Greetings!

scenester7002: YAY!!! Glad you got to read the whole thing! Awesome!

Mrs. Scott323: Loved your review! Yes, he did get pretty freaked out...oh, and the check? You'll find out in a few seconds...

"Mom." Meghan said urgently into the phone. "I need to talk to Aunt Libby."

"But you just talked to her yesterday!" Catherine protested.

Meghan felt hot as she stood in the school hallway, clutching a black receiver attached to a pay phone in one sweaty hand, Mr. Payne's check shaking in the other. Her eyes were glued to the scribbly numbers written:

£0.00

"Please, Mom, I really need to talk to her."

"Honey, I don't know if - " her mother was cut off. Another voice immediately came on the phone.

"What do you need?" Libby said seriously.

"I need help."

"With what?"

"I think - I think I'm in trouble."

"Why? What happened?"

Meghan hesitated.

"Aunt Libby, I'm afraid to ask you this, but...are you familiar with a man named 'Alastair Payne'?"

Silence.

"Oh, Meghan..."

There was her answer. Meghan closed her eyes.

"So you do know him."

"Unfortunately, yes, I do. And I'm very, very afraid that you're about to tell me you've crossed paths with that despicable man..."

"Just...just tell me one thing - is there any reason this man would have anything against you?"

More silence.

"Meghan," her aunt finally breathed, "that man is my worst enemy."

The black car sped down the wet London streets. Libby stared out the window, anxious and dizzy. It was past midnight, and the driver was speeding her toward what was to be the nearest drugstore. She held her head up, trying her best not to give in to the urge to curl up and start sobbing. She blinked.

And they pulled up in front of a small, dimly lit building.

"Here we are, Miss Reynolds." the driver said, robotically. "Take this - "

The man was going to hand her an umbrella, but Libby had already pushed out of the car and into the pouring rain. Getting wet was the least of her worries. She yanked the door open to the dimly lit pharmacy and ducked inside...

She was staring. Staring at linens. Libby was sitting on the counter in one of the many bathrooms in the Dashwood mansion. Her blue eyes were pained and blank. She thought of some words she'd read not long ago, a threatening note from a man who despised her. The one who wouldn't let her be with the man she loved.

It had been left for her on a bed in the maid's quarters, where she'd been moved while Henry's bedroom was supposedly being "remodeled". There were hundreds of rooms in that mansion - but she'd been moved THERE.

But then, Henry had moved there with her.

So next, she had been moved to the opposite end of the dining table every morning, while someone else took her place to discuss "business matters".

But then, Jocelyn had allowed her the seat on Henry's other side, where she herself usually sat. Libby had always liked Jocelyn.

Then, every article of her clothing had mysteriously appeared out on the front lawn one rainy night. She'd brought them in, most of them ruined and sooty.

But Henry bought her a whole new wardrobe.

Finally, one night, when he'd wanted her to play her guitar for him, she'd found that its strings were knarled and cut, and that its handle was broken and splintering off. There were several dents in it as well, that looked to be made from a hammer.

Libby had been playing that guitar since her father had bought it for her in the seventies. It was one of a kind. And now, it was destroyed.

But Henry had held her close, reassuring her, promising a new one straight away. He knew that this one could never be replaced, but one day, my love, you'll have a thousand guitars, Libby had heard him say.

Of course, Alastair denied having done anything wrong, instead pinning it on other disgruntled employees, who were discharged on the spot. Though Henry was suspicious, Alastair had a way of twisting things around in his favor that was unmatched.

And Libby couldn't tell anyone about the note. That man had been working with Henry for years, and had worked for his father as well. That note might be perceived as a lie, an attempt to get rid of that trusted advisor. Libby couldn't take that risk.

Henry Dashwood was the type of man she'd least expected to be in love with. A British collegiate, clean cut, with short hair. The son of an earl. Filthy, filthy rich. Workaholic. Libby's complete opposite.

She was not royalty.

She was not a debutante.

She was not even English.

But that didn't matter, right? Right?

Reluctantly, she glanced at the clock. It was time.

She took the plastic stick-shaped device out of the cup it'd been sitting in. She closed her eyes, took in every ounce of air that she could, then let herself breathe it all out as she looked at that tiny window.

And then, Libby grabbed a folded-up Egyptian cotton towel, hugging it to herself as her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, drowning in raw emotion...

"Aunt Libby." Meghan stopped her. "You don't have to tell me all of this. It's not my business to know. This hurts you...I'll...I'll just avoid him..."

"No." Libby said, determined. "It is your business. I should have told you before. Daphne is closer to you than anyone - even closer, I'll venture to say, than she is to me. And you can change her life."

A thought suddenly occurred to Meghan. She reached into her book bag, taking something out.

"That note you just told me about." she said to her aunt. "What did you do with it?"

