Page 67 of The Headmistress

Orla had threatened Sam that choosing Magdalene over her would lead to personal consequences. Orla had avoided Sam in the days leading up to the fire. And then Orla had lured Sam to the attic that was filled with debris and set the room on fire with Sam and Magdalene there. There was no rhyme or reason to any of the events of that night. That she had fled the island with a picture of Sam and Magdalene, proving their affair to the trustees the same night as the fire had occurred, made even less sense.

Willoughby’s sudden growl and an angry hiss startled her, but seconds later there was a knock on the door and Joanne came in. Willoughby’s signal for intruders was on point, as always, with him sensing the approach of anyone he didn’t approve of. And since that was a rather extensive list with only one exception—and George had not yet been by—his growls and hisses were quite frequent these days, with Sam’s visitors being so numerous. Sam gave Willoughby a reassuring pat, and he settled back again, despite the intrusion and the interruption of his rest.

Even as Joanne stepped over the threshold, Sam sat up straight in bed. The cat! Jesus, the cat! The one thread that she hadn’t been able to grasp, the one thread that had been eluding her for days, now suddenly was firmly within her reach. She bolted from the bed, scaring Joanne with the sudden movement, and in the process dislodged the disgruntled tom who slinked out of the room in an extreme huff.

“Sammy, what are you doing? You need to lie down, dear!”

“Jo! Jo! It wasn’t Orla! It wasn’t, she couldn’t have done it. I need to see her. I need to see that picture.” Manic, determined, she began to pull on her jeans, hopping on one leg, before she got dizzy and had to sit down with the room spinning around her.

“Oh god, baby. I told you, you need to lie down!” Joanne’s hands on her shoulders tried and failed to push her back on the bed.

“No, Jo, I need to go. You don’t understand… I need to see Orla. I know who did it. Who’s been behind it all along!”

Joanne tsked at her, but to Sam’s surprise got down on her knees and started helping her put her jeans on.

“I keep telling you that these pants are just too tight, even on your skinny ass. How do you even pull them up?” She shook her head with intense disapproval, all the while efficiently getting Sam into the garment. A mother’s skill was unsurpassed at pretty much anything, as far as Sam was concerned. “And I was coming here to tell you, stubborn girl. They let Orla out on bail a couple of days ago. Something about messages and pictures. I don’t really know the details. Magdalene got the call earlier. She wanted to come and tell you herself, but she’s locked in negotiations with Rodante all afternoon, to take over the whole French department since none of the girls staying are taking French…”

Sam interrupted the monologue with an impatient wave of her hand. “Where is Orla now? She’s out, but where is she? Where do I even find her? Is she back on the island?”

“Well, we know that, with the wind spreading the ash and embers from the Main Hall, the roof of her cottage was damaged, so she couldn’t have gone there. Magdalene said she heard a rumor that Orla’s rented a cottage in town, that she is determined to stay close and prove her innocence.”

“Jo, that’s great! Now help me find out which cottage!” Sam bent over to pull on her socks, but as the room spun again, she eyed Jo nervously. “Oh, and maybe help me put socks on too.” Her smile was tentative and impish, and Jo kissed her forehead, bopping her nose.

“Always were cheeky. Smart, too. Now tell me what the plan is, and we shall see about calling that one realtor boy I know in town. His mom used to be our Mess Hall cook years ago. He’ll help us find out which cottage Orla is leasing.”

* * *

Joanne and her adroitness, as well as the fact that she knew absolutely everyone in town, had made their quest to find Orla a relatively easy one. Knocking on this particular doorwasn’teasy for Sam, but even as she raised her hand, the door in question swung open with enough force that Sam needed to grab hold of Joanne’s arm, which had supported her all through their journey down the cliffs and into town.

“I saw you through the window, Sam. I didn’t do this, I swear. On anything and everything I hold dear. I was horrible to you that evening and the entire summer. Forgive me, please, forgive me. I was obsessed, and I said and did hurtful things, but I didn’t do this.”

The apology, belated as it was, sounded sincere, and Sam’s tender and bruised heart, perhaps too starved for parental love and approval, betrayed her. She wanted to forgive. Wanted to run into that warm embrace. Feel safe again, as she had when Orla had held her when she was just a lonely kid. But there were other things she had to get to first. If she was right, they’d have time to mend bridges later.

“Show me the picture, Orla.”

“Sam… I didn’t take it. I swear. I wasn’t even there. I was going back to my office to harass poor Amanda. The picture was emailed to me, and as soon as I got it, I got my friend to take me on his boat to see Joel. It was like a red mist descended when I saw it. It was all I needed to get Nox fired…”

“Orla, I know. Show me the picture. I need to see it.”

Orla rummaged around behind herself where a purse was hanging from a hook and took out her phone. After a couple of clicks, she handed the device to Sam.

She didn’t know what she’d expected when the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She thought if she ever figured out who was behind all the terrible things that had happened to her and Magdalene in the past months, she’d feel a sense of righteousness, some kind of jubilation. Maybe relief. Instead, there was nothing. Nothing but a heavy tinge of regret, because she was about to break Magdalene’s heart.

* * *

Joanne and Orla flanked her as they approached the new, much smaller Headmistress’ office. Sam entered without knocking and Magdalene raised her head in surprise at the interruption, displeasure etched across her face until she saw Sam, when warmth replaced it. When Orla followed, a myriad of reactions—confusion, concern, and anger—took over in quick succession. Magdalene’s face was always such a beautiful study of emotions in motion. Sam could watch forever. But now was not the time, and even as Magdalene slowly rose to her feet, hands balled on the desk, all but vibrating with fury, Willoughby mirrored her stance from his newly acquired pillow on the windowsill.

“What is going on here?” The voice was deceptively calm, but Sam could feel the storm brewing under the surface. Willoughby, after loudly showing his displeasure at the interruption, laid back down, and contented himself with watching them wearily and letting out an occasional growl.

Just as Sam was about to answer, the door opened again and George walked in, carrying a handful of files. The office suddenly felt very crowded. But despite another unannounced arrival, the cat remained silent. Yeah, Sam thought, it was good to be right. Too bad it was at Magdalene’s expense.

“This is what’s going on, Magdalene.” Sam motioned with her hand in the direction of Willoughby, who just looked at her as if he understood that she was talking about him.

“Sam, you’re not making any sense and you should be in bed. Your concussion…”

“Magdalene, the cat didn’t growl. The night of the fire. Up in the attic, Willoughby did not growl or hiss once.” She reached behind herself and Orla placed the phone in her hand. Laying the device screen up on the desk, Sam pointed to the intimate closeup taken from a really nice angle that showcased their intertwined bodies, hands gripping, mouths together, oblivious to the world, lost in a kiss. The picture even showed Willoughby about a foot away from them, calmly cleaning himself in the pile of rubbish.

“For Orla to take this picture… For anyone to take this picture, to be this close, but more importantly at this particular angle, Willoughby would’ve been the first to let us know someone was there with us. And yet, he never uttered a sound. Wonder why?”

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