The Beaumont Egalitarian Society

By Jennifer E. Glynn

After her older sister mysteriously vanishes during her graduation party, budding photographer Aisling O’Connor makes the ultimate sacrifice: she re-enrols into the elite boarding school, Beaumont Academy. With only one clue to go by—a hastily scrawled note to ‘find the BES’—and more students disappearing, she must swallow her pride and team up with her biggest rival, the arrogant Reiji Youkai, his charming twin Ren, and the members of the school's notorious secret society to save everyone. But is she the one to blame?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer E. Glynn
• Release date: Nov 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9791222479965

Book preview

Prologue

Dejima, Japan

1846

I must look quite a fright with my skirts hitched up, stockings soiled, and hair as wild as the winds whipping me along the shore. Men on the Chinese trading junks call out in their native tongue, echoed by the warning cries of gulls as they’re tossed about the churning waves.

No one tries to stop me, though. They wouldn’t dare.

Mr Hikoma? Mr Hikoma!

With my lungs searing and ribs aching, it’s a wonder I have any breath left to use. Still, my desperation and fear push me up the hill to the enormous house overlooking the village.

Mr Hikoma?

I don’t know why I expect him to be here, kneeling at the low wooden table or tinkering away in the workshop beyond. He wasn’t in his own house, either, yet I still hold hope it’s not too late for him. That he can help reverse what’s happened, that I’ll see his kind, wisened face again.

And then I do.

My feet move of their own accord, my eyes locked onto the portrait pinned to the wall opposite me. The fear in his eyes is a dagger to my soul, shredding any sense of faith I have left. His pleading hands, sallow skin, open mouth… It’s too much to bear.

What has he done? My fingers hover over the picture, too afraid to risk smudging the ink.

Mr Hikoma isn’t alone, though. Around him, hundreds of wretched faces stare back at me with haunted eyes, the sepia draining their smiles and very life essence. All of them are aware of the danger before them, all of them unable to escape their dreadful fate.

Lady Beaumont? I didn’t expect you this soon.

I leap back, pressing a hand to my thudding heart. My shock at the figure’s materialisation from thin air is short-lived, though, when I remember why I’m here.

You. What have you done?

He saunters forward, his cold eyes glinting with amusement. With each step he takes the room grows colder, enough that I wish I hadn’t forgotten my shawl in my hurry to get here. Despite my resolve to face this demon, I step back, my body sensing the threat my mind refuses to place.

May I offer you a cup of tea? If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you look rather poorly.

What you can do is offer me some answers. Where is my husband? What have you done to him?

My dear, I thought you knew. Wasn’t he lost at sea?

You know very well what I mean.

With a deep sigh, he turns to the photographs. Pale fingers extend from the folds of his kimono, gliding across the printed paper and stroking each face as his thin lips twist into a sneer. He then tears one off the board.

I gasp as he holds it up for me to see. I recognise the subject’s hooded lids, scruffy mutton chops, moth-eaten wig, and the filthy cravat never tied in a style befitting his status. There is no mistaking him for any other sailor; even in life, Captain Bellew’s appearance and foul tongue docked him well below other men of his rank. Yet I can overlook his ghastly countenance as I stare into his watery eyes, able to hear his pleas for mercy.

"I regret that your husband was in the way. Had I known Lord Beaumont would set sail for Singapura, I would have waited. Alas, I must remind you, dear, that it was you who added Captain Bellew to our list."

I didn’t know this would happen! I thought the authorities—

"—Would appreciate your work? Ha!

"Come now, no one here is fond of foreign interference, no less from a member of the British Empire. No, you’re aware I asked for your assistance in a private capacity. You’re also aware that I loathe unfinished business.

"I took care of Captain Bellew— we did—as per your request."

No. I didn’t think… This shouldn’t… No…

He smiles at the photograph, his pointer finger tapping the man’s pockmarked forehead. Before I can register his intention, he proceeds to tear it in half. A scream rips through my head as he continues shredding it into pieces, my heart tearing with it.

As the pieces flutter to the ground, the wooden floor sways beneath my feet.

This is all my fault. I may have loathed the chauvinistic oaf, had vehemently voiced my revulsion that he remained in the Queen’s service, had even hoped he’d be removed from Japanese waters by local authorities. But to condemn him to this? To take away his future? And worse, to have led my dear John to his doom as the price?

What a foolish, wretched creature I am. I cannot bear it.

