Davie smiled grimly. ‘Because I’ve done my research. As soon as they went back into the pub, I followed them. Watched to see where they hung up their jackets, and found an ID in one of them. Ashton Griffin. That’s the name of Zoe’s friend, isn’t it? Besides, you said it yourself: the whole group is weirdly secretive and elitist. It all fits, don’t you think?’
I wanted to say no, but all I could manage was a weak nod. My head was swimming, my thoughts lagging behind the truth I’d just been told.Ridiculous, said a voice inside me. But I couldn’t muster so much as a chuckle to myself, because my insides felt stiff with cold.
Davie took a deep breath. It seemed as though telling the story had lifted a weight off his shoulders. ‘Okay, now your turn. What’s your read on them? Apart from the fact that you think they’re arrogant twats who act like something out of a horror movie.’
I hesitated, fiddling with the ribbon page-marker in my notebook. It was hard to put my thoughts about Ashton and his crew into words. Especially because it wasn’t Ashton who first sprang to mind. It was Blake. And because my conflicting feelings about him confused me more than I wanted to admit. Davie’s theory sounded absurd, yet at the same time it was almost eerily logical. I had sensed right from the start that there was something off about them. Was it so far-fetched to imagine that they belonged to a special club? And if I let myself think along those lines, what was the next rational step? ‘We’re not good people’, Blake had said yesterday. Was that code for:We’re in an exclusive secret society whose members thinks they’re superior to everybody else and flout social conventions at will, regardless of how much havoc they wreak?
‘It’s complicated,’ I began slowly. ‘They’re strange, but they’re not doing anything I can put my finger on. It’s like they’re communicating in a secret language merely by virtue of existing. Even when they’re not looking at me, I feel like I’m being made fun of.’
‘But they haven’t… got too close to you?’
I had to smile. ‘I can look after myself just as well as Zoe can. Anyway, I don’t think I’m their type. Poverty isn’t something they find attractive.’
I’m not interested. There it was again, that soft voice in my head, where it absolutely did not belong. I screwed up my eyes until it dissolved away, and flipped my notebook shut. The corners of the paper were ragged, some pages wrinkled with damp. I’d jotted down most of my thoughts by the Cam last night, keeping an eye on Zoe. After my frustrating conversation with Blake, I’d gone back to the bridge and spent the next hour trying to eavesdrop as inconspicuously as possible. Until Zoe returned to me, hair dripping riverwater and eyes drowsy, asleep on her feet. Ashton had offered yet again to walk us home, and yet again I declined, wondering as we left what it was about his company that made Zoe so tired, her mind so clouded. This time, I’d seen for myself that she had nothing but a few glasses of wine all night. It must be Ashton himself who had such a powerful sedative effect. I supposed in a way it was nice that he had such a calming influence on her–but still, I found it odd. I found the whole thing odd. I hadsomany questions. But Davie’s theory, as improbable as it first seemed, might actually offer some answers.
‘Okay, let’s say you’re right, and Ashton really is a member of this secret club. What’s your plan? Where does your research take you next?’
He let out another short laugh–gentler this time. ‘We’re talking about a society that has remained a mystery for more than a century. There are no official records, no lists of members, no verified photographs, or really any proof of its existence beyond hearsay and rumour. To this day, nobody knows how the League decides when to move on to a different university, how it selects its members, how it’s financed, what its traditions are. They’re ghosts, Mabel. Ghosts who have been haunting England for donkey’s years but somehow have never been caught. If I’m right, and they’re currently here in Cambridge, then you tell me: am I going to stop now?’ His voice was rougher with each word, his fingers drumming agitatedly on the edge of the table. I knew what that meant: although Davie was genuinely worried about the group, it only made him more eager to keep digging. And as strange as it seemed, I understood him.
‘Great, in that case I have something for you,’ I said, unfolding a sheet of paper. ‘A list of names I’ve collected so far. I’m missing a lot of last names, but maybe we can figure those out. I’ve noted down as much information as I could. Subjects, colleges, appearance…’ When Davie reached out to take the piece of paper, I yanked it back. ‘Hang on. First you have to promise me something. I want us to work this case together.’
‘This case?’ He laughed. ‘Mabel, I’m the editor of a student newspaper, not a CIA agent.’
I leant back, unimpressed. ‘All the more reason why you could do with some help.’
We stared at each other.Different shades of brown, same kind of stubborn, Zoe liked to say when Davie and I were arguing. Finally, Davie rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. It was flecked with ink, leaving tiny smears. ‘Nope, no dice. If I’m right and they’re somehow dangerous, there’s no way I’mdragging you into all this.’
‘I’m already neck-deep in it, Davie.’ After last night, I was more aware of that than ever. ‘Zoe is my best friend. As long as she’s hanging out with these… people, so am I. And I knowZoewell enough to be pretty sure that this’—I tapped the folder—‘won’t keep her away from them. I’ll need to get more conclusive proof. With or without your help.’
He regarded me unhappily, and I lifted my chin. I wasn’t about to cave now. For one thing, it was true–I knew Zoe wouldn’t let a few half-baked rumours keep her away from Ashton. For another, frankly, I was curious. If Davie was right, then I had to find out more. Iwantedto find out more.
After a while, Davie let out an exasperated sigh. ‘You’re so fucking stubborn, Golding.’
I permitted myself a tiny, triumphant grin. ‘Then spare us both the effort and back down, Waverly. You know you need me. It’s public knowledge that you work for the newspaper. If you start trying to infiltrate a group that’s managed to keep itself a secret since forever, they’re not exactly going to welcome you with open arms. You need someone low-profile. And that someone just so happens to be sitting right in front of you. Let me be your informant.’
He gritted his teeth, but I could tell he’d been thinking the same thing. I didn’t doubt that he’d prefer to keep me out of harm’s way, but we both knew that his journalistic instincts would always win out over concerns for his–or anybody else’s–safety.
‘Fine,’ he replied at long last. ‘You can help, but only under certain conditions. One: no going rogue. Everything you do, you discuss it with me first, okay?’ He waited for my hesitant nod before carrying on. ‘Two: no unnecessary risks. That means no obvious prying, no snooping, no getting creative with hairpins.’
I pulled a face, amused. ‘Hairpins?’
‘I was there the other day when you forgot your key and didn’t want to wait for Zoe, remember?’
I bit my lip. ‘Sure. Anything else?’
‘If things get too dicey or we stumble across something really bad, we pull back. No hesitation, no argument. Promise?’
‘Promise.’ The word fell too glibly from my lips. I wasn’t a good liar, but although I wanted to mean it, I couldn’t in all sincerity make that promise. Ever since that first night with Ashton and his friends, part of me had known I was on the threshold of something. Something so murky and opaque that I couldn’t tell where the next step would lead.
It wasn’t that I felt no fear. But the dull sense of panic that had been coursing through me ever since that first night was nothing compared to how I felt when I imagined leaving Zoe alone with those people. She was the most vibrant person I knew. And she was worth venturing into that darkness for, even if I still couldn’t make out what lay in its shadows.
I could tell from Davie’s face that he’d heard the lie in my voice. ‘Try and keep this promise better than the last one, okay?’
I hope I can, I thought, as I slid the list towards him with a faint smile. ‘Let’s get started.’
* * *
I raised my hand with a frown and knocked for a third time on Zoe’s door. When I’d got home earlier–around nine–I texted her about returning a book she’d borrowed from me. Just an excuse to check in on her, really. Then I made myself a coffee and changed into more comfortable clothes, but by the time I was finished Zoe still hadn’t answered. The walls were pretty thin, so I could hear her music. Cigarettes After Sex, her favourite band.
