Page 61 of Cruel Shame

Chapter Twenty-Four

A cold breeze rustled through the trees overhead, blowing dead leaves across the academy gardens. I turned away from the blast toward Orlando, my insides fluttering with excitement. Lady Liddell wouldn’t have been in such a shitty mood if things were going well for her.

“We’ve got to go to the boardroom.”

He nodded and wrapped his warm fingers around mine. “Mr. Burgh’s lawyers must have something over the old battle ax.”

We jogged along the path with the wind at our backs, and up the stairs that led to the door closest to the boardroom. For the first time since the shooting, I felt a surge of hope. Hope that Mr. Burgh and his lawyers could navigate a way out of the Liddells’ labyrinth of lies.

When we reached the boardroom, the door was still closed, and the hallway an empty passage of wood-paneled walls. I pressed my ear against the door to hear raised voices.

“What are they saying?” asked Orlando.

“Something about class A drugs,” I whispered.

The squeak of an ungreased wheel filled the hallway. I turned to find one of the servers from the dining hall pushing a metal trolley laden with sandwiches, a box of shortbread, and insulated carafes.

Orlando stepped back, running his fingers through his blond curls. “Let’s catch up with Mr. Burgh later. If they’re bringing more refreshment, then the meeting will probably continue at least another hour.”

I backed away from the room, letting the woman approach. She opened the door to the sound of one of the governors pounding the table with his fist. Everyone fell silent as the women wheeled in the trolley, and some of the people around the table leaned forward.

Father Neapolitan stood with his back against the wall behind the archbishop with his arms wrapped around his chest. The man breathed so hard that his upper body bowed forward with every exhale, and he looked like he was about to be sick. His gaze caught mine, and he stiffened. This time, I stared into those hateful eyes and snarled.

Before I could see who else was in the room, the door swung shut behind the server.

“Lilah?” Orlando places a hand on my arm.

“Hold on a minute,” I said with my gaze fixed on the boardroom. ‘I want to see what else is happening when she opens the door to leave.”

“Whatever they’re discussing, it looks pretty heavy,” Orlando muttered. “The lawyers Mr. Burgh brought with him must be really important if they’re making people give up their seats.”

Moments later, the door opened again, and the server emerged with a pile of used cups and empty plates. This time, I turned my gaze from the far end of the table, where the archbishop sat with two of the governors from earlier, down to the other end, where Mr. Burgh sat with four newcomers in sharp suits.

“Wow,” I muttered. “He doesn’t mess around.”

Orlando wrapped an arm around my shoulder and guided me to the school’s tuck shop, where a pair of second-year boys manned a complicated-looking, chrome cappuccino maker. Lunch was about an hour away, so we took a squishy sofa closest to the counter and ordered coffee.

He squeezed my hand and smiled. “It’s good news that Mr. Burgh is approaching the Liddells from a position of strength. Most people who go against them are completely unprepared.”

I took a sip of the hot drink. As cappuccinos went, this one was milder than Starbucks with loads more chocolate sprinkles. “I suppose that’s the way to deal with bullies. Hit hard, hit fast, and hit them where it hurts.”

Orlando grunted his agreement. “I can’t believe I used to consider myself an ally of the Liddells.”

“Couldn’t you see they were complete bastards?” I asked.

He set down his mug and grimaced. “This is no excuse for the shitty things I’ve done, but when I was growing up, I believed people's money or titles got their positions because they were better than others.”

“If all the old money types met the person up their family tree who built their fortunes, I’d bet they’d shit themselves out of shock.”

Orlando barked a laugh. “You’re right. Rechert Nevis smuggled whisky from Ireland before deciding to brew it himself from barley he won in a game of dice.”

We fell silent and sipped at our drinks, and a pang of guilt twanged at my heart for the mean comment. I’d never really thought of the knights as old money because they didn’t act like they were better than anyone around the academy. Nor did they try to claim a position of leadership, even though they were huge and handsome and stood out among the students.

“You’re the first scholarship student I’ve ever befriended,” Orlando murmured. “Everyone else I know comes from wealthy families and before that, I went to a prep school full of people just the same as me.”

I sipped my drink, listening to him reminisce about his parents’ social circles and how they never gave him the chance to mix with kids his age from other backgrounds. It was like being a step away from royalty and maybe if Scotland still had a separate monarchy from England, Orlando and the others would be friends with their crown prince.

My mind boggled at the high society parties and luncheons and charity events, and I couldn’t imagine living with such haughty expectations. Billy Hancock lived in one of the most expensive houses in Richley and always had lots of cash, but that didn’t buy him entry into any tier of society except for his own.