Tell me, does your niece like the gift you sent her?

The gift?

My head’s too light to comprehend; I worry I may need to fetch a doctor after all.

A camera is an extravagant gift for a young lady. I hope she’s making good use of it.

I’m not light-headed enough to miss his threat, though. Don’t you dare bring her into this!

You should be overjoyed. Aren’t you proud of how she’s developed your thirst for justice?

This isn’t right. What we’ve done… You must fix it. I beseech you; you simply must! Those poor, innocent souls…

But how can he fix this? Even without the limitations of my education I know this can’t be reversed. It’s impossible to bring these people back.

Innocent! Ha! I hardly think you could call them innocent. Murderers, thieves, scoundrels—we’ve done the world a favour.

Folding his hands behind his back, he stares at the remaining photographs, greedily drinking in their horrified faces. My hand twitches by my side, ready to snatch away whichever victim he selects next, but there’s no need.

With a quick bow, he turns on his heel and heads for the door. Alas, there is more work to be done.

The flashes of white-hot anger are back, the fire coursing through my veins at his callousness. How can he be so utterly despicable? How can he think any of this is okay?

I have to stop him; I can’t let him destroy any more lives.

My emotions take hold of me as my eyes clap on a camera perched on a nearby wooden stool. It is the root of all this evil, the reason all this is possible. Without pausing to think, I snatch it up and hurl it at the wall.

I don’t get to see the mechanisms inside, though, nor to feel the fleeting satisfaction of seeing it break into tiny, irreparable pieces.

He’s too fast for any of that, catching it before it hits the ground.

You may join me again when you’re ready. Unless, of course, you refuse to continue to be my partner… My breath hitches as he braces his hand against the door frame, his other caressing that cursed camera. He doesn’t turn my way, but he doesn’t need to to convey his threat. But now you know the truth, you won’t do anything to disappoint me, will you?

He saunters away, taking the warmth of the room with him. That’s it; there’s nothing left to do. I’ve failed everyone: Captain Bellew, Mr Hikoma, dearest John, Elizabeth…

No.

It may be too late for the rest of them, but it’s not too late for my niece. I can still warn Elizabeth, can tell her to shut down the Beaumont Egalitarian Society before it really is too late.

Chapter One

Huonville, Tasmania, Australia

2023

The breeze plays through the leaves of the towering gums as nature prepares to farewell summer, but I’m not ready to let go. Tilting my face to the beating sun, I listen to the delighted squeals of children playing, the twittering of fairy-wrens, and, most calming of all, the steady click-click of cameras as tourists snap permanent memories of their time here.

I scan my surroundings, looking for the perfect specimen. Normally, I’d settle for the group of parents standing with their strollers, coffee cups in hands and minds on anything but the toddlers vying for their attention. Given today is the last day of my freedom, though, I want to hunt for something a little more special…

…and the old couple standing by the swings has it.

A smile plays on my lips as I line up my shot. The lady nestles into the plastic seat with her hands curled around the rusted chains. Her husband stands behind her, stooped over, pushing with all his strength. She doesn’t go high enough to mess up her grey curls or cause the thin wire spectacles to slip off her hooked nose, but it doesn’t matter. Her face lights up with a spectacular smile as her legs kick the air.

Click.

Got you.

Click, click, click.

I capture every tiny moment. When I lower my camera, my smile widens. Without looking at the negatives, I know I’ve gotten what I wanted. The couple’s moment of peace will last forever now, at least in the sense people for years to come will know life wasn’t all about wars and greed.

I take a few more snaps, revelling in the way the black box feels in my hands. There’s truly no better invention than the camera. What other device can capture a single moment in time for eternity? What else can record memories of the world’s beauty for others to cherish?

Perfect.

I place the camera in its leather case. It’s big and bulky, barely fitting inside my small backpack and far less convenient than my phone. There’s something about vintage cameras no digital number can replace, though, like the sound of the shutter, the hard work of developing the film, and the thought others have used it to document their own lives. This camera in particular, a Kodak Brownie from the 1950s, was a gift from my late grandfather. Originally, he left it to my older sister, but Siobhan had only wanted it long enough to take a few pictures for her Instagram before getting bored with it.

Goosebumps rise along my arms at the thought of her, growing when my phone vibrates. I dig it out of my jeans, squashing the irrational hope it’s a text from her.

Crap!

I jam my phone back into my pocket and race across the lush green lawn, ignoring the disapproving stares of joggers.

