Aisha is the diplomatic one who changes the subject to what we want to order. There are snacks and side dishes on offer as well as drinks, I discover on glancing at the menu, but the alcohol is definitely the main attraction. And the prices are absurd enough I have to hide a wince.

  Especially since I really do not want to consume alcohol here. When I agreed to go, I was working under the assumption that it would be reasonably quiet and safe, that I’d be among at least friendly acquaintances. Not… this.

  It would look silly to come all the way here and only drink water or fruit juice, though. I scan the menu for an option that’s non-alcoholic but not also likely to be the target of mockery. There are more options than I expected, and I eventually settle on a lemonade.

  People are excited enough about the drink options that how we ended up here doesn’t get brought up again. I make a mental note to thank Aisha later, and try to focus on the moment rather than all the worst-case scenarios for what could happen in the rest of this evening.

  Until one of those worst-case scenarios glides right up to us in a deep crimson evening gown with a boy on her arm. “Oh! What a pleasant surprise to see you all here,” says Mildred Cavendish, smiling sweetly.

  I did realise that she might be here, as owner of a seat in Parliament. I just hoped – foolishly, it seems – that she’d be too busy mingling to notice us.

  Robin glances at me and tenses. I don’t blame her. At least she knows this isn’t likely to be a friendly social visit.

  “Hello, Mildred,” says Daniel. “We’re just here to celebrate the new year together. Who’s your gentleman friend?”

  He’s tall and gangly, and though his suit fits him well he still doesn’t seem if he belongs in it. And he looks at Mildred as if she’s something rare and precious.

  “Of course, introductions! Jay, these are some of my classmates and former classmates at the Academy. Everyone, this is Jay Hobson, my…” she gives him a long, lingering look that I can’t help thinking of as predatory before finishing “political aide.”

  I narrow my eyes, trying to work out what they really are to each other. I feel bad for this Jay in most of the scenarios I come up with.

  “It’s… nice to meet you?” Jay says tentatively.

  “Likewise,” says Lucy. There’s a chorus of agreement, which I join and Robin does not.

  “I hope no-one objects to our joining you?” Mildred asks. Stars, I was really hoping she wouldn’t do that, but… I can tolerate her company for an hour or two, I suppose, if she’s not being too antagonistic –

  Robin laughs. It’s cold and bitter, without any genuine amusement. “Stars, I wish I had the nerve you do. You just casually walk up to at least two people you’ve mortally offended to the point they never want to interact with you again, ask to join them for drinks, and expect there to be no objections?”

  Mildred takes a single step backward and gasps theatrically, but she says nothing. She wants Jay to defend her, I realise after a second. And he does so: “There must have been some understanding. The Lady Cavendish I know would never seek to mortally offend someone, as you put it.”

  “Of course. You’re still useful to her for… I don’t want to know what she uses you for, but she wouldn’t show her true self to someone who’s not an obstacle to her goals.”

  I can’t work out what Robin’s doing. She’s right, of course she is, but she’s also acting in a way that will just give Mildred fuel to claim that she’s the one in the wrong, or she’s delusional. There’s no strategy to her accusations.

  Because, I realise, she’s past the point of caring. She’s just hurting, and she blames Mildred for a lot of that, and she wants Mildred to go away, and she isn’t thinking rationally about what effect her words will be having.

  Which is understandable. And also a problem. I ignore Jay’s outraged sputtering in return and glance at the rest of our classmates, assessing. Most of them, as far as I know, are approximately neutral towards Mildred. Lucy and Aisha are maybe a little against her, because they know me and Robin better than the others. Natalie dislikes me, or at least has a wildly wrong impression of me which fits with what Mildred would want people to believe.

  “If you’re so offended by my presence,” Mildred says, “you don’t have to suffer it any longer.”

  Robin meets Mildred’s challenging stare, and then shrugs. “All right, then.” She gets to her feet. “Thank you all for inviting me. I’m glad you value my presence so much.” That last sentence is bitterly sarcastic. She looks at me last, and I know I can’t just sit here and watch Mildred chase her away. Can’t just watch her sinking further into misery and isolation.

  I stand and push my chair back. It’s fairly warm indoors, but I never took my coat off and so I don’t need to delay to put it back on. I take about two steps before Lucy asks me where I’m going.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Well,” I say, “it seems to be a choice between Robin’s company and Mildred’s. And I know which I prefer.”

  “But the rest of us can’t stay if you leave,” she protests.

  I shrug in a way that I hope conveys that isn’t my problem without outright saying it. “I’m happy to stay,” I suppose. “Provided that Lady Cavendish does not intend to.”

  Mildred laughs. “Oh, don’t be silly. You think Tallulah is the only one the Regal favours? I’m here legitimately as a member of Parliament. I assure you that you’d all be quite welcome as my guests.”

  Ah. I hadn’t thought of that. Still, at least if that’s what happens then I can get out of here, and hopefully my leaving with Robin will help convince her she’s less alone than she thinks. Except… I’m not convinced that what she’s saying is true. “You think the Regal staff would allow you seven guests?” I ask. “You might be a member of Parliament, but you hold no government office. No committee seats. What real influence do you have?”

