Chapter Twenty-two

 I locate the gym in the building and so I spend the next morning in the gym, running on the treadmill until I feel as though I’m going to drop dead from exhaustion. Amelia works out beside me, her thin frame pumping away as she attempts to keep up with the high speed of the treadmill. She’s got determination, I’ll give her that.

I eat lunch with Amelia before she starts to help me to get ready. She’s fast becoming like the sister I never had.

“What about this?” She asks tentatively, holding up a black suit.

I shake my head. “Too formal,” I say, “I need to look slightly silly, remember.”

“What about this?” She asks again after several minutes, holding up a short white lace dress and a matching cardigan.

“Perfect.” I say grinning as I snatch it from her. I try it on and admire the effect in the mirror. I look young and simple-minded. Just what I’m supposed to be.

“Lizzie…”

“Yes?”

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. I always am.” I say, somewhat touched by her concern.

“No, but… you know what will happen if you get caught, don’t you?” I told her everything this morning. She’s living with me so she deserves to know. She knows the consequences of deception better than I do.

“I know.” I say quietly; it’s a fact which has shadowed me for the past day.

“What will happen to me if you do…you know?” She asks nervously as she plaits my hair.

“It depends. They’ll question you and you’ll say that you don’t know a thing but, other than that, I really don’t know.” I say.

“What if I tell them what you’ve told me?”

“Then you’ll be more at danger from the Occidere Occidi than from the government.” I say.

“Will they…will they kill me?” She asks in a small voice.

I turn around to face her. “Not if I can help it.” I say, hugging her tightly. She smiles slightly and doesn’t say anything. What more is there to say?

She continues to plait my hair before coiling it into a bun at the nape of my neck. I forgo the red lipstick, deciding that looking sweet and natural is my best option here

“There.” She says once she’s done. “You’re ready.”

I smile at her and put the flat white pumps on. I look in the mirror. I look extremely stupid.

“Good luck.” She says as I walk out of the door. I turn and smile at her, knowing that, in this task, I need all the luck I can get.

I catch a thing called a Taxi to West Mews before walking down the driveway alone. I look at my watch. It’s 9:01. No wonder it’s so dark. I knock on the front door and the same servant answers it. He recognises me and shows me through into the sitting room where Mr Church is waiting.

“Good evening.” He says pleasantly, getting up as I walk in. “And, dare I say it, you look quite beautiful this evening.” I smile and simper, like a fool would. “So, what can I do for you today?” he asks once I’m seated in the same seat as yesterday.

“I want to know more about how to become a member of The Twelve.” I say, taking the cup of brandy he hands me.

“Well, you have to charm your way in.” He says simply.

“It’s that easy?” I ask delicately. As if that’s not what I’m doing already.

“If you have friends in the right places, you can petition to join and, if the majority votes to allow you to join, you’re a member of the council.”

“And if you petition but don’t get a place?”

“Well,” He says, “You’re free to petition again when a place becomes available.”

“Did you have to petition again?”

“No,” He says, “As I was at the forefront of the group who overthrew the previous government, I was awarded a place automatically.”

“Have any members of the council changed since then?” I ask curiously.

“Well, there have been unfortunate incidents…” He says, trailing off and staring into the depths of the roaring fire.

“Incidents?” I ask. He looks at me sharply.

“What’s it to you?” He asks quickly. I’ve gone too far.

“Nothing, nothing,” I say airily, “I’m merely curious.”

“Of course,” He says, smiling at me, “I forget what it’s like to be young and curious about the world around me.”

I smile like an airhead. He pauses, unsure as to whether or not he should answer my question.

“Well,” He says slowly, “Sometimes, it is deemed that a member of the council has outlived their purpose.” He pauses again, sipping his brandy before continuing. “Sometimes they might have become corrupt and it’s decided that they should be dispatched. However,” he says heavily, “Sometimes, a member might have displeased a more powerful member and, well, you know what happens next…”

He stares at the roaring flames. I reach out and stroke his limp hand. He turns and smiles at me.