*

I’m home… I’m home…

If my cat’s wrinkled nose is anything to go by I must stink, but I’ll be lucky to get a shower now.

Oh, hi, Siobhan.

I pause in the living room doorway, unsure whether I should correct my mother. As usual, Saoirse O’Connor is well put together: her mousy-brown hair is twisted into a chignon and her suit is immaculate, not a stray cat hair in sight. Her eyes are glazed over, focused on the television as a news anchor reports on some missing teenager.

Parents these days let their children run wild and look what happens.

I clear my throat. It’s me, Mum. Aisling…

She’s still glued to the screen as the report moves on to something about the perfect weather for Tasmanian gardeners.

Aisling, there you are! She blinks slowly. Sorry, I… I…

Mistook me for my sister again?

Why aren’t you ready? I texted you ages ago!

I suppress a sigh. I told you I was heading out for some fresh air. When she raises a neatly plucked eyebrow, I add, Besides, the first day is a half day for seniors, remember?

No daughter of mine will be tardy on her first day. Siobhan never… Her shoulders slump and she glances back at the television.

An all-too-familiar wave of guilt floods my stomach knowing she’s suffering. We all have our own coping mechanisms for what’s happened—like my father, whose classic rock music fills the house. Whilst Mum wants to think Siobhan will walk through the door at any moment, my father, Thomas, hides from his depression in memories of better days.

I just need to change into my uniform, I say, bringing her eyes back to me and causing me to suck in my breath.

They’re so much like Siobhan’s: the blue of a perfect sky warmed by flecks of gold. Like Siobhan’s, they’re also accusatory, like she knows I’ve done something horrible but can’t quite place what.

I shake the thought away. Is Dad ready?

She purses her lips, her pert nose wrinkling as the music grows louder. I take it as my cue to rush up the narrow staircase to my room, the 70s tunes following me.

Once inside, I lean against my door, determined to remain calm. Mum has no idea what I’ve done, nor will she, not until I rectify it. Then, and only then, she can yell all she wants; I certainly deserve it.

As memories of that night—the night everything went horribly wrong—threaten to overtake my thoughts, I walk over to my bed. The familiar starched white blouse, blue tie, and checked blue skirt lie across the quilt, ready for a new school year. The matching navy blazer is stuffed in my duffel bag.

Looking at the ugly uniform has me missing the comfort of my old school. By now, my friends will be dressed in the green and white of St Mary’s Catholic College, excited about their first year as seniors. They’ll be taking selfies, comparing timetables, and claiming the best lunch spots in the north quad—without me. Bethany, Rachel, and Matilda are loyal to a fault, but I wouldn’t blame them if they unfriend me on Facebook soon, not when I’ve abandoned them for Beaumont Academy.

I run a hand through my hair, grimacing as my fingers catch a knot. After a few tugs, I give up trying to tame the red waves and twist them into a loose bun. Pulling on the dreaded uniform, I stalk over to my dresser. I should try to make a good impression on my new peers, but I can’t bring myself to cover the slight smattering of freckles across my nose or erase the bags beneath my eyes. Instead, I pick up the scrapbook album lying on the scratched wooden surface, my hands automatically flipping to a page towards the middle.

Where are you?

Images of Siobhan stare back, all pearly white teeth and tanned, unblemished skin. There, at ten years old, she twirls a younger me in a pirouette. In a picture to the left, she grins in a skimpy bunny costume on Halloween, oblivious to the way I desperately tug at the leotard constituting my cat costume. I still remember how furious I’d been that she’d tricked me into wearing something so revealing, yet being delighted she’d included me in her plans. It was the first and last time she did.

As a tear threatens to escape my eyes, I’m drawn to my favourite picture. It was taken five-and-a-half months ago on the evening of her year 12 graduation. Siobhan stands in the centre of the stage holding a large gold trophy, a symbol of her new position as school Dux. It isn’t the triumph or gloating that had me snap the picture, but the sheer pride on her face. For once she’d appeared genuinely happy, even surprised, at what she’d accomplished.

An identical picture rests in the gold heart-shaped locket around my neck, a reminder of what’s at stake. I press the cool metal against my collarbone as the question again slips from my lips.

Where are you?

If I’d known the next night she’d vanish at her graduation party, I would’ve taken more photographs. Heck, I wouldn’t have done what I did.

