The Cult of Romeo

I. Condolences

Act 1, Scene 1

I clutched the telephone to my ear and listened to my father's gravelly voice as it travelled across the line. As he had personally requested my presence, I was whisked away by the headmistress, Mrs Hawthorne to her office.

Being in this room left me uneasy. My father's phone call paired with the fact that I had only been here once before, sent my stomach in knots. The last time I'd seen the place was before I was even an official Burton Abbey student. I was eight years old and here to collect my trophy as the winner of the Junior Arts Competition when my mum convinced me to play a piece on the violin. Though I hated every moment on stage and hated every moment of receiving the award and hated every moment of coming to collect it in this stuffy and claustrophobic office; it was worth it to see the look on my big brother's face.

"If I'm entirely honest, Charlotte, I'm not sure if we can even trust that godforsaken school any longer," Dad ranted. I was sure a deep frown was painted on his lips by now. "A boy is dead! Do you hear me? A boy, your age, Julien's age, is dead!"

I stood next to the window and watched as the bare trees danced in the wind, back and forth melodically along to the beat of my heart. Mrs Hawthorne was on her office chair and her big brown eyes peered at me curiously, just trying to catch at least a sentence of my father's words.

My back was turned and so Mrs Hawthorne assumed I couldn't see her, but I could. In the reflection of the office window, as clear as day, I watched my headmistress practically crawling across her desk just to listen to my conversation.

"So, they tell me you're a suspect," my father continued. He seemed suspicious of my involvement and I was grateful for it. While my father and I didn't get along quite as well as you'd imagine from how our family was portrayed, I didn't hate him. In ways, though I didn't like to admit it, we were similar.

"I didn't do it," I snapped. "They only say that because I made the props."

He sighed, dragging it along so that it sounded like a brush of wind against my ear. "Burton Abbey is said to have the best school drama department in the whole of Britain, and that is why we allowed you to join the theatre club, yes? However, as it's almost your last year in the school, I feel obligated to tell you that your uncle Arthur and I are paying for your and Julien's tuition for you both to prance around on stage, and for what? Will you go into theatre professionally, Charlotte? Are you and your cousin planning on joining the circus, is that it, my dear?"

His words were bitter and I bit my tongue.

"We pay for you to piss about with your friends and then suddenly one of your friends dies and I begin to wonder whether any of this is worth it? I can't have you showing up like that boy. Do I make myself clear? Are you listening?"

"Yes, Dad," I confirmed. "I understand but respectively disagree. We don't mess around, Julien and I really enjoy the drama club and take it very seriously, everyone does. You said it yourself, it's the best drama department in Britain. That's worth something. Nothing will happen to me, this was just a one-time occurrence. It could just have been an accident."

"At any sign of something not going our way, I'll be driving all the way to Burton Abbey and dragging you back home by your hair if I have to," my father declared. While I was sure there was no need for the dramatics, there was no doubt in my mind that he wouldn't go through with it.

He had never been the most welcoming of men, with his tough exterior and a personality that matched well. He wasn't the devil-may-care type. In fact, he was probably nicer to strangers because he didn't expect anything from them. He, however, expected the whole world from me, my brother, and my mother. Except, my brother had left and my mother divorced him, so it was really only me now.