Oxford Blood (The Cavaliers: Book One), Page 3

Oxford. For Harriet French, the very word conjured up a sense of magic; punting along the river on a warm summer’s afternoon; picnics and croquet on flawless lawns; lavish formal meals in high-ceilinged halls; tutorials with some of the greatest minds in the world in their book-lined studies; posh, handsome men in black tie sweeping her off her feet.

  Harriet stood at her new desk and stared through the leaded window, out into the quad. Tall honey-coloured stone buildings walled three sides but opened out at the fourth side to reveal picturesque parkland beyond. An immaculate grassed square in the middle completed the scene. When she turned around, the panelled walls and the fireplace decorated with the college crest presented a sight just as enticing. She couldn’t believe she was really here.

  Oxford alumni included almost every British Prime Minister there’d ever been and plenty of foreign world leaders. Hordes of famous scientists and thinkers. Writers from Wilde to Tolkien. And now her. Ordinary little her, fresh out of her normal, northern school. Surely, any minute now, someone would come over and tell her they’d made a mistake, and she should go home, back to Yorkshire. She’d been the cleverest person at her school, not to mention fiercely ambitious, but did that count for anything here?

  Nine months had dragged by since she’d found out she’d been accepted and she’d been longing for this moment ever since. Today marked both the first day of term and the first day of her new life. She’d been in Oxford for just over two hours and a sense of unreality had come over her.

  As her uncle had driven her in, she’d thought that there couldn’t be a more magical town anywhere in England. Pre-twentieth century buildings built in a grand, ornate style dominated the town centre. Dark, imposing Victorian homes contrasted with sweet, medieval dwellings. One resembled a castle, and another, a giant gothic church. Some hid behind gates, others faced directly onto the road, but her college, Lilith, seemed the most awe-inspiring of all.

  The college had grown over the centuries, leaving a jumble of architectural styles from medieval to Georgian, but the buildings were universally impressive, and the overall effect more charming than shambolic.

  Her aunt came up behind her, making her jump, to the amusement of her watching family.

  “According to this, there’s a tea for new students and their families in the New Rooms at four,” her aunt said, flicking through her introductory booklet. “Shall we head over there in a minute?”

  “Absolutely,” Harriet replied. A mixture of excitement and nerves rushed through her at the thought of finally meeting the other students. Excitement won.

  The twins, her cousins, tugged on her aunt’s arm. “Can we just go and explore the town Mum?” Jane asked.

  “We’re not in the mood for toffs right now,” Sam added with a cheeky grin.

  “Please,” they said in unison. “We’ll be good.”

  Three years younger than her, Sam and Jane had looked almost identical as children, but now Sam wore his once curly blond hair cropped close to his head, whilst Jane kept hers long and ruthlessly straightened it. Recently, Harriet had noticed his childish puppy fat turning to muscle whilst hers turned to curves. He loved football and she loved celebrity gossip, but they both bonded over chart music. Harriet, who’d been very quiet at their age, sometimes suspected them of auditioning for the role of classic teenagers in some reality TV show.

  Her aunt glanced from twin to twin and frowned.

  “Go on,” Bob, her uncle, replied. “I want you back by five though, no excuses. It’s a long drive back up north.”

  “And stay together,” her aunt added, entirely unnecessarily. The twins never spent any time apart if they could help it.

  Once her cousins had disappeared, her aunt turned to Harriet with a serious expression on her usually cheerful face. “I’m not trying to spoil the mood or anything love, but before we go and meet people, I want to remind you to be careful now you’re at Oxford. You know what happened to Stephanie when she got in with a wild crowd. She was such a sweet, sensible girl before she got ideas above her station.”

  “How can you say that?” Harriet asked. Talking about her other cousin always made her defensive. Stephanie, the daughter of Aunt Amelia, her mother’s twin, had gone to Oxford herself and supposedly died from an overdose the previous summer.

  “I still don’t believe she did that to herself,” she continued. It’s obvious some creep spiked her and everyone closed ranks.”