Guilt churns my stomach as my eyes drift towards the torn piece of notepaper taped beneath the photograph.

Find the BES.

My sister’s usually neat writing has taken on a frantic edge, the letters sloping and running into each other in blue ink. I’m sure she wrote it before the party, but it’s left me with more questions than answers.

What’s the BES? A school club? She’d been in plenty of those. From Mock Trial and Mathletics to dancing, soccer, and fencing: if it could pad her resume, she’d do it. I’m sure Beaumont Academy holds the answers.

Still clutching my locket, I place the dog-eared album on my blazer along with my camera.

*

"I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. When you first asked us, I thought I’d faint. I worried you were joking, or worse, that your application would be rejected. It was hard enough getting you in for year 7.

And to have them waive the semester’s fees. I hope you’re grateful; make sure you do your best.

I settle for rolling my eyes instead of pointing out Beaumont Academy should be grateful, not me. After all, it was at the prestigious school Siobhan had disappeared, the staff oh-so-conveniently turning a blind eye to the late-night graduation festivities taking place. Waiving a semester’s fees in lieu of their negligence is the least they can do.

Then again, it’s easy to place the blame on someone else.

I peer through the tinted window as we glide through the massive wrought-iron gates, tuning out the fact Mum hasn’t realised—or doesn’t care—there’s every possibility I could also be in danger. Dad, who’d initially grumbled about the exorbitant fees, had practically packed my bags for me when he’d discovered I’d be attending for free.

But why would they object? Even from the car park, Beaumont Academy is undeniably gorgeous. Built with convict labour in 1840, the sandstone buildings and sprawling green lawns have seen the boarding school featured in numerous educational catalogues over the years. Ivy cascades down the walls and windows gleam in the sun, inviting people walking beyond the gates to stop and pause, no doubt wishing they could learn here. If their parents or guardians had a spare thirty-thousand dollars for each semester, they probably could.

I roll down my window to get a better look, immediately getting an earful of students’ squeals as they greet their friends. Part of me—a shameful part—wishes Mum had parked around the back. Hobart isn’t exactly the economic capital of Australia, but here over-polished Mercedes and BMWs surround our new Camry, making it look like it’s twenty years out of date.

Make sure you complete your homework. And listen to your teachers; the principal adores Siobhan, Mum says, oblivious to my red cheeks.

I should get going.

Aisling?

I pause, one foot already out of the car. Yes?

Something flits across her eyes, and for a second, I mistake it for concern. Don’t skip class, alright? Just because it’s year 11, it doesn’t mean it’s a ‘bludge’ year.

I squash the usual disappointment holding my heart and peck a kiss on her cheek. Before she can remind me to brush my teeth, I race across the car park. When I reach the cobblestone path, I hear the noisy rumbling of her car pulling out, leaving me no option to turn back now.

Although other students around me are wearing the same uniform, I feel like a fraud. As I head towards the block housing the senior dormitories, I keep my eyes trained on the fancy architecture rather than on the faces turning my way. From the corner of my eye, I see their brows furrowing as they recognise my face. Whether it’s from the televised pleas of my family for Siobhan to return home or familiarity from my days here as a wee year 7 student, it doesn’t matter; I’m not ready for the inevitable questions I’m sure I’ll be inundated with.

Even so, I slow down, my fingers itching to grab my camera and take advantage of the way the light plays through the enormous oaks lining the path. A few snaps would be perfect for my portfolio, and when I realise my new peers have already lost interest in me, I pull it out.

Click, click, click.

The antique gas lampposts, water bubbling through an ornate fountain, students hugging… If I don’t find out what’s happened to Siobhan— and I will—at least I’ll have something to show for my time here.

Click, click, click.

"Umm, excuse me? Esca- use me?"

My finger hovers over the shutter as an irate face comes into view. Lowering my camera, I see its owner is standing closer than anticipated.

Simone Thompson? Is that you?

The girl flips her shoulder-length hair as she narrows her eyes. Look, I know you need to make money and all, but a tip? You can take photos for the brochure without standing in anyone’s way.

I gawk as her chocolate-brown eyes rove up and down my uniform. What happened to the sweet, somewhat shy girl I’d shared a science class with?

It’s me, Aisling O’Connor. When Simone blinks, I scratch my arm. We had Mr Rodowsky, remember? We got detention for laughing too loud during the reproduction unit….

Still, her face is blank. Four years is a long time, but I thought the memory would trigger some recognition. I force myself to stop scratching, already having created red tracks across my near-white freckled skin.

