Twenty-Nine: Penelope Peters
2103 Words
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Penelope Peters
Parliament had far too many sessions for me to go to them all. But I was there to focus on the issues around the refugees. I had to take the bus into the city because I didn’t have a car. Every Friday, I went into the city, to the parliament building. Basil Crowe was a member of the House of Lords, and it was him that I would be shadowing that day. I went to his office first.
The House of Lords and House of Commons was in an ancient building that resembled a palace. There were two main chambers, and a total 800 lords on parliament. Basil Crowe was a Lord. He had married the Queens sister, who had died young, and was royal only by marriage. If you believed the rumors, had also been a spy once upon a time back during one of the desert storms.
His office was the first place I would go to before sessions. He would also edit the articles that I’d write, making sure that everything was okay before I went to print. As I walked to his office, my book bag slung over my shoulder, I felt like a kid.
I didn’t belong there. Everything was too big, too bold, too ancient. I found Lord Crowe’s office by only getting lost once. His had a giant, golden emblem of a moon and sun on the door. One that was reminiscent of the one that Coleum used to have.
“…. it’s very important that this measure pass, Crowe,” a deep, male voice said.
“I understand, your highness,” said another voice I could only assume was Basil.
The door opened and standing there was the King himself. “s**t,” I hissed, too stunned by the Kings sudden appearance. He was a tall, imposing figure. With grey blond hair, a beard, and the same storm grey eyes I’d become accustomed to seeing on his son.
I’d seen the King before on the news, but it was different seeing him in person. Especially knowing that I’d once slept with his son. He peered down at me, his eyebrows raised. “Are you alright, young lady?” King Ashford asked.
I curtsied, not knowing what else to do. “I’m fine. Fine. Sorry, your majesty. I…I’m from the school newspaper.”
“School newspaper?” King Ashford asked.
Lord Crowe came out from his office. He looked down at me. If the King was imposing, Lord Crowe was something else. A shadow. He had a mustache, and a scar on his face that went all the way down to his lip.
“You’ll have to excuse me, your majesty,” said Lord Crowe, “I serve as an adviser for Hollow Hills Academy. This is their reporter on all things parliament related. Her name is Penelope Peters, I'm told.”
“That’s right, Lord Crowe,” I said, and I curtsied again.
The two exchanged looks, smirking at each other.
“Yes, of course,” said King Ashford, “I’ve heard my son Cadoc speak of you. You’re the scholarship student, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “Yes, your highness.”
“Well, I’m certain that you will represent Hollow Hills well,” said King Ashford. “Don’t let Lord Crowe bully you. He’s not so intimidating as he looks. He’s an old softie.”
“Good to know,” I said.
Lord Crowe made a grumbling sound. “Don’t tell the girl lies, your majesty. I won’t get her to take me serious ever again.”
“Trust me, Fletcher filled me in on anything including something to do with a harpoon gun?” I said.
Lord Crowe smiled. “Ah, that is a good story. Good on Fletch.”
“Fletcher Flemming?” the King asked.
“He’s the editor of the student newspaper. He was going to cover it, but he’s got college applications ad A+ Levels and a million other things for him to worry about. He decided to let me cover it.”
“Interesting,” said the King, “well, I’m certain a fresh perspective will be welcome. I know my son will be very enthusiastic about your work. He has spoken well of you. In fact, Cadoc will be attending some of these parliament sessions himself. He could offer you some insight.”
“Oh, I’m certain the Prince has other important things to worry about,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with any other obligations that he has. Besides, I’m only friends with people he knows. We’re not very close.”
“Not very close?” King Ashford said. “That I’ve heard and seen too much about you for that to be true, Miss Peters. Especially as I recall there was an incident last semester. Involving you and the astronomy classroom.”
I wanted to die. First, I wanted to kill Cadoc. But then I wanted to die. I was never going to forgive him for luring me into the astronomy classroom and trying to seduce me. For as long as I lived, I would hate him for that. Especially now that his father knew of the incident.
I blushed. “That was a reckless mistake, your majesty. I assure you that it won’t happen again.”
The King smiled. “I should hope not. Well, Miss Peters, it was a pleasure to meet you….and Lord Crowe, remember what I said. I will see you soon, I’m sure.” He walked off, followed by security guards that I couldn’t even recall standing there.