  “Either way, you need to be careful around those posh boys whilst you’re here. They may seem charming, but they’re not like nice dependable Yorkshire lads.”

  Harriet nodded, then before the conversation could continue or her mood could dim, led her family out of the door. She walked down the steep stone staircase from her room, across the quad she’d seen from her window and through an ivy-covered archway, where a tiny red door stood, marked, The New Rooms, in a gothic script.

  To Harriet’s surprise, the New Rooms, like New College (founded in 1379) were actually rather old. The red carpets, oak panelling and portraits on the wall gave the impression of a grand Victorian drawing room. A table held cups and saucers, and several jugs full of tea and coffee, all of which bore the college crest, three owls above a twisting snake.

  Harriet’s aunt and uncle glanced around them, clearly in awe at everything from the rooms sternly lavish decorative scheme to the attention to detail that had gone into decorating the crockery. They became slightly flustered and shy.

  A friendly, no-nonsense woman, Aunt Kate didn’t work, and her life mainly revolved around her kids – the real ones and Harriet. Uncle Bob was a steelworker, a well-built man of few words and fewer obvious emotions, who had always been fiercely protective of the abandoned girl who’d been dumped on his wife. Harriet struggled to imagine anything further removed from their natural environment than this ornate room.

  Harriet couldn’t help wishing that her mother, Adelaide, had been able to accompany her instead, even though the thought filled her with guilt. She wouldn’t have been overawed. She’d have been talking to everyone, telling stories of her own days at the college and ensuring that Harriet didn’t have the chance to feel nervous. Harriet had wanted to call her for advice, but most of the time, getting in touch with her wasn’t much easier than getting in touch with her dead father. She visited around four times a year, turning up laden with gifts and full of amusing stories. Outside of those times, she had no contact at all.

  Adelaide lived in London with her second husband Gus. Harriet heard all sorts of stories of his wealth and power, his top banking job and his political connections. She’d also never met another man in his fifties as strikingly handsome. Adelaide and Gus travelled regularly for work, living abroad for weeks or months at a time. Officially, this explained why Harriet couldn’t live with them, although to her, it never seemed enough to fully justify it.

  Harriet twirled her pearl and amber necklace around her fingers, then took a deep breath and approached a black and rather frail looking girl. Dowdy loose fitting clothes, glasses, and no make-up partially obscured her pretty features.

  “Hey, I’m Harriet.”

  “Olamide,” the girl replied shyly. “What subject are you doing?”

  When Harriet replied that she was reading History, Olamide announced that she was too. This lead neatly into a discussion of what papers they’d picked. Olamide had gone for mainly medieval options but seemed excited by the mere thought of any period.

  When she wandered away to get another drink, Harriet smiled at the realisation that she’d managed to make a friendly acquaintance, even if she did seem a little overly keen. At least she wasn’t the only person at the college from a normal background.

  The next person she managed to talk to couldn’t have been more different. Tall and striking, with an east Asian appearance, Katie wore a knee length skirt over opaque tights and a cashmere jumper that clung to her body. Everything from her clearly expensive clothes to her cut glass accent to her perfect figure mad
e Harriet nervous. She announced her subject as PPE.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “Philosophy, Politics and Economics,” she explained, obviously amused that Harriet hadn’t heard of it before. “Half the current Cabinet studied it.”

  “So, are you planning to go into politics?” Harriet asked, but Katie had stopped listening The other girl stared over her shoulder, spellbound. Harriet turned, wondering what had caught her attention. Her eyes fell on the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.

  The boy wore an emerald coloured polo shirt (collar up, inevitably) and tight jeans, with a sweater knotted around his neck. The fitted clothes showed off his slim but toned build and his absolute poise made the simple outfit look like imperial state robes. Harriet couldn’t stop staring at his razor sharp cheekbones, his jet-black lightly curling hair, and above all, at his deep blue, almost purple eyes. Beyond his physical attractiveness though, an odd wave of recognition and of longing washed over Harriet. The boy turned his wonderful and terrifying eyes full on her, smiled darkly and beckoned her over. She walked across the room despite her trembling legs. Katie followed.

