Page 35 of Cruel Shame

The skin around my eyes grew hot, and my breaths became ragged. If I didn’t leave this shithole, I’d collapse on this table in front of the bastard staring at me through the eyes of a reptile. “If you want to stay out of this, fine,” I said from between clenched teeth. “But I’m going to get a paternity test of my own to prove Lady Liddell a liar. And when I prove Thomas Neapolitan my father, I’ll claim the Liddell fortune out of spite.”

Her eyes widened, and my insides roared with triumph. At last, a fucking reaction.

I paused for a few heartbeats, expecting her to speak or share something that might exonerate Mr. Burgh, but she lowered her gaze back to the congealing chicken.

Kendrick walked around the table and wrapped an arm around my waist. “In case you change your mind, we’ll be in the Gravetye Manor Hotel.”

When nobody acknowledged his words, he guided me out of the room and down the marble hallway toward the front door.

If Mother didn’t speak up, poor Mr. Burgh was screwed.

Chapter Fifteen

The moment we stepped out into the gloomy afternoon, Kendrick ordered an Uber, which the app said would take five minutes to arrive. I turned around and glared through the front door’s glass panels into the hallway. Mother was the first to step out of the dining room and floated toward me in that long dressing gown like a ghost.

My heart somersaulted up to my throat, and I held my breath, hoping she would come to the door and offer to make a statement to exonerate Mr. Burgh. She didn’t even need to come up to Glasgow. I was sure someone in our local police station could arrange a video conference or even hear her side of the story and send it up via email.

Mother stood in the hallway and stared at me for several heartbeats.

Kendrick leaned into me and whispered, “Has she changed her mind already?”

I shook my head. Only a psychic could know what Mother was thinking. Right now, she could be reconsidering or just waiting for us to leave. Sometimes, when I saw her around Richley, she would freeze and stare at me like that. The few times I approached her, she just turned her head.

An electric blue Toyota Prius pulled into the driveway. Kendrick placed a hand on my elbow. “Perhaps if she saw us about to leave—”

“It would make no difference.” I turned to the car and opened its back door.

My throat felt like someone had rubbed it raw with steel wool and my insides fared no better. I was a bloody idiot for coming here. A bloody idiot for thinking Mother would want to help Mr. Burgh, when she could barely speak to the man that time we met in the police station. And now Kendrick got to witness first-hand the shitty characters in my former life.

He waited several moments, staring in the direction of the front door before following me inside. As the car pulled out of the driveway and into the road, he turned to me and frowned. “I’m sorry.”

I met his sorrowful, gray eyes. “What for?”

“Max or Orlando would have said something by now to make you laugh. I never know how to act around girls when they’re upset.”

I placed my hand over his. “The memory of you beating the shit out of Sammy will bolster my spirits for a lifetime. Where did you learn to fight?”

The corner of his lip curled into a smile. “Captain of the boxing team.”

I swatted at his arm. “You should have told me. I was worried Sammy would punch you senseless.”

Kendrick’s eyes dimmed. “That man hid behind the door, caught Max by surprise, and kept hitting him even after he’d fallen. I should have knocked out his teeth.”

I exhaled a long breath, wondering what other aspects of his personality Kendrick kept hidden.

He cleared his throat. “Your mother’s conduct today was… disappointing.”

I shook my head. “Let’s not talk about her.”

An hour later, our Uber stopped within the landscaped gardens of a three-story Elizabethan mansion set within acres of countryside. Kendrick explained that Gravetye Manor Hotel was only a twenty-minute drive away from Gatwick Airport. We could have a meal there and wait if Mother changed her mind about helping Mr. Burgh.

Gray clouds covered the sky, but bright lights shone from a huge, glass sunroom where people dined around white-clothed tables. My stomach rumbled and I hoped they had enough space in the restaurant for two more.

We stepped out into the cold evening, and into a reception area of wood panels, brass wall lights and snowdrops in crystal vases. Until now, I’d never really considered the difference between old money and new but coming here after Billy Hancock’s place showed me that a person didn’t need wads of cash to look classy.

As we stood at the front desk of polished walnut wood, he leaned into me and asked, “How is your concussion?”

It took a moment for the dull ache to register in the front of my mind. That uninterrupted night of sleep on the train had been exactly what I needed. “Much better.”