Mrs Cox shrugged. “Money.”
“I don’t have any.” No point pretending otherwise.
She blinked at me from behind thick lenses. “You have family.”
The conversation was cut short by a door further down the hallway flinging open. A girl with insanely wild, curly hair, barged through the door, her navy and silver tie askew, and a piece of toast hanging out of her mouth. Her shirt gaped at the buttons, the tail sticking out where she hadn’t pushed it into the waistband of her skirt. When her gaze landed on Mrs Cox, her face dropped in shock, her skin paling to that of an albino polar bear.
“Late again, Philomena?” Mrs Cox’s heels clacked across the flagstone floor. The girl, Philomena, nodded and opened her mouth as Mrs Cox removed the dangling slice of toast.
“Sorry, Mrs Cox, my alarm didn’t go off again.” Philomena dropped her gaze. She was earthy and messy, her colouring rich: with her dark hair and olive skin, and she towered over Mrs Cox's small neat figure. It was like looking at David and Goliath, and Goliath was quaking in his boots.
“Never mind,” snapped Mrs Cox, with a curtness which made the wild-haired girl and me both wince. “Actually.” She patted her hair back into place. It was as if standing in front of the whirlwind mess of Philomena had ruffled her own smooth appearance. It hadn’t. “You can take Maeve here under your wing.”
“Mae,” I interjected. “People call me Mae.”
Philomena stared at me, her eyes wide like saucers. “You’re the American.”
“Yep, last I checked.”
“This is too exciting! A real-life American.”
“There are quite a few of us, we aren’t a rare breed.”
Philomena grinned and grabbed at my arm. “Never had one here before. This is going to be wicked.”
Mrs Cox coughed, and when I ripped my eyes away from the girl clutching my arm, I found a frown of disapproval etched into the older woman’s face. “I believe, Miss Potts, you mean fun. This will be fun. I doubt very much there will be anything wicked about it.
Philomena dropped her gaze. “No, Mrs Cox. You are right, Mrs Cox.”
“Good.” The woman straightened, still only coming up to Philomena’s shoulder. “I shall leave you to give Maeve a tour and then you can take her to class.”
“Class? Already?”
“Of course. I said you shall attend classes while you are here.”
“But I’ve finished my education.”
Mrs Cox raised an arched eyebrow. “So you said earlier, but have you really? Where's the harm in taking a few classes while you're here?”
I went to open my mouth to tell her yes, that I’d achieved all I could achieve with the limited funds I had available, but she turned on her heel. “Room thirteen please, Philomena.” She waved a dismissal over her shoulders, her heels already clacking and echoing away.
Philomena gasped and turned to me. I met her gaze. She was wildly attractive in an unkempt, unfinished kind of way, as if she’d been pulled from the earth and crafted from nature’s own gifts. Next to her, I was a bland, nondescript, pale imitation of young womanhood. “You’re in room thirteen.” She actually quaked as she said the number out loud.
“What’s wrong with that?”
Philomena giggled, but it held an awkward key, like a musical instrument out of tune. “Nothing, nothing at all. Come on, let’s get you settled and then you can tell me all about being American.”
I chuckled, the sound surprising me. “I think it’s the same as being British.”
She smiled, and I grinned back. “No, you have to make it sound better. Lie if you have to.”
“Okay. You asked for it though.” We both turned to the room with 'Thirteen' nailed in brass figures to the wooden door.
I ignored the shiver and the inch of anxiety in my stomach. It was a room. What was the worst that could happen?
2
In the time it had taken for me to drink tea and eat a soggy piece of toast with Mrs Cox, Jeffries had delivered my duffle to room thirteen. The duffle sat, an island of familiarity on the bed, in a sea of the unknown.
“Just to warn you, Alicia will want to have a party to celebrate your arrival, and numerous house rules will be broken.” Philomena broke my attention, and I turned. “So, if you aren’t into rule breaking, then I’d probably feign a headache.”
“I’m not opposed to rule breaking.” I smiled, trying to make it an honest friendly smile and not a scary ‘please be my friend’ grimace. “But I am tired. I’ve been travelling for—” I couldn’t remember how long I’d been travelling for. “What time is it now?”
“Nine. I’m late for class. Although, thanks to you I’ll be let off—this time.”
“Glad to be of service.” I stepped further into the room. Sparse furniture filled the small space. Blue bedding, which seemed clean enough—I’d seen a lot worse over the years—covered the bed. I pressed my hand into the surface. Firm. Nice mattress, that was always a plus. The matching blue curtains were partially drawn. Stepping forward, I pulled them back. The room must have held a corner location because the window hidden behind the curtains was a triangular shaped bay, jutting out at a point. The glass was leaded and dark, barely letting any light in. I tried the handle to see if I could lift the catch and see what laid beyond the dingy glass, but it didn’t budge.
“It’s… er.” I couldn’t think of any adjectives to describe the room.
“It sucks doesn’t it? No one stays in this room longer than a few days. The last person who slept in this room swapped schools after three.”
“Three days?” I cocked my head to the side. “Are you for real?”
Philomena grinned and swiped her hand across her chest. “Hope to die, truth.”
I frowned. “What? Why would you hope to die?”
She laughed and perched on the bed. “Haven’t you heard that before?”
“Uh, no.” I shook my head. This conversation
