Chapter 2: The Money in the Envelope  

ARIA

The moment my mother left the room, I knelt at the hearth and pulled the scorched corner out of the fire with the tongs.

It was still warm. I blew on it, folded it in half, and slid it into my sock before I could think.

Guarantor: Miss A. Dawson.

"Aria?"

I jumped to my feet. My mother stood in the doorway with a small flat package in her hands, her chestnut hair a little looser than before. Her smile was gentle and polite. It was the smile she wore for Charles's guests.

"Mom."

"I told you to go upstairs, Aria."

"I was only warming my hands, Mom."

"It is June, Aria."

"My hands were cold, Mom."

"Of course." She closed the door behind her. Her eyes slid to the fireplace, to the ash, to the tongs on the wrong hook.

"You moved the tongs," she said.

"I was looking for the poker."

"There is no poker in this room."

"Then I was simply mistaken." I kept my voice steady. "What did you want to give me?"

"Sit with me a moment, darling. I brought you something."

"A gift?"

"It is your graduation day."

"You have never given me a gift."

"I gave you a hot water bottle once."

"It was a leaking one. From the charity shop."

"It was still a hot water bottle." She pushed the package into my hands. "Open it."

"Is it another hot water bottle?"

"It is better." She almost smiled. "Go on, open it."

Inside lay a plain brown envelope, thick and sealed with a gold sticker.

"What is this?"

"Three hundred pounds, in cash."

I stared at her. "Where did you get three hundred pounds in cash?"

"Do not ask me that, please."

"Mom."

"It is for your first month. A room, a train ticket, a coat." Her hands began to twist together. "A young woman should not walk into the world with empty pockets."

"The world."

"Aria."

"Where would I even go, Mom?"

"I know a woman with a spare room in Camden, near the canal."

"Which woman?"

"I will arrange it all." She waved a hand.

"You want me to leave Rothwell House."

"I did not say that."

"You gave me moving money."

"Please do not make it sound so cruel."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because people are talking."

"About what?"

"About you and Kellan." Her voice dropped. "Vivian came to see me yesterday," she added. "She asked if you were staying after graduation."

"What did you say?"

"That it was undecided."

"And?"

"And she smiled." My mother shivered. "Mrs. Clarke asked me at tea last week why he drives you to lectures. Why he phones the dean about your marks. Why he looks at you the way he does."

"How does he look at me?"

"Like a man who has forgotten you are his sister."

"I am not his sister."

"That is exactly what people say."

"He is only being kind."

"Kindness is not what they call it."

"What do they call it?"

"A scandal." She said the word like a curse. "And Vivian's family is watching. Her father invests in Charles's fund. If they believe you are in the way, Charles will hear about it at every dinner for a year."

"And Charles will blame you."

"Charles will blame me for bringing you here." Her eyes filled. "I know what I said when I married him. I said you would be no trouble."

"Did he say anything back to you?"

"He said, just keep her quiet." She laughed, thin and sad. "So I did."

"I have been no trouble."

"I know." She touched her mouth. "I know you have, my darling."

"Mom, who sent that letter?"

"What letter?"

"The blue one."

"Nobody." Her voice cracked. "It was only a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding for four hundred and eighty thousand pounds?"

The room went silent. My mother's face drained of color.

"You said you did not read it," she whispered.

"I read the corner."

"Aria."

"My name was on it, Mom."

"It was only a formality." She gripped my hands. Her fingers were ice. "A name on a form. It means nothing."

"It means they know where I live."

"Nobody knows where you live."

"A man with dark blond hair knows my room number, Mom."

"Please." Tears slid down her cheeks. "Please do not tell Charles. Not tonight. Not until I have found a way."

"A way to do what?"

"To fix it."

"What if they come to the house?"

"They will not come to the house. They are careful men."

"Careful men do not leave letters at porter's lodges."

"They do when they want you to be frightened."

"How much did you borrow, Mom?"

"Enough to keep this house." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Charles gives me an allowance, but it is never enough for the dresses, the lunches, the donations. People notice if you stop. People always notice."

"So you borrowed from strangers."

"From people who were very kind at first."

"And now they are not."

"Now they are patient." She laughed, thin and broken. "That is much worse."

My chest tightened, quiet and sharp, like a plate cracking on a shelf.

"Does Kellan know?" I asked.

"No. And he must not."

"He will ask."

"Then tell him you have decided, calmly." She wiped her face. "He will respect that."

"Can I at least say goodbye to him?"

"No."

"Not even a note?"

"A note would be cruel." Her grip tightened. "A clean break is much kinder."

"Kinder to who?"

"To everyone, darling."

"And you want me to keep my dorm address?"

"Only for a few weeks." She did not meet my eyes. "Until you find a room. Forward anything that arrives."

"You want me to leave the house but keep collecting your post."

"It is only post."

"It is not only post."

"Aria, please."

"Did you ever look at my sketches?"

"What sketches?"

"The ones I draw. For ten years."

"I did not want to." Her voice was small. "I was afraid they would be sad."

"They are not sad. They are rooms with windows."

"Oh." She pressed her trembling fingers against her lips. "I did not know that."

I looked at the fireplace. At the ash. At the thick brown envelope in my lap.

"Okay," I said very quietly.

"Okay?"

"I will go, Mom."

"You are not going to argue?"

"What would I even argue about?"

She stared at me. Then her shoulders dropped, and a long breath left her. It was a sigh of relief, and I heard every part of it.

"Thank you, my darling girl," she whispered. "You are such a good, easy girl."

"I am an easy girl to send away."

"Do not say that."

"Will you visit me?"

"When things settle."

"Will you write?"

"I am not good with letters."

"Will you call?"

"I will think about it, darling."

"When will that be?"

"Soon."

"Mom."

"Wear the bracelet tonight, the silver one. Kellan will expect it." She stood and smoothed her dress. "But do stay near the back of the ballroom. And smile. Nobody must see you upset."

"I know."

She kissed my forehead, fast, as if it might burn her. Then she opened the door and walked out without looking back.

I sat very still beside the dead fire. Then I pressed the brown envelope against my chest and cried without a sound. I had practiced that for years. Mostly I cried because tonight was the last night I would ever see Kellan.

"Do not cry," I whispered to myself. "You will ruin your face."

After a while, I wiped my cheeks and looked at the envelope. The gold sticker had a tiny crooked tear, as if someone had opened it and sealed it again in a hurry.

I peeled the sticker back.

Inside lay fifteen crisp twenty-pound notes, held together by a narrow paper band. I turned the band toward the lamp.

It had a printed gray stamp. Three small towers.

HALE CREDIT SERVICES. DISBURSED. 14 JUNE. BORROWER: M. DAWSON.

My blood ran cold.

It was dated yesterday.