  He gave Katie a cursory, if appreciative, glance, but to Harriet’s surprise, his gaze lingered on her.

  “Hi, I’m Harriet,” she finally managed to choke out.

  “Tom. Delighted to meet you.” His intensely posh voice made him sound just like the boys she’d fantasised about meeting at Oxford.

  “What do you read, Tom?” Katie asked, flicking her hair and fluttering her eyelashes.

  Harriet wished she could muster a tenth of her confidence. She never usually struggled to talk to the opposite sex, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

  “PPE,” he replied.

  Harriet smiled with relief that Katie had already explained that acronym. She’d never have dared to ask Tom.

  “But I’m a second year. I thought I’d sneak in and get a first look at the freshers.” He grinned at them and both girls smiled back.

  “So have you had a chance to look around the college properly yet? I could show you if you’d like.”

  His words were clearly for her only. Katie glared at her.

  “I’d love to. It’s just my family. I shouldn’t really leave them.”

  “Where are they? I’ll speak to them. We won’t be long.”

  Harriet knew that it made her aunt uncomfortable when she spent too much time alone with boys, and that she disliked upper class people. Harriet couldn’t see the conversation going well, but couldn’t resist letting Tom give it a try.

  Tom walked across to her aunt and uncle. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I’ve promised to show Harriet around the college. I hope you don’t mind me borrowing her for half an hour. Perhaps you could look around the college chapel whilst you wait. There are some wonderful art works in there.”

  Harriet watched Tom stare deeply into her relatives’ eyes. They frowned in a confused manner, but nodded their consent. “We’ll see you back at your room in a bit then love. Have fun,” her aunt said, and they headed towards the chapel.

  “Well, that was easier than I’d thought,” Harriet said. “Shall we walk?”

  Outside, darkness had fallen and the ancient buildings and perfectly landscaped grounds seemed rather eerie. Despite this, Harriet couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be, or anyone she’d rather be with, even if she couldn’t understand why he’d singled her out.

  “Have you seen the Old Library?” he asked. “It tends to be deserted.”

  “No, I haven’t, show me.”

  Tom took her hand, causing her heart to beat faster than ever, and led her to a small stone staircase built into part of the college’s internal wall. He pulled out a decorated key and opened a heavy wooden door at the top.

  “It’s very dark in here,” Harriet said.

  “Shall I turn on the lights or do you prefer it this way?” Tom asked, still squeezing her hand. “I rather like the dark, in this sort of situation at least.”

  Harriet giggled but insisted on some lighting. Tom let go of her while he flicked the switch. It lit up one bulb, high in the roof, allowing Harriet to see the room but doing little to expel its gloom. She glanced around, seeing a beamed roof, deep windows and row after row of ancient leather covered books.

  “This is amazing,” Harriet whispered. “Are we actually allowed to read these?” She hoped he wouldn’t find her excitement too geeky. At school, she’d learnt to hide her love of books, but if she couldn’t flaunt it at Oxford, where could she?

  To her relief, Tom replied with equal enthusiasm. “Most of them are first editions and some are almost priceless. But yes, you can read them as long as you’re careful. You just can’t take them out of the room.”

  He walked over to a shelf and lifted down one of the tomes with the sort of care people usually reserved for newborn babies. “This is an original copy of Don Juan. Do you like Byron?”

  Harriet dashed to his side. “Like him? I love him. He’s probably an overly conventional choice of favourite poet, but he’s definitely in my top three.”

  “I entirely agree,” Tom said with a smile.

  Harriet reached up to touch the book, but Tom lifted it out of her reach, opened it at random and began to read.

  She’d expected him to choose a romantic line, which would have been welcome but predictable. Instead, to Harriet’s fascination, he selected a political section.

  “You are the best of cut-throats. Do not start.

  The phrase is Shakespeare’s and not misapplied.”

  Harriet found his voice smooth and enchanting and his delivery flawless, and could have happily listened to him read the entire poem, all thousands of lines of it.

  “War’s a brain-spattering, wind-pipe-slitting art,

  Unless her cause by right be sanctified.

