a flash of residual anger darkened Miss Corvus’s eyes at the reminder of Effie’s ingratitude. “A foolish mistake on your part, returning to that place.”

“Was it foolish to wonder about my mother?” Effie asked. She had no distinct memory of the lady to call her own, just the faded, dreamlike recollection of a fair-haired woman in a squalid room above a malodorous rag-and-bone shop. A woman who may have been called Grace. The image of her had plagued Effie for as long as she could remember.

“The pitiful wretch who brought you into this world wasn’t a mother,” Miss Corvus said. “She was a creature of the slums with no means, nor any desire, to support a child. She parted with you willingly. Eagerly. And she was well compensated for it. That you would persist in thinking of her in such romantical terms speaks to your lack of maturity.” Her lips compressed. “You disappoint me, Miss Flite.”

“And you mistake me as ever,” Effie said stiffly. “I have no interest in happy families, nor have I any illusions in that vein. It’s knowledge I crave.”

Miss Corvus gave a dismissive sniff. “You have it. You know as much as I do.”

Effie had her doubts. What she knew was only what Miss Corvus had chosen to tell her. Effie couldn’t trust it. Not when she couldn’t recollect any of the details for herself. She’d been too young when she’d left the Rookery.

Or rather, when she’d been taken.

The only thing she could recall with any degree of clarity was that one day she’d made the grievous mistake of stealing Miss Corvus’s reticule. It had been a sumptuous, velvet article, plump with the weight of coin. Effie had sliced the dangling ribbons from Miss Corvus’s wrist with a cutthroat razor as she’d stopped to make a purchase at a Covent Garden flower stall.

Yes, that Effie remembered, for that single desperate act had sealed her fate.

As for the rest…

“If you don’t recall it, why do you wish to?” Miss Corvus asked. “Count it a blessing, and good riddance.” She blotted her lips again. “You spend too much time looking backward. It’s the future that should concern you.”

“A future that you mean to decide for me.”

“You are of age. You are free to go at any time.”

“But I am not free.” This time, Effie couldn’t keep her frustration from seeping into her voice.

Every article of clothing she possessed belonged to Miss Corvus. Everything she’d ever learned. Everything she was. With each skill she’d acquired, each dress she’d had made for her, and each night she’d spent, safe in a warm bed, she’d racked up a debt. It had never been expressed with pen and ink, but Effie was as conscious of it as breathing.

Miss Corvus appeared to appreciate Effie’s dilemma, but she showed no sympathy for it. “Honor is what brought you back. And honor is why you remain.”

“A debt of honor,” Effie replied. “I mean to discharge it.”

“Oh, you shall,” Miss Corvus said. “Have no fear of that.”

Effie waited with a building sense of apprehension.

“There’s a man,” Miss Corvus said at length. “Lord Compton.” On uttering his name, she broke into a hacking cough. She held her handkerchief to her lips until the fit had subsided. When she drew the lace cloth away, it was stained with blood.

Effie’s breath stopped in her chest. She had a vague memory of having seen a similar sight once—a woman, coughing blood into a dingy rag. It had boded nothing but ill.

Miss Corvus continued with an effort. “He’s a villain of the worst rank.”

“His crime?”

“He snuffed out the life of a girl who was dear to me. Dearer than any creature on this earth. She was like you—strong, beautiful, intelligent. A girl of infinite possibility. Until Compton came along with his flattering words and deceitful kisses. First, he connived to steal her heart, then he stole her fortune. His betrayal was the death of her.”

Effie stilled, shocked. “Are you saying he killed her?”

Miss Corvus neither confirmed nor denied the charge. “It was many years ago, long before you came to the Academy. He’s never yet been held to account. The girl had no family to seek justice on her behalf, and even if she had…no one would imagine Compton capable of such treachery. He was young and handsome then, endearing himself to all.”

“And now?”