Page 8 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty (The Legacy of Aquila Hall #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

DOROTHEE

After lunch, I had the day off. I was told to pick an activity by the end of the week. I was allowed to try out each for a few weeks before deciding which I would dedicate myself to for the next two years of my life. But I had to start somewhere. Maisie had recommended badminton since she and most of the other girls played, but I wasn’t particularly interested in that sport. Maybe I’d decide on archery. It sounded quite interesting, and I vaguely remembered wanting to be like Robin Hood as a child after my grandmother read me his story.

I decided to spend my spare time in the library until it closed. This room was by far the most impressive in the entire building. The books were neatly arranged on shelves that reached the ceiling. I couldn’t imagine how many books must be here, and counting wouldn’t get me anywhere. How many books were sorted onto a shelf depended on their thickness, and some were even stacked on tables. Not being able to count them irritated me.

Counting numbers was easy because they made sense. They were everything my mind wasn’t, and when I had nothing to count, I feared I might lose myself in the non-existent structure of my existence. But that was an irrational fear that I shouldn’t dwell on too much.

I sat at the far back of the library, where no other students were either quietly laughing or studying, and placed my laptop on the table.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I searched the name Lessy alongside the name of the school, Aquila Hall. Only pictures of the school appeared, with Lessy not being mentioned.

I tried again with the search: Aquila Hall festivals.

I was directed to the school’s website, where all festivals were listed, and I tried to remember if it had been cold or warm in my dream. Lessy had worn a summer dress, and even though the air was somewhat chilly, it didn’t seem like she’d needed a jacket. The boy I’d also seen—Christopher—hadn’t been wearing one either, only a shirt.

So, it must have been either spring or the beginning of autumn.

Since we are aware that most children won’t be able to join their families for the holidays, we are eager to bring all the festivals here to Aquila Hall Academy.

Read the header of the website. I scrolled down to see the list of festivals that are eagerly celebrated here.

– New Year’s Day

– Good Friday

– Easter Monday

– May Day

The ribbons. The dress. The flowers. It had to be May Day.

I opened a new tab and typed in Aquila Hall, May Day. Clicking on images, I broke out into a cold sweat. The first two pictures were of trees decorated with white ribbons.

Maybe it wasn’t just a nightmare… but that’s not possible.

I scrolled further, and more pictures of decorations on the school building appeared. Flowers were everywhere, wrapped around the railing of the stairs. Girls ran around with flower crowns on their heads… balconies were decorated with roses.

White roses.

My heart jackhammered in my chest, and my palms started to sweat.

This couldn’t be just a dream I’d created from imagination. I’ve never celebrated May Day all in white. For me, it was always a colourful day. I couldn’t have known…

More pictures showed girls in white gowns and dresses and boys in black and white suits, some even in jeans, but all wearing white shirts.

And then I saw him.

It was a picture of a group of friends, and on the far right stood the boy I could identify as Christopher. He had his arm wrapped around a girl with two brown braids held together by white ribbons.

Lessy.

She was smiling widely, clinging to him like he was her lifeline.

How is it possible that she committed suicide right after this photo was taken? It didn’t make sense—none of this made any sense.

How could I have dreamed of her death when I didn’t even know her or Christopher?

Feeling my pulse roaring in my ears, I read the caption of the old picture.

May Day at Aquila Hall on May 1st, 1970. Christopher Campton, Lisa Miller, Julia Hughes and Alessandra Alderidge.

The nineteen seventies.

Lessy was a nickname for Alessandra, and she was an Alderidge—just like Maisie.

With shaky hands, I opened another tab and typed in her full name, but all that popped up were images of Amelia Alessandra Alderidge. She must be Maisie’s mother.

I scrolled and scrolled until I found another picture of the original Alessandra at a Christmas ball the school held. She sported an elegant green gown, and her brown hair was parted at the sides. The resemblance between her and Maisie was obvious. Both of them had the same set of dark eyes and the smile of a dreamer.

Under the image were a few others related to her.

One of them was a funeral.

The students of Aquila Hall mourn the loss of classmate Alessandra Alderidge after a tragic accident on May Day.

Accident? This hadn’t been an accident. She’d jumped off that balcony of her own free will.

