Kiss of Death (22 page)

No, she’s spent all these years telling herself firmly that being with Aunt Gwen was best for me, that we were bonding. Which is really tragic, because my grandmother actually wanted me with her, in the Hall, and I would have loved that too. Aunt Gwen’s suggestion that I was forced on her as some sort of perverse punishment for her crime was just typical Aunt Gwen nastiness, designed to make me feel as bad as humanly possible.

My grandmother loves me, and wanted what was best for me. She wanted me to grow close to my aunt, so that I’d have a relative left who loved me when she eventually died. And I can’t blame her for refusing to believe the truth about Aunt Gwen: what parent could believe their daughter killed their son without solid, cast-iron proof?

“I made a mistake, Scarlett,” my grandmother is saying now as she clasps my hand. “But I meant it for the best. You believe that, don’t you?”

I can’t manage to speak, but I nod vigorously as I sit back on the footstool, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. It’s a measure of how upset my grandmother is that she doesn’t immediately snap at me for not having a handkerchief of my own. Instead, she takes a deep breath and sits back herself, her spine once more poker-straight, folding her handkerchief and slipping it into the pocket of her cardigan.

“Well, I’ve made more than one mistake,” my grandmother says more firmly. “And there’s nothing I can do to redeem those. My daughter is dead.” She swallows, but she has herself under control now, and some color is coming back to her cheeks. “Gwen was never happy,” she adds. “She shouldn’t have stayed at Wakefield. She could have taught at any school she wanted to. Goodness knows, there were always offers; she was considered one of the best geography teachers in the country. Eton … Winchester … Cheltenham … a mixed school, where she could have had a wider circle of acquaintances …”

Men, Grandma means. Male teachers, who might have been interested in Aunt Gwen.

“I should have put my foot down. Insisted that she take one of those opportunities,” my grandmother continues. “It might have been the saving of her. Instead, she became unhealthily obsessed with Wakefield, I’m afraid. I thought she understood that, as your father’s daughter, you would naturally be my heir.”

“That doesn’t seem completely fair,” I venture, thinking of Callum’s family, the McAndrews: how Dan had been due to inherit everything just because he was born a few minutes before Callum, his twin brother. Like winning the jackpot, completely by chance.

“It’s how it works in Britain, Scarlett,” my grandmother says, looking at me seriously. “In the old families, everything is held for the most senior member of the next generation. The title, the estate. It means that the ancestral homes are passed on with enough land and inheritance to maintain them. That’s why we still have so many beautiful stately homes—look at Chatsworth, or Castle Howard. They are intact because they passed down from the oldest son to the oldest son, without being split up between the rest of the family.” She touches the pearl necklace she always wears. “Even this is a family heirloom,” she adds. “Held in trust, to be passed down to the next generation. I couldn’t sell it even if I wanted to.”

“So if I had a younger brother, he’d inherit Wakefield Hall,” I say. “And he’d have the title, while I don’t.”

“The baronetcy can only be inherited by a male,” my grandmother, who’s Lady Wakefield because she married Sir Alexander Wakefield, confirms.

“That isn’t fair either,” I say. “I just mean, if Aunt Gwen was upset about it, I do sort of understand.”

My grandmother reaches out to squeeze my hand again.

“I’m used to the way things were always done,” she says quietly. “It’s hard for an old dog to learn new tricks, Scarlett. But a truly good parent, or grandparent, hopes that their descendants will improve on how they lived their lives. If you don’t think it’s fair—and poor Gwen may well have felt the same—the remedy is in your hands. You will be able to do what you want with the Hall when you inherit it. If you feel that your youngest daughter, not your oldest son, is the right person to take it over—or if you want your children to share it in a trust—you’ll decide that for yourself.”

My expression must be appalled, because she actually manages a smile as she looks down at me, the first one that I’ve seen on her face today.

“You should see yourself when I talk about children you may have,” she says, her eyes brighter now. “Utterly horrified! Don’t worry, Scarlett. I’m much more interested in your educational than your reproductive prospects.” She sighs. “And, of course, your immediate residential ones.”

I’m still working through this as she adds:

“You can’t stay on in the gatehouse by yourself, of course. Not that I imagine you’d want to.”

I hadn’t even thought about where I would live now, with Aunt Gwen gone. The idea of being on my own in her house, fending for myself, is overwhelming; for a moment I picture myself staying there by myself, with Jase visiting me, and although maybe that should be exciting, the image is actually more scary. Too much, too soon.

“I don’t think I could manage,” I say honestly. “There’s so much responsibility in running a house. I mean, I can wash my own clothes, but …”

I think about doing the shopping, running out of things I always forget, like dishwashing tablets, cream scrub for the bath, that mildew spray Aunt Gwen was always nagging me to use in the shower.… It isn’t glamorous, it’s frightening. After the unbelievably dramatic year I’ve had, I just want to be a nearly-seventeen-year-old for a while. By which I mean, as entirely irresponsible as possible.

