Page 45 of Cruel Shame

“You know what this is?” I took a sip of my tea.

He reached for a quarter of butty and dunked it into the sauce. “A smokescreen to cover up for Lady Liddell handing Myra Highmore a gun?”

My mouth dropped open. “How did you—”

“I’ve seen every Machiavellian trick the staff and students have performed over the years.” He chuckled. “I never thought His Grace would allow his family to direct their animosity to someone who has served the school his entire career.”

Despite the laugh, poor Mr. Burgh sounded like someone who had been pumped and dumped. A tight fist of sympathy squeezed at my heart. I leaned into his side and rested my head on his shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

“If they think they can run me out of Templar Academy with a few false accusations, they’ll be sorely disappointed. I’ll support Miss Highmore’s claims and coordinate the parents to raise a lawsuit regarding the cocaine.” He took a bite from my butty and winced. “What the bloody hell is this?”

“Something that will make you forget your hangover.” I placed a hand on his back. “Eat up.”

* * *

I spent the rest of the day taking photos and cataloguing the damage Elizabeth did to my room before calling the police to make a formal report. It wasn’t as though I was expecting them to arrest the girl, but I just wanted documentary evidence of her descent into madness. Right now, I didn’t know what to do with the information, but it might become useful later in a court of law.

Mr. Burgh went back to bed for a few hours and joined me in the afternoon for a late lunch of shepherd's pie with steamed broccoli. The sleep, shower, and shave took the redness out of his eyes, but did nothing to restore the color to his cheeks or straighten his posture. He sat at the dining table with his shoulders sagged and picked at his food.

My heart ached for the man who had devoted nearly a lifetime to the Liddells only to find that one of them raped his daughter and sent her into a spiral of drink and drugs. Then Lady Liddell plotted to kill me and ruined his career with Elizabeth’s false accusations. His only course of action after this shit was revenge or justice, if such a thing was possible against such powerful people.

After sundown, Mr. Burg got a roaring fire going in the living room, filling the space with heat. We opened up a manilla folder the housekeeper left for him and went over its contents with a red pen. It looked like something Mrs. Campbell had prepared and seemed to lift his spirits.

Maxwell texted to say he was about to have dinner with the Liddells, and Orlando texted to ask what the hell I’d done with Kendrick. Gideon texted to ask if he could come over. I texted back to ask if we could meet tomorrow and got another message from one of the girls who had been expelled for lewd conduct.

Elizabeth was my friend until she got me drunk and tried to take off my bra.

If you promise to bury that bitch, I can send you all the shit I have on her and her family.

Tara x

The doorbell rang. Mr. Burgh rose to his feet, but I rushed to the door. “Let me get it.”

He exhaled a long breath. “Lilah—”

“When you make your grand appearance, you’ll be shaved and in a suit.”

He glanced down at his crumpled shirt and nodded.

As I rose off the sofa, the doorbell rang again, only this time, in several staccato blasts.

“Alright,” I shouted.

Whoever was behind the door pressed their finger on the bell to make a continuous ring. Bugger this. I slowed my steps out of the living room, letting the dickhead make an idiot of themselves. There was absolutely no reason to ring the bell like the house was on fire. It was probably some first year being a twit.

Or reporters.

The front door was one of those solid wood barriers from the times when people had an army of servants for invaders to slash through, letting the master of the house escape through the back door. In Richley, people had door chains and peepholes. And if they could afford it, security cameras.

A heavy fist pounded on the door, filling the hallway with the mingled sound of banging and that bloody awful bell. It was so noisy that I didn’t hear Mr. Burgh appearing at my side.

I turned to him and scowled. “You should be back in the living room.”

His features darkened. “If you think I’ll hide in the shadows while my granddaughter opens the door to whoever’s out there, you don’t know Duncan Burgh.”

“It’s probably reporters,” I said. “Do you have a door wedge?”

“What?”