“But you shouldn’t be worrying your pretty little head about such things.” He says, smiling at me dotingly. I smile back but don’t stop stroking the back of his hand.

“I’m just curious.” I repeat simply.

“Of course.” He says smiling.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Enter.” Calls Mr Church. It’s the servant who opened the door.

“Sir, Mr Hunt’s here to see you.” He says.

“Show him in.”

“I’d better go.” I say although I’m curious to find out who Mr Hunt is.

“Of course,” He says, standing up, “Will you come again tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I say smiling as I sashay out of the door, ensuring my lace skirt swishes becomingly.

I pass Mr Hunt in the hallway; he’s a tall, thin ferret-faced man. He looks nervous and his veiny hands shake slightly as he hands his coat to the servant.

I get halfway down the drive before a loud CRACK fills the night air. The sound of a gun being fired into someone else’s skull. I suspect Mr Hunt has outlived his purpose. I break into a run.

A black car waits for me at the bottom of the driveway and I climb into it.

Amelia’s waiting for me when I get back, her face paler than usual through anxiety.

“How was it?” She asks the second I get through the door.

I sigh heavily. “Someday, I hope to get a job which doesn’t require me to pretend to be a complete and utter imbecile.” I say. She smiles before returning to her serious expression.

“Seriously, what happened?”

“Well,” I say, forcing my voice to remain calm, “I suspect that either Mr Church or a gentleman named Mr Hunt is dead.”

“Dead? Mr Hunt?” She says, her voice filled with alarm.

“Do you know him?” I ask quickly.

She looks down. “I know him alright.”

I look at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain.

“Mr Hunt was my stepbrother.” She says after a lengthy pause.

“Was he a member of the council?” I ask urgently.

She looks up. “Yes, he was.”

“And he was an enemy of Mr Charles?”

“I think so.” She says uncertainly.

“You think so? You’re not certain.”

“Well,” She wails, “They never really told me much before my mother died and they threw me out but, I don’t think they were fond of each other.”

“So, it’s likely that Mr Church has killed Mr Hunt?”

“Yes.” She says sadly.

“Tomorrow, we will check the news.” I say, going to my desk and beginning my report. Amelia follows me, looking over my shoulder at the information I’ve gathered. Occasionally, she gasps in alarm at what I’ve written but she mostly stays quiet.

“Is it all true?” She asks once I’m done.

I look at her. “I think it might be.”

She nods. I, like her, hope that this cannot be true. I feel a twinge of regret for getting her involved; if I put one foot wrong, I’m in danger of being killed by both the government and the Occidere, Occidi and now I’ve got her involved in my deception.

I walk out into the hallway and lift up the loose floorboard. I place the papers underneath it carefully before walking back inside.

“Are you going to wait for them tonight?” Amelia asks.

“How do you know about that?” I snap. She smiles.

“It’s what I would have done.” She says simply.

“Are you going to wait?” I ask.

She grins. “Try and stop me.”

We wait for an hour before we hear someone shuffling outside. We creep out of the door and they raise their black-clad head. We pounce.

“Gerrof me!” They shout. It’s the same person as yesterday. I pull off her ask. Yes, it’s Beatrice alright.

“What’re you doing here?” I demand as Amelia pins Beatrice down.

“My job!” She says furiously, struggling in Amelia’s thin eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Collecting your reports!” She says.

“Is that all?”

“Yes!” I don’t know whether or not to believe her.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes, we’re not all destined for greatness.” She says. She writhes once more, breaking free from Amelia’s grip. We watch as she sprints down the corridor, my report in her hand.

“Do you know her?” Amelia asks as soon as she’s gone.

I stare at the floor. “I lived with her for a time.” I mutter.

“At The Cottage?”

“Yes, there.” I say heavily.

She doesn’t say anything more.