“Especially with exams to do,” I say nervously. I feel as if I’m being a coward, but when I look at my grandmother, she’s nodding sympathetically.

“I’m very keen on young people taking responsibility,” she says, “but it would be absurd for you to be suddenly catapulted into adult life. I think the best solution is for you to live in the dormitory wing during term time, with the other students. If you move in there now, that will give us enough time to plan a set of rooms for you here in the Hall with me. They’ll be yours in the holidays, for as long as you want them. You know I’m hoping that you’ll eventually make your home here, Scarlett. This will be the first real step to making that happen.”

“Thank you,” I manage to say.

“We’ll put you on the same floor as Taylor McGovern in the dormitory wing,” my grandmother adds. “I know you two are close.”

I nod, overwhelmed.

“You’ve been through much too much in this last year,” my grandmother says. “More than any sixteen-year-old should have to cope with. But I think you have an old head on young shoulders, Scarlett.”

She utters these words very firmly; she sounds like the Lady Wakefield I’ve known, and been intimidated by, forever. But when I glance at her, I read doubt in her gaze for the first time, as if she’s trying to convince herself.

“I’ll be okay, Grandma,” I assure her. “I really will.”

She heaves a deep sigh, one that seems pulled up from the very soles of her feet.

“I hope and pray you will, my dear,” she says very gently. “Now why don’t you go and find Taylor, and start to move your things over to your new room in school? And have a think about what you want to keep from the gatehouse. Any piece of furniture you want, make a list and give it to Penny. But you might want to have a whole fresh start—leave it all behind. It’s entirely as you wish.” She smiles. “I have plans for that house.”

And then she reaches out to me, takes my face in both hands, and kisses me on each cheek.

“I love you very much, Scarlett,” she says softly. “I never want you to have a moment’s doubt of that.”

I leave her study with my head reeling. Lady Wakefield, my grandmother, actually showed emotion in my presence. She cried in front of me. She talked about her feelings. She talked about what I wanted, as if I were a real human being. She acted like a grandmother.

I’ve lost an aunt who hated me, and found a grandmother who loves me instead.

I can live with that.

eighteen
“LIKE THERE’S NO
THERE
THERE”

Taylor’s waiting for me in Penny’s anteroom; she jumps up on seeing me, looking excited.

“Matron just told me,” she blurts out, “you’re coming into the dorm! They’re moving me so you can have the room next to me! It’ll be really cool!” She grabs the handle of my suitcase. “I’ll take this over, and then we can go get the rest of your stuff. Matron said we can use the porter’s trolley.”

Penny smiles at me. “Lady Wakefield’s having the estate builder come in tomorrow to look at the rooms in the old wing of the Hall,” she informs me. “To see how much work they need to make you a place of your own. We thought you’d like your own little kitchenette. And bathroom, of course.”

It’s ridiculous how small things can make a real difference sometimes. The thought of actually having my own bathroom that I don’t have to share with anyone, where I can soak in the tub as long as I want without Aunt Gwen banging on the door, or try those semipermanent dyes I’ve been longing to experiment with, safe in the knowledge that if I get a drop or two on the bath mat Aunt Gwen won’t rip my head off and shove it down my throat, is really amazing. I’m beaming as I leave Penny’s office.

“I’m so psyched!” Taylor says happily. “It’ll be so cool to be next door to each other!”

“I’m going to get my own bathroom,” I say dreamily. “I wonder if they’ll let me pick the colors? And I’d really love one of those baths that go in the middle of the room.…”

“Ooh, those are amazing,” Taylor says, momentarily distracted. “
Super-
romantic!”

I sigh in bliss.

“Look, Scarlett—” Taylor’s been bumping my case down the back stairs, but she stops at the bottom, looking at me. “I didn’t get a chance to be alone with you before—you were totally zonked out yesterday, and Miss Carter’s been around all day today—I need to talk to you about Seth.” She hoists the case up as I hold the back door open for her. “So you understand why I was acting so weird.”

“Oh, I think I understand,” I say as she follows me out into the fresh air. “I had a lot of time to work it out.”

We’re at the side of the Hall, walking down a little stone path that leads around the building and comes out onto the top of the many stepped terraces that fall away, one after another, to the expanses of lawns beyond. I walk over to the stone balcony at the far end of the terrace, and prop myself up on its wide balustrade, swinging my legs, looking down at the ornamental Italian garden on the terrace directly below.

Taylor sets down the case and follows me over.

“You got Seth to come over from wherever he was,” I start, “because you were worried about me.”

“Cornell,” she says. “He was at college. He got emergency leave.”

“Wow.” I look at her. “You must have been really worried.”

