Page 25 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty (The Legacy of Aquila Hall #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DOROTHEE

Sometimes I wished I could just pretend I didn’t care. My mind was racing, trying to figure out what I’d done to upset Archer, that he’d suddenly changed his mood towards me. He had listened to what was on my mind, and I really enjoyed talking to him when he wasn’t so cold-hearted. Maybe I’d imagined it, but I thought we’d made some kind of resolution.

It saddened me a little, and I felt like a deluded girl, running circles around a guy who didn’t care, in the hopes of getting to know him. To find out why he didn’t like me and why he acted like a total and complete arsehole every chance he got.

Perhaps I’d always been a stupid pathological people pleaser, trying to figure out how others worked so I could mirror them and fit in the way they wanted. But I was done. I was so done and tired.

Tired of wanting to fit in, to be liked or at least tolerated. My mother might have raised me that way. Every time we went to one of her meetings or visited her friends, she tried to make me change my skin because being myself just wasn’t enough.

I wanted to be better.

I wanted to be loved and respected.

Where had it gotten me?

I was a seventeen-year-old in the throes of an existential crisis because I didn’t know who I was. My heart wanted to find out exactly that. My mother was across the country and couldn’t scold or punish me for trying to be myself.

I shut the door behind me, my heart feeling heavy within my chest. The lump in my throat was thick, but I wouldn’t give in to this feeling. There had been enough breakdowns over the weekend, and I certainly wouldn’t let the sadness get a hold of me just because of a boy. There were far more important things.

It stung to face the truth about all of this, but I tried to focus on surviving next year.

An acoustic version of my favourite song started playing, and I glanced at my bed where my phone lit up in the dim light. As I walked over, the corners of my lips lifted into a smile as I looked at the word Nana on the screen of my phone.

“Hello, Nan,” I said as I picked up the phone, sitting down on my made bed and looking out at the windows, where light rain was pattering against the glass, proving my theory about the weather wrong.

A gasp of happiness came from the other side of the line. “Hello, my little darling, I’ve missed you so much.”

It had been forever since I’d been able to talk to the only person who understood me. Nan had apparently been feeding into my delusions and wasn’t a good influence on me, so Mum had decided to put her into a retirement home. I never understood how she could be so cruel. I was one thing, but her own mother?

“I missed you too, Nan. How are you?”

“Oh, my little darling, your old Nan is doing fine. Don’t worry about me. I should be worried about you now that you’re at Aquila Hall.”

My mouth parted slightly in shock. “Mum told you?” I would have guessed she’d come up with some excuse about where I’d gone. Perhaps even saying I simply didn’t care to visit my grandmother anymore.

“Your mother told everyone you’d decided on studying abroad in the United States, staying with your father, until your graduation,” she answered, her tone tinged with sadness.

Oh. So she really was ashamed of me being here. I mean, I’d guessed it, but hearing it was another thing...

It was fine, though—not like I was used to anything different.

“But how did you know?”

Nana laughed softly. “Nan knows everything.”

I laughed with her and opened my bedside drawer, pulling out an open packet of biscuits I’d bought in Owley the week before. We might have just had dinner, but I felt the need for something sweet.

“The sad truth is, I knew the day would come when your mother couldn’t take it anymore and sent you away. You’re too special for her to understand, and Aquila Hall has always been a place for children like you, Dorothee.”

“Because your sister attended this school before?” I asked, not dancing around the actual topic I needed to get information on tonight.

Nan was silent for a moment before she spoke again. “You’ve figured it out. I knew you would, and you’ve done so quickly. You’ve always had an interest in secrets and riddles, and the answers came to you so easily.”

Nibbling on one of the biscuits, I smiled at a memory that crossed my mind. “You always encouraged that interest with the riddles you left for me on my birthday.”

Every year on my birthday, I visited Nan before the guests arrived, and instead of a present, I got a card with a riddle that led me through the entire house, where more and more clues were hidden until I found my treasure.

“I did, yes. Someone had to prepare you for what’s about to come, my little darling.”

My smile faded at her words, and I lost interest in the vanilla-flavoured biscuit in my hand. Placing it back in the packet, I narrowed my gaze. “Nan, what do you know about what happened to Dottie?”

She sighed sadly at the mention of her sister. “I know a lot about my sister, but her death was always her greatest secret. When I first heard of her passing, I believed I could never laugh again. Dottie had been my light, but her soul was tainted with darkness and marked by death the moment she stepped foot into that school.”

As a chill rolled over me, I began to shake. I adjusted myself so that my duvet was now thrown over my shoulders, but I quickly realised I wasn’t cold. It was just anxiety taking hold of me.

“She sent me a letter three days before her death, and it arrived a day after. Dottie knew the letter would only reach me after she’d passed, and it was dated days before that day even came.”

