Page 55 of Outcast

I turned to the headmaster, hoping he would step in and tell these bungling policemen they were being ridiculous, but the man stood in the corner of the room, folding his arms as though this was no problem of his. My jaws gnashed together. The bastard had washed his hands of me, and I was on my own.

“Why would I report my so-called accomplices and incriminate myself?” I asked.

“They told me there was a dispute about money,” replied Inspector Faust. “When they demanded a larger share for the efforts they had made, you threatened to have them arrested. It looks like you carried out that threat.”

“No.” I shot to my feet, letting the stool clatter on the floor. My heart pounded against my ribcage urging me to say something to convince them of my innocence. “Ask Henry what happened. He’ll tell you I didn’t do it.”

Chief Inspector Faust also stood. “We spoke to Mr. Bourneville on Friday.”

“What did he say?” My voice shook.

The sergeant flipped his notebook open. “He was shocked at the suggestion that you were involved but had to admit that the evidence against you is overwhelming.”

All the blood drained from my face, and my heartbeat slowed to a dull, heavy thud. I’d seen him yesterday, the day before, and the day before that, but he’d never mentioned anything about being interviewed by the police. Had they told him to keep quiet while they finished their investigation? How could Henry have believed the kidnappers over me?

My insides trembled, and nausea crawled up the back of my throat. “Does he believe I was behind the kidnapping?”

“Let’s continue this conversation after the arrest,” said the inspector.

“Right,” replied the sergeant.

The edges of my vision blurred, and the walls spun like I was stuck in the middle of a merry-go-round. Pressing my clammy palms to my temples, I squeezed my eyes shut to stop myself from falling. This couldn’t be happening. I had contacted the police to protect Henry from the kidnappers’ demands, not to have suspicion fall on me. I needed a lawyer. Mom. Anyone who could talk sense into these cops and explain that I could never have orchestrated the abduction of a classmate.

The headmaster stepped out of his corner, and relief washed over my fevered body. He was going to remind them I was underage, and to take the matter up with Mom.

He straightened the jacket of his pinstriped suit and said, “The academy can’t afford a scandal. Miss Hobson only enrolled a little over two months ago.” A nervous laugh warbled in his throat. “She isn’t really one of us, and her indiscretions shouldn’t tarnish the academy.”

After the shock of all the other revelations, I wasn’t surprised the headmaster wanted to throw me under the bus to save his school’s precious reputation.

“What do you suggest, Headmaster?” Chief Inspector Faust scraped his chair back as though readying himself to pounce on me.

“Let me expel her before releasing her into your custody.” He drummed his fingers on a cabinet by the wall.

“But I’m innocent,” I gasped out.

The officers didn’t even spare me a glance. Inspector Faust rubbed his chin as though considering the request. “How soon can you get her parents to come down and accompany her to the station?”

My knees knocked together, threatening to give way and have me crashing onto the silk rug. I rested my palms on the headmaster’s desk, lowered my head, and breathed hard. The whoosh of blood rushing through my eardrums and the pulse reverberating in my skull muffled out their conversation. I could make out the headmaster explaining that my parents were in the USA, and the police refusing to take me without a guardian and demanding the identity of my housemaster. The conversation went back and forth until the headmaster agreed to keep me in a solitary room until Mom or Rudolph could come and get me.

Both officers left, and Mr. Carbuncle came in. After a short exchange with the headmaster, the janitor marched me out of the main teaching block. The journey across the lawn and under the skeletal trees felt like walking on cotton wool, I was that numb. This had to be a nightmare because there was no way anyone would believe me over a bunch of kidnapping hippies. As we passed through the wooden doors of Elder House, a little voice in the back of my head told me to go to the dining room and confront Henry. But I couldn’t face him if he thought I’d arranged the kidnapping.

Mr. Carbuncle guided me down a staircase that lead to the basement and through a humid hallway. The matron and her staff bustled from room to room, oblivious of my predicament. I wanted to cry out. Ask for help, but I couldn’t break through my wall of numb shock.

“I knew you were trouble the minute I laid eyes on you.” The janitor stared into my face, his expression expectant.

I stared through him. If he wanted a bribe, he was out of luck.

He unhooked his giant ring of keys, fumbled about with its contents, and unlocked a door at the end of the hallway that consisted of a narrow cot. “In you go.” He gave me a gentle shove on the back. “This is where you’ll stay until your mum and stepdad come for you.”

As soon as I stepped through the threshold, the door slammed shut, and the key turned in the lock.

My heart ached. It overflowed with bitter grief that filled my chest, caught in my throat, and spilled from my eyes in a torrent of tears. I was confined. Again. And this time, Henry wasn’t there to keep me sane. He was upstairs, sitting at the head table, hating me for orchestrating his kidnapping. Charlotte was probably holding his hand, explaining that a trollop like me would take any desperate measures to access the Bourneville fortune and its heir.

I walked across the creaking floorboards, lowered myself onto the cot, and slumped. The mattress springs squeaked under my weight. What would Edward think? That I was a calculating whore who had worked out a way to infiltrate the triumvirate? And Blake? I couldn’t even imagine his reaction to my impending arrest. I doubled over, resting my knees on the bed, pressed the heels of my hands into my temples, and dug my nails into my scalp.

Mom would disassociate herself from me if she hadn’t done so already. Once they could arrest me, it would be all over the news that the daughter of Veronica Hobson had kidnapped a British aristocrat. Rudolph might divorce her for the scandal, and she’d have to find a new husband. I blew out a breath. Somehow, I needed to fix things.

In the bare, white room, each interval between the bells felt like days. I almost missed the musty attic room with its piles of broken furniture and curtain-like cobwebs. At least I hadn’t been alone there. A few minutes into second break, the key turned in the lock. I leaped off the bed and rushed to the door.