Lord Crowe watched him go, then he looked down at me. “Well, Miss Peters,” he said, “I didn’t expect much from you. It seems that I am going to have to reevaluate my assessment. A little upstart scholarship girl who already knows the Prince intimately----”
“I wouldn’t say that we were intimate,” I objected, “We’re not together, we’ve never been.”
“Why not?” Lord Crowe asked. “A young lady such as yourself, if you latched on now, you could go far.”
“If I go far at anything, Lord Crowe, it will be because of myself and not because of who is or isn’t in my bed.”
He smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile though. It was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, we’ll get along fine. Let’s go watch some old men argue about the state of affairs, eh?”
He offered me his arm, and I looped my hand through his. We went into the House of Lords and I took a seat next to him. With my notebook in hand, I spent the rest of the afternoon jotting down notes. That whole first session was about funding for farmers. To help them through the drought season. Nothing at all to do with the refugees, I thought at first. Until I realized something unsettling. The places where the refugees were being sent were rural locations.
I sat there the whole time as they talked with Lords about the budget for their local farms. As if it were the most casual thing on earth. When the session adjourned, I walked out with Lord Crowe.
“You seem quiet,” he said, “thought you’d be a bit more enthused about your first day in action.”
“They hate them, don’t they?” I whispered.
“Who?”
“The refugees,” I said, “they’ll never say it out loud, of course. But that’s what these meetings are. Using the law as a way to exempt them from whatever they can.”
Lord Crowe’s eyes softened. “Come on, girl.”
We walked back to his office. I sat in the leather chair across from him. He walked over and poured himself a glass of scotch.
“Do you know why important men always have booze in their desks?”
“Alcoholics?” I suggested.
He chuckled. “It’s because, my dear, when you have seen enough of how the world works the last thing you want to do is face it. Why do you think the 1920’s exists? Because World War 1 destroyed them, and they wanted to forget it. The world is changing. There’s a tension in the air I’ve felt twice in my life and I rather hoped I would never feel again. When that tension comes it starts off slow. First, with a wave of change. Then with a wave of discord. Before we know it, we’ve created a tsunami. We forget the singular, most important fact of life.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“No human being alive or dead is ever so impressive that they don’t either s**t or end up dirt. We begin as dust, and end as dust Penelope. The only thing that remains are memories. Even that gets twisted, distorted over time. All we can do is make sure the impression we leave is a good one.”
“We didn’t talk about the refugees today,” I said, “what am I supposed to write?”
“That depends,” said Lord Crowe, “are you a wallflower or a rose?”
“What’s the difference?”
“One has thorns,” he replied, “it will make people bleed if they’re not careful.”
“Lord Crowe,” I said, thinking of the sun and moon on his door, “where are you from?”
He tilted his head to the side. “My father’s Welsh. Now, you’ve got an article to write. No need for you to take the bus home. I’ll have my car take you. Macdonald.”
A man that I hadn’t noticed there before stepped from the shadows.
“Yes, sir?” He said. He was a tall man, with sunken eyes, who looked like death.
“Escort Miss Peters back to school. Make certain she arrives there safe.”
“Of course, sir.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, “I took the bus in one piece. I’m certain I’ll arrive there the same.”
“You’re in the world of politics now, Miss Peters. Nothing is ever the same. Take the car. You’ll appreciate it after a long night spent writing.”
I relented, only because I didn’t know how to say no to him. That was how I found myself being driven in the black sedan back to school. I sometimes would wonder, looking back, if things would have gone different. If I’d held my ground a little bit more. Looking back, there was no way I couldn’t have become a target.
I was a scholarship girl from nowhere.
I’d caught the attention of the Prince.
I was spending time in parliament.
I almost painted the target on myself.
But I didn’t think anything of the car, or of Lord Crowes advice. Instead, I went back to my dorm, and did something I hadn’t done in a long time: I wrote. Audrey didn’t make an appearance, having gone out for the weekend with some friends. I didn’t bother asking who, and she knew better then to try to ask me to go out with them. I’d talked about nothing but my first parliament session all week. Getting me to focus on anything else would be fruitless.
When I finished my draft, I sent it to Fletcher.
He sent me a text: Are you sure about this?
Deadly, I responded.
He sent back a thumbs up emoji.
That was all it took to set the world on fire.
- Writer
