Cruel Shame (Knights of Templar Academy #3) - Sofia Daniel Page 0,31

the woman I originally thought was the new housekeeper.

She wore heavy makeup that obscured her features, with tattooed eyebrows and deep-red lipstick. I’d guess she was a few years older than Mother but hadn’t damaged her skin with drugs and alcohol.

Her burgundy sweater clung to generous curves that rivaled Nichelle’s, and now that she was no longer wearing the apron, it was clear to anyone that she had dressed to capture the attention of her boss.

“It looks like we’ll have to talk after dinner, then,” I snapped.

“You can talk in front of Margaret,” Billy said.

My gaze flicked to Kendrick, whose eyes were as round as buttons. From where I was standing, this Margaret woman had wormed her way into the household. What the hell was he thinking?

I lowered myself into the seat next to the woman and locked eyes with Mother whose features blanked into a mask of neutrality. It was a terrible thing to wish on another woman, but maybe this competition and the potential loss of the man who kept a roof over her head might make her start thinking of ways to escape.

Billy Hancock stood and carved the microwaved chicken, exposing flesh that was still pink. I winced at the potential food poisoning, wondering how someone with such expensive tastes in decor could allow his housekeeper to turn Marks and Spencer food into shit.

After serving ourselves with vegetables, Kendrick and I made a show of pushing our food around the plate, while the other three ate in silence. Mother picked at her food, her appetite suppressed by the coke and booze.

“Go on, then,” Billy Hancock said through a mouthful of chicken. “What did you have to say?”

I glanced at Margaret, who gave me an encouraging smile, then told them everything I knew, starting from the television interview to Mr. Burgh being held in Glasgow police station. I also told them how Lady Liddell was using the counterfeit paternity test to prove a history of Mr. Burgh abusing teenage girls.

Mother’s lips tightened throughout my story—I couldn’t tell if her anger was directed to Lady Liddell or Mr. Burgh or Margaret, who kept making sympathetic clucking sounds. Billy Hancock lowered his head and snickered, his shoulders twitching up and down.

“I fail to see the amusement in the situation,” Kendrick snapped.

“That bloody bastard got his just deserts.” Billy wiped away a tear of mirth with the back of his hand. “When Abby got into trouble, he didn’t believe a word of what she said. Isn’t that right, Abs?”

Mother lowered her lashes and bobbed her head up and down.

I leaned forward, my brows furrowing. That didn’t sound like Mr. Burgh at all. On Christmas Eve, he caught Orlando and me in a passionate clinch, but he didn’t explode with anger or act like it was my fault. Apart from looking like he wanted to wring Orlando’s neck, he warned me that Orlando was just as lewd as Maxwell. Mr. Burgh wasn’t the sort of person who would throw away his daughter just because she got pregnant.

Was he?

My gaze drifted from Billy Hancock, who had stopped eating to grin, and back to Mother, who still wouldn’t look up from her plate. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but he’s in the biggest trouble of his life and for something that wasn’t even his fault.”

Mother slammed her palms on the table, making her golden knife and fork clank against the expensive plates. Everyone stiffened. Even Billy Hancock stopped snickering and paid attention.

“You would take his side,” she said in a dull voice.

I glanced at Kendrick. He furrowed his brow, mirroring my own confusion. Was this the booze talking or was Mother lashing out because Billy Hancock just seated another woman at the family dining table?

“Of course I would,” I replied in a voice I might use to calm down a dog about to attack. “The other side is Lady Liddell.”

Mother’s nostrils flared, and she pressed her lips so tightly the fine lines around her mouth deepened into ridges. “Maybe he is your father. Have you ever thought about that?”

All the blood drained from my face and gathered in my twitching heart. We’d had this conversation before in the cafeteria of St. Luke’s Hospital. Back then, she said Father Neapolitan had raped her on a school trip.

She had been under the influence of coke at the time and could have been talking gibberish, but all the evidence I’d found matched up with her story. Why the bloody hell was she changing her