Page 61 of Revenge

Blake’s face twisted into a harsh smile. “You must have a fairy godmother. What luck!”

I stood. If I’d been lucky, I would never have gotten sent to Mercia Academy in the first place.

We walked out of Elder House, passing a shame-faced Mr. Carbuncle in the reception hall. He had overheard the boys telling me that they had arranged the kidnapping, yet he had kept their secret. He was just as corrupt as the others. Worse, considering what he did with female students.

Mr. Jenkins wrung his hands the entire journey across the campus, the March winds blowing through his thinning hair. A nervous laugh warbled from his throat. “I should never have believed the lies. The article in the paper explained everything, and now, I owe you the deepest of apologies.”

“You never once visited me in that cell.” I stared down at the gravel path.

“Mrs. Jenkins updated me on your wellbeing.”

There wasn’t any point in arguing. The man had already proven himself unfit for housemaster duties. Chastising him wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

As we walked through the rest of the path, I pictured Chief Inspector Faust’s miserable face, and how he and his sergeant would stumble over their apology before expunging my record. I would tell him I understood that policing in England wasn’t as thorough in the States and to go reread the Agatha Christie novels he’d used to learn detective work.

As soon as I entered the headmaster’s office, two uniformed police officers stood. Mr. Chaloner stepped out from behind his desk. Edward leaned against the wall, staring at me with cold eyes.

The headmaster’s eyes burned with fury. “Here’s our little leak. Officers, arrest her for the production and distribution of indecent images of children.”

Chapter 20

My heart beat so hard, it made my chest vibrate. I locked eyes with Edward, who stared back through eyes as cold and piercing as a winter wind. What had happened since we had lain together? The article about Mr. Frost’s involvement in Henry’s kidnapping couldn’t be pinned on me. My gaze moved to the two uniformed police officers who scrutinized me with dispassionate gazes. Every bit of moisture dried up in my mouth, and I took a step back and bumped into Mr. Jenkins, knocking him into the door.

The movement jolted me out of my shock, and I blurted, “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t leak anything!”

The headmaster’s face turned red, and veins stood out on his temples like thunderbolts. “Someone from outside the academy has been accessing the Mercia-Net with your username and password.”

I clutched at my chest, feigning surprise. “Who?”

“You tell me.” He rounded the desk. “We traced the IP address to a Virtual Private Network. Whoever was using your login details made great efforts to hide their location.”

“W-what?”

He leaned forward. “Did you know that anyone accessing from the Saturday Correspondent could be traced to their offices in Fleet Street?”

“But you said the hacker used a VPN,” I replied, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“That’s why they had to use a VPN,” snapped the headmaster.

I gulped. It hadn’t occurred to me that they would be so thorough in their investigations as to check on who had accessed the Mercia-Net from outside the academy.

“Well, Miss Hobson?” Mr. Chaloner loomed over me.

Excuses whirred through my mind, but the only thing I could think of was the time I had visited the headmaster asking for help, only for him to try to confiscate my phone.

My tongue darted out to lick my lips. “People have been breaking in and out of my room all year.” I cast a glance at the police officers. If they weren’t corrupt, this information should be of interest to them. “Do you remember? I reported the first incident to you, and you said nothing. How do you know they didn’t steal my login details from my room? It was printed out on a piece of paper I received with my schedule.”

The policemen glanced at each other. I swallowed hard. Hopefully, they would focus on the real crime that took place—entering a person’s room without permission—and forget about the trumped up, not-even-criminal charge of leaking information to the press. I turned pleading eyes to Edward, who glanced away.

“Who entered your room, Miss Hobson?” asked the older policeman.

“Charlotte Underwood.”

The headmaster folded his arms across his chest. “I doubt that one of the largest victims of the mole would hand the Saturday Correspondent information to bury her own father.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut. If I didn’t think fast, I’d end up locked in that basement room until Rudolph could bother himself to collect me. Of course, Charlotte couldn’t be the leak. Her name was the first that popped into my mind. Before I could think another excuse, words spewed out of my mouth. “There’s someone who has access to every room in Mercia Academy. He’s corrupt and accepts bribes. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Correspondent employed him to leak information.”

“Who?” asked the headmaster.