  If you have acted once a generous part,

  The world, not the world’s masters, will decide.”

  Tom tilted his head and looked at her.

  Harriet took a deep breath, thanked her lucky stars that she had a good memory for poetry and hadn’t been bluffing about her love of Byron, and recited the rest of the stanza:

  “And I shall be delighted to learn who...

  Save you and yours have gained by Waterloo.”

  She looked at Tom with a triumphant glint in her eyes.

  Tom rewarded her with an impressed and slightly surprised smile. She seemed to have passed some sort of test in his eyes.

  “I always find that section fascinating,” Harriet said. “People think anti-war poetry is a 1960s thing. It always amuses me that Byron wrote it in the early 1800s.”

  At school, that sort of thought would have stagnated in her brain, unable to be shared with anyone. Maybe with Tom, she could talk about history, literature, and politics and have her views challenged and reinforced in equal measure. The idea thrilled her.

  Tom slid the book back into its place, and Harriet snapped back to reality. Surely this beautiful boy hadn’t really taken her to a deserted library to show off the college’s rare book collection.

  Sure enough, Tom moved to stand behind her and began to stroke her neck. His oddly forward behaviour caught Harriet off-guard, but his touch sent tingles through her body. She smiled up at him, wondering whether, if he didn’t lean over and kiss her within the next few moments, she’d have the guts to take the initiative herself. She’d had no trouble initiating proceedings with the few boys from school that she’d been vaguely interested in, but they had been nothing like Tom. His presence made her as dizzy as the time she’d done a charity sky dive and first looked out of the plane and down into the clouds.

  Eventually, he did kiss her, stroking her hair and drawing her to him. As their lips touched, Harriet lost any sense of being in the room. Only Tom existed for her.

  His soft hands slipped under the collar of her polo-necked jumper, but then he froze. He eased her ruby-studded engraved locket out from under her jumper as though
it were an unexploded grenade.

  “What’s wrong?” Harriet asked, still breathless.

  “May I open it?” Tom’s smooth voice had taken on an oddly intense tone.

  Harriet nodded. She didn’t understand what had spooked him.

  Tom pressed down on the central ruby and eased the two halves of the pendant apart.

  Harriet watched his expression carefully, wondering what at his fascination. The pendant contained a photograph of her parents, taken in Spain in the eighties, a few weeks before the crash. She knew every detail.

  Her father wore a sharp suit with a pink shirt and no tie. He looked rather like his namesake, her cousin Sam, tall and muscular with slicked back blond hair. Despite his ruthless exterior style, he looked at the baby nestled in his arms with an expression of absolute adoration.

  Her mother looked very similar to Harriet, except a little more polished. She wore a red silk dress, which showed off her tiny waist and long tanned legs, and black heels vertiginous enough to make her appear nearly as tall as her strapping husband, despite her petite build. Her striking green eyes shone and she’d piled her dark hair on her head to show elaborate hooped earrings. A closer examination of the photo revealed the pendant that Harriet now wore every day. Despite the fact that the photo dated back seventeen years, her mother hadn’t looked much different when Harriet had seen her last month.

  After a few moments of minutely examining the picture, Tom closed the pendant. “Where did you get this necklace?”

  “From my mother, years ago. She had a screaming row with my aunt and gave it to me to calm me down. It’s so beautiful, and it helps remind me that she must love me really, to have given me such a lovely gift.”

  “So the woman I spoke to wasn’t your mother?”

  “No, that’s Aunt Kate. She brought me up, but she isn’t my real mum. That’s her in the photograph. You’d never have made her agree to let you do what you wanted so easily.”

  “No, I dare say I wouldn’t have done.” Tom pursed his lips, the smooth facade suddenly gone. “All this talk about your aunt reminds me, you should be getting back to her. We’ll have all the time in the world to get to know each other properly.”

  Harriet nodded despite her confusion. Her aunt was probably panicking already.

  Tom gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, and then ushered her towards the door.

  “Aren’t you coming too?”

  “I need to make a phone call. Maybe I’ll see you at the club later.”