"I put it right back where I knew it came from. In the desk of Mr. Payne himself."

Meghan now held a threatening note of her own in her hand - the one Clarissa had left in that disgusting locker. Her eyes were now focused on the initials at the bottom, which had looked to be written over some dried-up White-Out. Dried up, and flaky White-Out. Meghan started working her fingernail to it.

"That note alone wasn't quite enough to turn me away. But it wasn't the last one I received...

It was raining again. And Libby was in the black car again.

But this time, she had suitcases with her.

Elizabeth Anne Reynolds had never felt such sadness in her entire life. She loved Henry with all of her soul, more than anything on Earth. But...she just couldn't bear to bring him any more disgrace.

Disgrace. Disgrace. Disgrace. It was all she really amounted to.

She was waiting for the driver, who would take her to the airport. Once she was out of those gates, there would be no turning back.

And she considered it. She considered going back. She longed so much to be in Henry's arms. He'd understand. He'd hold her, and make everything alright.

But before Libby could reach for the door handle, a small, brown paper bag on the floor caught her eye. "Miss Reynolds" was scrawled on the front of it. She picked it up.

What she pulled out horrified her. It was that pregnancy test, the once she was sure she had buried deep in the trash. The little window still showed its bluish color.

And with it was another deathly note.

Elizabeth,

Be assured that you are making a wise choice. Much luck to you in the future. Your decency will not be forgotten, though your indecency will be much better remembered.

-A.P.

And with that, it was sealed. She could never, ever go back.

The driver came in.

He started the car.

The gates opened.

And as the car slowly rolled out, Libby looked at that house, taking it in, one last time. The courtyard, the walls, and each window on the mansion, the curtains - though she couldn't bear to look at the room where she'd spent her time here, Henry lying beside her every night. She was sure, she was sure he was watching. Watching her leave him behind.

And so she brought her damp eyes down, her head bent as they pulled out of the drive and into the traffic. In with all those oblivious people who were out driving that morning, going about their usual business, living lives that Libby envied. Lives that weren't shattered.

But Libby did have something. She touched her stomach, relishing the small but significant comfort it gave her.

It was all she had left of him. And she would treasure it always.

"Oh...oh..." Meghan stammered, her voice trembling. "Daphne...he knows about Daphne..."

"All he knows is that there is a child." Libby said solemnly. "But it's enough."

"I - I can't believe it...I can't..." Meghan's eyes clamped shut, and all she could do was keep scratching on that note, not quite sure anymore why she was doing it. She tried very hard not to cry.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Meghan."

Meghan didn't answer.

"Meghan..."

There was nothing left on the note for he nails to scratch.

"Meghan, I..."

The phone swung on its cord, low to the ground, where a little piece of paper had drifted.

Hope you like your new arrangements.

This, my American friend, is only the start

Of your worst nightmare.

My advice to you is to leave now,

And go back to the cesspit you came from

Before I, personally,

Put you in the gutter.

You will learn your place.

-A.P.

Luke was confused. Meghan was not in front of the academy, where they'd arranged to meet after school that day. He entered the school to look for her.

The halls were empty and quiet.

"Meghan?" he called, his voice echoing a bit. "Are you there?"

He turned the corner, and found no one. What he did find was a phone hanging to the ground, and a strange note lying beneath it. He picked it up.

"A.P.?" he said to himself. "Who the devil is that?"

Before he had time to fully read what was written, he heard a door down the hall swing open. He quickly stuffed the note into his pocket.

Luke saw a brown-haired girl emerge, red in the face.

"Meghan!"

The girl looked at him, like a deer caught in headlights.

"Luke!" she responded, flustered. She frantically gathered herself. "I'm sorry. I had to use the restroom."

"Restroom? You were taking a nap?" he said as he approached her.

"No. I mean, the loo." she responded flatly.

"Oh." he said, smiling. Meghan half-smiled a little as well. "You look like you've been crying. Are you alright?" He rested his hand on her shoulder.

Meghan looked down.

"I'm fine." she said slowly. "I just need some fresh air."

Luke tilted his head, in thought.

"Well, that can be arranged." he said cheerily. "Come on then."

He walked on ahead, looking back to make sure Meghan followed. Luke knew that something was wrong, and hoped she would eventually tell him what. But either way, he would not allow her to be unhappy.

Because that made him unhappy. Which felt quite unpleasant.

There you go. That's how I imagined Alastair finding out about the pregnancy. Actually, it was about all I could think of. Kinda disgusting, but whatever. He's just THAT evil. It's where Clarissa gets it. Though her mother's no slouch either...

Also, to clarify, Clarissa apparently found that note in Alastair's desk - why did he keep it? I told you, he's EVIL. Anyway, she was too lazy to write her own threatening note, so she just used that one. Hope that made sense!

On to the next one...