Page 16 of Cruel Games

“What’s the meaning of all this noise?” said a red-haired woman wearing a black, tailored suit. Its skirt flared out at the bottom, Morticia Addams style. “Get inside and pull out your notebooks, or there’ll be no machine time.”

All thoughts of Elizabeth melted away. This was the woman who had worked at Dior, and she was about to teach us fashion and textiles!

Chapter 7

Catherine Martin was a fashion goddess. She spent the first hour of the lesson talking about how she had studied at the London College of Fashion, then apprenticed with Vivienne Westwood and worked with Tom Ford before getting her dream job at Dior.

From the dates in her story, I guessed she was about fifty or sixty, but she looked like a woman in her forties. The only tell-tale were her hands, which had deformed with arthritis and forced her to give up her career.

Best of all, she had snapped at Elizabeth for texting in class and had even confiscated her phone.

In the second hour, she showed us fabric samples, stitching techniques, and outlined the curriculum for the next two years. She even invited us all to join her tailoring club, the thought of which filled my heart with joy.

By the end of the class, I was floating on clouds, but I sank back to the parquet floors the moment I locked eyes with Mrs. Campbell. She stood with her hands on her hips, fixing her hazel-eyed glower on me.

My feet ground to a halt, and the other girls streamed out of the classroom and walked around me.

“Enjoy being the academy’s whipping girl,” Elizabeth whispered into my ear as she passed.

The deputy headmistress pointed in the classroom. “Inside.”

My brows drew together. I turned around and walked back. Tables of sewing machines lined its walls, and Miss Martin walked around the room, returning her samples to plastic boxes.

I gulped hard. Was I in trouble for missing breakfast or for slamming the door in Gideon’s face? Neither action warranted the attention or wrath of Mrs. Campbell.

The deputy head shut the door with a click. “I’ve just had a phone call from the Archbishop of Scotland. He tells me you’re spreading rumors that his daughter has given oral sex to every boy in the academy!”

All the blood drained from my face. “What?”

“Well, is it true?” She pointed at a wooden chair, indicating for me to sit.

Lowering myself into the seat, I thought fast. After everything that had happened the day before—leaving juvenile detention, escaping Crawford, my first plane ride, and my encounter with Maxwell and Orlando—I’d forgotten that Elizabeth’s father was the archbishop as well as the lord who owned the academy.

My tongue darted out to lick my dry lips. “I said she sucked off Maxwell and Orlando, but that’s because—”

“My goodness.” The older woman threw her hands up in the air, her tweed jacket straining over her huge boobs. “What on earth would possess you to utter something so profane?”

“She called me Hand-Cock, and—”

“So, you struck back with a filthy lie? This is the worst of slander. The archbishop doesn’t need that kind of scandal. The media is hard enough on ecclesiastical professionals.”

“If I may.” Miss Martin strode across the room, holding a pair of shears.

The deputy head flicked her hand. “Go ahead.”

“I overheard the conversation. Elizabeth Liddell accused Lilah Hancock of manually pleasuring two boys in a cupboard, and Miss Hancock retaliated by saying she’d only done so because Miss Liddell’s oral skills were sub-par.”

Mrs. Campbell sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Miss Liddell started this?”

“Yes.” Miss Martin picked up a scrap of purple velvet that had fallen to the floor. “And Miss Liddell also spent several minutes disparaging the physical attributes of her classmates.”

Deflating, Mrs. Campbell turned to me. “Go to your next class.”

I wanted to stay and demand to know what the deputy head would do about Elizabeth’s transgressions against other girls, but common sense told me it would backfire. Everyone was probably nervous around Elizabeth because she would one day inherit the academy. She had the power to fire anyone.

At lunch, Maxwell and Orlando returned to the table they shared with Elizabeth and Kendrick, while a group of younger girls occupied the table we had used the night before. The trio of boys glanced up. Dismissing me, they turned their attention back to Elizabeth.

My heart sank to the bottom of my diaphragm. They had both been so keen the night before. Until now, I hadn’t even believed they had told Elizabeth I’d given them a handjob. The story had clearly been a spoilt brat’s desperate attempt to gain the upper hand. But now, I wasn’t so sure.