‘Esti tin Drageoir?’ she says in Drageoir. ‘Depuise quantem temps scrutes?’
‘As it’s the official dragon tongue in France, I began learning it when I was eight,’ I reply with the perfect Drageoir accent I learned from one of my tutors. ‘It’s among the easier ones, in my opinion.’
Dr Hollingsworth gives me an amused smile before switching back to English. ‘And how did you find the Examination? You passed with flying colours, or so I heard.’
I feel my stomach knot at the mention of the Examination, but maintain my own smile. Where did she hear that?
‘Vivien worked extremely hard to pass,’ Dad says. ‘Some of her friends were not so lucky.’
Dr Hollingsworth’s head snaps towards my father.
‘You would say luck comes into it, would you, Doctor Featherswallow?’
‘Our friend Sophie worked just as hard as Viv did,’ Marquis says. ‘She wasn’t expected to fail.’
The knot in my stomach pulls tight. Being a year older, Marquis took the Examination before Sophie and me. But her demotion hit him hard.
Ursa stabs loudly at her pierogi with her fork.
‘And what doyouthink, Miss Featherswallow?’
I glance nervously at Mama. What does any of this have to do with dragon dialects? All teenagers take the Examination when they turn sixteen. Those who pass remain in their class of birth, except for the Third Class kids, who get promoted to Second Class. Those who fail are demoted by one class, except for the Third Class who can’t go any lower. It’s been that way since before I was born.
I think about the months of revision, of the university applications, of Hugo Montecue’s wandering hands.
‘Failing wasn’t an option for me,’ I reply.
That’s why I ruined Sophie’s life.
Dr Hollingsworth winks at me and I lean back in my seat, surprised. Did I say the right thing? Mama gives me the smallest of nods.
‘You speak of luck, Doctor Featherswallow, yet you pay for the best books, the best tutors, the best schools for both your daughters, do you not?’
Not the best, I want to argue.Cheltenham Ladies’ College only accepts First Class girls.But I say nothing. We may have to make a few sacrifices now, but the Featherswallows could be First Class within the next generation.
Dad drains his glass of wine and refills it, his eyes narrowing. It’s like the temperature of the room has suddenly dropped.
‘I do more than that, ma’am,’ he says. ‘Vivien was signed up for St Saviour’s School for Girls before she was even born. Her mother wouldn’t let her sleep at night until she knew her books word for word. She has scars on her arms, inflicted by her own father—’ Dad’s voice breaks and Uncle Thomas lets out a loud cough.
My heart seems to freeze. For a second, I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes from Dad’s face. How did we get here? I stare from Marquis to Mama to Dad, who takes another deep glug of wine.
Dr Hollingsworth is smiling. ‘The actions of anygoodfather,’ she says softly.
‘But they wouldn’t be necessary, would they, if—’
Mama snatches the wine glass from Dad as he slurs his words.
‘—if my daughters didn’t have the threat of the Third Class hanging over their heads.’
Mama jumps as if scalded and the glass falls from her hand, splattering wine across the wooden floor. It seeps into the cracks and crevices, a flood of crimson. Dr Hollingsworth stands up. I hold my breath.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she says, pulling her cigarette holder out of her pocket, ‘I think I’ll retire to the smoking room.’
She picks up her briefcase and leaves the dining room. I turn to Marquis, but he’s staring at Dad with a look of stunned admiration.
‘You’ve done it now, John,’ Uncle Thomas murmurs.
Mama is shaking, her mouth set in a hard line. Dad leans back in his chair and stares at me, his lips stained purple from the wine. He has tears in his eyes. I’ve never heard him say a word against the way of things before, never heard him express regret for how he raised me. Why has he chosen to do it now, in front of a stranger, and an important one at that? He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a flask, but Mama hits it from his hand before he can unscrew the top.
