Slowly, I shifted aside to reveal the golden plaque. I tapped it, not taking my eyes off Blake. ‘We’re sitting on a bench dedicated to her memory.’
Blake didn’t look, and in that moment it dawned on me that he’d known all along. He’d known where I was headed the minute we set foot on Stourbridge Common. I’d thought coming here would provoke a reaction, but now I realised that was never going to happen. Still, the lack of a reaction had told me a lot. It was obvious he knew this bench. Which meant he also knew the name.
‘And that’s a coincidence, or…?’ he asked, with just the right trace of boredom and irritation. He was right: he was a very good liar.
‘What makes you think itisn’ta coincidence?’
He rested his elbow on the back of the bench, so that his jacket was covering the plaque. ‘You shouldn’t play games, Mabel. You don’t have a good enough poker face.’
‘All right, then I’ll be frank.’ I straighened my shoulders, my pulse quickening. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware, there are quite a few student societies at Cambridge.’
‘Of course. They make no secret of their existence.’
‘Some do.’
‘Where are you going with this?’
Instead of answering, I reached into my coat and took out a feather, spinning it again between my fingers.
He frowned. ‘I don’t get?—’
‘You shouldn’t be playing games either, Blake,’ I interrupted calmly. ‘You might have a decent poker face, but I can still read you like a book.’
We held each other’s gaze in silence. A punt glided past, the water lapping with a soft purl against the bank. Yet the moment felt calm: calm and intense, like the eyes he had fixed on mine. At long last he raised his hand and took the feather. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Somebody stuffed it into my bag the other day when I was in the library. Quite a lot of them, actually. And I’m afraid the bird that supplied them must be dead.’
Again he frowned, but this time it looked sincere.You can’t be certain, I thought. It was possible hehadknown about the feathers–it may even have been him who planted them in my bag. If I accepted the fact that he was a good liar, I also had to work on the assumption that I could never be sure if he was telling me the truth. Yet for some reason I still didn’t think his expression was calculated. It looked more like… genuine concern. ‘Somebody put bloody feathers into your bag,’ he muttered, running his fingers over the red-flecked plume.
‘That doesn’t sound like a question. Which makes me think you know who it was.’ His lips narrowed, but I waved a hand. ‘I can work it out for myself. What I don’t understand is why. What are you all so afraid of?’
He lowered his hand, which was clenched around the feather. ‘Us?’
For a moment I hesitated, then I cast all doubt to the winds. My mother taught me early on in life that the clarity of the answer you receive depends entirely on the question.You have to know what you want. Direct question, direct answer. ‘I know you’re part of it. The society that calls itself the League of Starlings.’
Blake’s expression was once again so shuttered that I wondered how much practice he’d had putting on a mask. There was no crack, no gap, however small, through which I could catch a glimpe of his thoughts or feelings.
‘When did it happen?’ was all he asked.
‘Three days ago.’
‘And it didn’t scare you off?’
‘Far from it. If they’re going on the attack like that, it means they’ve got something to defend.’ I cocked my head. ‘You’re not denying it. It’s true, then.’
‘You’re going to believe whatever you want either way, aren’t you?’
I snorted. ‘You think this is what I want? My best friend has fallen into the clutches of some cult that’s doing God knows what to her. I’m getting more worried about her by the day. I’m not you, Blake. I’m fuckingterrified.’
He eyed me doubtfully. ‘You’re scared for Zoe, but not for yourself, even though you’re the one with the bag full of bloody feathers?’
‘That’s called love. Ever heard of it?’
‘Of course I have. Believe it or not, there are people I…love.’
‘Who, Ashton? I thought he wasn’t a good person either.’
Blake opened his hand, examining the feather in his palm. ‘He doesn’t have to be a good person to bemyperson. For all his faults, he’s still my best friend.’ Slowly, he raised his eyes. ‘Look, keep this stuff to yourself, all right? If rumours start to get out, not everybody is going to take it as calmly as I am.’
