But she’d been sent right out into the brink anyway, to the very worst pockets. This had been the first betrayal to her family name, this disappointment, and there had been nothing but treachery since.
“We said it very explicitly, Polly,” Reginald said now. He’d once gone by Reggie. “We told you not to return here. Your mother’s business is not a stone’s throw away. How does it make her look, to have you at our door?”
His face was cleanly shaved, his hair cut neatly. If you looked hard enough, you could still see the scar over his right eyebrow—some scuffle from his scum adolescence. Polly had asked him about that scar once. He’d only smiled and tugged at her hair ribbons.It’s nothing you will ever need to worry about, he’d said. How wrong he’d been.
“I don’t mean to embarrass her,” Polly said stiffly.
“Embarrass her?” he said, exasperation getting the better of his temper. “I think we are well past that, Polly. We heard you were boarding in Morland, frequenting the gambling dens.” He looked at her like she was a stain on the carpet. “I hope you haven’t come here to ask for money.”
Polly shook her head, swallowed bile. She was horrified to find that tears were threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes. She blinked them back. Once, she and her father had sat in this room until well after midnight, locked in a never-ending chess game, candles burning down to their stubsbefore Reginald had finally knocked over his own king, pride beaming from him.A formidable player, he’d said, shaking her hand.Far too formidable for your poor old dad.
Now they stood apart with tight chests, that same chessboard still by the window.
“No,” she said, and she tried to keep her voice free of fury. It would not serve. “I only—I’ve been offered an opportunity for work.”
Polly had thought this would be the best way to approach her father. It was the only thing she could think of that might make him consider helping her. The only thing he would care about now.
His eyebrows drew together. “A Scribbler’s remit?”
“Yes,” she said. “At the Morland archives. They have a position in the translations department.” It was as close to the truth as she would get.
Reginald took several moments to respond, as though calculating. “You were denounced,” he said. “The House stripped you of your fellowship.”
“They did,” she nodded. She had to word it carefully. “But they would reinstate it, I am told, if I was to offer them a skill not easily found elsewhere.”
At this, Reginald’s expression darkened. He looked away and muttered something beneath his breath.
“They need someone to translate Verian Script,” she said. “And I’d hoped that you could provide me with—”
“Please, Polly. Stop this,” her father said now, turning away from her. He shook his head, as though there’d never been a worse fate than having a daughter such as her. “You know, we received a heinous scribble the other day. Quite indescribable. From the House of Lords, of all places.” He addressed the mantel, unable to look at her.
Polly’s stomach fell away.
“They were asking for your whereabouts,” he continued, his voice wretched, shoulders drooping. “It implored us to provide any information we could, as a matter of urgency. Somehow, I doubt that has anything to do with them wanting to reinstate your fellowship.”
A tear fell free, and Polly wiped it away. “Father—”
“So why don’t you tell me, daughter, just what trouble you’re in now.” He sounded dangerously close to tears.
But she couldn’t tell him. “I need grandfather’s cypher,” she said. “Please.”
“For what?” he asked. “What have you promised them, Polly?”
“Verian Script,” she said. “That’s all.”
“No honorable lord of the House would be bothered with it,” Reginald countered, spitting the words between his teeth. “Stewards. Utter nonsense.”
Polly fought back a sob.
“I should never have let your grandfather fill your head with it,” he continued on, pacing, agitated. “If the House is looking for you, andyouare going around talking about Verian Script, I can only assume you’ve ruffled one too many feathers. They think you aheretic, is that it? Do they think you a sympathizer?”
She struggled to breathe evenly.
“I want you to leave,” he said. “For good this time, Polly. Before I do something I cannot undo.”
Polly balled her hands. “I can’t leave without the cypher. I’m sorry.”
“It is not here,” he seethed, his lips curling back. “Do you truly think I would want any of that rubbish in myhouse?”