“I was
freaking out,
Scarlett,” Taylor says, starting to pace back and forth; she can never stay still when she’s nervy. “ ’Cause after that note in our room, and your getting pushed down the stairs, I did think it was Alison and Luce, okay? It all pointed to them. Blast from the past, you know?”

I nod.

“I thought it was them too,” I admit.

“But the next day, it didn’t
feel
like it was them,” Taylor continues, still pacing. “They didn’t seem triumphant, or smug. They were just the same as the day before; snotty, standoffish, pretending we didn’t exist. That’s not how girls act when they’ve pulled off some huge prank that gets everyone in school out of bed, and fire engines showing up. Plus one of them shoved a girl who used to be their best friend down a flight of stairs. I mean, that’s huge.” She pauses, leaning on the balustrade with both hands as if she’s doing press-ups. “So I took a good look at all the girls in the group. And I couldn’t see
anyone
who seemed different from the day before. That didn’t feel right.”

She leans farther onto the balustrade, bending her arms, keeping her body straight, like she’s going into plank position.

“And then I thought: if it wasn’t a girl, it had to be a teacher. Which seemed, like, nuts. Until I went through the list of all the teachers who were there with us. And I ended up with your aunt.”

Taylor’s not looking at me now, but straight ahead, across the lawn. It’s still half-term, and most of the other girls on the school trip have gone back to their homes until spring term starts next week; there’s no one on the lawn, just a couple of herons flying overhead, dipping down behind the ivy-covered fence that encloses the lake.

“Which seemed nuts too,” she says quietly. “But my parents always say to think the unthinkable. And it seemed that pushing you over a stair rail was really harsh. I mean, you dropped your friends to go to a party. That sucks. They had a complete right to be angry and not be friends with you anymore. But you could have been killed when you went over that banister, which is totally out of proportion to what you did. So I was, like, what’s the motive here? Who would benefit if Scarlett got killed?”

She turns her head to look me straight in the eye.

“And the answer to that was really easy,” she says simply. “It was standing out a mile.”

“You’re going to be a really good secret agent,” I say dryly.

“I wasn’t sure, not for ages,” she says. “When your water got tampered with—it had to be your water, it was the only thing you ate or drank after breakfast, and we all had the same food then—your aunt had the spare keys to the coach. She could really easily have sneaked out and put something in your water. And Alison actually caught you when you fell. Sure, that could have been Alison feeling guilty about going too far with the prank from the night before, but it made much more sense to just think she was innocent in the first place.”

I nod. Taylor’s line of thought is unarguably clear.

“So your aunt had motive, opportunity.” Taylor pushes herself to standing again, ticking the points off on her fingers. “Two attempts in two days—and both of them happened when I was around, so obviously I couldn’t protect you on my own.” Her mouth draws into a tight line of remembered stress. “I IM’d Seth and told him what was going on.
Major
panic. He was amazing. Really amazing. He got straight on a plane. But Scarlett”—she’s grimacing now—“I couldn’t tell you what I suspected! I mean, she was your
aunt
! Your mom and dad are dead, you’re not exactly close to your grandmother—you wouldn’t have anyone left if I was right. And if I was wrong, I’d have made you feel even crappier about your aunt—”

“It’s okay!” I hold up a hand to stop her apologies. “I get it, I really do! I’d probably have done exactly the same thing.”

Her shoulders sag in relief.

“Of course,” she says, shoving her hair back from her face, “the irony was that Seth turned out to be completely sucky at shadowing you without being spotted.” She rolls her eyes. “He was too worried about me. He thought I might be in danger too. So he got way too close, just in case anyone tried to do something to us, so he’d be there to defend us. But that meant you saw him. Which,” she adds with the kind of withering sarcasm you’d only use about a close relative, “is because he did the worst job of surveillance
ever
in the history of the
world
. I could hear him a mile off! He might as well have been walking along next to us! When we were coming back from the Shore, and I told you it was just dry leaves on the ground making that noise, I was just
dying
inside with embarrassment that my brother was being so totally
lame
!”

Taylor’s expression is so contemptuous that I can’t help giggling.

“I mean,
please,
” she finishes, shoving her hands into her pockets. “
Humiliating.
And down there on the ghost tour! You spotted him twice—I mean, he was just standing there in plain sight! I could have killed him! What did he think was going to happen to us with a whole lot of girls and teachers around? What an idiot!”

“He did save my life,” I point out in his defense. “And he was fantastic afterwards, too. I’m worried I didn’t thank him enough. He really came through when I needed him.”