  And Mildred flinches as if I’ve slapped her. I’m so used to her being perfectly composed, or showing her emotion in calculated ways, that I’m too startled to work out my next move.

  “Miss Roberts, what do you think you’re doing?” says an unfortunately familiar voice.

  Oh. Oh. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Lord Blackthorn would be here, even despite his disdain for the sort of political mingling that’s happening. But… why is this his problem?

  It turns out that his mere presence is enough to solve it: Mildred takes one glance at him and stalks away with barely intact dignity, Jay trailing behind her. But it does leave me with bigger problems.

  “Lord Blackthorn,” I say once the surprise has worn off enough that I can try to formulate a response. “I didn’t expect – “

  “A word,” he says with icy emphasis, and grabs my wrist. I instinctively pull away, but he’s far stronger than I am, and he begins to walk away so that I have no choice but to follow or be dragged off my feet. I hate him more than a little in that moment, but I realise the consequences of me publicly getting into an argument with him.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I say with more optimism than I feel. “Enjoy your evening!”

  Then I follow him, trying to pretend that I’m perfectly willing to do so and don’t feel at all as if I’m being marched to my doom. He leads me back out onto the main floor, then up the steps that lead towards the entrance. But instead of going outside, we begin to climb another flight of stairs.

  “Let go of me,” I hiss as soon as we’re far enough up that I doubt we can be heard.

  He releases my wrist at once, but keeps walking at the same pace so that I have to jog to keep up. We climb two flights of stairs and turn left into an elegant corridor with intricate red-and-gold wallpaper. I’m not given any time to study its patterns, though, because Lord Blackthorn places his hand on the first door on the left and it springs open.

  The room inside is tiny, with a bench covered in red cushions against the far wall. We step inside and the door closes behind us with an ominous click. I have to remind myself that Lord Blackthorn cares about someone who cares about me and that that means I’m safe.

  “Explain yourself,” he says.

  I’m too angry to be afraid, I realise. “Really? Coming from the person who just literally dragged me away from my friends like that, when there are already rumours about you doing unspeakable things to me?”

  “I don’t care about the rumours.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I might?” Part of me expects him to just flatly say no. Instead he just sighs.

  “What possessed you to deliberately provoke and antagonise Mildred Cavendish?” he asks. “And in defence of Robin Wilde, of all people?”

  Ah. This is going to be a difficult conversation. “I didn’t want Robin to have to leave. And I don’t think – I just wanted Mildred to go away and leave us alone.”

  “And you thought that attacking her most vulnerable point was an effective way to accomplish that?”

  “I – what?”

  He sighs again. “Cavendish is powerless. She knows that, and she is terrified of it. So she does everything she can to pretend it’s not true. And then you come along and challenge that illusion. What do you expect the results of that to be?”

  Oh. That… makes a lot of sense, from what I know about Mildred. It seems like something I should have worked out on my own, and something I’m surprised Lord Blackthorn did work out. “I didn’t mean to attack her like that. I was just trying to call her bluff. See if it would make her back down and leave. Or at least get more of the others to side with me.”

  “I see. Ignorance is… a little more excusable than deliberate recklessness. But Cavendish is a wounded animal. And what does a wounded animal do when it’s cornered?”

  “It lashes out,” I say. I understand his concern a little more now. I’ve already seen what Mildred is willing to do when she’s sufficiently desperate. So making her more desperate, giving her cause to do more things like that… is a bad idea. “But what else could I have done? She was looking for a fight.”

  “I don’t see why that means you had to give her one.”

  “I couldn’t let Robin walk away like that. And I couldn’t… just let Mildred… win.” My voice trails off as I realise what he’s getting at. “That’s what you think I should have done, isn’t it?”

  “Who wins only matters if the game itself is important to you. There were no real stakes, there. Popularity with your classmates, maybe. How you spend one evening. I’d like to hope that you don’t find those stakes worth playing for.”

  “…you’re right. At least partly. Those things aren’t that important to me. But whether Robin remembers this evening as another one where she was abandoned and let down and seen as insignificant, or one where she wasn’t alone? That matters to me.”

  “You could still have shown solidarity with Robin by just leaving, if that’s really what you wanted to do.”

  “Yes,” I admit. “I should have.” I’m not entirely sure I agree with him – it still hurts, the idea of just giving Mildred what she wants and letting her chase us away – but I’m applying his advice to this situation as well. Debating this point isn’t worthwhile. Not compared to what I suspect is coming next.

  “And you are aware that if the Wilde girl feels upset and abandoned… those are the consequences of her own actions?”

  I was right. It gives me little satisfaction. “She made a mistake. That doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to abandon her when I could choose otherwise.”

  “No. You made a mistake, tonight. What she did was a deliberate choice. Maybe she regrets it. That doesn’t change the fact that she made that choice, and that choice was to never be a true friend to my son or the Blackthorn family.”

  “Well. It’s a good thing I’m not part of the Blackthorn family, then.” I know as soon as I say that I shouldn’t have. It’s born of frustration that Lord Blackthorn thinks he has the slightest right to dictate who I spend my time with and who I want to help, and frustration that I can’t just have friendships without playing politics. And it’s the exact wrong thing to tell him.

  “If that is what you think, then it is a problem for me.”