The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious, #2)(21)

It was a frightening painting.

“Yes,” a voice said. “But we have that. We don’t need it. We’ll get it in a year or two.”

The voice belonged to Dr. Jenny Quinn, the assistant head of the school, the one who looked like she drank student tears and ate lesser academics.

“He wants to have a say, Jenny.”

That was Dr. Charles Scott. They were having a discussion directly above her, on the third-floor landing. They were not speaking loudly, but the acoustics in the hall were better than most theaters, and Stevie was directly under them.

“He shouldn’t have a say. Do you really want to be part of his narrative? Do you want him to be able to say he made Ellingham ‘safe’?”

That had to be a reference to Edward King. Stevie backed up a bit, to make sure she was not visible. But there was no hiding from Larry, who saw her lingering.

“No,” Dr. Scott said. “I don’t like him any more than you do. But wouldn’t you rather have him do this? At least it’s useful. He feels like he’s done something and then he’ll go away, hopefully.”

“He’s not going to go away. The man is a disease and his son isn’t much better.”

“I think that’s unfair,” Dr. Scott said. “Isn’t it worth trying to make him into someone who could do some good, rather than become a copy of his father at some prep school somewhere?”

“I think you’re fooling yourself. I want to have a board meeting.”

“And I’m fine with that.”

“Right upstairs, Stevie,” Larry said, his voice booming up the steps.

The conversation above her stopped abruptly, and a few seconds later, Dr. Scott appeared next to her, having come down the back steps, the ones the servants used.

Dr. Charles Scott, aka Call Me Charles, was the head of the school and Stevie’s adviser. Out of all the Ellingham faculty, he had the most bouncy personality, the one that said “Learning is Fun!” in giant Comic Sans. He tended to dress in expensive geek chic—superhero T-shirts with designer jeans. His hair was somewhere between blond and the earliest hints of gray. Today he wore a fitted black cashmere V-neck and gray wool pants, looking every inch the aged version of the perfect New England preppy guy. He sproinged up to her like a cartoon tiger.

“Hey!” he said. “Look who it is! I’m so glad your parents changed their minds.”

“Me too,” she said.

“Come on. Let’s talk.”

Charles’s office was along the right-hand corridor. All of the upper floors of the Great House were open to the main foyer, except for the attic. The dark wooden doors were all very serious and handsome, but for Dr. Scott’s, which had a message board full of stickers and signs that said things like CHALLENGE ME and STAND BACK, I’M GOING TO TRY SCIENCE. His office had been Iris Ellingham’s dressing room, the famous dressing room that Flora Robinson disappeared into the night of the kidnappings. Many of the original features were still there. The pale silver wallpaper glowed bright in the autumn morning light. That was the real thing; Stevie recognized it from the photos. Some of the shelves and wall fittings were still there. Now, of course, the room was also full of bookshelves, a desk, chairs, file cabinets, a printer. Any open space on the wall was covered in Dr. Scott’s diplomas and certificates. He had a lot.

He waved Stevie into a chair and sat behind his desk, where he clasped his hands together.

“How are you, Stevie?” he asked.

“Fine?”

He nodded and examined her for a moment, taking in her expression and body language. She straightened up.

“I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear you were coming back,” he said. “It’s very brave what you’re doing, after all that’s happened.”

“It’s fine,” Stevie said.

He made a noise of satisfaction.

“You may have noticed we have some new security around here,” he said.

“I saw.”

“It may provide you with an additional layer of reassurance. Nothing is going to happen here. We had some tragic events this semester, but that’s behind us.”

Both Larry and Call Me Charles had now brought up the security system. Both had their reasons, but were they also telling her they knew Edward King brought her back? If so, why not just say it? Maybe no one knew. It was possible.

Whatever the case, it was making her paranoid.

“Do you feel ready to get back to work?” he asked.

Stevie felt very ready to get back to her work, which was dealing with the fact that she had made the first major breakthrough in the Ellingham case in eighty years. But he probably meant schoolwork, and the answer to that was no, she was not ready for that.

“Definitely,” she lied.

“I’ve messaged all your teachers, so we’ll get you back up to speed. There may be some bumps along the way, but we’ll work it out.”

There was a clock ticking somewhere in the room, loud, like a bomb. She glanced around for where the noise was coming from and saw a heavy green marble clock on the mantel, surrounded by books and framed photographs.

“Was that clock there before?” she asked.

“No,” Charles said. “We were rearranging some things from Albert Ellingham’s office and I brought it up here. Isn’t that a beauty? The story is that it belonged to Marie Antoinette. I don’t know if that was ever proven. I heard there was a piece of Marie Antoinette’s porcelain here at some point. . . .”