“What did she tell you?” I felt terrible bringing up these memories my grandmother had fought so hard to forget, but it was necessary.

“She told me about you .”

“What? But I wasn’t even born—not even Mum.” My heart began jackhammering in my chest. Things I used to think were impossible now seemed entirely plausible. Still, the thought that such new paths in my life were unfolding was shocking.

“My sister told me she’d most likely be dead when I received her message, and she was right. Her words, however, didn’t sound frightened or frantic. If anything, they sounded hopeful. She informed me that someday a part of her would return to me and that I’d know when I found her,” Nan explained. The way she spoke sounded as if she’d been waiting years to tell me the truth, and I was certain that was the case. “For years I searched for a piece of her. I searched for my sister but found only sorrow and no answers. I saw her in every sunset, shining down at me from above. But one day… I just lost all hope. When I met your grandfather—may he rest easy—I found my spark again, knowing Dottie would have wanted me to move on, even if I never found her.” She paused, and I could hear her taking a sip of her drink before she continued. “The day of your birth was a disaster. Your mother had a terrible fight with your father, and she was so angry that she didn’t even want to look at you. It wasn’t your fault, she was just... she didn’t want to look at something Aaron had given her. So, the nurse handed you to me, and the moment I laid eyes on you, I feared my heart would burst with happiness. Dottie was right. I felt her in you. And when I looked beneath the little beanie the nurse had put on you and saw the tiny ginger curls, I knew. I gave you her name, my little darling Dorothee.”

My eyes stung, and in a quiet voice, I asked, “it was you who named me?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?”

Even though she couldn’t see it, I shook my head and quickly wiped away the tears that had spilled over. “I always thought Mum did.”

“No, it was me.” Nan paused. “She—you don’t have to hear this, Dorothee.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “No, please tell me. I want and I need to know.”

Nan waited several moments before she sighed heavily and ripped the plaster off. “Cordelia said she didn’t care enough to give you a name. After three days, I decided you couldn’t stay nameless until your mother gained some dignity, so I named you in honour of my sister. Dorothee Odette De Loughrey the Second. It took Aaron four days to apologise before Cordelia could look at you. As a mother, I can never forgive her for abandoning her child because of its father.”

It took my mother four days before she first looked at her daughter.

That was okay.

It was fine.

All of this had happened a long time ago.

But it didn’t hurt any less.

I held my hand over the speaker and let out a pained sob, unable to keep it in, though I didn’t want my grandma to hear how much my mother had hurt me.

If I’d been the perfect daughter, would my mother have treated me differently?

The answer was no. Now I knew she wouldn’t have.

“You know I love you, my little darling, don’t you?” Nan asked, her tone concerned.

I inhaled a shaky breath, trying to force myself to keep it together, before taking my hand off the speaker and answering, “Of course I do. I love you too, Nan.”

“Good. Now, I don’t have much more time because Nurse Laura will be here any minute to help me get ready for the night, but I need you to know a few things in case your mother won’t allow any more contact.”

The thought of my mother having so much control over a life she never wanted to take responsibility for filled me with rage. I’d always held so much understanding, so much hope. I’d been patient, waiting for things to someday get better. But I was angry, so incredibly angry.

“Dottie always told me about a church. She loved that place for its peaceful aura. Do you have a chapel near the school?”

I thought about the place hidden in the woods. “Yes, the chapel is still on campus.”

Nan exhaled, relieved. “In her letter, she wrote that a fox loved to linger on the steps of the Lord's house. By any means, I can’t tell you what she was trying to say, but perhaps it wasn’t meant for me.”

I stiffened and threw off my blanket. Jumping up, I walked over to my desk and grabbed a pen and paper to write down what she’d just told me.

The fox was Gwyneth.

She had referred to herself as the fox in the tale she’d told me, and I’d heard Dottie call her that in the memory.

“Yes, I think I know what she meant by that.”

“I’ll send you a package with Dottie’s letter and a few other things I kept from her after her death. Take care, my little darling. I love you to the moon and beyond,” she said, her voice heavy with affection.

“Thank you, Nan. I love you too.”

The line went dead, and I placed my phone on my desk, staring at the words I’d scribbled on my maths assignment.

Find Gwyn at the chapel and ask her why Dottie could have mentioned her in her last letter before her death.

Walking back to my bed, I slipped under the comforter and buried my face in my pillow. This could wait until tomorrow. Maybe I’d just let it be and wait for death to knock on my door.

I was so afraid of dying, but what did I have left in life?

No tears came as I stared out at the moon through my window.

Emptiness took over, and I wondered if, when I died, I’d join the moon and the stars.

Would I grieve my own death if I had no life worth living?

There was no place for me beyond the veil.

If I were to leave, then I would be keen to join the stars.