“Yeah, well. There is that,” she acknowledges, rocking back on her heels. “God, Scarlett, I’ve never been in such a state in my life when your aunt took you out of that ghost tour. Finally, she was going to be alone with you. And you were so wound up I knew she could have gotten away with murder—all the teachers and girls would have told the police that you were totally hysterical. If your aunt had managed to push you out that window, no way would they have done an autopsy and found out you had antihistamines in your system. They’d have said you were having a meltdown, maybe that you were trying to get attention, and that you slipped and fell out the window.”

I nod, slowly. “I couldn’t let you come with us, though,” I say. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you—”

“No, it
was,
” Taylor interrupts. “And you were right, okay? You
shouldn’t
have trusted me. I told you that you didn’t see something you saw with your own eyes. I lied to you. You must have thought you were going crazy.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know what to think,” I admit. “I was so confused.”

“I texted Seth right away,” she says, “and told him you were leaving with her, and to follow you and make sure you weren’t alone with her. He got a cab, and the only sensible thing he did at all was to get into the school and find where you both were.” She shivers. “It sounds like he got there just in time.”

I nod. “I was so dozy with the antihistamines, Seth said he was worried the police would think I was on drugs.”

“Well, it turned out okay,” Taylor says. “He flew out of Edinburgh this morning, back to the States. The police said he could leave. I mean, they’re agreeing it was an accident.”

“It
was
an accident,” I say simply. “He was just fending her off. She tripped and fell all on her own.”

We fall silent for a while, thinking over the crazy events of the last few days. Here, on the terrace of Wakefield Hall, where everything is so still and quiet, it’s almost hard to believe what we went through in Edinburgh.

“I just want to go to sleep for a week,” I say fervently, slipping down from the balustrade. “Let’s go and get my stuff into my new room. And then we could bike to Wakefield village and get some decent food. The kitchen’s even worse in holidays than in term time.”

“Um, Scarlett?” Taylor comes up behind me as I take the handle of my suitcase. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.…”

I dart a glance at her and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise; she looks—I have to think hard to find the word, because it’s one I would never associate with Taylor—
insecure.
She’s staring down at her feet as we walk along the terrace, refusing to meet my gaze; her hands are shoved into her pockets as if she’s trying to root them down to Australia.

“Okay,” I say, suddenly madly curious.

“You and Jase,” she starts, “you’re, um, all good, right?”

I feel a blush spread across my face as I think about that night under the stars at the quarry party.

“Definitely,” I say, happily embarrassed. “More than ever. We sort of, um, did stuff. Not, you know,
it,
” I add quickly, in case she worries about me. “But, um,
stuff.
And it was wonderful.”

“Well, that’s cool,” she says, kicking a stray pebble against the wall. “I’m happy for you.”

“Taylor?” I stop at the top of the stone staircase that leads down to ground level, leaning on the suitcase handle. “You’re sounding totally weird.”

“That’s ’cause I did stuff at the party, too,” she says, and to my utter surprise, I notice that her cheeks are red too. Really red. Like ripe tomatoes.

“Cool! Why are you looking so guilty? You didn’t do anything with Jase,” I say confidently. I have no idea what’s going on here, but that at least I’m sure of; I can’t think of another reason why she’s looking so embarrassed, though.

“No!” She looks horrified. “
God,
no!” And, if possible, she goes even redder. “With, um—”

“With Ewan!” I say cheerfully. “Oh, Taylor, that’s brilliant! I could tell he really liked you!”

“No,”
Taylor says, doggedly pressing on, her entire face the color of a postbox by now. “With
Callum.
”

“You
what?
”

In my amazement, I knock the handle of my suitcase, which tips toward Taylor. She jumps out of the way to avoid it, but much more awkwardly than she normally would; she bumps into a big stone vase planted with peonies, and falls back into it, bottom first, as my suitcase tips head over foot and crashes down the staircase before I can catch it.

The expression on Taylor’s face is priceless. She hates to be out of control; she hates to do anything clumsy. Her eyes are wide in shock, her mouth hanging open, as she stares at me above her knees, which are almost as high as her head because her bum’s landed deep on the soil in the vase. I’m giggling hysterically at the sight of her.

“Pull me out!” she yells furiously, wriggling in the vase; the more she moves, the more flowers she squashes. “Pull me
out
!”

Through my laughter, I manage to walk over and take her hands. It’s really hard to get her out of the vase without tipping it over, as she’s fairly low down; I have to haul her up bodily while propping the vase with my foot at the same time. By the time she’s standing back next to me, the carefully planted peonies are completely flattened; I look down at them and start to laugh all over again.

“I’ve got flowers all over my butt!” Taylor exclaims crossly, twisting round to slap at the bum of her jeans, which sets me off even more. “It’s not
funny
!”

I bite my lip, take a pull at myself, and shake my head.

“It’s all your fault,” she snaps. “You threw your suitcase at me.”

“Sorry,” I say meekly.

“I was telling you something really big, and you threw your suitcase at me!” She finishes dusting soil off her bottom.