Page 48 of Good Girls Lie

Several months later, we bumped into them in the village near our house. We never went there, Mother liked the shops in north Oxfordshire better than the ones in downtown Oxford, but there was something she needed that couldn’t be found elsewhere, so we bundled off to Broad Street. I had been very good since the funeral, and Mother was in a fine mood. She secured her package and took me to the tea shop for a cocoa.

This generosity was the first of its kind since Johnny died, and I was careful with my cup so as not to spill and ruin my outfit, not to give her a reason to hate me more.

The woman from the funeral was there. I recognized her hair, piled up on her head. Without her sunglasses, she looked tired, gray, lined. She was older than Mother. It took me a moment to realize she worked at the tea shop. When Mother saw her, she threw a few quid on the table and hurried me away. I hadn’t finished my cocoa, so I cried and wailed, and the day was ruined.

The girl stood by the doors as Mother dragged me away by the arm. I knew she would be my friend. At least now I knew where to find her. Maybe Cook would take me with her to the shops and I could speak to her.

I loved her, though I didn’t even know her. Isn’t that strange?

It didn’t feel strange at the time. She was a silent compatriot, a kind eye. I imagined all the things we would do together: ride horses; play in the mill pond; trek across the estate by the stone fences; watch the strange, quiet falconer who came to the land every once in a while to let her bird hunt, her hawk’s jesses jangling in the chilled air.

It was this fantasy that kept me going into my teens until I met her for real. She was shy. She was quiet. She was studious.

She was everything I was not, and I thought, more than once, she was the daughter my mother should have had, a changeling child—me with the fairies, punished for my deeds—and this sweet, biddable girl who was worthy of their love in my place. She was my friend before we ever spoke, and once we did, we were inseparable. Our lives intertwined; where one of us left off, the other began, our very own Möbius strip. I wanted to be her. I would do anything for her. I would give anything for her.

Until I had no choice. I had to kill her. It was the only way.

OCTOBER

Marchburg, Virginia

32

THE RULES

Ford is in the attics, practicing her usual “rah-rah Goode is all-girls for a reason” spiel for tomorrow’s board meeting, when she sees a flash out of the corner of her eye. She goes to the window. It takes her a moment to realize what she’s seen—Ash Carlisle emerging from the arboretum at a sprint.

Ford glances at her watch and frowns. What is her young charge up to? Skipping class, obviously, but why?

Ford gathers her iPad with her speech and heads down to her office. Melanie is seated at her desk with a cup of coffee in one hand and theMarchburg Free Pressin the other. She smiles wide at her boss’s entry.

“Dean? You’re back early. All set for tomorrow?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. Pull Ash Carlisle’s schedule for me, would you?”

“Ha—busted.”

“What?”

“Ash. Busted. She missed her tutorial with Dr. Medea this morning. He came in to check on her a bit ago, see if she was sick. I asked around and it seems there was an issue this morning at breakfast. Ash had a fight with one of the girls and ran off.”

“Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Because you needed to practice your presentation. And Dr. Medea just phoned to say Ash showed up after all. Late, but she’s there now. That man is handsome, Dean. Looks good in the morning, you know what I mean? Scruffy. And the way he wears those jeans—”

“Melanie!”

“What? He’s a hottie. Seemed rather disappointed you weren’t here, too. I think he likes you.”

Ford rolls her eyes. “When you’re finished trying to set me up with my staff, would you mind getting Ash in here? She and I need to have a chat. Don’t interrupt her tutorial, she can come when she’s finished.”

Ford fixes herself a cup of coffee and powers through some email while she waits. Soon enough, Ash Carlisle is standing in the doorway.

Ford’s sensitive nose can smell cigarettes.

She gestures to the chair in front of her desk. Ash slumps in the chair, her head hung low.

“Look at me,” Ford says.