Another tab. Alessandra Alderidge accident.

This time, an article from the local newspaper of Owley appeared.

Aquila Hall had been celebrating May Day with their students playing games and giving those who can’t be with their loved ones a day worth remembering. Sadly, the activities took a tragic turn when Alessandra Alderidge, a sixteen-year-old student at the school, stumbled and took a fatal fall from the fourth floor of the building.

They ruled her suicide as an accident… or was I the one in the wrong? But all the things I’d seen that matched up—the names, the clothes, the people I’d never seen before in my life.

All of this couldn’t be a coincidence.

I knew that Owley was a small town located twenty minutes from the school because I’d been told that, on weekends, I’m allowed to leave campus and visit the town for whatever reason I liked.

This weekend, I’ll need to speak to someone who has access to the truth. There must be a police station where everything is documented. This has to be some kind of lie to avoid scaring parents— or something .

I needed to know if, all this time, my dreams weren’t just dreams.

Maisie returned four minutes before curfew to our room, and as soon as I heard her outside, I sat up on my bed.

I had stayed in the library until the sun had set, and then I had spent the rest of the evening waiting for my roommate. I had tried to read about people who claimed to be mediums–people who communicate with the dead. Maybe my mind hadn’t worked against me my entire life. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to explain that I wasn’t imagining everything, that I wasn’t crazy.

But everything I had found online, I couldn’t relate to. I barely ever heard them talk. In fact, I’d never heard a single voice before I stepped foot into this place.

The door opened, and I caught a glimpse of Maisie kissing Nathaniel goodbye before she closed the door, smiling behind her.

“Hi, Doe!” She grinned at me as she made her way to her wardrobe. “Would you mind if Nathaniel ever slept over? We won’t do anything. I promise we won’t fool around. It’s just that… I’ve been alone in this room for almost two years, and he’s spent most nights with me,” she explained, taking out the pyjamas she had tucked into her wardrobe this morning after she’d dressed.

I shook my head. “I don’t mind, as long as he stops looking at me like he’s out for my head,” I teased, and Maisie chuckled.

“Don’t worry, he’s as harmless as a fly. Nathaniel just went through a lot. He has trust issues, and you’re new, and he doesn’t know whether he should consider you a threat or otherwise.”

I noticed. Nathaniel’s blue eyes were glaring holes into me every time I spoke to his girl.

“It’s fine.” I gave her a tight smile and laid my laptop beside me. “Maisie, is your grandmother’s name Alessandra too?”

She stopped what she was doing and turned to face me.

“No, her sister’s name was Alessandra. She named my mother after her.” Her voice started to shake a little, but I couldn’t think of a reason why.

“Was? Oh, I’m sorry, Maisie.” I felt like a complete arsehole, acting like I didn’t know she’d died at the age of sixteen, but I needed to know if she knew something.

“No, it’s okay. She died years before I was born.”

“Was it an accident?”

My roommate sat down on her bed and placed her clothes down beside her. I knew she was a talker, and I used that habit to my advantage because I needed answers, I needed to know.

“I don’t know a lot, but on May Day she sneaked around the school with the boy she fancied while the entirety of the students celebrated in the great hall. It was an accident. She fell off a balcony. Some even swore they saw the boy push her, but they never found evidence. It was ruled an accident, and it broke my grandmother’s heart. They were so close. She always loved to tell me stories about her time here with her friends.” Maisie’s gaze was not focused on anything, and I could tell she was distracted by thoughts and memories of her grandmother and the stories she told her as a child.

“I’m so sorry for your grandmother.”

“Me too.”

“You said May Day. I didn’t know the school also celebrated holidays.” Lies . But I’d do anything for explanations.

Maisie nodded. “Yes, we celebrate May Day like everyone else, but Aquila Hall also celebrates our motto. Everything is covered in white because that’s our colour of mourning and honouring the lost.”

The school motto?

It was Latin, but I hadn’t translated it yet.

“What’s the translation of the motto?” I asked curiously.

Maisie looked from nothingness to me. “Ut vivos mortuos honorent,” she mumbled Aquila Hall’s motto quietly before she translated it for me, “that the living may honour the dead.”