Do you still have those highlighters that smell like strawberries? They were the best.

There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes, but still, she refuses to join me in a trip down memory lane.

Well, it’s good seeing you again. Whilst you’re here, I’m wondering if you could tell me something…

She taps her foot. It’s not a no, though, so I plunge on.

Do you know what the BES is? Was my sister—you’d know her, Siobhan O’Connor? From dance? Was she part of it?

Her eyes narrow into slits, making me think I’ve hit a sore spot. Siobhan used to say the girls on the dance squad could get competitive over things like team captaincy and line positions; if the BES is some elite position on the team, I’ve just dug my own grave.

Ugh, I remember you now. I guess some things don’t change.

She pushes past me, knocking my camera out of my hands. I catch it just in time, but when I turn to demand an apology, the olive-skinned girl is already busy conversing with a large group of equally beautiful girls. When their eyes focus on me, their lips twist into smirks, and I turn back to the nearest building, no longer thinking it looks marvellous.

Somewhere inside, my roommate is waiting. I only hope she’s nowhere near as nasty.

Chapter Two

My room must be in a tornado alley. It’s the only explanation for why the polished floorboards are littered with an assortment of odd socks, boxes, notebooks, packing peanuts, mismatched shoes, and a collection of plush toys. The wall next to the large bay window is covered in a large map of Argentina. It puts the posters of life quotes like ‘You can do it!’ and ‘Hang in there, kitty!’ to shame, their corners already drooping from tape that refuses to stick to the cream paint.

Um, hello? I step onto a circular rug in the centre of the room. I think it’s multi-coloured, but it’s hard to tell with the pile of skirts and scarves strewn over it. Augustina?

Long, cornflower-blue hair swishes as the girl sitting at the desk spins around, a hand flying to her chest.

Er, yes?

I offer a tentative smile, wondering if I’ll get the same frosty reception I’d received from Simone. Like Simone, I’d sat with Augustina Cáceres in a few classes. Her hair had been dirty blonde back then, but I hope her bubbly personality hasn’t changed.

It’s me, Aisling O’Connor. Er, we had English in year 7—

Aisling? Hey! Her round face breaks into a wide grin. I thought they’d made a mistake when I saw our room assignments.

Sorry, I guess you’re stuck with me.

Stuck? Nonsense. Er… Unless you’d rather be with someone else? She lowers her sand-coloured eyes, twisting a strand of hair around her finger.

Of course not. I mean, I ran into Simone Thompson earlier and… I trail off, not wanting to begin a new year by running down my peers.

Oh, her. Don’t worry; her group may act like they own the place, but they won’t bother you if you stay out of their way.

Right…

Well, she’s not rooming here—I am. I hope you’re prepared for us to become great friends, Aisling.

Her smile’s infectious, enough that I relax and survey the room properly. The mess is charming in a ‘breathing in this room is permitted’ way. She catches me staring at a plush elephant, and blushing, retrieves it from the floor.

Only if you call me Ash.

She grins as she tucks the blue elephant in her pocket. Deal, but you have to call me Augie; only my abuela calls me Augustina.

I set my bags on the bed farthest from the door. I start unpacking, setting my album and camera on the matching wooden bedside table.

So…

I can feel Augustina’s eyes on me as I hang my already-wrinkled clothes in the wardrobe. I know what’s coming, but I’m still not ready for it.

If you don’t mind me asking, she continues, why did you come back? Especially when your sister… You know…

I busy myself unfolding and folding a pair of school-issued white socks. Unlike my parents, who care more about university prospects than a school’s safety record, my friends had screwed their noses up when I’d told them I was coming here. Part of it was because we wouldn’t be spending our final two years together. More prominent, though, was their pity.

The police will do their thing. Let them handle it.

The cops have already questioned everyone and searched everywhere. You’re opening yourself up to more pain.

Let it go.

And the unspoken, You’ll never find her.

They thought my stubbornness was admirable yet futile, my determination a cry for attention. I don’t need anyone else telling me I can’t do this.

It’s the best school in Tasmania, maybe even Australia…

Augustina crosses her arms over her generous chest. That’s why parents want their children to attend. But why do you?

For someone so disorganised, she’s perceptive.

If you must know, Siobhan told me to come back.

She what?

She left a note, I think on the night she—it’s not important, but I’m here to figure out what happened.

"Oh. But